Goodbye, Brother

Eric’s gone

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Our parents arrived in 1959 in the same building, in the same staircase. His parents were living at the 4th floor, mine at the 1st. Him and me went to the same schools, beginning at the same nursery school when we were 3 years old. It was the beginning of a long and deep friendship.

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Eric was like my brother. Even after 18 years separated, him in British Columbia (Canada) and me in Paris, when he came back to France in 1990, we started again our friendship. No ! in fact, we kept on our friendship as if we didn’t separate. Between us, it was a special friendship.

Like Montaigne, I could said about this friendship :
“Because that was him, because that was me”.

We liked to speak together about anything music (pop music, blues), politic, culture (Canada, U.S.), history (2nd world war), women. The different ways of life of each other were not a problem. I am a lawyer who lives in Paris, he was an artist (decoration painter) living in a wooden house in a little village. But, we understood each other, and we were happy to spent time together like the two children we were before. When he needed me, I did run to him. And him made too for me.
When he was 18 years old, he decided to go to California to visit the last communities of hippies and after, he travel across USA and Canada. He always wanted to open the “doors of the perception”, but I think that in fact, using drugs and tasting each day a new one, he was only trying to flee from the himself. I don’t know what kind of distress had made him suffer during all his life. After years swallowing so many different drugs and medicaments, his mind was dulling. He became a loser in the society. He was wired from his job and didn’t find another. He got divorced and never had other serious love stories. Living alone, he distrusted everybody. Paranoiac, he thought that everybody wanted to make him suffer. Except me (I don’t know why ).

This week, Nederland police has call her sister to inform her that they found Eric dead in his van on a road between Dordrecht and Rotterdam. Tomorrow, I will drive her sister and his parents to see a last time, his corpse. Sad but necessary travel. My friend, why did you make that ? Probably, Eric did spent last week-end in Rotterdam, misusing drugs. And on the way back to France, in last monday evening, he felt a dizzy spell, stop the van on the side of the road. He probably thought that he should sleep in his van and start again in the morning. He lied down on a old mattress at the rear of the van. It was not a special camping van. So inside, it should be cold. Eric didn’t have a good sleeping bag. He was 51 yers old. He was sick since 7 years, after a mixed crisis of overdose of metadone and pneumonia. Eric was tired after this tough week-end in the coffee-shops of Rotterdam. He quickly falled asleep. His heart was tired. In his dreams, he suddenly saw a scaring over friendly guest…

They are waiting to take us into
the severed garden
Do you know how pale & wanton thrillful
Comes death on a strange hour
Unannounced, unplanned for
Like a scaring over-friendly guest you’ve
Brought to bed

Jim Morrison

Eric liked very much the Doors. I had offer to him, a book with all the poems and lyrics written by Jim Morrison.

If he could know before that he will die in Nederland, he should smile about that. Loulou, his dog, was waiting for him. I’m sure that both are now taking a walk in the woods of the heaven, like they used to do when they were alive, in the woods of Villiers-sur-Morin, this little village where Eric and Loulou did live together 10 years of happiness.

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Goodbye, Brother.

~ by nournours on November 9, 2007.

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