On Aging (Damn Russians)

Twenty years ago today there was a coup against Mikhail Gorbachev. I remember it vividly. Why? Because I studied Russian history as an undergrad. I remember a friend calling me and saying something like, "Have you seen what's happening in the Soviet Union?" No, I hadn't. I didn't have a TV--not for moral or ethical reasons, I was a poor student living in a place where you couldn't get TV without cable, and I couldn't afford cable. I went over to my friend's place to watch CNN where they were reporting on the coup. I don't remember how late I stayed, I just know it was late. I was up all night. This was my passion.

Several days later a friend had a party. Friends and I decided we were going to get all dressed up. Cori showed up in a vintage number she had bought at a local auction/estate sale. She looked incredible. When she walked into the room (fashionably late), all conversation stopped as all attention was turned to her.

This was also known as the Damn Russians night. The above-mentioned friend drank far too much vodka and blamed his drunkeness and subsequent hangover on the Russians because he and I had been toasting the demise of the Soviet Union. Or something like that. Vodka clouds the memories.

What I didn't know was that it would be the last time I'd see Cori alive. And she was beautiful.

I've been thinking a lot about aging, getting older, and maturity and what it all means. And I don't mean lamenting getting older or lost youth or anything, but thinking about how different I am now than I was in my early to mid-twenties, yet how much I'm still the same. And how much I like my more mature self better than my younger self. I treasure what I've learned and what I know. I'm as proud of every bad decision I've made as I am proud of every good decision because they all got me to where I am today. They all made me who I am, and I'm proud of what I have done with my life.

Reconnecting with old friends over the last few years has shown me how much my older friends and I have changed yet how our basic personalities are still there. Except now we have experience and maturity that adds multiple layers our base personalities and makes us that much better. As many fuck ups my friends and I have made, we've turned out pretty damn good. Several of us, I'd say almost half of us, ended up in academia. That's not normal. As a group we're successful and educated. Some of us have families. Some of us don't. Some of us are urban, some are in small towns, while some are in the suburbs. But in the end, we're all pretty successful in our respective lives.

I bring this all up because next week is the twenty year anniversary of Cori's death. I've been thinking about her a lot lately. And I mean a lot. I've been thinking about that week. About getting the news. About how much it hurt. I mentioned in the post I wrote about her that when she died it was like losing a limb. And it was. Then, I mourned her loss from my life. I mourned what her loss meant to me.

When I think about Cori she is eternally 22. She is eternally young. I realized this week that this makes me sad. For so long, like I said, I mourned the loss of her from my immediate life. But now with some time under my belt and a different perspective on life, I mourn for what she could've been, for what she missed. I mourn for the experiences she never had. I mourn for what the world never saw or experienced because there was no way her passion and fire were going to be contained for long.

I mourn not being able to reconnect with her. Because more than likely, we would've lost touch, and then through the magic of Facebook, we would've found each other. Part of me thinks she would've migrated to either the Northeast or the Pacific Northwest. It doesn't matter--I would've traveled to see her. And I would be amazed at how good she looked, at how successful she was, but more importantly, how much she was still her--but better. Part of me thinks she would've ended up in some power position in some big company where she wore structured suits and three-inch heels. Because that would've been hilarious. Part of me thinks she would've ended up some hippie, living half off the grid and loving it. But in reality, I think she would've ended up in a job that would allow her to be creative, married, and have a couple of kids--and loving the simplicity of her life and her family. She would be happy she finally found the stability and love she craved.

So, yeah, I'm older. We all are. I'm better. We all are. But I'm sorry that Cori never had the chance to grow old with me, with us.