No resurrections have yet manifested themselves

In a recent conversation I and another person came to the realization that it had been more than five years since Barry Schneider had died. Time goes fast when somebody's dead and the rest of us get on with our lives. We get on with our lives because we have no choice. What the dead do during that time period is something none of us know, other than via speculation or religious conviction.

I don't mean to make light of the demise of another, and I'm not. Barry, the RCMP constable who died via a drug overdose (he who was, ironically, the drug awareness coordinator for northern Vancouver Island), was my friend. A cherished friend -- whose clandestine proclivities of which I remained unaware -- of the sort that comes about rarely in this life. I had only known him for a few years, and got to know him via a series of newspaper articles I wrote on the drug scene in the Comox Valley. He was one of my major consultants during that extensive project, and we developed a great bond of friendship. We had a good time. I got invited into a sort of RCMP inner circle, and went as an 'embedded' reporter on drug raids and other enforcement activities and got some mighty fine stories out of it as a result. At the same time we found we clicked at other levels. We looked at certain aspects of life in much the same manner, had similar senses of humor and were always invariably comfortable in each other's company. Indeed, on the day he for whatever reason best known to him decided to shoot a speedball into his veins, he and I were supposed to meet for lunch.

Friendships, same sex friendships of such a nature are rare as we grow older, and I was delighted in having had such a thing with him after a long period in which virtually all my male friends were guys I had known forever. Yet, his death wasn't the first experience I'd had with the demise of a close male friend. About 20 years earlier one of my best friends from university died in a tragic boating accident. I still think about him on a regular basis. We had a good time. We regularly would sort out the flaws of the world, drink lots of beer, date assorted females and compare notes, and all the other things one does at that age.

My oldest male friend (we first met when we were 12) moved to Australia in the early 1990s, and I haven't heard from him since. I hope he's still alive. I still consider him close. Maybe that's weird. Another guy was a teaching colleague. We met in our first year teaching. He and his wife moved to Toronto (God knows for what reason) decades ago. Yet, in conversation we can still virtually pick up where we left off. We can still make each other laugh until tears run down our cheeks. We see each other every three or four years, but never really feel out of touch. It's good.

Otherwise, I have lots of acquaintances of my own sex. People I like, respect, and feel comfortable with, but they aren't really friends in the broader sense of the word. In honesty, I would say that the majority of my close friends are female. A woman's view of friendship is different from a man's, and I like that. Women are more intimate (not 'that' kind of intimate) more personal, and more honest than males are. I can share things with a really close female friend more readily than with a male. Things to do with vulnerabilities and fears. I would often be inclined to trust a tight female friend over a male because there is no sense of competition -- no 'dick wars', if you will.

Male friendships are different, and must be cherished, but on perhaps an emotionally disadvantaged plane.

I think that is why females live longer, and why God is probably female. I have no problem with that. I think I'd prefer to have a warm and comforting female God take me to her ample bosom.