*A Memorial Site has been set up In Honor Of Peter*
P.W.H. August 23rd, 1956 – November 25th, 2007
“God saw you were getting tired,
and a cure was not to be,
so he put his arms around you
and whispered, “Come to me.”
With tearful eyes we watched you
and saw you pass away.
Although we loved you dearly,
We could not make you stay.
A golden heart stopped beating,
hard working hands at rest.
God broke our hearts to prove to us,
He only takes the best.”
I am writing today’s post with a heavy heart. I am no stranger to death, but my experience in dealing with it is rather limited. I am sad to announce, one week ago today, on Sunday November 25th, a friend of mine passed away. He leaves behind: his father, a beautiful loving sister, his nephew, and countless life-long friends.
I can say with utmost certainty, Peters passing will leave a void in this world.
What can I say about my personal relationship with Peter? I met Peter approximately 5 years ago through another friend of mine, Pammie. I fell in love with Peter the minute I met him. His candor, his infectious laugh, his command of the English language was nothings short of genius. Peter was brilliant in every sense of the word. He was as talented and charismatic as they come. He was a truly gifted man with a heart of gold.
However, he was not without his daemons. Peter struggled with many obstacles. Yet, from what I witnessed, he faced each challenge with courage, strength, and dignity. I respected him all the more as he battled against all odds. For the past five years, Peter dedicated his life to working with people disabled by addiction to help them overcome obstacles on the path towards recovery. I am one of them.
When I first started spending time with Peter, it was easy to feel so comfortable with him. We shared a special connection, being that we were both active members of recovery programs. We had countless stories to share with each other. We did not sit around and exchange the typical addict war stories. Nor did we glamorize the ugliness that is addiction. But we sure did laugh (A LOT!) when reflecting on our past lives.
I remember one of the very first conversations I ever had with Peter.
Pammie, Peter and I were riding around in her car when Peter started talking about his past. He was incredibly open and honest about things he had done. I was shocked to see how at peace he was with his ‘mistakes’ … ‘Mistakes’ I was still too horrified to admit. But as I watched Peter speak, without restraint, I was unexpectedly inspired to tell him A Truth about the height of my drug abuse. Once I opened the proverbial locked door of secrets, I couldn’t stop letting them out. Peter didn’t react the way I always imagined someone would react after hearing one of my appalling tales. Instead, he simply laughed at the absurdity. Peter had one of those contagious laughs, which made me laugh at myself. After an hour of ‘confessions’ and laughter the weigh of the shame I’d been harboring for a years, was suddenly lifted. Somehow all of those dirty secrets I had been carrying around became OKAY.
Peter gave me the greatest gift of my life that day. Peter taught me how to forgive myself.
From that day on, I always felt safe when I was with Peter. He never judged me, and he never let me take myself too seriously. Most of all, he believed in me. I never got the chance to tell Peter just how much he enriched my life, but I think he knew.
One of my fondest memories of Peter will always be the time we went to NYC for the Tribecca Film Festival. That was the first time I had ever been exposed to things like: a black and white foreign film with subtitles, riding on the subway, touring the ruins of 9/11, and the ever so famous phrase “Roy-Ro-J’ay’s” with a ‘holster’ of fries. The time I spent with Peter was always cultural on some level, filled with fabulous movies, sushi dinners, and a trip to the Guggenheim museum. I also loved being able to share my writing with him. Peter was an exceptional and accomplished writer, wining awards for his poetry. It was an honor for me to have his time and attention. He delivered fantastic constructive criticism and powerful advice. I will forever be grateful.
Saturday, I attended Peter’s memorial services. It was such a beautiful tribute. There must have been at least a hundred people present. Peter had friends from all walks of life, and he touched every single one of them. Three people spoke about Peter and their relationship with him. My words, here, now, will pale in comparison to anything that was said during the service. The only thing I can say about the service? Listening to his sister talk about loosing her best friend was tough enough. But, the hardest part of getting through the service was when Peters father, an 82 year old, generally stoic man, gave his speech. Mid sentence, his voice started to shake, until he broke into tears. He collected himself and fell apart once more when referring to his son Peter by the nickname he had given him ‘Pedro.’ I think the cruelest thing in the world is when a parent looses their child.
The ceremony ended with a poem, written by Peter himself. I don’t think there could have been a more poignant way to close the service.
“I am that leaf from the tree
when browned by the autumn will covet the wind
and pray in the moonlight
beseech every bird that passes my way
I am that leaf who from my foundation
of branches and blossoms
will risk all that’s known to me
to be swept along gently
and fly blindly guided
and laugh as I dance in the rains
and I am passes through the passage of waters
when battered and bruised by tires I will return
to lunge over mountains
be fertile to fields
and lay still imbedded in frosty heaves
like a lovers bed
when stripped again I will
take flight
on the tireless wings of the memory
from which I came
and from which I draw my fortitude”
Written by Peter W. Hass
I will miss his presence. I will miss his friendship. I will miss all of the witty nicknames he created for the friends in his close nit circle. Most of all, I will miss the sound of his laughter.
I will miss you Peter. Good bye my friend. May you finally rest. In Peace.
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