I’m on my way to San Francisco for a memorial service. It is impossible to describe the state of shock I have been in since learning of a dear friend’s sudden death. I sat in the airport for hours before takeoff on Saturday with Whitney Houston’s funeral broadcasting on every screen in sight. I sat alone, silent, listening to the famous friends, family, and preachers hailing her brilliance, her magic, her grace. I closed my eyes and let the gospel songs wash over me as I thought of my own friend—as vibrant, popular, and magnetic within our crowd as Whitney was in hers—lost so abruptly and much too soon.
Unlike Whitney, however, my friend’s memorial service (to paraphrase an outspoken social justice warrior like him) will not be televised. His name was Grif Fariello. He was a writer, a rascal, a raconteur, a crusader, a flirt, a rabble-rouser, a stalwart, a peacenik, a brilliant mind, a romantic, and a gentleman. I can hardly imagine a world without his great guffaw and the devotion he gave to his girlfriend of 12 years, one of my best friends on this earth.
This post is a short farewell to Grif. I hardly feel I have the words to do him justice. It wasn’t long ago that our group lost another of our shining stars, which I wrote about here. When I touch down on the ground—the hallowed soil of the Bay Area that still holds my spirit so firmly in its grip—I may very well sink to my knees to bid them both goodbye in the place that brought us together. Then I’ll journey on to where our family of friends will be gathered and do the only thing left to do … remember, and laugh, and give thanks for having known him.
This is an original JerseyMomsBlog post.