Some Chicago friends have been trying to reach me for the past few days. They've called but not left messages and I was growing increasingly uneasy because I knew they must be calling with bad news...
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I finally reached one of them today and found out my friend Matt died Tuesday of a massive heart attack. He was 42 years old. He had stayed home from work for two days with what he thought was the flu. He apparently woke up the evening of the second day knowing he was in trouble and called 911...but by the time the paramedics got to him he was in full cardiac arrest and they couldn't bring him back.
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Matt was one of the gentlest souls I've ever met. He was an amazingly talented artist who dedicated himself not only to his craft but also to his job as a social worker. For 15 years he worked with one of the most stigmatized social castes in this country - the mentally ill. When a serious need arose for social workers with sign language skills, Matt went back to school and got a second degree and spent the rest of his career running a residential home for deaf mental patients - helping them get work training, counselling them on personal matters and generally making himself available to whoever needed him whenever they needed him.
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Matt accepted people for what they were, without judgement or caution. He had one of the most diverse groups of friends I've ever experienced, yet he was a very private man. He lived alone for the last ten years of his life but would routinely throw huge house parties to celebrate birthdays or other milestones for his friends. One of my most treasured possessions is a necklace he made me for my 40th birthday. I have also saved every card he's ever sent me because each one is a miniature watercolor painting, lovingly rendered to represent holidays and other special occasions.
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It is really bothering me to know that this man who gave so much to so many people died alone.
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