Eternal Rest, Mario Colombo (1975- 2010)

July 5, 1975- May 1, 2010
We got our tattoos together at the same place in Nova Scotia. His was the simplest tattoo I'd ever seen, and I teased him about how much grandiose meaning he could derive from two circles- one large, one small. He said: Parent and child, self and inner-child, public and private selves, reality and dreams, Id and Ego, past and present, the earth and the universe, life and death, the individual and society...he went on and on.

Suddenly my butterfly and I felt foolish.

He was the quintessential Italian in some ways, and simultaneously, (for some obvious reasons), he despised the stereotypes. He resented The Sopranos, but he loved his coffee and his cake and his cigarettes. He loved cheese and bread. He was a slow eater because he enjoyed each meal. He had an appetite for food that was on par with my own, so it was always satisfying to dine with him. Plus, it helped that he wasn't a vegetarian. You can put salami on my salad any day. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas! How are we managing to enjoy fried calamari in the middle of the desert? He would crack up right now that my memories about him revolve around food.

Mario had strong opinions and always had his eye on the future. He was a dreamer and a cynic at the same time. If he felt something was bullshit, he'd tell you and he'd explain why. He believed in changing the world, and was so very excited and relieved when Barack Obama was elected. He was always talking about the next thing he wanted to get involved in. His body could not keep up with his spirit.

Apparently, I was with him the first time he drove a car and it wasn't considered "learning to drive." To quote Jen, "This is Mario's first time actually driving." Lucky for me, he gained this valuable practice behind the wheel while we were in the mountains of Colorado! Or was Sedona his turn to drive? I'll never forget him asking me to light his cigarette for him and to change the radio station because he couldn't multi-task behind the wheel yet. I'd light his cigarette and hand it to him, and then ash for him out my window. Then I'd unscrew a water bottle and place it in his right hand for him to take a sip. What the hell am I doing sitting in the death seat of this rented car while Mario learns to drive on roads that allow 70 mph speeds?!!

We climbed up the tower at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon together- after the tower had closed at 7:30. I watched him climb the rocks at Red Rocks Amphitheater- while I simply used the stairs. During that whole trip he cracked me up saying, "I'm from NY and I have braids, bitch!" because he had corn rows put in his hair back home. During this road trip I tried shamelessly to convert him, but failed miserably.

We went to Saguaro National Park and frolicked among the cacti after Operation Special Cookie. We laughed as we described cactus as long and hard. We called of few of them pricks. Catching a few glaring looks, and truly looking like fish out of water, we took cigarette breaks in the blistering sun as we walked the Grand Canyon. Being with Mario in Arizona felt like we were starring in a sequel to City Slickers! When we reached the painted desert, we took gorgeous pictures of the sunset.

In New Mexico, whenever we saw an abandoned car on the side of the road, we shouted "ABDUCTED!" The hotel room we stayed in had a mysterious round stain on the ceiling which we enjoyed imagining was the way aliens would steal us from our beds while we were sleeping!

Christmas is going to be hard because I always loved seeing you and enjoyed your "bad gifts' at the bad gift parties. I feel selfish wanting you back because I know you are at peace, but I miss what you added to my life. I loved sharing these experiences with you and I only wish there were more to come! That's the hardest part! I'm glad I saw you this winter. It makes me feel good that the last time I saw you was in my home. It's like a piece of you never left.

These are the ways I will remember you, Mario. Exploring the world, expressing yourself, enjoying your friends, and savoring life. One of the last things we did together was make a late night whirlpool in my backyard. From now on, every July I will make a whirlpool around my pool just for you, and I'll ponder the many meanings of two circles side by side.

Thanks for the good times, the laughter, the support, and the friendship. I wish you everlasting peace. I still can't believe you're gone. Love you.

Note: Mario had Cooley's Anemia which led to iron build up and liver failure. To donate to the Cooley's Anemia Foundation online, go to www.cooleysanemia.org

or mail your donation to:

Cooley's Anemia Foundation,

330 Seventh Avenue, #900

New York, NY 10001.