The Burdens of Complexity

 The Burdens of Complexity

Jeffery Morgenthau had spent his entire life being as much a bumbling oaf as he was an aristocrat of the highest pedigree. He was born into the Morgenthau family, and like his father and his father before him, he had not worked a day in his life for a penny of his fortune. The Morgenthau’s may as well be where the term ‘old money’ comes from. 

This is not to say, however, that Jeffery was a self-absorbed snob who had never had a well-meaning thought in his life. He was a simple man at heart- a kind one too. Jeffery would bend over backwards to help someone, often literally. He was not the smartest man in Cambridge University’s graduating class of 1985, but he was the most well-liked. He had formed friendships in his time there that had stood the test of time not because of the fact he belonged to the fourth wealthiest family in Britain, but because he really was just a lovely man. Jeffery rented out entire restaurants for his group of friend’s to celebrate their achievements in not to show off how rich and powerful he was, but so they didn’t ruin the nights of other people with their raucous festivities.

It is true that he would often loudly say something wildly inappropriate at a social gathering, and yes- he was known to have a poor grasp of the concept of table manners. Such behaviour, after all, is what had earned him the descriptor of bumbling oaf amongst his family and the remainder of the upper class. Amongst his friends (friends who predominantly belong to the nation’s upper-middle class, and thus are naturally much better people) though, Jeffery Morgenthau will always be known for his acts of unrelenting kindness and his hilariously bad timing. Sometimes, he was also known to be delightfully self-aware in ways they never knew to expect from him.

One such example of this behaviour occurred in the winter of 2014 when their little group had gathered for the worst possible reason. Sometimes, you go into a social situation and you expect people like Jeffery to be themselves. Be it a gathering in somebody’s living room for a few bottles of wine and poorly executed games of charades, or even a birthday celebration at an upscale restaurant. These are the types of events you go to and expect your good friend Jeffery Morgenthau to be himself at. You’ll have a good few laughs at some of his completely ill-advised remarks and that’ll be that. You do not, however, arrive at the funeral of one of your closest friends and expect Jeffery to be himself.

In all fairness, nobody arrives at the funeral of a man everyone adores and expects people to be themselves. You anticipate melancholy and out-of-character emotional outbursts. That’s all perfectly normal behaviour. In fact, when the group convened outside the church that day, Jeffery seemed to fit that description to a tee. They all did. Mark and Sandra were white as a sheet, Pip and Tiff’s faces were still puffy from a cry they had before they got out of their car, Chester was completely devoid of emotion as one might be at their husband’s funeral and Jeffery was not wearing his trademark smile.

Jeffery was seemingly always wearing a grand old smile- ear to ear, his pearly whites glistening in the gloomy, British daylight. As one would imagine, the funeral of a dear friend was the one occasion he chose to leave his happiness at home. After greeting one another with hugs and words of encouragement, the group entered the church arm in arm- prepared to send off a man they loved entirely with the bravest faces they could imagine.

Once they were all seated, the Priest began to speak. It went, as all funerals tend to, painfully slowly. Attending a funeral is an odd experience. You find yourself trapped in a sort of existential limbo. You’re desperate for the service to conclude so you can put the pain and the despair behind you, but at the same time, the last thing you want is for the Priest to finish his speech. As soon as the service is done, that’s it. You carry the casket, you put your friend in the ground- you say goodbye. Then it’s over. It’s all over. There isn’t another game of charades or one more birthday celebration. So you sit there, silently begging whatever greater power there might be to not let this dreadful day end because you just aren’t ready to say goodbye yet.

But eventually, whether you’re ready or not, the Priest does finish talking. Before the pallbearers readied themselves to hoist their friend into his final resting place, Chester arose to say something about his husband. Being the good friends that they all were, they insisted he let them all share the burden of summing the life of their dear friend up into a succinct verbal epitaph. Unfortunately, they all knew something that nobody can ever really admit- there’s no such thing as a good ending. No matter what they say, it’s always going to be bitter sweet. Yes, they could all recount a heartwarming adventure from their university days that brings a smile to everyone’s face and a tear to their eyes. But nothing they can say could ever do the one thing they all desperately want to be able to do. They can’t bring their friend back.

Still, they all went up, one after the other. They all told a story and let the world know why they loved their friend so dearly. It may have felt pointless, but it was the right thing to do. At last, Jeffery arose. He walked over to the podium, let out a sigh and began to speak. They all expected from him what he always gave them, a sweet sentiment. They knew he was about to say something simple, something nice. This is why they insisted he go up last, after all. What better way to wrap the ceremony up than with something nice and straightforward?

“Graham was a good friend, and I loved him for that. He was a good husband to Chester, and we all loved him for that too. But, he’s gone now. That’s all in the past. It doesn’t really matter anymore. I don’t love him for being a good friend, and a good person. He’s not either of those things anymore. I love Graham because twenty-nine years ago, when we all graduated, you all had such great things to go on to. Pip and Tiff had their art gallery, Mark had his legal career and Sandra had her photography. Chester didn’t know what he wanted to do yet, but that was okay because he had Graham. Graham had his writing, and I didn’t have anything. I had all this money of course, but I was never allowed to do anything good with it. Father said it ‘tarnished the family name’. I wasn’t allowed to work either, for those same reasons. I didn’t really have anything to live for. I was very sad, and Graham noticed. He sat me down and he told me to quit my sulking. He told me that I’d always have you all, people that loved me for me. And that I could do anything. Believe it or not, I had never heard that before. All that money, all I was ever told I could do was nothing. You’re filthy rich, you get to just sit around all day doing nothing. How great is that?  They’d always say. I suppose that sounds great, but it does get rather dull. Twenty one years of age, and Graham was the first person who ever told me that I was allowed to live. I stopped being sad after that. I know it sounds silly, but that’s why I love Graham, now that he’s gone. I live because he told me I could, and just because he’s not here to tell me to cheer up anymore doesn’t mean I can’t hear him say it. It’s sad he’s gone, but he was right. He always was.”

By the time he had finished his speech, his trademark smile had returned to his face. His friends began to smile too, clearly impressed with their simple friend for being the only one who understood something that they never stopped to consider. Yes, the man they all loved was gone. But that doesn’t mean that he was never here. Sometimes, all you need is a simple friend. Someone who doesn’t think they’re better than acknowledging what should be obvious.