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I am not prepared, and that is how it is with death. Like many others, I had known that Sid was about to die. It happened on Monday, 18 November, and I was surprised to realize that “I was not prepared.” The turmoil in the midst of which I found myself was profound, real, and present.
The memories re-emerged from their dormant state. Many of the conversations I had with Sid revisited me. I remember talking with him about mourning around Freud's paper and he interjected in his own inimitable way, cutting through to the heart of the matter and said, “Mourning cannot begin until you accept it has happened.” And this stark reality is present with us, and each of us who has known him, who has come in contact with him, is left to attend to this reality. It has happened. From now on, whatever happens to Sid is our personal and individual responsibility. And as I say these words, I realize with some sad humour that I am talking like Sid might have.
I am mindful of his presence beside me and wish to respect his sensitivity. I can remember a particular occasion where he felt that I had somewhat embellished the story and, then, being the sensitive person he was, he invited me to dinner.
Sid belonged to that category of men who did not derive much out of social conversation, idle chitchat, or gossip. He reminded me of Clifford