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The pallid frost of a hushed winter day will not again encompass the delightful significance it once held for me as a young, blissfully ignorant boy, sledding and slushing merrily through crisp mountains of snow that the earth had captured from its descending flight. Unaware of the concept of mortality, I was forever dazzled by the marvelous vision of ice crystals reflecting the sun’s rays; those miniscule mirrors scattered like stars of heaven upon the ground that far exceeded any true end, just blinding glitter for scores and scores of miles. The ashen coverlet, at which I stared transfixed this somber morning, has now become a betraying adversary, a monstrous abyss that gives a deceptively serene appearance and has engulfed one of the last virtuous men that has ever graced this world of infinite mystery and irreverence. I wonder now that Mulder is gone from this strange earth, if there has been a conclusion to all the ambiguity that has plagued him through much of his life. I realize upon rereading this last sentence that I should have said that the ambiguity had plagued him through much of his life. Had. Ordinarily, that is such a harmless word when uttered a million times throughout the day, however, it loses its innocence when it pertains to someone deceased. It grieves me more than I could ever reveal to refer to Mulder in the past tense; there are times, like this moment, when I can still detect the scent of his aftershave as he leaned over my shoulder and stared at my computer screen. I will miss the smart-ass remarks he made as I investigated something he had given me urgently, and many things were of urgency with Mulder, however, I believe that one of the most sincere things that could be said about him is that he was an exceptionally passionate man. He pitched his fearless and boundless spirit into all that he touched or accomplished; much like a magnificent grizzly bear of the wild, there will be no more like him. Mulder was very clever with an off-kilter sense of humor and his strong principles of integrity and perseverance, even in the face of the greatest adversity, defined him as a man with few equals. Even as his peers and colleagues mocked him and called him by the insolent moniker "Spooky", he always held his head up proudly, a characteristic I wish I had had when I was picked on during my adolescence. He had remarkable intelligence and could be very compassionate when the mood came upon him, especially for those in emotional need. In all sincerity, when I reminisce about The first time Mulder felt comfortable enough to reveal to us his investigation into the bizarre abduction of his sister, The Lone Gunman newspaper was in its infancy. Our eyes had just been opened to the deceptive and ominous practices of our own government, therefore, his certainty in the existence of aliens was disquieting, to say the least. We were not sincere believers until the three of us came upon documentation obtained from our dogged hacking and searching that implicated the United States Government in the testing of UFO flight mechanics. I did not sleep well that night for I felt that everything in which I had faith, understanding and security, had been turned upon its head. The supposed existence of extraterrestrial life called so much into question and opened tremendous possibilities: the presence of God, the immeasurable boundaries of the universe, and my deepest concern, the potential danger in relation to the welfare of our planet. Mulder was not at all surprised by our discovery, he was intrigued and even more determined to learn all he could about these sinister government activities. I have mentioned on occasion that Mulder's ideas were certainly weirder than ours were, and it is this endearing quirk that added to the growing respect and camaraderie we shared with him. I still cannot comprehend that so many years have
passed since I was a lighthearted, optimistic employee of the FCC with
dreams of an honest, hopeful It is quite implicit that Destiny has an endless record of horrendous transgressions, but in this instance of disconsolate mourning, I must admit that Fate has never deigned a more cruel injustice than what has happened to Mulder. I suppose that I am trying to express concisely the significance of this loss, to mold this tremendous pain into some sort of physical medium that can be observed from a numb distance, a kind of cathartic sculpture. I know that even in my brief, but consequential experiences with Susanne, I have never suffered such a void in all of my years. The time I received the phone call that notified me of my father’s alleged death, even at that precise minute, I did not feel the myriad of emotions that are tormenting me now, you must understand: we have lost our deity of honor, our patron saint of truth. Mulder was a beacon of fire that helped keep us on our often exasperating quest, his mission was our mission, and I fear that marvelous flame of hope might have been extinguished along with his breath. I hold much empathy with a vessel that has broken anchor and is drifting along a frightening and unfamiliar current, but there is some comfort that I am not alone in my sorrow. Scully, a woman of such strength and stoicism, looked so desolate and despondent at the cemetery that we offered to stay with her at her apartment for the night, no one should be alone at such a time, especially Scully in her condition. I feel some peace with the knowledge that a part of Mulder will live on through the child growing inside her, but I mourn the fact that this child will only know his or her remarkable father through stories and memories of Mulder’s friends and loved ones. A shroud has settled over this place as we attempt to practice some normal behavior, computer keyboards click, coffee mugs clink sporadically, and I sit at my journal trying to wade through the purpose and meaning of all that has occurred. Even in this den of anomalous quiet, there are some small stabs at communication. Langly, with whom I have not debated many issues of great substance, had been sequestered in his room for most of the day, but emerged a little while ago to ask me if I believed in the existence of Heaven. I know that this difficult question is his means of maintaining some human contact, to gain some reassurance from others suffering in same regarding Mulder's untimely death. I explained that there are many views of Heaven and the afterlife, even though most Western monotheistic religions consider Heaven the dwelling of God, it is also of interest to reflect upon other religions that believe in the reincarnation of the soul as a method of attaining perfection, a way to free the spirit, eventually, from perpetual rebirth. He replied, "I didn't ask you for a fucking encyclopedia reference, Byers, I just want to know what you think." Ah. Well, therein lies a problem since I am not quite sure what I believe anymore. I have spent a good amount of today in rumination about my convictions; I did have some religious upbringing in my youth, as did most children, but as I grew older, I found I believed mostly in the ideals of America, democracy, honesty and justice. Once I entered college and was exposed to many diverse cultures and values, the idea of only one correct religion began to fade and I came to the conclusion that it is important for one to find his or her own path to spirituality and redemption. Langly, after much deliberation and soul searching, I think I have finally arrived at your answer. In asking me if I have hope that there is some place in the next world that embraces the fallen, the searching, the benevolent and the broken within its munificent boughs, then, yes, I am quite certain that our most courageous and admirable comrade now dwells there. Rest in peace, Fox Mulder, you will never be
forgotten. |