Sitting at the blackjack tables at Treasure Island with two of my very favorite peeps last night, a chill went through my body and a text message landed shortly thereafter.
We had lost a friend.
He died on Thursday night. My beautiful, vulnerable, always heart-centered angel-friend. We had an eleven year run, harking all the way back to the earliest of Disney days, sitting front row together at a Tori Amos show, dancing till dawn, shopping in Beverly Hills, and telling our deepest, darkest secrets.
His heart stopped. Likely because he did a lot, a lot of drugs in his horrifically short life.
And it was me, some seven years ago, that gave him his first tab of E. We went to Insomnia and I brought him in to the dance crew family – under the influence, he only became more of himself. So fragile, so genuine, so full of love and cautious fear.
I can’t help but see blood on my hands. Specs and smears, however unintentional, but undeniable. It’s true he would have found his path regardless, but I showed him the door.
When you lose someone so suddenly, the What If’s fly by like dandelion threads. All those times I didn’t say what I wanted to, didn’t treat him as well as he deserved, couldn’t be there like he needed.
But he joined me in my dreams last night, and I got to hug him and apologize. There was no forgiveness to give, he said – just love. So that’s what I’ll feel the most this mo(u)rning. As I reach out to all his old friends and give them the heartbreaking news, I’ll do my best to know his death is beautiful. To hear its lessons. And ohmygod, to remember that smile, that velvety voice, until I leave the world as well.
