Thursday, June 3, 2010

Good night, and good luck (repost from private journal)

Tomorrow (6/5/09) is the anniversary of the Rev. Dave's death. There had been some confusion as to his actual date because L & T didn't find him until the next day, but we confirmed it was the 5th. I loved Dave, and he didn't love me back, and our breakup broke our friendship as well. Six months later, after getting the job of his dreams, and a place of his own, and a newer car, and a really sweet girlfriend that seemed to be a much better fit for him, he drank a case of beer and put a gun to his head.

I've been reading my old journals, crying, and wishing still that it had all been a bad dream, and that I could still have my old friend Dave back. Here's what I wrote the day I found out:

Private: Good night, and good luck.

{ June 6, 2009 @ 9:26 pm } · { Uncategorized }

Dave killed himself, probably on Thursday. His job called L and T because he hadn't shown up for work, so they went to check up on him and they found him lying face up and naked on his bed, gun in his right hand, left arm over his head. He’d put his comforter up near his head, I suppose to obscure any exit wounds. One small kindness from an act that caused so much pain and anger and sadness.

I wish you would have stuck around. The good stuff was happening, and I don’t think you knew it. Maybe you could never know it. But we all wanted you alive. Yes, even me. Regardless of what I’ve said in private in anger, I would not want your life to be cut short. It was already going to be shortened by the alcohol, but there was still the chance to turn it around when you were alive. There is no coming back from this, except perhaps as a reincarnation. Wonder if I’ll see you again.

Right now, the Medical Examiner is opening you up and discovering the ravages of alcohol on your body. Your bones will be softer than that of an average 35 year-old man. Your liver will be hardened and blackened from abuse. Your brain will show signs of mental illness, and your blood will reak of alcohol. Your heart has been forever stilled. Someone from your family will call a funeral home, I suppose, and arrange for transport of your body back to Oklahoma. You spent one glorious, terrible, and painful year away from the place of your birth, but now it is time to go home again.

I’ve been OK most of today, with just a break down here and there. But then the weight of it has begun to feel heavy, like an object that seems to get heavier the longer you carry it. I’ve been romanticizing why / how you took your life, trying to find the kindest thing to say about it. But what you did was unkind. And not tragically romantic. Just tragic. If you are in another state of consciousness, I hope that you realize that things could have been better. Though I also hope that you are at peace – Max is at peace, so maybe he felt your torture as well. Though I also wish you were here so that I could slap you, I hope that you silenced the demon trying to reach into your head. If you see my great-grandmother, say hi for me.

What sucks about all of this is that mine is the pain of unrequited and disregarded love. I’m grieving for someone who never gave me a second thought, and who would have his friends believe that I was a crazy bitch. It feels stupid to grieve for you, and I wish I could throw away the stone on my heart. I am grateful that T and L accept my pain as real, because if they didn’t, I might not be able to.

I have more beautiful and poetic things that have come to mind today, but I didn’t write them down and fear that they are lost. The truth is, I spent today at the lake, enjoying the sun on my face, and blue of the sky, and cool of the green-blue Colorado river. I am grateful that I could feel and see these things, and I hope that during your short time on Earth that you enjoyed those things too. I hope that your last sunset was beautiful.

The only thing I can do now is appreciate what you gave me. Cool music. Cool people. Beer, dammit. And biking. I will think of you every time I bike downtown, and every time I get a hankering for a Maui Bowl from Wahoos, and every time I pass Lovejoys, and every time I drink a Fat Tire. I’m sorry that it was impossible for us to reconcile as friends in this life, but I hope you have forgiven me for my part in the next life. I hope that you feel like Dorothy, and know that the love you didn’t feel was there the whole time. I hope that there are bikes in heaven, and I hope that St. Arnold needs an apprentice. And finally, I hope that you can feel the sun on your face and know that is the love that was always there for you.

I love you and will never forget you.

1 comment:

  1. One of his friends put together a video montage of Dave pics, set to Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here":