Kevin

Los Angeles, California

Tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day. I have a bottle of Redbreast Irish Whiskey. A good bottle of good whiskey. And I plan to drink a lot of it; to do so in memory of these Irish-American men who checked out of life by way of guns. I just don't know what else to do.

Kevin, the contractor, who oversaw the remodel of my flooded and mold-ridden bathroom, then became my friend who came to parties at my home, is gone. I knew he was struggling, and I was worried about him. Now, I realize he was shutting down. And that shut-down led to his ending his life last week. And, once again, my own struggle is to comprehend how that can happen. I rail at the gods. I rail at God. I want this to stop.

I don't know exactly what happened with Kevin, but I do know he had been in a spiral of despair. A Vietnam vet with PTSD demons and not enough support from the Veterans Administration. It was his sense of humor, strong character, work ethic, and engaging personality that created a connection for me and we became friends. He finished the bathroom remodel and, after eleven weeks, was no longer at my home each day. But we stayed in regular contact. He came to a World Series party at my home last October -- a Cubs fan, but that was alright.

The thing is that when people in your life choose to die, it's not about you. But it's hard not to make it about you. And subsequently, difficult to not get out that file that contains all of the people you have lost. Impossible to resist questioning: why.

Holly was with me when I got the news. We were just leaving for Orpheus and Eurydice at LA Opera. And still, we did go. I have learned to hold it down, if I don't have to hold it down too long. And I knew I would be ok because I was with Holly. I am lucky, so very lucky, to have good and caring friends. And Joel who is always there with an ear and a shoulder, no matter how scarily intensely I present my despair. But, in the past four years I have lost people who meant a lot to me. One was a friend whom, I have assumed, couldn't deal with the tragedy that occurred in my life, so she abruptly stepped back. Unless you have experienced this, you can't know how the heart bleeds when this happens. Because you are dealing with insurmountable grief, and then this other grief of loss gets unceremoniously dumped on top of it. I still wake up in the middle of the night and wonder why she lost the connection that had kept us close in each other's lives. You lose parents; you lose a husband in a devastating way, but nothing prepares you for losing someone whose friendship you valued above others. And, you cannot help but wonder what you did to cause this.

I wanted to reach out to her today, but for months she has been silent. My frister, Connie, has said that relationships require effort on both sides. I call that requirement: reciprocal consideration. And as many have pointed out, when you stop being the only facilitator in a relationship, you will learn if you are valued. Perhaps, in this case, it's more complicated than that. For better or for worse, this friend endeavored to advise me at a pivotal point in my life. While grateful at the time, I later theorized that she couldn't handle the disaster that followed. It was almost immediately too much for her, and I think she felt she could retreat behind her philosophy that family comes first. Being a best friend, you think you are like family. But in this case, you are not.

I greatly miss the people who have left my life. I have never taken family nor friendships lightly. Not with my frothers, and certainly not with the fristers. After all, my fristers are the sisters I chose. And they chose me. This can be that once-in-a-lifetime connection. Or, it can be the pain-in-the-ass sister or miserly friend who, after decades, you finally realize has put no effort, nor anything else, into the relationship. You rightly decide to let her go. Still, it's hard enough to release that one, much less the ones who mean so much. It's painful like a death.

We are often told to have gratitude, and I am truly grateful for the good fortune of my friendships. I treasure them. As I twist and turn, I continue to find these friends there for me. Unconditionally, or somewhere quite near enough to that. And I am committed to reciprocate by always being there for them in every way that I can.

Sandra, my frister extraordinaire, has been gone now for four years. I am ending this blog shortly, and beginning an entirely different writing project. A time for that to happen, as there is a time for every season under heaven. But tonight, I am just feeling really, really sad. I miss the ones who have left; both living and dead. I question what I did to make them retreat; or in the case of the dead, what I didn't do that might have prevented them from leaving this life. The root of the answer to both is always the same: that it is not about me, but about them and the choices they made. But still, I keep relentlessly coming back around to the childish and useless thought, that if I did enough for, or mattered enough to, these people, maybe there might have been a different outcome. And alas, I am ruminating in these tormenting thoughts tonight, thoughts that will continue to swirl in my head in the weeks, months, and years to come.

Tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day. Irish whiskey, and a prayer for grace, and the clarity to appreciate the memories we made together. I will miss Kevin a lot. I will miss them all, forever.




I Will Remember You

I'm so tired but I can't sleep
Standin' on the edge of something much too deep.
It's funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word
We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard.

But I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories. -- Sarah McLachlan