Death shouldn’t be what it takes to reassess a friendship, but sometimes, that’s what it takes.
In 2015, I turned 27, the age that a number of famous musicians, including Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse, died. And on my birthday, I was reaching out to a friend that I had gotten angry at to reconcile, in superstitious anxiety.
And then I saw that his Facebook page had been converted into a memorial, saying, “Remembering . . .” I messaged a mutual friend asking if he was still alive, and the friend responded, “No, unfortunately. He died of an overdose.”
“Holy shit.”
I’m still in disbelief that he’s dead. He was 29. I believe that he had recently dropped out of a PhD program at the University of Chicago. I never found out what he overdosed on, but it doesn’t matter. I knew that he was a serious addict by how he talked about drugs and how much unsolicited advice he gave, and it still shocked me.
It’s amazing how someone’s death can shift your perspective. For over a year before I found out, I had been angry with him for a conversation where he had said innumerable words that pissed me off, especially the n-word (which I will not type) and “retarded,” which had a heightened significance for two reasons: one, I’m disabled, and two, at the time I was severely manic, so I snapped on him. We hadn’t talked since, save for a couple of comments on each other’s Facebook posts.
Kevin was passionate and unforgettable, but when he was alive, I sometimes only saw his dark side. He was extremely irritating at times; he could be bigoted and progressive in the same conversation about the same topic. He was both charismatic and abrasive, and as much as he pissed me off, I still wish he were here.
Music was what initially connected us; he loved music like I do, which is not easy for me to find in others. In 2012, he was working in a coffee shop that I frequented, and I soon found out that he was a DJ at a club in another hip Chicago neighborhood. At one point, I sent him a Facebook message that I thought that he was beautiful; I knew that he was straight, so I mainly sent him that to get it off my chest, no expectations attached.
He was extremely flaky with communication; I remember seeing him a couple weeks later, and I was surprised that he was happy to see me, given my past history of alienating straight guys that I’d liked. A year or two later, after the coffee shop closed, he offered to take me out to a restaurant for all the times that we weren’t able to meet up and talk. It never happened.
I remember surprising him to say hey at that club in 2014, a few months before I snapped on him, and it was really sweet to see him. After that unfortunate conversation, though, I was angry at him for a seemingly indefinite period—until I found out that he had died a few months prior to my birthday.
I understood much more that he was sick, too—possibly medicating trauma—and as much as I wished I could have gotten better from my manic episode so that I could reach out before he died, I clearly couldn’t have done anything, if we had been on good terms, to ensure that he’d still be alive.
What I remember of him now is his love of songs like the Supremes’ “My Heart is Empty Without You,” which I remember him calling a classic, playing it in that club.
I should mention that I’m Autistic, which is why I connect with music so deeply as a personal passion. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kevin was on that spectrum, too, not only in terms of his love of music, but in how he had trouble understanding other points of view, alienating others with his strong opinions in the process. As much as I judged him for his bigoted language, I used to think that saying racist and bigoted words was acceptable, too. And though I couldn’t realize it at the moment that I got pissed off at him, maybe part of me got angry at him channeling behavior that I expected him to work on, too.
I often thought of Kevin as what I call more of a critic than a contributor, which I have definitely been. His Facebook posts were so full of pointing metaphorical fingers, blaming others, and claiming expertise when he didn’t always have it. Man, I wish that didn’t resonate with me, no matter how much I’ve tried to curb those tendencies in the last few years.
Speaking of which, around the time that I got angry at him, I started to work on some of my own issues in addiction. In the last five years, my life has changed because of my willingness to try different approaches to my problems, including active addiction. If I had suggested the same to Kevin, I doubt it would have done any good, especially as I wasn’t in a place yet where I could say that my life had changed. I have to live with that reality.
And then there’s the reason that I’m writing about this now. A couple weeks ago, I dreamed that Kevin and I had reconciled and that I had gotten to give him a hug before he passed away. I’ve had reconciliation dreams with different people who have left my life in different capacities, but when I woke up from this dream, I wasn’t angry. Instead, I felt healed.
I wish he could feel the same today. I loved him. And I couldn’t even find an obituary on Google, so I wanted to quote folksinger Tom Paxton, in a metaphorical sense: “Here’s to you, my ramblin’ boy; may all your ramblin’ bring you joy.”
May you who burned out before you could fade away find some peace. And may you be critiquing whatever you want, wherever you are, for all of eternity.
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