Thomas Burson provides a brief remembrance on the 18th anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s death.
It wasn’t what I was expecting. The feeling of hurt wasn’t as strong as past years. You’re missed every time my television or iPod or God forbid, the car radio, plays. I stopped using your song, inside my phone, to wake me a couple of years ago. I depend on the phone’s brain to compensate for my failing one. It’s been eighteen years. Today, your ghost is old enough to vote or serve in a war. You’ve shown me much. I divorced my mismatched significant other choice and found another someone who’s a ray of incandescent light in this dark world. I’m raising three beautiful kids. I don’t stay out all or night or intentionally spend every dime I have, living your dreams. I don’t have to suffer for my art like you. I’m finishing something, I mean it’s only a book, but it’s mine and it’s honest. I think you’d appreciate that. Be true, be real, be fearless and never apologize. I think what you taught me more than anything is don’t quit because it’s hard. You quit and look what happened. Music went to hell, well a lot of it did. You quit and your daughter had to be raised by someone lacking the skills to do so. At least I left mine and found someone better. You know what else I wasn’t expecting? Happiness exists and not just in small doses, but extended periods of fulfillment. I have people who love me in spite of my illness. You taught me to stop believing in people like you and look inside. That’s your legacy, and it’s a damn good one. I write every day and I think about you each time a sentence is punctuated. I wonder if you’d understand a word of this or if you’d laugh if I told you that you’re the top search for this blog. You know you’re right when you can make sense of the crazy.
Rest In Peace, Kurt Cobain. You should be here.
Guest post contributed by Thomas Burson