Thoughts on His Death

Today my friend would have turned twenty-seven. He will never get to turn this age because he died on Februaury 5th of this year. An aggressive form of cancer spread till his body could no longer function. He was so talented, passionate, kind, dorky- a good friend, son, and brother.

We all know this isn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to die, and we didn’t deserve to lose him. Other things are less certain. Has he gone on to a better place? Is he at peace? Alone, or reunited with his predeceased family and friends? Something or nothing are not two options for what happens after our bodies fail us. There is nothing; or there is a spectrum of possibilities if we have consciousness after death. Fluffy clouds and angels with harps; re-absorption into the energy of life that surrounds us all; the ability to travel alongside when thought of by those who knew and loved us. The possibility of hell, though it has no place in the discussion of my friend’s death, who could not have been judged and found so wanting.

I imagine all these possibilities, because imagination is what I have instead of belief. I’ve spoken to my friend since he died, imagining (not pretending) that he could hear me, imagined him following where I choose to lead. He loved the Colbert Report in life- in fact, he was a competitor for Stephen’s green screen challenge and his video was shown on the program. I can’t forget how thrilled he was by this. Shortly after he died I went to building where they shoot the show he loved so much- and I took him with me. I cannot believe that he was there, that he saw what I longed for him to see because he was never able to arrive there in life, but I imagined it. Maybe I imagined just in case it was true, that he heard and saw it all, maybe I imagined just for my own solace.

What of those of us without faith? What are we to make of death? How unfair it is, that there are those who can take comfort in belief while I can’t. There are those who know that my friend is experiencing every euphemism in the book; resting, peaceful, with God, watching over us. I know no such thing. I only imagine. And I hope.

I also go on. I don’t think of my friend on a daily basis, and I remember the day I realized I hadn’t though of him in weeks. I think of him when I think of him, and sometimes I consult his memory when I make a decision. He wanted to do what I’m in New York to do, so his opinion matters a great deal to me on the subject of my aspirations. He comes to mind when I feel most alive, remembering that he will never fight or ride a bike or kiss again.

If he’d never been sick, we would never have grown so close. My friend was vital when he had his health. He loved to hike and make funny movies with lightsaber fight scenes. Before he spent hours and hours on the internet, where it no longer mattered that I lived 3,000 miles away, he was a boy I knew in high school who gave me an act of kindness when I needed it so very much.

This act took place on a high school band trip. I was the only freshman girl in the jazz band, which was largely populated by senior boys. My friend was one such. This arrangement was uncomfortable at best. The three other girls in the band, seniors themselves, had very little use for me. However, we all four had to share a hotel room, and though there were two large double beds, they forced me to sleep on the floor- under a moldy blanket, the night before our big performance.

Someone spent time with me on that trip, sat on the bus with me and talked to me and didn’t overlook or step on me. One person treated me like an equal when I was thirteen and scared in Idaho. It may not sound like much, but kindness is unforgettable if it’s given when we need it. That’s what I learned from jazz band.

I wish that this were our defining relationship! I wish that he were my friend who helped me out, who lived- and therefore could safely be forgotten (not that I’d wish to forget him whatever the case), and not my friend who died. It’s so unfair that such a kind, unforgettable person will forever be remembered as such.

That’s not something I can change. It’s the information age, and even harder to separate ourselves from death, from the dead. Facebook will remind me that September 5th would be his birthday for as long I’m a member. His AIM name begins with an A and so sits at the top of my Buddylist. His number is in my cell phone, and anytime I call my old job or my friend Tricia, I will see him in between the two. What can I do? Can I unfriend my lost friend? Can I delete him?

Can I remember him as who he was instead of who I’ve lost?

Trevor Homer was born on September 5, 1980 and died February 5, 2007. In between, he was my friend. I will always be his.