Three weeks ago one of my best friends, Greg, committed suicide. It was...is... an absolutely devastating blow to my heart. We were friends for 15 years. Not having him in my life...for the rest of my life...still hasn't sunk in yet. For much of our friendship we didn't live in the same state, so we wrote to each other or spoke on the phone. In fact, I hadn't seen him in person for nine years. When I got the call from his wife that he was dead, I nearly passed out. I have never had such pain hit me. When I got off the phone with her, I collapsed at my knees just sobbing. Dave was in shock. He knew I was just crushed but had to leave me to go work. I called my sister sobbing...my best friend Angie, my friend Maggie and Wendy. I couldn't be alone with the pain, but had no choice. That night was simply indescribable at the depth of how awful it was. I would fall asleep and then wake up crying, at one point throwing up I was so upset.
Since I know they will all read this...I must say a HUGE thank you to all my friends and family who have helped me try and come to terms with Greg's death, checking on me daily. You all will never know how much it has meant to me and helped me.
Greg's wife told me when his funeral was. I could not bring myself to go. He never liked funerals and insisted he be cremated so people couldn't "gawk" at him. I knew that he wanted to be cremated, preferably his ashes thrown at a special place. He said he'd prefer some kind of gathering by his family and friends and that all he wanted was a song played by his favorite band The Gourds. I wasn't sure if anyone else in his family knew about the song.
I thought long and hard what I would do the day he was laid to rest to celebrate his life and to say my personal goodbye to him. The day of his funeral, I decided to drive out in the country, on a drive I knew was beautiful and that he liked and to listen to the Gourds, with his photo on my visor in front of me. I planned to leave right as his visitation started. The day was absolutely gorgeous...sunny and warm. It was perfect. As I drove, all kinds of emotions went through me...as each song I knew he loved played. At the point where I had planned to turn, I decided to go straight. I'm SO glad I did. The scenery was spectacular and I saw so many things I knew he'd love. I went over an old iron bridge and saw a sign for a state park...Old Stone Fort Park. At first I drove passed it, but something made me turn around. I had not dressed for walking really, but I thought I'd check it out anyway. Well, it was the most perfectly profound turn of events that could have transpired. I hiked along a stunning river, along 2,000 year old Indian burial mounds...the sun shining down warmly on me, the wind gently blowing. Greg was there right with me. I felt him in every step I took. We'd taken hikes together many times just like this. Only his guidance could have brought me to that place. I hiked the more than a mile and a quarter trail, in flip flops...starting it just as his funeral began and getting done right as they were taking him to be buried. Providence. I cried all the way driving home.
Since that day, I've spent each day trying to come to terms with Greg being gone. I have hundreds of letters and emails between us from the past 15 years. I've read so many of them, which has not only brought me great comfort and joy, but also much pain at the realization I won't ever read words between us again. I had spoken to him just a few days before he died. I never would have thought that would be the last time.
Greg was one of those rare people who everyone just likes instantly. He was handsome, smart, funny, incredibly kind and generous, loving and adventurous. I met him in college after he became friends with David. I still remember the first day I met him. It felt like we'd known each other forever. We both even asked if we'd met before. From that day forward, we were friends.
There are many things I could say about Greg. So many things. I've found myself over the past couple of weeks telling people just various things about him...things I don't want to ever forget. EDITED: As I think or remember things about Greg than I want to remember, I will add them to this list.
He was very tall, 6' 3". I'm very short, only five feet. That amused him greatly.
He hated sandwiches and only made a couple of exceptions, Arby's roast beef being one... PB&J being the other.
He loved rock climbing. I was with him when he bought his first real climbing shoes. They were too small and I don't think he ever bought another pair.
He loved the mountains and lived in Colorado for several years to go to college for a second Bachelors Degree.
His favorite band was The Gourds and he got me hooked on them years ago too. We used songs of theirs in reference to this or that for our entire friendship. Their songs are in so many ways truly representational of how he viewed the world. I got it.
He was a gun guy. He loved them and made fun of me for not liking them. He was truly good with them and knew his shit.
He could make anything...build anything. He was so impressively mechanically minded it just stunned you to see him work.
He was incredibly smart.
He loved his dog Max...he loved cats. I can still him cuddling and talking baby talk to the black cat at his mom's house.
He once drove to the Grand Canyon and back...driving straight there, then getting out looking around and turning around and coming back.
He drove to Alaska, during which time he had a pretty bad car accident and had a scar on his right brow and scalp from it.
He was left handed.
He loved milk and Little Debbie Snack cakes.
He loved breakfast and lemon poppy seed muffins.
He could make butter and did many times.
He could use a sewing machine.
His hero was his grand dad.
His other hero was his brother.
He could easily say he loved his friend Rick.
If he said he'd do it, he would.
He was always helping his elderly neighbors.
He climbed towers...radio, fire, whatever kind of tower...he slept on a few in a sleeping bag.
He loved caving and got my husband to go with him (and repel), which is huge if you know David.
One of his favorite movies was "The Shining".
He loved the beach.
He was a wonderful writer and wrote short stories and started a novel.
His favorite author was Gene Wolf.
He and I saw BR549 play at Robert's in Nashville many times before they became "famous". I got him to dance in front of people.
We sat on a bench in front of the courthouse in our college town for five hours once talking.
We once canoed down the Cumberland River in Nashville. I can still see his face from that day on the water. His smile is etched into my mind forever.
He loved music...Beck, Ray Lamontagne would bring him to tears.
He never liked to admit he was ever brought to tears.
He was INCREDIBLY funny.
He loved South Park.
He was incredibly poignant and loved nothing more than spending hours hiking with his dog and telling me about what he saw and thought. I cherish those letters.
He could not stay up late easily, but would try for me and invariably beg me to let him sleep once he started dozing off.
He adored his mother.
He built his cat a house once...he spent an incredible amount of time working on it...even putting shingles on it and painting it. The cat never used it.
He loved buying old machinery and stuff from auctions.
He wanted to learn to play piano.
He was once obsessed with bike riding.
He repelled in multi story parking garages when he was in his 20s.
He wanted to one day build his dream car...the car driven by Mel Gibson in Road Warrior.
His best friend in high school was the son of country music singer Ronnie Milsaps.
He never saw the movie "Gone With the Wind".
He was color blind.
He typically addressed me when we wrote or spoke with "Hey Lady" or "Hey Woman".
He once wrote me a six page letter, all by hand, the first ever in his life. He covered the outside with jokes about me being a liberal.
He was thrilled when I became a conservative, finally.
I was the only person to ever make him a mixed tape.
He HATED spiders.
He loved milk.
He was a wine snob.
He was exceedingly charming and kind.
He was saved and a Christian and had a true relationship with God.
He loved hearing his family play music and sing.
He loved his Nana.
He hated public speaking.
His mom and my mom share the same first name.
He once lived in the city where I was born and where my brother and father are buried.
He loved having his back scratched.
He stopped cursing (or so he said) a few years back.
He hated mornings.
He talked to himself and thought everyone should.
He listened to speed metal when he worked out.
He was a decedent of Wyatt Earp (which makes total sense).
He wanted to climb Mt. Everest.
He loved the smell of honeysuckle.
He once got into a pretty nasty barfight at the Goldrush in Nashville.
I could go on and on...
The one story I've told several people that means the world to me is about the last night I was in Nashville before moving to Memphis...God, back in 1998 I believe. Greg was very sad I was leaving town and wanted to take me out with my best friend Shawn for a special night. I can't remember what we did for the early part of the evening...I think dinner and drinks. But after we got done, Greg told me that he had something special planned and that I needed to get something warm to wear and good shoes. He'd brought a sweater himself, which was odd...the only time I ever saw him wear a sweater. He told Shawn to start driving...gave him directions. He wouldn't tell us where we were going. It was a cool spring night. We drove out in the country. Eventually we came upon a very large bridge...the Natchez Trace Parkway Bridge. It is an incredible arched bridge, which at the time was not open to traffic. We drove up on a road to get to the top of the bridge and Greg told us to get out. It was very cool to be on the bridge with no traffic. We listened to music and danced on it, the three of us. There might have been some beer. The moon was full that night and it was very bright. The view was spectacular.
At one point, Greg told us to follow him. We followed him down a hillside, off the bridge, down to where one of the great arches went into the ground. It was very impressive, rising high above us like a roller-coaster. All of the sudden he said, "Let's go." I looked around at him a bit confused and asked what he meant. He climbed up onto the arch, reached out his hand and said, "Come on...we're going up there." Being absolutely petrified of heights, I refused. I told him I could not do it...that we'd fall and kill ourselves. He climbed down, put his hands on my face and asked if I trusted him. I said I did. He told me he would not let anything happen to me...that he'd help me up. The bridge stands 155 feet high. Greg loved adventure...there wasn't alot he was afraid of (besides spiders) and when you were with him he made everything look so effortless...and that you could do anything.
We did in fact make it up to the top of the arch...to find a space...an opening under the bridge just big enough to crawl into. We crawled in and spent the next several hours talking, laughing and just enjoying our last night of adventure together. It was perfect. I was magical. It was Greg.
I haven't been back to that bridge since then, though I used to drive under it on occasion driving from Memphis years ago. He and I would talk about it from time to time. It was a very special place to both of us.
Though I've written alot here, there really are no words to describe how much I loved my friend or how much I will miss him. He simply was one in a million. I will be forever changed by the gift of him in my life and by the loss of him.
During one of our last conversations, we talked about all the years of our writing back and forth. I had recently found a copy of one of his emails from 1997. I told him that I'd found it. He asked why I had kept it, and I told him because he'd written a beautiful account of one of his many hikes and that it was too beautiful to not be kept. He remembered that hike and many of the details in his story to me about it, still. I am so glad we had that conversation. I am SO glad I have that letter.
This is my favorite paragraph...which "describes" Greg perfectly:
"Within a half hour I had hiked to the top of the next ridge and the view was incredible! I could see out to the next hilltop and another next to it; I was overlooking a small valley of trees and brush, and the rain was absolutely pouring down in sheets into this area. I looked out and saw what looked like a low-lying fog creeping over the ground at certain places. I guess the heat of the earlier day was sending up steam from the brush, and the visual effect was so stunning that I just stood there, with the rain trickling down inside my rainsuit and drenching my boot tops, for probably twenty minutes. I mean, there was the rain coming down in what looked like gray carpets, and here was this fog coexisting with it. The moisture also brought up the smells of the woods: the decaying wood, the minty underbrush, the cedars. I know this all sounds crazy, but I'm telling you, this was one of the most beautiful sensations of my life!"
Where ever he is now, this is how I imagine him...hiking, crawling, climbing through the beauty of nature, getting all dirty and worn out...enjoying every second of it...taking in the miracle of it all. I know he's on great adventures now...ones he'll tell me all about someday. I love you sweet boy and will miss you every day of my life, until we see each other again.
This is the Gourds song that I referred to in the title of this post...the song I played as they buried my friend. This video doesn't have anything to do with him personally...but I think it is very fitting that it involves the very kind of stuff he loved to do best.
