Yesterday at 4:45 p.m. I got a phone call from a friend. She was reaching out for help. Her husband, my friend, one of my band mates, was not waking up from a nap. 911 was called and I headed to their home as quickly as I could get there. By the time I arrived the EMS workers were leaving and my friend wasn’t on the rolling bed with them. I knew that wasn’t a good thing. I stopped and talked with the last EMS tech and he told me what I already knew but didn’t want to hear.
My friend had died.
Just 48 hours before he and I were making music together with friends. We found the groove and we were working it. I remember looking over at him and thinking how cool he looked while he played a solo part on his electric. He didn’t just make music come out of that thing; he made joy come out of it. I smiled at him and he smiled at me, God was in his heavens and all was right with the world.
He was a young soul traveling around in an older model body with a bad pump. We’d talked before about ways he didn’t want to cross the curtain and other than going right in the middle of a smokin’ guitar solo, peacefully and painlessly was a choice he preferred. He was an imperfect man who radiated love perfectly. As I told another friend, a lot of us have just lost our biggest fan.
His name was Bob, and our loss is heaven’s gain.
My name is Brian, and I think death sucks. A lot.