I deleted this post last night. It seemed too personal, too raw to cradle in the arms of the internet. But Patrick was my bestest friend. He made me see the unusual, pulled me into some kind of wondrous ocean of spontaneity and understanding. To delete it is like deleting who he was, what we were together. So it's back. Amen. Please read it wherever you are, Patrick. Please.
Elements of grief
I'm having a difficult time finishing my account of the Cat Woman. It's not a hard story to tell, either - she was cool, unique, a bitchy breeze of a feline fanatic. But somehow her death threw me back to the death of my best friend, Patrick, earlier this year. The day that was his birthday is approaching fast, just a couple weeks away. This time every other year I was plotting a huge secret surprise. This year I just miss him.
So I need to write him a letter. I'm writing it now, posting it here because I don't know how else to reach him. I'm sorry it's so disconnected, and I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense. But I have to do this. I miss him with all my heart. I didn't get a fair chance to grieve for him. I had to meet my birth daughter, integrate her with the rest of my family, send my oldest boy off to college, make a living, keep it together for 8 and 10 and I tell ya, I need to fall apart tonight. I miss him so much. I can't say that enough.
Dear Patrick,
I didn't want you to die! Why did you pick this year to die? Why? You picked the worst and best year of my life. So many things happened that I can barely keep it together these days.
You got sick during the time my birth daughter contacted me, told me she wanted to meet her birth mother. You weren't there for me, I had to write and tell these things to strangers on the internet. They're friends now, and I wish you got the chance to get to know them, too. I had to wait for her first phone call alone. You were sick and angry and weren't speaking to me. I couldn't call you and hear you tell me things would be OK.
You never found out I was writing. You were a writer, that's what you did for a living, I learned all this from you, and I never got to tell you. I regret it so much. I remember every single thing you wrote. I remember all your stray paragraphs, the way you strung scenes like Christmas popcorn. Every time I sit down to write one of my experiences, I think about how you would have told the story. I leave out the cuss words, though, but I still keep them in my mind.
C'mon man, come back! I want you to come back. I want to eat breakfast again and talk about all those things that meant so much to us. No one else I ever met liked all the same things I like. No one else took my nutty ideas and kept them as important state secrets, added to my crazy thoughts, let them grow like acid weeds, asked me about them weeks later. You remembered everything I liked or thought or loved or wanted or wondered about. You never laughed at me.
Remember all the pictures I took for you? Remember the time I asked you to drive all night with me because I needed a big adventure? I don't know anyone else who would drop everything - everything! - because I asked. You dropped everything every single damn time. Every single time. You never even asked why! You just jumped in your car and figured you would sort out the rest of your life later. We chased meteor storms and honky tonk bands.
You bought tons of stupid Avon from me. What did you do with all that Avon? I know you didn't give it to your wife. What did you do with it? I wish I knew. Remember the time we drove to some hick Idaho sunspot on the spur of the moment because we read about that ranch? Remember what we told the policeman when he pulled us over? Remember the donuts? And the time we snuck away to Mexico for a weekend and told everyone we had bonafide business to attend? Ha! We hung out with the band and ate and slept under the stars and laughed at the couple getting it on in the tent next to ours. Remember how you told me about your father, all your dark moments? Remember how you hated my serious boyfriend? Remember how you tried to get me to leave him but never said "I told you so" when I called you crying the night he left me?
Remember my birthday when you got me drunk on that godawful sour apple liquor and I told you my biggest secret? Remember how you grabbed my arm and ran down that suburban street, me weaving, bobbing, until we reached the park and you found the smoothest stone in the parking lot? Remember how you dug a hole under that live oak and told me to bury the secret? We ate a speck of dirt to cement our friendship, we bonded like blood brothers.
Remember the time you made me jump out of the airplane when I screamed and held on to the door for dear life? You pushed me!!! And I'm so glad you did. You pushed me in every way, gave me all the good music I love, taught me that being ME was the most important thing in the entire known and unknown universe, taught me how to be unique in all the world, explained to me why the hell it mattered so much. Why did you leave me? I need you now, I really do.
Now I walk your road I took from you, but it's nowhere near the same, man. Where's my spontaneous combustion partner? Who's going to drop everything in the middle of the night because I read about a witch or a movie or a spot with glow in the dark algae?
I love you so much. I wish you were still here.
Love,
Birdie
8:27:48 PM 
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