Writing how I feel has always been therapeutic to me. Letting out into the world what’s on my mind or how I feel has always helped me heal and move forward. But this time, I just haven’t been able to put how I feel into words. When I look at my 41 years, the family, friends and relationships that have been a part of my life, it seems lately the people who I’ve know such short amount of time have been such a large part of my life.
I’ve started writing this a million times and a millions different ways. This blog contains bits and pieces of those attempts over the last several months.
Sometimes I start writing and it comes out as an obituary. Joe did not want an obituary. I guess he didn’t want the world to know his real age, which until recently only his family and his HR at work knew for sure. Haha! He didn’t want a big deal to be made about the life he led, the many places he’s lived or visited, his academic achievements, and tenure with the American Red Cross. He didn’t want all of the paths he’d worked hard to keep separate from crossing and sharing stories.
Sometimes I’d write about those paths crossing and those stories shared. I’d go on and on about the people I’ve met as a result of his passing. Some I never learned their names until now, just the stories about him and his good friend doing this and that. I met the people he chose to be his extended family. I’d write about how lucky I was to have two of his nearest and dearest friends rush in to town to take care of things with me. Because they loved him and knew he’d do the same for. I’d write about how happy he’d be knowing his girls were being taken care of so well. I’d write about how disappointed I was to meet these wonderful people without him with us and wonder if we ever would have met each other if he were still with us. How much fun we all should have had together with him. They’re people who, even though our time with Joe differed, shared the type of bond he made me feel. I met via telephone, text, and zoom dozens of people he worked with, was friends with, and was partners with. I heard so many stories about their times with him and how when each one spoke I just sat and thought “yeah, that’s so Joe!” I met his family. The whole immediate family. I’ve had the opportunity to put faces to names & stories I’d heard about. I got to see photos of him as a child and young adult thanks to them. I hate that so many people who loved him came together because of this and not because he wanted us all to for a more joyous occasion.
Speaking of love, I also wrote quite a bit about my love for him and how this has really given me a deeper understanding of how two friends could love each other. Thoughts about how so often we equate love with a sexual or romantic relationship but never discuss love amongst friends. More times than I can count people have thanked me and mentioned to me that I’m a good friend for taking on the things I’ve taken on with his passing. I do it because I love him. And I know he loved me and would do everything and more for me. Even in life he’d done more for me than I could ever repay him for. Anything I’ve done has been because I know he’d do the same or more for me without blinking an eye. And there’s the selfish factor. Of course with me there’s always that. It’s wanting to prove to him I’d do anything for him. To prove my friendship and loyalty to him. To show him I’d do every bit as much as he’d do. It gives me peace and comfort taking care of his “life” when he can’t. It makes me feel closer to him. Because the last time I was with him, before he was flown away, when I had no idea I’d never see my friend again I told him not to worry and promised everything would be fine and goddamnit I will make sure everything turns out fine no matter what!
And then I’d just write about us.
Joe came into my life when I was in a transitional time. I was still dealing with the emotions of my divorce and subsequent loss of someone I loved deeply, the end of a friendship with someone I’d known a short period of time but whom I’d become very close with, and at the end of my first post-divorce relationship that I didn’t want to end because I still loved him but needed something from him that was not going to come. Sure I had my family and my long-time friends, but I was losing the people I’d let inside on another level. People I felt closer to than most. There was resentment from friends I’d known longer and people who’d played a bigger role when he came into my life. I saw it. So did he. I get it. He was new to town and suddenly every free minute of my life was spent with him. I didn’t need to build on existing friendships or create new relationships because I was happy with what we had. A couple of old singles with so much in common, like the golden girls, aging gracefully, not needing a man, enjoying the crazy bond we had together.
Joe was full of stories. Not always biographical stories. Many based on silly lifetime movies that he swore were documentaries. Every fear he had was based on a “real life” situation as he experienced through his stories. Every time we talked or text he had some new story for me. Every time I’d laugh, or just roll my eyes at him for believing in what he’d watched on tv thinking it was true. God I miss those stories. I miss his voice and expressions as he told them.
I always teased Joe and called him a hypochondriac. He had allergies. Once covid was part of our daily life he thought he had it every time he sniffled. Every day I had to remind him, it’s not “the rona” it’s your allergies. You’re not dying, take another Claritin. He reminded me regularly of his “friend Jeremy who almost died” of every illness, risky life event, or action you could imagine. Jeremy had more lives than a cat and survived everything from Covid to parasailing to a cruise similar to the titanic sinking. I’d cringe hearing a new story about Jeremy almost dying from one thing or another. Now I’d give anything to hear another tale about Jeremy. Today ol Jeremy lives on as I named his surviving fish Jeremy. Good ol Jeremy was scooped up by a net after nearly 2 months of malnourishment and brought to a tank a quarter the size of his prior tank. He almost died! But as was usual in Joe’s tales, Jeremy survived. Right now, almost 2 months later, he’s not doing so well and every time I check in him I hope he’s staying true his name and survives. So I can tell Joe a story about Jeremy and how he almost died!
I think about all of my parties or small get togethers I’ve hosted. I love having people over. Drinks. Snacks. Conversation. Games. But I hated the pressure of making food to serve. Joe always volunteered to make a couple things. It was the only time I excused his tardiness because I know he’d been working all day before on the perfect Buffalo chicken dip or chicken cordon bleu dip or mini sandwiches to serve at my gathering. Of course the favorite appetizer of the evening was something he’d made. And at Christmas the favorite white elephant gift was always a fun liquor bottle masterpiece he’d discovered on Pinterest.
It’s so weird because when asked to tell a story about Joe my mind goes blank yet I feel in day to day conversation I bring him up often. Even still, 3 months later. Whenever we’d hang out and something prompted me to tell a story about Avery, or Joel, or Trevor, he’d tease me and say “I was wondering when HE’D come up.” Now I feel like that’s what everyone I speak to is thinking when I bring up a story with him. Just like those guys, nearly every event in my life, nearly every activity I participated in, nearly every happy memory I’ve had in the last 3 years included him. He’s part of my story. Just like the many happy times I told him about that included Joel or Avery or Trevor. Only now I can’t imagine someone new hearing all these stories.
The last several years I’ve felt so much loss after the ending of a 12 year relationship, the loss of someone I had so many confusing feelings for, the reluctant ending of a deeply felt but poorly timed relationship. Joe came into my life to show me that life goes on. That I don’t need a relationship to make me happy or complete me but the unconditional love and bond of close friends is what’s important. So much of me feels like I can’t open up and be myself and open my mind and heart up to another friendship like his out of fear of losing that much like the relationships I’ve lost. I think of the genie from Aladdin saying “you ain’t NEVER. HAD. A. FRIEND. LIKE. ME. “. I’ve had friends I’ve known longer whom I’ve loved as much but who’ve never been like him. Who’ve never loved the authentic, complete, true me quite like him. Who I’ve connected with, laughed with, literally cried with like him. I fear I’ll never have a friend like him because another person like Joe just doesn’t exist.
I knew Joe Gray a short time. I’ve met so many people who knew him longer than I did who were touched by him probably deeper than I was. I’m jealous of those people. I’m angry my time with him was cut so short. I’m angry that I learned and continue to learn so much about him in death that I wish I’d learned in life. In a matter of hours I go from happiness thinking of time spent with him to sadness of time I miss with him to anger of things he kept from me and anger with God or the universe for taking this person that made me so happy away from me. I’m tired of being so emotional all the time. That a scene in a tv show, lyric in a song, or meal in a restaurant can suddenly cause me to lose it.
I’m thankful for our last day together. I’m thankful he wasn’t alone. That he reached out to me for help and that I was there for him when he needed me. I’m thankful knowing I did as much as I could to be a friend to him then and in the time after he passed. There’s always regret. I’ll always regret not being as empathetic when he found out things were worse than we thought. I just never imagined he wouldn’t make it. I’ll always regret not asking what more I can do. For not asking more about his final wishes. For not telling him I loved him and appreciated him and needed his friendship so much. But he knew. He knows. His memory lives on in every story I tell. In every beer or fireball shot I order. In every thought I have on how to be a better friend to the ones I still have and ones I’ve yet to meet. Joe Gray taught me so much about how to love a friend and for that I’ll never forget him.
Cheers to the wish you were here, but you’re not
‘Cause the drinks bring back all the memories
Of everything we’ve been through
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