A friends sudden death. A mind on overdrive.

“I just talked to him last week.” “I just saw him the other day.” “He just called me a couple days ago.” When someone dies unexpectedly you can be sure to see these responses all over their social media pages from their stunned friends. The moment is surreal because death is so final. It almost feels like you are challenging the idea itself; you want to change the reality of it. He cannot be dead because I just saw him. For a quick second you deny it. But as soon as it hits the emotion pours out all at once as if you just got a swift blow to your entire center and you start to panic. But you stop crying just as quick as you started because there’s a chance it might be false. Someone’s got it wrong. You try to call him and it keeps ringing and ringing. You think about calling the family but it seems too invasive. What if it isn’t even true? Someone got it wrong. But you keep checking his pages and post after post they keep coming in. Different pictures of him. “Rest in Peace.” ‘I’m so sick right now, I can’t believe it.” “I just saw him.” Dedication after dedication. There still might be a chance it’s not true. And you start to think and think and think. You want to drive right to his mother’s house. But you don’t want to be intrusive. And what if someone got it wrong?

So you call a mutual friend. You break the news and you hear the confusion and denial. It’s their turn to challenge reality. Their voice cracks and they say “No, I can’t take this.” We belong to a club we never asked to be a part of, those who have lost someone dear tragically, suddenly. To suicide, to illness, to addiction, to alcoholism, to the streets. And every time you think you can’t take it but every single time we do. And we cope in different ways. And we keep living because what else can you do? But then life consumes us all and sometimes we lose touch. And we do not mean to. But everyone is trying to survive. Everyone has their own burdens. Their own secret battles. You try to be there for one another but sometimes its just too much. Sometimes all you can do is love from afar.

So you love from a far. For your own sanity, your own mental well being, you pull back when someone you love just will not get the help they need. You stop answering calls because they never take your advice. Because its hard to watch someone you care about destroy themselves. They never seem to take their lives or the possibility of it ending as seriously as you do. So you love from a far until you get the news that they died while you were too busy protecting your own mind.

Denial. Guilt. Anger. Sadness. Regret.

A friend of mine died Wednesday night, 7 days before the birthday of my first love who himself passed away 5 years ago this June. They were homies as well. I have known this friend for over a decade. We lost touch but reconnected when we both visited my ex’s grave 4 years ago on the same day coincidentally. Since then we have remained in touch. The conversations started with sharing memories we both had of our lost loved one. And then I quickly realized my friend was dealing with his own demons. My friend who was so full of life who would laugh on the phone as we both poked fun at each other. My friend who was a sick artist, a natural talent. My friend who was an alcoholic and thought going to therapy was for the weak. My friend who fell further and further into a hole he felt he could not dig himself out of. But he always maintained that laugh, that contagious fun, energy.

I have seen alcoholics who refuse to get help, who have this misguided idea that getting help is a sign of weakness. They keep trying to change their reality unwilling to accept that they can’t like everyone else just enjoy a beer. I have seen them feel pressured into going along with others when they have far more to lose. I have seen so called “friends” offer them drinks and drugs when they know damn well what the result will be. And I have seen them put themselves in danger and continually hurt not only themselves but everyone around them. And because I am not perfect, I get angry. Angry that they cannot accept that they are different. That they can’t honor themselves enough to forego the crowd. Angry that drinking is such a big part of society and is constantly thrown in their faces. Angry that it takes a lot of money to get into a good rehab. Angry that mothers and sisters and fathers and brothers and partners and friends have to watch helplessly as their loved one falls further into self destruction. Angry that sometimes its just too much and you have to pull away but you cant because you’re afraid alienating them will only make their problems worse. Angry that when you finally do decide to pull away, they die and you’re left wondering “what if?” Angry that there are still stupid taboos in Hispanic communities when it comes to mental health and particularly in regards to men. Angry that alcoholics are made to feel ashamed for something they did not choose. Angry that they do not just stop. Angry that they don’t prioritize their mental well being and sobriety. Angry that they don’t get help. Angry that when they do get help it’s not enough and the world finds a way to constantly tempt them and test them. Angry that sometimes when they finally seem to get better life has other plans and they are taken from us.

And my mind gets stuck in overdrive and I tire myself out thinking about everything I cannot change. Thinking about the calls I missed. The advise I gave. The words I used. The way we are to one another. The way we cant always be there for each other. They way people suffer in silence while they laugh out loud. All this over and over while I wait for his family to confirm what I still do not fully accept.

I started this afternoon in denial. That denial then turned into guilt which led me to anger that softened into sadness. I sit here writing in regret. I regret that I do not have a magic wand that I can heal people with. I regret that things are how they are instead of how they should be. I regret that people with good hearts die while the wicked continue to live and thrive. I regret that there is so much suffering every which way you look.

I do not know where we go when we die. I have seen lifeless bodies. I have kissed them goodbye. The essence, the spirit, the soul, whatever you feel comfortable calling it, now gone leaving behind only a vessel. I can’t fix the world. I can only hope to be a positive example. To be there for my loved ones but also care for me. To be strong in my convictions, just in my judgements, and true to myself. To do all I can within my means to help others so that I suffer no regrets in the end. Carlos liked speaking to me because I always made him laugh while also pushing him to treat himself better. And he returned the favor while he constantly reminded me to keep drawing. If that was my purpose in his life to bring him moments of laughter and hope then I’m okay with that. The last time I spoke with him I asked him to seek therapy. I pleaded with him to go to rehab and he said he would. I told him to stay away from friends who were really snakes. I am sorry I could not do more for you my dear friend. I am sorry I did not follow up. Give Wizard a tight hug for me and do me a favor, look out for me and all your loved ones, you know it’s strange out here. Te extranare cabron. Rest in Paradise and Eternal Peace.