FROM Alfie Letson Dan, I want to write you something beautiful. Something fitting to the love you’ve shown me over the years, the times you let me crash at your house when I had nowhere else to go. That pull out couch in your living room was lumpy and hard to sleep on, but in those days it felt like home. I want to write something that encapsulates the feeling you gave me when I showed up to the set of our movie short, completely shocked that there was a full crew. They treated me like I was a star, like my work mattered and at that point, I never felt like my work mattered, like I mattered. I thought the little film shoot of my poem was going to be just that “little” but instead, you made it into a production. I remember I found you on set with this big smile on your face. You said something corny like “You see all these people I got out here for your ass? Who loves you baby?” Who loves you baby?… I mean who in the hell says that? You did. And You meant it. I want to write something funny that spoke to the time we froze in New York City, sleeping in a filthy apartment with no heat, furniture, or blankets to keep us warm. But we were young opening a play in NYC, a solo show I had no business writing and acting in, and you had zero experience in directing, and yet we did it. Flaws and all, we did it. I want to write you something that was honest, that speaks to frustrations we both had with each other from time to time. The bitter arguments that made me want to strangle you, and I’m sure you felt the same for me. But in the end, we always worked it out, usually making peace at a Jaguars game watching them lose, laughing and crying at the same time; spilling beers, you embarrassing me, cause you were so damn loud at the game. (Seriously dude, the players couldn’t hear you from our seats.) But if I got tickets, chances were we were going together. I want to write something that could heal the hurt that must have been tearing you up inside. I knew it was there, you’d shared it with me before, but like a lot of people struggling with depression you knew how to hide it from the world and I thought you’d gotten past it. I want to write you something that would reflect how I see you, a man with such a big heart, smart, goofy, driven, thoroughly human and enough. More then enough even if you didn’t believe it. I want to write something that expresses the anger your passing has left me with. I’m trying to let it go. I will let it go, but right now it’s too fresh, you were meant for bigger things, even if that was just a longer life. I have to believe you ended yours without much thought, a rash decision that everyone who loves you must now deal with. I can’t comprehend you thinking it through and deciding to do it. I just can’t. To be clear I’m not mad at you just the circumstance, and it’s tearing me apart. I understand depression, I know you had to be so lost you couldn’t make sense of anything, so I know it’s an irrational question but I keep wondering, why didn’t you call me? I know I’m always busy but if you had just said, you needed me, you have to know I would have dropped everything. Like you have done for me. I want to write something that will bring you back, that would give you a glance at the world without you; at the testimonials, the broken hearts, your parents loss, and empty space you use to fill. It feels like the grand canyon, vast and unending. But even as I write, I know that writing this is useless as the tears collected in your honor. Your gone, and you’re not coming back. Forgive me, but writing is what I do when I need to make sense of the world. It’s all I have. I wish I’d written this to you last week when you could have read it, and maybe it would have meant something, something more then a memorial, a reflecting glass to help you see beyond the distorted vision depression presented you with. But as it stands, these words and memories are just a dim replacement for you. I pray that you have passed out of that dark valley and you are bathing in the light. I pray, that your parents, your brother, and your extended family find peace. I pray, that you knew that I love you, the way you loved me. https://youtube/watch?v=NVkx2KkZJjg
Posted on: Tue, 20 Jan 2015 19:17:00 +0000
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