I have never lost someone so close to me before.This experience has brought me one step closer to the reality of life. I am talking about the level of unfair we have to deal with considering our disposition of consciousness. This is the most bitter aspect of being a human.I admit it would be nice if emotion were not real. It would be nice if we lived eternally without illness or death. Nonetheless, we do. I will now talk about the worst day of my life up to this point.

I did not fall into emotional limbo until hours and hours after the news of my friend’s death was broken to me. Leading up to the moment when I lost my ability to keep dry eyes, I did not know what was going on. It was a day filled with thoughts about our conversations and his life. I began rifling through my memories with him. The conclusion of this act led to an emotional collapse. With that said, I want to talk about seeing my friend’s ‘parents’.

I picked up cases of water and tea as well as food to help the family when people came to visit and pay their respects. Up to this point, I had been doing my best to avoid emotion. Yet, I knew a break down was inevitable. As fate has it, Fire and Rain by James Taylor comes on the radio. Of course, I let the speakers lightly serenade my soul.

He was the quintessential friend any man could have. The best thing about my friend was that we joked about the most ridiculous things in order to get a laugh out of life. In fact, this will undoubtedly be the most missed part of him for me. He was a playful soul who loved to smile and get everyone riled up. On the other hand, he would tell me when I was out of line. His brutal honesty was famous amongst his friends. That is what made him so great. He brought so much to the proverbial table. Not only could you take him anywhere and have a most excellent time, you could sit down, have a serious talk, and take a dose of wisdom or reality for that matter. For that, I am sad, but that is not why I shed tears.

My friend’s disposition in his formative years were unfortunate. He was not born into money. He grew up in a neighborhood some people fear to ever visit. In fact, his neighborhood is one of those rarely talked about places amongst the more bourgeoisie types. However, it is a place that frequents the six o’clock news for the less savory of crimes. Aside from an unideal environment, his biological parents were foreigners to his life. It was something he rarely talked about with me, but when it was highlighted, I knew he was hurt by it. This propelled him toward ambitions of fatherhood.

Yet, a male role model and a loving mother type were found in his grandparents. He called them his parents because that is exactly what they were. Two people sacrificing time and hard earned money on their grandson—he would unmistakably become a product of their kind hearts, strong work ethic, and open arms to the world. Even though he had every reason to ask for handouts or take the easy road, he never asked for mercy or help unless he absolutely needed it. He was certainly not a creation of my self-indulgent, privileged generation. He worked hard for his keep and even harder to better his position in life.

So, I was parked outside of his grandparents’ house, where I have spent countless nights engaging in complete buffoonery as well as having some of the most enlightening conversations. At that moment, I felt like I was balancing on the tip of a pin in the middle of a forest, and around me it was totally calm. However, I could see the vicious wind tugging on the trees. Even though I sensed this inevitable loss of steady control, I carried the water, tea, and food into the house. His grandma’s head is buried in her hands. She tells me ‘thank you’ multiple times with a staggered pitch. I

laid the goods on the table, looked at his grandpa, and looked back down. He said, “It just doesn’t feel right without him.”I looked at him with uncertainty and shrugged my shoulders.I did not have the faintest idea of what to say. Even worse, we just stared at each other. He looked like a dog that has been beaten to the brink of death but for some reason stays alive. His face screamed exhaustion, fear, sadness, and uncertainty.

At that moment, I began to cry. My glasses were covered in tears. His grandpa and I shared that moment of mourning. I will say that I was not crying because I will never see my friend again. I was not crying because I will never again get to share laughs or have most righteous conversations. I cried for two reasons: 1. I know he would have been an impeccable father and truly enjoyed it. 2.He had the motivation and chance to be something great. My friend will never have the opportunity to right the wrongs of his parents and will never be what he was meant to be, a success story. He deserved all of that and more for his ability to point his nose right at that hellish bitch we call life and fight ceaselessly.

I hugged his grandpa after we cried together for a minute, and told him they raised a great man. It was one of the most visceral feelings I have ever experienced, but that illustrates the power of friendship. Some small kid from the west side of Louisville, who always seemed to have an exceptional buzz cut, became my friend a long time ago, and for that, I am thankful. In the way that he tried to enjoy everything in life, I enjoyed every minute I had with him.

A word to Q:

“I miss you, Q. You were a great friend to me, and I’m hurting without you. Don’t worry though. I will be up at the ivory gates soon enough. Then, I promise I will finally give this damn League of Legends thing a go. See you soon.” -Robert M Graff