I recently got some pretty bad news about a good friend of mine – those who have read my other blog, Fenced Out, might know him as the character Gutterpunk Josh in my (still) unfinished play script. He died in June, according to his mother, and none of us knew about it. We still don’t know how he passed, only that we’d seen him about three weeks before it happened – he had stayed at Lucky’s and my apartment for three days before we left town. Since then, we’d been trying to get a hold of him without any success until finally his mother called us back to give us the news.
I don’t really know how to feel – Josh was a great guy who was suffering a lot. He had been a drug addict and a drunk with chronic depression. Even when he seemed happy, he was miserable and despite his loving, open, carefree attitude and his natural charisma, he remained closed off behind walls he’d built to keep himself safe and now that he’s gone, I wonder if he even knew how much we all loved and cared for him. On or off the wagon, we were there for him no matter what and he served as an inspiration in so many ways. I can’t say I was surprised to hear that he had died, nor can I say that I cried about it right away – I haven’t really cried about death in a long time. I knew he was hurting and, frankly, when he told us he was leaving town for a while that last time he was with us, I knew he wouldn’t be coming back. I guess I just need to straighten this out in my head. I lost a good friend this summer and nobody even told me until now.