It’s been a year to the day since my best friend died. I’ve gone through the day with some quiet contemplation while enjoying my memories. There are still moments that are jarring to me: I’ll think I see him walking up when I visit one of our mutual places like the downtown coffee shop, or I’ll hear someone use a phrase from history that he liked to use in conversation, or I’ll be excited about something I’ve written for an upcoming session and reach for my phone to call him over.
These moments occur and I have my short moment of realization, confrontation, misery, and acceptance. They haven’t decreased but my acceptance of them has grown. Simple time has been the greatest aid to this acceptance, but reaching out to mutual friends has made the burden a great deal lighter.
I’ve thought about how I’d write this. It’s my comfort and shelter when handling rough emotions, and missing a dead friend is right up there with ‘rough emotions’. At first, I wanted to give it a sense of professionalism, a sign that I’ve grown as a writer and presentor.
I immediately scrubbed that idea. It needed to be short, flowery, and showing emotional vulnerability. That’s not to show a sign of growth, but because it would have been what Brady wanted. He would have wanted the above paragraphs because he would have laughed in genuine amusement and quietly be humbled that he was so well thought of. He would have mocked me mercilessly for it, and I would have enjoyed seeing my friend in such high spirits.
So, to get back at Brady by making him uncomfortable: to all you readers of sufficient age, a toast!
Here’s to Brady, the Commodore. You’ve been gone from us for a year, little brother. We miss you and will never forget you. Just know that, if you’re wrong about heaven and your soul is up there, I’m flipping you off as you would do for all of us.
You were my best friend, Brady. You were an acerbic ass and malicious mocker of verbal missteps, and I miss you.
Cheers, readers.
-JB Swift
Swift's Corner 