Filed by Trevor at 9:39 am under General

“Look, here is the deal: whatever the past was, I can say that the worst day of his life was the day his wife died. Period. Be there for him. And nothing else matters in the slightest.” — Tom

Hi. I’m Trevor. I used to write here, then I allowed Bil to slowly take over for reasons that now escape me. But that’s OK.

Lauren passed away on Monday. That’s where I’ll start. Everyone’s known it was in the cards for years because Cystic Fibrosis doesn’t let anyone out alive. And it’s really quite silly to think that knowing there’s a giant expiration date on their forehead at all mitigates the tragedy of their passing, even if they did survive years past their prognosis.

I can’t claim this tragedy, though. I’ll save that for her husband, who at my age is already a widower and is no doubt replaying the tape of last week when he suddenly got sick and couldn’t visit the ER because he would only exacerbate the spread of infection in her lungs.

Brad and I hadn’t talked on the phone in over six years, but I’d been texting him for some time as Lauren’s condition began to worsen. So when I woke up yesterday with a missed call at 9:18 and listened to his words give me no concrete information save for his voice but it’s probably just early because it’s barely after 7:00 there and he probably had a long night at the hospital so he’s just a little froggy, I didn’t want to check Facebook before calling him back because at least then he would know what my voice sounded like when I still had hope.

Later on in the day, all I really wanted to do was give my best friend a hug. But I didn’t, because I was scared. And now I wish that I had anyway.

I have failed Brad more completely than I have anyone else in my life. As roommates our sophomore year of college, he was involved in a gruesome car accident on I-15 and was out of school for the rest of the year. I visited him in the hospital once the entire time. I don’t know why. In my memory I distinctly hear my voice rattling off all kinds of extenuating circumstances, but I’ll never know what my true motivation was. There’s a vintage Coca-Cola placard that sits on one of my shelves that had been his birthday present to me that year and was in the car so there’s a little tiny scratch still visible on it and I keep it high up where I can see it and everyone else just as a reminder of what a shitty friend I was and what it feels like to throw someone away.

I said I love you, and he said I love you too. And that was the best thing. Except I wanted to be saying it to his face and not on a cell phone in weekday traffic in a stupid northwest suburb.

No one deserves this. Go home and hug the people you love, without fear and without restraint. And I promise I will follow my own advice.