Age, Loss and Friendship

Reflections on what would have been my best friend’s 25th birthday

I am almost reluctant to call him my best friend because anyone who knew who him probably would have considered him that too, and rightfully so. Having only been with us for twenty-four years, he achieved the inhuman feat of being universally beloved. His memory and the manner in which he left ensured he will remain that way in all our hearts.

He was the only person I knew––and probably ever will know––with the genuine desire to love and be loved by everybody and possess the force of personality necessary to actually do it. He inspired everyone’s best qualities and neutralized their worst. It never seemed like he was trying. Now six months since his passing I wonder how hard he may have been. Even the most awkward, self-conscious kids were comfortable around BZ. And there was nowhere he didn’t fit in.

The wild, eccentric, hilarious character we all remember sometimes obscured how deeply loving and sensitive and caring he was beneath the colorful outfits and gut-busting sarcasm.

He was a ball buster of legendary ability. Yet it always came from a place of warmth and he would never cross the line into personal hostility. You felt lucky if he took an interest in you enough to wisecrack about one of your quirks. He could sense vulnerability like a German Shepard but you were confident he would leave the wound alone in favor of friendly tug-of-war.

I think of him everyday, without exception, sometimes even while I sleep. About 25% of the time I get sad and maybe shed a few tears. The other 75% I laugh out loud recalling something funny he said or did.

There’s plenty of crazy stories but few in comparison to all that treasured time spent “just chillin” in the boredom of our youth. I always just considered him a part of my life, like a brother. Though in retrospect, as we grew into our disillusioned young adulthood, it was hard to imagine him growing old. I knew I would grow old––and was frankly in a hurry to do so. But humor and curiosity constantly animated him like an energetic kid. He went after life fast and hard. Everyone else would get old and stiff and boring besides BZ.

That is why he was––and still is––my hero. His sincerity with himself and others is a quality I find myself striving toward, though, I know I will never quite achieve. The way his laugh burst from his belly through a perfect smile and infected everyone with happiness in his vicinity. Never trying to show anyone up or prove himself to be something he was not.

It was as if he embodied all the world’s darkness and all its splendor. He was the happiest person I knew and the saddest. The smartest and the silliest. The most full of care but the most relaxed. Many people would kill to experience one’s life as deeply as BZ did in a mere twenty-four years. To indulge the rotten with such sensitivity and seize the good with such fervor.

He never complained about the hand he was dealt. And he wasn’t afraid to push his chips to the center of the table.

It is a shame that the world can’t handle someone so completely beautiful.

Be easy like BZ. ❤