R.I.P CHAD SMITH
My friend Chad has had cancer in his brain for some time now. This past year, it took a downturn and he was pronounced terminal; he was moved to a hospice to meet his end in comfort and dignity.
My friend Rob and I went to visit him last week-- was it only last week? Yes. Last Tuesday, the 15th of May. He was tired, and could barely open his eyes, but he could speak. He could hear. And he could laugh. Rob and I chatted with him, cracking jokes and smiling at old stories. He couldn't always respond-- sometimes he drifted away then came back-- but he could laugh.
I won't forget that he could laugh.
As we left, Chad's hand feebly reached out for us. He took first Rob's hand, then mine, and squeezed. That's when I almost lost it. He was still in there, but this was the only way he could truly convey everything he couldn't say. It was all in the squeeze. I squeezed back. I hear you, buddy. I see you. I know what you're trying to say.
Rob called me Thursday night last (the 24th) because Chad had slipped into a coma. We made plans to come to the hospice on Friday morning to say goodbye. Then, a few hours later, Rob called again.
I knew why instantly. Chad had died.
I was thankful. Cancer can be really ugly when it chooses to be. Really painful and/or very prolonged. I dreaded hearing that Chad had become comatose because it left the question: how long would he hang on?, Which could only lead to pain for those closest to him. But he left very soon after that, thank God.
I drove down to the hospice and met Rob, and Chad's wife Tammy (whom I've known since 1985), and other friends like Charlie, Bob, Bill, Deb and others I had not met. They were all sitting in a room, a lounge area, talking softly.
I came in, hugged Tammy, and popped upstairs to see Chad. Quiet, pale Chad. He had humid bandages over his eyes to preserve them-- he was donating them to science. The lady who was to collect them was already there, but they told me to take my time. Surreal, knowing that they were there and that the person I was here to visit wasn't a person anymore.
I took his limp, cool hand in mine. And thank god, because it finalized the understanding on all levels that he was gone. Immediately I smiled and squeezed his hand. And thanked him for the laughter and for being himself.
When I returned downstairs, there were quick, haunted looks-- how had I taken what I had seen?-- but we had all shared that experience. I sat, was offered food, took some, and we chatted.
How it pleased me to see all those people whose lives had been touched. What a little community we were. I met Tammy at a sci-fi convention. I worked at a theatre with Deb and Chad. I knew Bill through the convention community, as well. I used to work with Charlie at a funky t-shirt shop. Bob I had met through Chad's comic store, as well as Rob. In fact, most of us used to hang out at the comic shop at one time or another.
We were all alternative-lifestyle, sub-culture, intelligent and artistic people. We had varying degrees of immersion in each of those labels but we all had that kinship. We all had that community. And as I sat there eating my cold chicken I reflected that this summed up who Chad was: He was different, strange, humorous and creative. He was a reflection of all these people, and to an extent we reflected him as well. We were of a tribe, to coin a phrase. And one of us was gone.
I had grown apart from Chad in recent years-- marriage and moving and children putting me in a different direction-- and we mostly kept in touch via Rob, who sees us once a week and saw Chad and Tammy once a week, too. News was shared through him. Mostly gaming "war stories," about what each other's characters were doing in the shared universe of Rob's imagination, but that's our culture. That's who we are. Sometimes our imaginations are doing more than we are, so we tell stories about them. It's curious but funny.
And, although I didn't see Chad regularly (or really at all for about two years now) I realized there was a hole, now, in the tapestry, the community of my life. I think I'm lucky that I can feel its presence but that I wasn't close enough to have it devastate me. I know I'm going to pay close attention to my friends that are feeling it, because they shouldn't have to feel it alone.
My heart and thoughts are with Tammy, Chad's widow, and Rob, and those closest to Chad. It's a relief that the waiting is over, but now comes the harder, moving on part. Now comes tomorrow.
Blessed Be, Chad. Blessed be, Tammy, Rob, Deb, Charlie, Bill, Bob. Blessed be, all those who knew Chad. Somewhere, I'm sure we know he's arguing semantics with God.
My friend Rob and I went to visit him last week-- was it only last week? Yes. Last Tuesday, the 15th of May. He was tired, and could barely open his eyes, but he could speak. He could hear. And he could laugh. Rob and I chatted with him, cracking jokes and smiling at old stories. He couldn't always respond-- sometimes he drifted away then came back-- but he could laugh.
I won't forget that he could laugh.
As we left, Chad's hand feebly reached out for us. He took first Rob's hand, then mine, and squeezed. That's when I almost lost it. He was still in there, but this was the only way he could truly convey everything he couldn't say. It was all in the squeeze. I squeezed back. I hear you, buddy. I see you. I know what you're trying to say.
Rob called me Thursday night last (the 24th) because Chad had slipped into a coma. We made plans to come to the hospice on Friday morning to say goodbye. Then, a few hours later, Rob called again.
I knew why instantly. Chad had died.
I was thankful. Cancer can be really ugly when it chooses to be. Really painful and/or very prolonged. I dreaded hearing that Chad had become comatose because it left the question: how long would he hang on?, Which could only lead to pain for those closest to him. But he left very soon after that, thank God.
I drove down to the hospice and met Rob, and Chad's wife Tammy (whom I've known since 1985), and other friends like Charlie, Bob, Bill, Deb and others I had not met. They were all sitting in a room, a lounge area, talking softly.
I came in, hugged Tammy, and popped upstairs to see Chad. Quiet, pale Chad. He had humid bandages over his eyes to preserve them-- he was donating them to science. The lady who was to collect them was already there, but they told me to take my time. Surreal, knowing that they were there and that the person I was here to visit wasn't a person anymore.
I took his limp, cool hand in mine. And thank god, because it finalized the understanding on all levels that he was gone. Immediately I smiled and squeezed his hand. And thanked him for the laughter and for being himself.
When I returned downstairs, there were quick, haunted looks-- how had I taken what I had seen?-- but we had all shared that experience. I sat, was offered food, took some, and we chatted.
How it pleased me to see all those people whose lives had been touched. What a little community we were. I met Tammy at a sci-fi convention. I worked at a theatre with Deb and Chad. I knew Bill through the convention community, as well. I used to work with Charlie at a funky t-shirt shop. Bob I had met through Chad's comic store, as well as Rob. In fact, most of us used to hang out at the comic shop at one time or another.
We were all alternative-lifestyle, sub-culture, intelligent and artistic people. We had varying degrees of immersion in each of those labels but we all had that kinship. We all had that community. And as I sat there eating my cold chicken I reflected that this summed up who Chad was: He was different, strange, humorous and creative. He was a reflection of all these people, and to an extent we reflected him as well. We were of a tribe, to coin a phrase. And one of us was gone.
I had grown apart from Chad in recent years-- marriage and moving and children putting me in a different direction-- and we mostly kept in touch via Rob, who sees us once a week and saw Chad and Tammy once a week, too. News was shared through him. Mostly gaming "war stories," about what each other's characters were doing in the shared universe of Rob's imagination, but that's our culture. That's who we are. Sometimes our imaginations are doing more than we are, so we tell stories about them. It's curious but funny.
And, although I didn't see Chad regularly (or really at all for about two years now) I realized there was a hole, now, in the tapestry, the community of my life. I think I'm lucky that I can feel its presence but that I wasn't close enough to have it devastate me. I know I'm going to pay close attention to my friends that are feeling it, because they shouldn't have to feel it alone.
My heart and thoughts are with Tammy, Chad's widow, and Rob, and those closest to Chad. It's a relief that the waiting is over, but now comes the harder, moving on part. Now comes tomorrow.
Blessed Be, Chad. Blessed be, Tammy, Rob, Deb, Charlie, Bill, Bob. Blessed be, all those who knew Chad. Somewhere, I'm sure we know he's arguing semantics with God.