This post is dedicated to Laurie.
This post is dedicated to Dina.
And this post is dedicated to Jose.

*Note to my best friend: It might be a man-sized kleenex kind of post. You’ve been warned.

**The story of Dina and Jose is not my story to tell. It is theirs. In more painful terms, it is Dina’s story to tell; Jose – her best friend – passed away in 1994. All quoted material that follows is Dina’s, and I have used it without permission, although I doubt that the lady will mind.

~*~

I am occasionally asked to explain some of the things that I say. Things like answering the question, “Where are you going for lunch?” with the single word, “Hell.” If the situation calls for it, I will explain. Sometimes, though, it would take longer to explain than I have patience for. Other times, it’s simply a case of the memories being too close to my heart to share.

In cases like that, I simply say, “It’s a Laurie thing.”

Ours is a friendship that has now entered it’s third decade. Sometimes it’s just not possible to explain thirty years of friendship in thirty seconds. And the thing is, mostly people don’t really want to know anyhow. So I choose not to explain.

The only person that would truly ‘get it’ is the only person I will never have to explain it to.

Through Jose’s friendship I experienced the joy of being seen, and for the first time I knew the freedom of being loved for who I was, instead of in spite of it.

I have written many times about my friendship with Laurie. What I have not honestly written about is what my life would be like without her. There is a reason for that. It’s not something that I could imagine. Not that I don’t want to imagine it, simply that I could not.

I could not imagine not talking to her several times a week. Or several times a day, depending on the day and the circumstances.  I could not imagine not texting her when that song comes on.  And I sure as fuck couldn’t imagine not knowing that – if I needed her – she would be here, no questions asked, no speeding ticket too much.

I used to do so much counting. Days since Jose died. Years. 1994 became my Year Zero. Everything from that moment separated into two categories. Before Jose’s death. After Jose’s death.

When I first read Dina’s words about Jose, I cried.  I don’t mean I shed a few tears and moved on.  I mean I CRIED.  Long and hard and intense and fucking raw.  My throat hurt.  My insides ached.  My heart was rent.  Because I kept thinking, selfishly sure, about what I would do if I lost my best friend.

(I never even told you this, Laur.  But that day, I’m sure that I wrote some post or other that made you cry.  Cuz you know how much I love to do that, right? Man, we are not nice people.)

The thing is, Laurie and I have gone through a lot of death together.  You might even say – and you wouldn’t be wrong – that we have experienced the proverbial death of ourselves a few times over during the course of the last thirty years.  But I always knew that she was out there.  I always knew that if I needed her, she was there.

Dina… she doesn’t have that anymore.  And my heart broke for her.

Today is the anniversary of Jose’s death.

I didn’t know him.  But I know what he meant to Dina, because I know what Laurie means to me.

There is one thing that I have learned from Jose, even never having met him.  Jose might not be here anymore on the earth.  But Jose lives on.  He lives on in Dina’s heart, and in her every breath.  He is still a force in her life.  And there isn’t a day that goes by that he isn’t there for her.

Friendship transcends a lot.

Jose, through Dina, has taught me that friendship can transcend death.

I thank him for that.

I put my arms around my friend, press my cheek against his and whisper the only words that can be of any use: “I love you.”

Laur? I love you.

Through the years and miles between us
It’s been a long and lonely ride
If I got that call in the dead of night
I’d be right by your side.

Blood on Blood.
Always.