How Carl Taught Me Love

Seven years ago today, on August 6, my buddy Carl graduated from Earth School. Leaving me without my Guardian, my Brother, one of my great Loves.

They — you know, “they” — say that, at seven years, there is usually some kind of closure experience; a visitation of some kind, that helps the soul — and those left behind as well, I suppose — to move on.

I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.

When I was in the midst of grieving Carl’s death — which came on the heels of the death of my Soul-Twin, Jimmy — my sister pointed something out to me. I was opining the fact that I have way too many dead friends. She replied, “Well, that’s what comes with having a lot of friends. Less friends? Less dead friends.”

I decided that it is totally worth it.

I would not trade a moment of the time I shared with Carl.

We met through his wife. I was hired to work at a video distribution company in 1983. This was when VCR’s were new equipment and VHS tapes were just starting to edge out the Betamax technology.

I didn’t fit in with the team at the company. They all viewed me as some kind of strange anomaly (over the years I have gotten used to this perception!). One woman, though, was kind and friendly to me from my first day. I will always remember the moment when she walked up to me, smiled, and said, “You and my husband are going to get along great!”

She invited me over for dinner. We started talking, the conversation was easy, fun, and I felt totally accepted. Eventually she went to bed and Carl and I stayed up until around 2AM talking about music and life. The deal was sealed that night.

Over the 30-plus years we knew one another, Carl and I survived traumas, relationship changes, addiction and recovery, accidents, theatrical productions (he never missed a show I was in), rescues, adventures, change, road trips, a lot of laughter, two visits to Alaska while I lived there, the twelve times he helped me move a small piano, and so much more.

So many stories. So many memories.

Carl was always there. Even when he wasn’t.

There was a brief moment in time when he let me down in the biggest way possible. It hurt me more deeply than I had ever been hurt before. And, even then, even when I swore I would never speak to him again, I knew that this could never be true. I knew we were connected. Forever.

We shared a Love that I have never experienced with another person. I continue to feel the absence of it every single day since he died.

There was a brief moment when we tried to cross that line of our Brother/Sister/Best Buddy bond. I had always felt safe with Carl so it seemed like a good idea. I knew he would take care of me and never hurt me. He was someone I could trust completely.

Part of me always knew that that aspect of our connection could never work out, though. He was kind to me about it. Well, in his Carl way (which wasn’t always kind in the traditional sense of the word!). We got past it and moved on. No baggage. Not with Carl. There was no time for that.

When he called to tell me he was dying, which was literally just a few days after Jimmy had died, his attitude was predictable: “This is so typical of me!”

I told him that I was going to say, “I Love You” to him every time we talked. He was a bit grumpy about this, not being one for open displays of sentiment. I said, “Too bad! Jimmy died without my being able to tell him how much he meant to me. So did my Dad. So did too many. You’re just going to have to deal with it!”

He relented. He usually did with me.

We talked on a Friday. He said that he was thinking about making one last trip up to Alaska, to hang out with me before he left the planet. We agreed that that was the perfect plan. I told him I Loved him. The following Tuesday, I got the call that he was gone.

I miss my buddy. I miss him every day. He comes to me through the music shuffle or when I drive by a place that holds memories. Sometimes I hear his voice encouraging or just plain nudging me to get moving. His photo is on my Guardian Wall, along with Jimmy, my Dad, Amy, Michael, and so many more.

The bittersweet evidence of my having too many friends.

Now it is seven years to the day that he left. I can’t imagine what Carl has planned for this seven-year anniversary. I truly hope that, whatever it is, it won’t mean that he will be gone forever. That just isn’t a reality I am willing to accept.

I am Grateful for all that I learned from Carl. He taught me about Love, music, pain, triumph, mistakes, resilience, safety, forgiveness, the perfectly brewed iced tea, and that it’s oksay when pieces of a Harley fly off while you’re riding it (“Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s something I don’t really need”).

Over the past seven years, he has also been teaching me how to hold on and let go, all at the same time.

I’ve seen a million dreams in your eyes.
I’ve searched for love and found good-byes.
Still here I am, the days going blind.
Will I ever find a way….Find a way to leave you far behind.
— “Far Behind,” Jason and the Scorchers