This Is How I Remember Him.

Spring 1986

Boom-boom-thwak! Boom-boom-thwak! Boom-boom-thwak!

Goose bumps. Whoa.

Thomas Jefferson Elementary School auditorium is full for the annual talent show. Hoffman Estates, Illinois. My older brother Doug has just taken to the stage. Skinny arms flailing. Focus unbreakable. Dwarfed in Dad’s oversized, pinned up drab green flight suit. Cherry red Ludwig starter drum kit shaking violently with each bass pedal thump. It’s 1986 and this puny little middle schooler is stealing the show, drumming his heart out to Danger Zone. Maverick would be proud but this ache in my heart and tingling skin says I’m prouder than anyone could ever imagine.

Here comes the fill. Do-do — do-do — d0-do….splash! Spot on.

Geezus. 11 years old. Kid is fearless. Take that baton twirler.

Summer 1988

Pop. Psssshhhhh. Glug, glug. It’s 4:30 a.m. and Doug just cracked open a Pepsi. Whoa.

Dad is screaming. Smokes, that’s loud.

We’re barely a mile away from the house, kicking off a week-long cross-country road trip. My brother just had the guts to break all rules, grab a Pepsi from the cooler and crack it open…at 4:30 in the morning. Geezus. Kid is fearless.

Summer 1992

This isn’t right. We saw a marker about a mile back but this isn’t right. It feels wrong. Our water bottles spilled after the tumble. It’s all gone. We’re 10 hours in, lost off a hiking trail, bushwhacking up a steep mountain and it’s about to get dark. I’m 12 and scared. I’m really fucking scared. Why is Doug not scared? He keeps saying we’ll be fine.

Why did we pick this hike? The newspaper said it was under construction and dangerous. But we went anyway. That was dumb. Wait, is that the top? If we get to the top, we can get down to the lake. If we get to the lake, we get water and then we get back to the trail. Keep trudging. Keep following. He knows what he’s doing.

Holy crap. We made it. We actually made it. I was about to give up. I thought we were lost. Geezus, I would have been lost without him. Thank God. Kid is fearless.

July 2005

Jeans. You need to change out of your work pants and put on jeans.

Whew. It’s hot. Really hot. Chicago hot. Air so humid you could swim through it. I should turn on my window AC. No. No, I should go.

Shoes. You need to put on shoes. Which shoes? I don’t know. Oh yeah, shoes. I need shoes. Whew, it’s hot. AC first. No, shoes.

That was fake, right? Dad didn’t just call. Snap out of it. Wake up. Was he crying? Was that Mom crying in the background? Why did he hang up? If he meant what he said, we’d still be talking. Why did he scream? He screamed like that at Doug once.

Jeans. Shoes.

Shoes. You’ll need shoes.

Did I lock the door? I think I locked the door. Down the stairs. Out the door. Don’t let it slam. The glass may break if you let it slam. It’s fragile. Life is fragile. You know this. Don’t let it slam.

To the right. Past the stoplight. It’s red. I can go. I don’t want to go. I know what happens if I go. It’s a green light. That means I’ll get there faster. Should I stop? Maybe I should stop. Was Dad crying? Why did he scream?

It’s hot. Whew. Should I have put on shorts? Really hot. No. Jeans.

There it is.

Blue and white sign. Tank. Sushi. Doug’s place above. My second home. You’re here. It’s so close. I love that it’s close. I moved here because it’s close.

Kids screaming. Must be a Little League game in Welles Park. Always a Little League game. It’s July. Clapping. Cheering. Whew, it’s hot.

People are eating outside. Families. First dates. Is it dinnertime? Smells good. Owner is always so nice. Are they eating sushi? That doesn’t look like sushi. I have no idea. My brain feels blurry.

Key. Get your key out. Focus. Doug gave you a key. He said come by anytime. He is always here when I come by. That’s why I come by. If what Dad says is true, Doug won’t be here. But Doug is always here. Was Dad really crying?

Up the stairs. They always creak.

In the door. Floor is creaking. AC is on. Smells good. Orange, basil. Always smells good. Modern sofa. Orange chairs. Green lantern lights. Record player. Looks the same. Why am I cold all of a sudden?

Doug? You here? Doug? You here??

Living room. Bedroom. Kitchen. Porch. Damn, I love this porch. BBQ. Artificial grass. Lawn chairs. Vents from Tank. Smells like summer nights up here. We were just playing chess on this porch last weekend. There are the seats. I see them. We sat on them. We sipped Stella Artois. We laughed. He always makes me laugh until it hurts. We played chess. He taught me chess.

Kids screaming. Clapping. Little League game.

Where is he?

No one is here.

Why is no one here?

Why is no one here??

Process. Process, damn it…

I’m so cold. Shaking. Why is my hand shaking? I can’t stop it. It shouldn’t shake like this.

Call Doug. Call him now.

Shit.

No answer. Pick up. Pick. Up. Voicemail.

Shit.

Janak. Call my best friend Janak. Call him. Now.

Jen. Call Doug’s girlfriend Jen. Call her. Call her now.

Dave…Jason…Scott…Brian…Jeff…Steve…call them, call them all.

This can’t be happening. What’s happening?

Wait. You already know.

It’s what Dad said. That’s why Dad was crying.

Doug was killed.

They don’t write a manual for this stuff. Your parents don’t spend time teaching you about it as a kid. You don’t read a book about it in grade school.

Not just death. Quick death. Instant death. Knife in the heart, fuck you death.

You don’t expect it. Your family and friends don’t expect it. He didn’t expect it.

On July 14, 2005, Doug was on a lunch break with his close friends John and Michael. All three were coworkers at Shure, close friends and talented musicians in local bands. They were on their way to one of their favorite local lunch spots, assuredly sharing laughs about something that had happened earlier in the day.

Doug and I had been in touch with a series of emails earlier in the day. We were pitching a story to Time Out Chicago around an upcoming album release for The Dials. Right before noon, the email exchange stopped.

The details of this tragedy are too painful to type. She was angry. She jumped into her car and decided to go on a suicide mission. She could have picked a wall. She could have chosen not to get into her car. She could have not killed my brother. Instead, she selfishly chose to hit their Honda Civic dead on at more than 90 miles per hour. All three men were killed. She survived with only a broken ankle and a plea to paramedics to let her die.

Knife in the heart, fuck you death.

It’s the obscure details I remember from visiting the crash site the day after. The sticky air. The swaying branches. The lingering smell of exhaust. A passing stranger whispering a muffled “I’m sorry” with averted eyes as she walked slowly past our small group huddled around a makeshift memorial. Loose flower petals gripping for a moment before tumbling away across the scorching summer concrete. My mother staring back at me with tears streaming down her own face…my dazed eyes and empty heart confused. My face unable to react. A shared desire for explanation while simultaneously seeking silence.

People came for the memorial service. They came from all over the country. They embraced, they cried, they laughed and reflected on the life of an amazing human being taken too soon from this world. They talked about my brother as if he was their own brother. Your mind can’t process words fast enough in the moment to share the heartfelt appreciation you feel for seeing so many faces. So much love.

Months later, the Chicago music community, friends and family came together to celebrate the lives of three friends who brought art to the world every day. There were tears, there were extended hugs, there were reflections on the common thread of music, humor, selflessness and kindness between all three men.

It’s been 10 years to the day since these lives were lost. Those first hours after his death drifted into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, months into painful years. What she didn’t take were the life lessons and memories shared by all who had the chance to know Doug, Michael and John.

In losing Doug, I lost a piece of me. I lost someone I deeply loved. I lost my first love. They say that time heals. I say that time helps, but healing is more than watching the clock tick along. Healing is living with intention. Healing is daily recognition and acknowledgement of how lucky I was to have an older brother like Doug. Healing is daily reminders of the pride and joy I was able to experience watching a rambunctious, adventure-seeking kid grow into one of the kindest, caring human beings to ever grace this earth. Healing is knowing that in the moment, the most important thing you can do is stop, look around, listen and embrace the beauty of what’s around you in life.

I smile these days when I think about Doug. He opened my ears to good music. He opened my eyes to good fashion and style. He taught me how to listen, how to look beyond what’s immediately in front of you and how to face fear. Most importantly, he taught me what it means to focus first and foremost on the care and concern of others in life.

It’s through Doug that I’m reminded to live for today. Not tomorrow. Today.

Get out there. Take risks. Embrace adventure in this world. Tell the ones you love that you love them. And always, always, always hug your friends. That’s what Doug would do. Kid was fearless.

To Michael, John and Doug | 07/14/05 | 3Friends…a decade of loss, a lifetime of memories. Cheers fellas.