Sorry to hear of your loss, Ben. As a neurodivergent person working through a backlog of pent up trauma, my relationship to weed mirrors your own. I found a lot to relate to emotionally in the piece as well, with exception to the avoidance of grief. I finally figured out how to pop the cork on that Merlot of Misery, and though it has been difficult at times, I am really thankful I did. Feels like popping an impossibly huge zit. Emotionally. I hope you get to pop yours soon, brodie.
finding someone who helps you see yourself is proof there will be other people who help you see yourself, and maybe that’s what life is — continuing to find yourself in other people and understanding that ultimately we’re all a compendium of the people closest to us. sending a virtual arm touch. ❤️
This is beautiful, sad, and relatable. Thank you for your openness and thoughtful sharing. Now to reach out to a few friends who might need to hear they’re loved today.
Also, “Low Maintenance is coincidentally $80/year” — 👏👏👏
My dad passed from suicide in the second week of January last year. This type of grief seeps through anything I’ve tried to use to tamper down my feelings - weed included - and allowing friends to witness the pain from time to time has provided the closest thing to relief. Thanks for this kind tribute to your friend.
Thank you, Ben. I lost my dad as a kid and other people along the way. But losing Jeff (knowing we all had our individual relationships with him) has been painful in a different way. And I sincerely appreciate this vulnerable and loving piece. (And thanks for the laugh with the $100 joke.) ♥️
This resonates deeply. I also deflect pain with humor and intellectual trivia, and I probably have not found the space to mourn difficulties and tragedies in my life. The green, although not as ubiquitous in my life as it once was, has been a buffer for too long. An alexithymic fog (inability to recognize one’s feelings (I may be making this word up)) has become the default mode. Recognizing feelings is the first step. The second step is less clear but is acutely uncomfortable and immensely rewarding. I knowingly embrace your arm.
This was beautiful to read. Thank you for telling us about him and how he rooted for his friends in a way that made everyone feel like they could do what they’d been wanting to. Genuine belief in others is rare to come by.
As someone who writes to better understand and navigate their feelings, I started writing to a close friend I lost to suicide on a blog I made before I knew about substack. It’s a place where I can talk to him again. His name was Chad. He was my older sister’s boyfriend for years and I thought of him as an older brother. He’d call me in the years after they broke up so we could keep talking about music, and he’d make mix cds and leave them on the doorstep for me.
I also got a text from him right before he left. We’re coming up on 15 years since, and it hasn’t gotten easier, just different. He was great for so many reasons, and I think on the surface it feels selfish to say I miss him most for the way he made me feel worthwhile. But in reality, anyone would miss that. That kind of support is so rare. His sensitivity and care continues to bless my life 15 years later. Chad thought I was worth it. When I’m in the trenches, I try to see myself the way he did.
heychadderbox.com is where I write. I’m not up to speed on substack but reading yours has been very nice and I’m thankful you’ve taken the time to write. Thank you.
Hey Bret. This is a truly beautiful dedication, and I will mention it to others who are looking for a way to deal with all of it. Someone once said to me that whatever you keep to yourself, you lose; And whatever you give away, you get to keep forever. I might be dating myself, but Chad to me sounds like Nick from Family Ties. It’s those folks who you keep around depite break up with your loved ones, And the decision to keep them in your lives, despite It all… those relationships are some of my favorite because of the effort you put into avoiding the complexity. It’s worth it. I have a few of those. I’ll keep reading Chadderbox and checking out the doorstep albums. I hope in the time since you wrote this blog that you have found worthiness of that attention again. I hope you can see my message to you as a reflection of that.
I’m really sorry that you lost your friend. I’m an old pothead, the people I smoked weed with are all gone now. I miss them so much, so maybe I can relate to how you feel. Sometimes when I spark up a doob, I can see my brothers so clearly. We always had a stupid question we would ask ”Do you guys want to smoke a joint?”
Condolences for your loss of your close friend & the recognition of the anniversary, your journey that you document is one of the most important conversations we can be having right now, mutual aid is something that takes action, & speak of the action in process, the act of reaching out, the act of self care in order to care for others, the lessons we learn from processing our grief & loss & the way we share those lessons, many thanks for sharing…
Venmo request him an extra $20 with an Ouija Board!!! #notfunny😭sincerely thank you for sharing your humor + sensitivity with the world, and rest in (non Zionist) power (jk lol) to your wonderful friend 🎆🌞 mental health is such a not funny journey at times, (especially for sensitive souls especially during these times) and it’s so important to normalize topics and conversations like this, especially acknowledging the grieving process and how surreal it can be. Thank you
I’m sure this was difficult to post, thank you for sharing Jeff with us and the story of your friendship. I lost my best friend five years ago. She went out for a jog and collapsed somewhere in Bushwick from cardiac arrest. She was 30 years old. We had FaceTimed the day before. She was mad at me for prioritizing time with a new love interest instead of with her. Accepting that that was how we left things hasn’t been easy. We don’t usually think about the mortality of our friends and peers but now I have to. The easiest thing to fill the void of my loneliness was weed. After four years, last year I finally built the courage and strength to explore who I am without Dana without weed. It’s still so fucking lonely. Losing your friend is a loss that isn’t given the same type of attentive tenderness as it is to lose a family member. On the bad days, living with the pain that no one will ever understand my grief feels like a death sentence. The time I’ve spent looking for connection has often left me feeling more alone. Sometimes I just think my search for connection, for someone who understands, is just me looking for her. She is the only one the will ever understand. Reading this is a gentle reminder that I am not alone. Thank you. Here’s to Jeff & Dana.
Sudden lost is a very particular brand of grief. I am sorry you lost your best friend. The difficulty in posting this is dwarfed by the opportunity to hear stories like yours, to commune about this suffering, and find relief in trying to understand loss that cannot be comprehended in the mind, and must felt non-intellectually — not in the replaying of the sequence of events — but in the quality of the feeling of that person. I dreamt about Jeff last night. We were hanging out. I forgot that he was even dead. And to me, that experience is as valid.
I lost an ex to suicide a handful of years ago, and the replay of specific moments still hits me out of the blue. Happened this week!
But the other thing that has happened is a sense of his presence in dreams and snowstorms. Where I get the sense that he’s in a more peaceful place and still present with people who loved him in a more diffuse way. Listen for Jeff in the snow or rain or liminal spaces. He may show up there for you too.
Thanks for sharing this. I see Jeff in Birds. The last film we watched together was Andrea Arnold’s “Bird,” and he absolutely loved it. There was also a dream our friend Richard had about Jeff (and told Jeff) where a hummingbird landed on his head and in the dream they were so happy that Richard woke up laughing. The week after Jeff’s passing, while we were hiding out in Ojai from the fires, there were hummingbirds everywhere. And at our house in LA, there was a hummingbird nest where we could witness the two jellybean sized eggs hatch and watch the babies mature until they flew away. xo
Still the best thing ever said to me during a loss was, "tell me about them." it's incredible how much more it helped me than a "sorry."
Thanks for letting us get a peek into your friendship.
Sorry to hear of your loss, Ben. As a neurodivergent person working through a backlog of pent up trauma, my relationship to weed mirrors your own. I found a lot to relate to emotionally in the piece as well, with exception to the avoidance of grief. I finally figured out how to pop the cork on that Merlot of Misery, and though it has been difficult at times, I am really thankful I did. Feels like popping an impossibly huge zit. Emotionally. I hope you get to pop yours soon, brodie.
finding someone who helps you see yourself is proof there will be other people who help you see yourself, and maybe that’s what life is — continuing to find yourself in other people and understanding that ultimately we’re all a compendium of the people closest to us. sending a virtual arm touch. ❤️
This is beautiful, sad, and relatable. Thank you for your openness and thoughtful sharing. Now to reach out to a few friends who might need to hear they’re loved today.
Also, “Low Maintenance is coincidentally $80/year” — 👏👏👏
My dad passed from suicide in the second week of January last year. This type of grief seeps through anything I’ve tried to use to tamper down my feelings - weed included - and allowing friends to witness the pain from time to time has provided the closest thing to relief. Thanks for this kind tribute to your friend.
this is such a beautiful read
the cha-ching as the closing salutation was just perfect
you have all my love, Ben
Thank you, Ben. I lost my dad as a kid and other people along the way. But losing Jeff (knowing we all had our individual relationships with him) has been painful in a different way. And I sincerely appreciate this vulnerable and loving piece. (And thanks for the laugh with the $100 joke.) ♥️
This resonates deeply. I also deflect pain with humor and intellectual trivia, and I probably have not found the space to mourn difficulties and tragedies in my life. The green, although not as ubiquitous in my life as it once was, has been a buffer for too long. An alexithymic fog (inability to recognize one’s feelings (I may be making this word up)) has become the default mode. Recognizing feelings is the first step. The second step is less clear but is acutely uncomfortable and immensely rewarding. I knowingly embrace your arm.
Really beautifully written and moving. Thank you for sharing
This was beautiful to read. Thank you for telling us about him and how he rooted for his friends in a way that made everyone feel like they could do what they’d been wanting to. Genuine belief in others is rare to come by.
As someone who writes to better understand and navigate their feelings, I started writing to a close friend I lost to suicide on a blog I made before I knew about substack. It’s a place where I can talk to him again. His name was Chad. He was my older sister’s boyfriend for years and I thought of him as an older brother. He’d call me in the years after they broke up so we could keep talking about music, and he’d make mix cds and leave them on the doorstep for me.
I also got a text from him right before he left. We’re coming up on 15 years since, and it hasn’t gotten easier, just different. He was great for so many reasons, and I think on the surface it feels selfish to say I miss him most for the way he made me feel worthwhile. But in reality, anyone would miss that. That kind of support is so rare. His sensitivity and care continues to bless my life 15 years later. Chad thought I was worth it. When I’m in the trenches, I try to see myself the way he did.
heychadderbox.com is where I write. I’m not up to speed on substack but reading yours has been very nice and I’m thankful you’ve taken the time to write. Thank you.
Hey Bret. This is a truly beautiful dedication, and I will mention it to others who are looking for a way to deal with all of it. Someone once said to me that whatever you keep to yourself, you lose; And whatever you give away, you get to keep forever. I might be dating myself, but Chad to me sounds like Nick from Family Ties. It’s those folks who you keep around depite break up with your loved ones, And the decision to keep them in your lives, despite It all… those relationships are some of my favorite because of the effort you put into avoiding the complexity. It’s worth it. I have a few of those. I’ll keep reading Chadderbox and checking out the doorstep albums. I hope in the time since you wrote this blog that you have found worthiness of that attention again. I hope you can see my message to you as a reflection of that.
I’m really sorry that you lost your friend. I’m an old pothead, the people I smoked weed with are all gone now. I miss them so much, so maybe I can relate to how you feel. Sometimes when I spark up a doob, I can see my brothers so clearly. We always had a stupid question we would ask ”Do you guys want to smoke a joint?”
Condolences for your loss of your close friend & the recognition of the anniversary, your journey that you document is one of the most important conversations we can be having right now, mutual aid is something that takes action, & speak of the action in process, the act of reaching out, the act of self care in order to care for others, the lessons we learn from processing our grief & loss & the way we share those lessons, many thanks for sharing…
Venmo request him an extra $20 with an Ouija Board!!! #notfunny😭sincerely thank you for sharing your humor + sensitivity with the world, and rest in (non Zionist) power (jk lol) to your wonderful friend 🎆🌞 mental health is such a not funny journey at times, (especially for sensitive souls especially during these times) and it’s so important to normalize topics and conversations like this, especially acknowledging the grieving process and how surreal it can be. Thank you
I’m sure this was difficult to post, thank you for sharing Jeff with us and the story of your friendship. I lost my best friend five years ago. She went out for a jog and collapsed somewhere in Bushwick from cardiac arrest. She was 30 years old. We had FaceTimed the day before. She was mad at me for prioritizing time with a new love interest instead of with her. Accepting that that was how we left things hasn’t been easy. We don’t usually think about the mortality of our friends and peers but now I have to. The easiest thing to fill the void of my loneliness was weed. After four years, last year I finally built the courage and strength to explore who I am without Dana without weed. It’s still so fucking lonely. Losing your friend is a loss that isn’t given the same type of attentive tenderness as it is to lose a family member. On the bad days, living with the pain that no one will ever understand my grief feels like a death sentence. The time I’ve spent looking for connection has often left me feeling more alone. Sometimes I just think my search for connection, for someone who understands, is just me looking for her. She is the only one the will ever understand. Reading this is a gentle reminder that I am not alone. Thank you. Here’s to Jeff & Dana.
Sudden lost is a very particular brand of grief. I am sorry you lost your best friend. The difficulty in posting this is dwarfed by the opportunity to hear stories like yours, to commune about this suffering, and find relief in trying to understand loss that cannot be comprehended in the mind, and must felt non-intellectually — not in the replaying of the sequence of events — but in the quality of the feeling of that person. I dreamt about Jeff last night. We were hanging out. I forgot that he was even dead. And to me, that experience is as valid.
I lost an ex to suicide a handful of years ago, and the replay of specific moments still hits me out of the blue. Happened this week!
But the other thing that has happened is a sense of his presence in dreams and snowstorms. Where I get the sense that he’s in a more peaceful place and still present with people who loved him in a more diffuse way. Listen for Jeff in the snow or rain or liminal spaces. He may show up there for you too.
Thanks for sharing this. I see Jeff in Birds. The last film we watched together was Andrea Arnold’s “Bird,” and he absolutely loved it. There was also a dream our friend Richard had about Jeff (and told Jeff) where a hummingbird landed on his head and in the dream they were so happy that Richard woke up laughing. The week after Jeff’s passing, while we were hiding out in Ojai from the fires, there were hummingbirds everywhere. And at our house in LA, there was a hummingbird nest where we could witness the two jellybean sized eggs hatch and watch the babies mature until they flew away. xo
Thank you 🙏