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Several months ago I tracked down the son of my best friend who is now passed. I “friended” him on Facebook and forgot about connecting when I didn’t hear back. I wasn’t even a hundred percent certain that he was my friends son but...
Months later, today I received a reply and within minutes we were speaking on the phone and it was phenomenal! Although I didn’t know G really-he had been a teenager last time i briefly saw him, I was surprised by the amount of emotion his call stirred in my heart. We spoke for 20 minutes and after promising to hook up before the years end in LA. I hung up and this great grief and joy poured up out of my heart and overwhelmed me. G’s reaction to being the neglected child of 2 crazy drug addled addicts (like myself) had been to make sure he didn’t go that same route. He sounded like a man who’d made the best he could of himself and it brought up a lot of joy for me. I couldn’t imagine him not having a painful life and as tough as it was, he sounded strong and sane. His mother died in June, he shared that he had taken care of her for the past 15 years as she convalesced with debilitating depression that never lifted. Her own mom committed suicide when she was fifty and J was still in high school with the optimistic possibilities of her own life stretched out before her, just as we all had at that time in our lives.
I hadn’t connected with that time of my life, nor with the people from that time in so many many years. I never loved a man more than I loved his father. He was an incredible spirit and had so very much going for him. At the end of high school we became Mutt and Jeff, inseparable and ventured out together into a dangerous world full of alluring sex and drugs and rock and roll. The wild ride began.
In my mid thirties I made a decision that was healthy and I’m sure saved my life; I married a straight, sober woman and she became an anchor to put my feet on the ground. Through her direction and support I finished college, taught school for over 20 years, raised two sons. And I’m still alive. Gok was not so fortunate.
The real beginning of the end of his chances for a long and fruitful life came when heroin arrived. He used to joke and blame me for his downfall; because I was the one who turned him onto pot and from there, Reefer Madness followed and all the various drugs that that entailed. Of course, once you hit heroin you’ve found “the One” and stop looking around for anything better. After many addicted years, while I cleaned up and found my sober influence in my wife, Gok struggled, switched to methadone (a supposed cure) and developed a constant ringing in his ears. I forget the term for it but I can’t imagine how that wouldn’t drive a person mad. Shortly after that we lost touch altogether.
The last I”d heard of Gary he had moved in with his aging mother in Arizona, and they cared for one another.
Six or eight years ago Gok died one night late on an Arizona highway alone. No one was there so no one knew if it was an accident or intentional. The last time I spoke to him was 1995 shortly after I did the Warrior Training weekend. I was so jazzed (temporarily) I called both of my two oldest and closest friends to encourage them to do the training. When I spoke with Gok last, he cried. He spoke about another addict friend who’d died recently and he felt responsible for the death, as if he could have or should have done something to save him. He was beating himself up about it and sounded so lost and confused and alone. It was a short conversation and I don’t know what it was for him but for me, the man I spoke with was not the man I knew so well and loved so long.
It feels good and real to have been brought back to these deep old emotions; I am in my heart and feel the great love and the great times we shared together, as well as the deep sadness over how differently our lives went compared to our youthful, joyful plans. Gary and I bought identical Triumph Bonneville motorcycles in 1967 and cruised all over the city that summer. We were going to do the Easy Rider thing together but the universe had other plans for us. After his bike was stolen, and that dream fell, I sold my bike (to a thief) and then collected insurance money for it and went away to college. I left him with the job of keeping my girlfriend from fucking around with anyone. Of course they fell for each other in no time, later got married and had thier one and only son in 1969.
So here I am today, blessed to have reconnected with his son whom although I never knew, I feel this deep river of love for. Life is a trip for sure. I am excited to see this man in the flesh and look forward to telling him stories he needs to hear; stories that convey the incredible gold that his father carried in his heart and shared with so many others...
