We’re just bones and a name — we all go out the way we came.

Got word a few hours ago, from someone just sharing the latest gossip, that a friend killed himself a week ago.

It always surprises me when someone comes up with that excited tone — “Hey, did you hear?!” — when they have no immediate connection to the subject of their gossip… and this time it was “Did you hear? That one guy committed suicide sometime recently!”

The details followed quickly: a guess at the number of pills swallowed, briefly touching on the difficulties he’d been having before he was gone, a couple other items of little or no consequence to the person delivering the news, and I had to cut her off–

“His name was Phrohawk.”

She hadn’t even been sure who it was that died, had thought it was someone else entirely — just spreading the gossip around.  It took a repetition of his name from me before she even realized whose death she was delivering word of…

I got a couple text messages from him a week ago.  Probably just before he died.  At the time, I thought it sounded like a farewell, but I was deep in my own pain and I didn’t respond — I knew that I would have sent back snark and venom, and I couldn’t do that to a friend who was hurting as well.  Now I can’t send him any message at all… at least not one that I know he’ll see.

What I can do instead, though, is to leave these words and hope somehow, somewhere… that they reach him:

“The angels all are weeping at your feet now, my friend.

I’ll miss you.

Rest well, and may you find the peace which eluded you in this life.

for Phrohawk — poet, artist, inspiration, and friend.”


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