Merry Christmas Josh

We love you, Josh.

To the rest of the Westhaver clan, my thoughts have been with you the last few weeks. I can't even imagine how hard this time of year is for you.

all hail king of spain!

just home from life of riley's, where every table along the window side of the room was filled, overflowing, with theater folk come tonight to toast josh's memory. even more people than that, several who were at the theater working xmas carol tonight, said they were not going to make it to the bar, but would be raising a glass to him when they got home.

sitting at the table i thought josh would have liked this. actors, tech folk, directors, from so many different places in portland, sitting together and gabbing. remembering shows with old old friends, and some folks meeting each other for the first time. josh would have liked that. our smiling and being together.

god i'm sad. and somehow 'glad' to know others are too. not glad for the sadness or for his loss, but that there's a place to say so. and by saying so just try to mean, to say, how much he meant to me. i'm still not sure how to go on without him. and yet i'm certain he would say that i absolutely can figure out how to go on without him here. because he's nearby, somehow. just not 'here' here.

mysterious. and fragile. this way of tuning in and feeling his presence.

i am grateful for all the loving smiling and honest sadness in that room tonight.

blessed be.

I miss you Josh.

I was sitting on the couch when the call came. I had planed to see Josh at the hospital one more time with my wife and son but it wasn’t meant to be.

Erin’s voice choked back tears as she told me “Josh is gone. He’s gone.” I thanked her and hung up the phone as fast as I could. My heart broke for a second time. The first happened when I saw him in the intensive care unit the night before. I let out a loud wail and burst into tears. My 6th month old son smiled, as he must have thought I was doing some new wacky face he hadn’t seen before. I held him and cried.

Now it’s been a whole year today. There hasn’t been one day that’s gone by that I haven’t thought about Josh. I have a dream almost monthly where we meet and talk. But I’ve just shut down my emotions when it comes to our dear friend. I hadn’t realized until this moment but I’ve been especially bitter this last year, like I’m in a permanent foul mood. Josh’s death brought me down more than I realized.

I really have so much to be thankful for, I truly do. I know Josh would never want me to be so sad. He’d want thoughts of him to bring joy, happiness and love. He’d want me… and you to cherish our memories of him, even if there was some sort of unfinished business; he would want us to be happy.

I’ve been avoiding most things “Josh” this last year and that’s just not a good thing.

But this sad anniversary has put things in perspective and so I’ve resolved to be more positive this next year for Josh’s memory and for my sake. It’s Josh absence that hurts not all the amazing recollections I have of him. It’s time to share more of them.

In this spirit I just set my itunes to Moxey Früvous. I haven’t listened to them in a long time. It feels good.

You were the best of us Josh.

One Gargantuan Beer

I wrote a very short tribute to our friend at my own blog.

The last time I saw him, we drank copious amounts of Mac & Jack's on a patio in Portland, and then washed it all down the next day at the Portland brew fest. One of my favorite days ever, and that was before he died. Now, that day is an indispensable memory.

I do wonder whether another Mac & Jack's will pass my lips without bringing on the sort of sorrow I can't currently elude.

for dear josh

every day i pass this door on my way to my dressing room.

tonight i'll bring flowers.

my heart's salute to all who are thinking of him today.

i miss him so much i stop in my tracks and get lost in it. then remember to keep walking.

one breath at a time.

i heard someone say once that grieving is praising.

josh, you are missed. you are loved.