This happened in February but it didn't occur to me to revive circusninja until today. It feels like a safe repository, virtually unseen but not invisible. Maybe Naomi will read it, or John.
My best friend died. He died.
Kevin, see http://circusninja.blogspot.com/2016/03/stairway-to-kevin.html, had a heart attack while walking his beloved dog. My mom tells me not to let myself think about the pavement, how it was cold.
I haven't been able to do anything to comfort myself, because everything nice reminds me of Kevin. I can’t order Chinese food without remembering Sang Kee and Joy Tsin Lau. I can’t watch hockey without thinking of all the Flyers games he and I shared in person, or in different cities with our phones in hand. I can't enjoy my truck without thinking of Kevin's first company car; it was a new SUV and he was so proud of all the features. And you all know there's no music I can listen to, not a blessed thing, without remembering my friend and his sound system and all the concerts.
Finally I was so sad I just drove out to the forest for a quiet hike in the snow. Because hiking in the forest does not make me think of Kevin.
But he did like being outside. Kevin wanted to go golfing for his bachelor party. Phil and I had a much bigger celebration in mind. One thing I wanted was a blind taste test of the best bottles of scotch. Kevin had to be careful after pancreatitis, but I know he would have approved of the scotch idea, because Kevin was top shelf. He knew all the servers in the restaurants, he knew the bartenders, he knew the owner of the record store, and he got us upgraded immediately to the VIP room when we went to see the Pixies. Kevin was like the godfather, and like the godfather, I assume Kevin had all his killing done for him.
Kevin is the one who taught me that you don't give the middle finger when other drivers cut you off in traffic; you give them a thumbs up, because then they feel worse and you feel classy. I was once at New Delhi Indian buffet with Kevin when hip hop mogul Russell Simmons walked in. I didn't know who Russell Simmons was, and Kevin said, "That's not ok. I should be here with someone who can appreciate this." Kevin was fierce, he was opinionated, he was never more articulate than when he thought you were wrong, but I can’t think of one single time, in 25 years, that I hung out with Kevin that he didn’t say I love you.
I won’t use the cliché that Kevin had a heart of gold, but Kevin did have the heart of a golden retriever. He was so in love with the world: with music, with food, with hockey, with golf - which is stupid - with his friends, with his family, and above all with Jess. I’ll close with a text message that Kevin sent me about Jess. I wish I could say that it was the last text I got from Kevin, but actually our last texts were me recommending Bob Dylan's first five albums, and Kevin insisting that Flyers goalie Carter Hart is good enough to represent Team Canada in the Olympics.
But this text was a recent one, and Kevin wrote it thoughtfully, in response to me saying that my independence makes relationships challenging. Kevin wrote,
"It's an exercise in letting go. Constantly deciding what is important and what isn't significant enough to bother disagreeing about. I've found I don't care enough about a lot of things so that when I do, I have a little leverage. But, I don't actually care how high off of the floor pictures should be hung, and Jess feels strongly a certain way so I just go with it. Relationships are hard work, but for me, it's the thing I want to work hardest at, because she's worth it."
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