Through loss and love I had made it to 2021, and I was hopeful. But two weeks into January, I got the news from Phil that a mutual friend and band mate from the other band we were in had passed away. Barely more than two weeks later, my good friend’s mother, who treated me no different than her own family, and honestly was the parental figure I needed after my mother died, had passed.
A one-two gut punch and the year barely ramped up. But the gears on the album were in motion. The songs were recorded, mixed, and on their way to being mastered. The singles were mapped out, and the album release date was picked. Almost all of the mechanisms were in place and I didn’t know what to do except keep pushing through.
When it came down to it, through the year, that’s what I did. It was the only thing I really knew how to do, but the problem with that, is through working through the album, I also isolated myself, and the one who felt that the most was my partner at the time.
Months passed and a few more friends, or family members of close friends passed for one reason or another. The strange thing was, none of these deaths were COVID. It was just the weight of life pushing down too hard on people through difficult times in their lives.
I kept on pushing through it all, through the online memorial services, through the in person, social-distanced wakes, but it was weighing on me, and my partner knew it. But still I kept on not talking, and isolating, and not saying anything, even though every thought had to do with the loss of these people I knew. I kept a good face through it, or at least I thought I did.
June came around and our first single for the new album was out. We were even going to play a full band show. It was going to be an outdoors show. Everyone was going to stay socially distant and we were going to be able to let everything out. I had to admit I was missing the release.
I was getting my things together and getting ready to head out the door for the show until I saw my phone buzzing. Phil was calling. He probably needs to know what gear he needs to bring, I thought.
“Hey Phil what’s up?” I said
“Dan’s gone.” He said
(Our mutual friend and the band leader of the other band Phil and I were in) Dan was gone? No. That can’t be right. He was only ten years older than us. No. Plus, I just saw him a couple of weeks ago. That can’t be right.
“What?”
“Dan’s gone, man. He died yesterday.”
I stood there in the hallway, unable to breathe and thoughts came rushing in:
What do you mean he’s gone? What do you mean dead? What do you mean? The man who gave me the confidence in my first years as a songwriter to write my own songs? The man who could always make a gig for us whenever we couldn’t make ends meet with our day jobs? The man who showed me how not just how to be a front-man, but a bandleader? The man who made the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard in, not only a dive bar, but any place I’ve ever heard music played? The man who, for all intents and purposes, is the reason I even started making my own songs in the first place? What do you mean he’s dead? What do you mean I can’t pick up the phone and talk to him? What do you mean I can’t go down to the belmar and see him with his signature drink in hand? I don’t know what you’re saying Phil, so I need you to repeat what the fuck you just said. What do you mean Dan is Gone?
I fell against the wall. I tried to say something, but all that I could squeak out was “What?”
Summer passed by, and I was on autopilot. Everything was going through as planned, and I was happy about that. I took all my free time and sunk it into the band (More than it already was), and In the end my relationship with my partner suffered even more. I was quiet all the time. I didn’t know how to communicate with her. She saw I was hurting, but didn’t know what to say. I saw she was hurting, and saw I was the cause of it, but didn’t know what to say. But still I enjoyed her company even if I was quiet. I wanted to spend every minute with her, but I saw the distance growing and I did nothing to fix it.
But I/we continued on up until our CD release show In October. Everything went off without a hitch and we were able to do more with this album than we had done with any of our previous releases. It was a success! Still, at the end of the day, I didn’t feel much of anything anymore. It was hard to keep moving, but goddamn I was good at compartmentalizing my emotions, so that’s what I did: buried them down, walled them off, and kept moving like nothing was wrong.
What else could I do? At the time I didn’t know how to do anything else, so that’s what I did.
In November, the day before Dan’s birthday, I once again got news that a friend died. He and me ran in the same circles as Dan. He was another fellow musician as well as a comedian. We weren’t close, but what I do remember is that I could make him laugh, and I used that to my advantage every time I could. He had one of those laughs you could feel, not just physically, but inside your soul.
Days later I was asked to play some songs at his memorial service, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even bring myself to go. I still feel guilty I didn’t. I know I was burnt out. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I was sick of burying friends. I was sick of singing songs for them, sick of learning their songs, sick of remembering, sick of knowing that there was a whole group of people that I wasn’t going to be able to see anymore. It wasn’t my first rodeo with death, but this was the one that threw me off the bull. I knew I had to get up, but after those moments of free fall, I hit the ground, and the world went dark for a while.