A Glimpse Into Grief

Best friends in life and death

There are some people in life who do not connect to many people, but many people connect to them. That was my best friend, Ali. 

We met right after my 23rd birthday, and our connection was immediate. 
Electric. 
We had the type of instant familiarity that made us believe in past lives. 

People from all walks of life flocked to him everywhere we went. Restaurants, bars, bookstores, Target—anywhere we went, people would find a way to reach out to him. Their overwhelming curiosity urging them to speak.

His energy floated over you and curled you in with such force that your gaze was instantly yanked in his direction.

Full of mystique and charm, he just looked like somebody. An artist. A rockstar. It was uncanny what would happen. The only other time I’ve seen it in person was with actual famous people.

Ali was an anodyne to all that ailed me in my youth. 
The grief, the restlessness, the burning desire for something more than I had in front of me. Two romantic dreamers attempting to make their way through the deep blue abyss of life. 

Not feeling love for Ali was impossible. 
Everyone loved him. 
To varying degrees—yes—but always love.

As an artist, he was prolific. He could do anything and do it so wildly well: playing music, writing music, singing, writing books. If he laid his hands on it, he would master it. 

To the ones who loved him less, his talent was infuriating. 

He was so good at creating jolts of excitement that broke up the monotony of life. During his music career, he went on tour with Peter Murphy. Our friends and I attended the show when it rolled through town, and afterward, Ali insisted we meet Peter. He was kind and funny, and it is an experience that I still think about today—not necessarily because of Peter Murphy, but because it was a burst of stardust experienced with a best friend. 

Our adventures were filled with giggles, whispered secrets, and an innocent playfulness that carried us back to the best parts of our childhood. 
He was truly one of a kind. A voice that reminded you of Dylan, a head full of lush, wild curls and a heart of gold. 

God, I miss him. 

When he could, he showed up to our friendship with the most profound care and the most tender of love. He was a friend who could take your hand and gently lead you out of a false feeling as quickly as you fell into it. 

Whilst we were both living in New York, I was having a tough go of it in my 20's as one often does. I needed a familiar face I loved and trusted to help me understand what I was going through. 
A simple text: "I need you. Please come." 
He was there in 20 minutes. 

That night, on a rooftop in Brooklyn, I saw my first shooting star while he assured me everything would be okay. Magical things like that always happened when we were together. 

He had this otherworldly ability to remind you of the truest parts of yourself, especially when you were starting to lose sight of them. 

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On November 11th, 2013, Ali was murdered in Brooklyn, NY. 

Another murder-suicide. 

The last of several devastating blows in my life, this would be the one to take me out.

I had just spoken with him two days before. He was putting the finishing touches on his book, which was soon to be published. I told him how proud I was of him, and we reminisced over those beginning pages he had written years ago on my laptop in my cozy apartment in Dallas. We talked about my writing and how it was going. He knew he was one of the few people whose opinion I deeply valued. We shared a raw vulnerability regarding our work—trading our deepest fears and wildest dreams with complete safety and respect. We yelled one another's name playfully in excitement for all the things that were happening. For two people who often stumbled through life, it felt like we had both found our stride, assuredly on our way to happiness and, finally, some peace.

Life had other plans.

His sudden departure created a grief so great that it sanded down every defense I had acquired along the way from the other sudden, violent deaths that had occurred in my life. I was raw and throbbing. In full retreat, I turned away from the world and all I held dear. 

Deep depression seeped into me so quickly that I didn't realize what was happening. Because of all that transpired in my youth, I had conditioned myself to get on with it. I had work to go to, bills to pay, and a life to tend. I didn't allow myself to mourn properly. I didn't allow the feelings to exist outside of myself. I had forgotten how vehemently grief demands to be seen and heard. 

For this oversight, I would pay greatly. 
I would not write again for almost ten years.

Some losses are so great that they are impossible to recover from. While I have accepted what has happened and the life that I must live without my best friend physically in it, the incessant gnawing of grief is always there. Writing letters to him has helped soothe the torment of his absence and made life tolerable again. 

Whether in Africa, Europe, or America, we always made it a point to keep in touch through email. 
After he died, I continued writing to him, and I continue to this day. I no longer send letters; they stay in my drafts. This assuages my intense longing to have my friend beside me in the land of the living. 

Below is a letter I wrote him recently:

Ali,

The bruises on my cheeks from where I slept upon my mother's hopes and dreams for me have faded. I've had to make my way without the counsel of my most cherished loved ones, and whilst it has forced me to fine-tune my discernment, it has left an aching in my bones that does not wane. 

Nonetheless, I go on. 

I hope you're having fun wherever you are. 
(Of course you are.)

I often think of your equanimity during one of the most unpleasant experiences in my life. Thank God for you. 
Thank God that it was you. 

Remember how unsettled I used to be?
Restlessness was my rebellion back then. 
Time was in revolt, as I was with life.
Country after country. 
Trying them on as if I was trying on a frock. 
I scraped every part of myself against anything that would possibly strike a blaze,
blowing me back to the time when I felt most alive. 

I'm alive again, Ali. 
Alive and madly in love. 

I'm going to say the thing that makes one roll their eyes, but trite is often true: He is the reason why I never settled down with anyone else. He is why I refused to set down roots in tandem with another. There was a particular feeling I was holding out for, a desire that I had defined in the deepest parts of me that still believed in magic despite all that was burned asunder in my life. 

My abnegation for anything other than my dream come true regarding love and that particular feeling that kept calling out to me has always kept things in perspective, even if it took more than a moment to arrive at those realizations. 

There have been others. 
Pit stops. 
People I've spent time with because it was seemingly convenient, which is relatively easy to do when all your attempts at making a life are desultory. 

I am no longer desultory, Ali. 
I care. 
Deeply. 

His re-entrance into my life has made me rise up with purpose and intention to finally take notice of what life is offering. There are days when I pinch myself because it all feels so wonderful, and I find myself whispering, "Finally.”

He is a walking, talking dream come true, the brightest light of my life, and the one who houses my heart. 

It isn't all roses and kittens.
Relationships take so much time and care. 

To receive someone's love is one of life's greatest responsibilities. To hand over your heart with all of your deepest hopes and dreams, knowing that they have the ability to destroy you if they so choose. They must consent. They must hand you their heart in return. It is all a delicate dance coupled with timing and vulnerability, so it is no wonder many relationships end before they truly begin. 

He isn't perfect, and neither am I and knowing that makes us perfect for each other. Our deep knowing of our faults and failures, our ability to articulate our shortcomings, our accountability when we unintentionally hurt the other, the way we soothe and come to one another's rescue when needed, and our awareness of it all to be able to change what no longer serves us has made this the most wonderful, intimate relationship of my life. 

I am fully present with clear eyes and a pure heart. I am finally participating in life, and the stakes are higher than ever. 
We are planting roots!!! 
Who'd a thunk it?! 
(You. You always knew.) 
I, of all people, know that plans can be swept aside and burned alive, but wow, is it fun to travel with a compass and a companion! 
We are teaching each other so much. 
It is a spectacular existence. 
I wish you could have known each other. You would have been thick as thieves. 
Two wildly talented, creative minds with a lust for life and love that make the Gods feel envy to be human.
In life and even death, here you are…encouraging me to keep writing. 

Maktub, Ali. 

I love you, 

Jenovia