This afternoon I received news that our friend, Boyscout, passed away. He was 40 years old, and for as long as I have known him, he has suffered from a Chronic Illness. He was the first friend I made when I moved to Charlotte. I knew then he was sick. I also knew he was a fighter, had been fighting a lifetime and would fight to the end. He outlived his expected lifespan by several years. Like I said, he was a fighter, a true warrior. I will not discuss the details, as I did not have the chance to gain that permission before he passed away.
The day I moved to Charlotte I knew 1, count them ONE person, the man who would later become my husband. It was through him I met Boyscout. It was through him I met about 70% of my friends that live here. The others I have met through various places I worked, through online groups, at coffee shops I frequent, and well just by pure chance. Boyscout was among the first people Mellow introduced me to when I met his friends after I moved to Charlotte to be with him. Boyscout, became my first friend here. It happened so gradually and naturally that I can’t even tell you how or when, but before I knew it we were hanging out and grabbing coffees together. We were confiding in one another and knew each other’s dreams, and fears, and secrets. We both belonged to a large group of acquaintances and within this group there were smaller groups of close friends. I was fortunate enough that we had become close friends.
Over the years I saw his illness take it’s toll. Countless hospital stays, and changes to his lifestyle, including changes from the house to he owned, to apartment life, to assisted living after the last hospital stay. That is not what I want to remember though. That is not how I want you to think about my friend.
What I want you to think when you read this, is how I saw him. He was brilliant. He was creative. He loved photography, and often took his camera everywhere with him. He was driven. He was loving, and if he cared for you, you knew it. He was a solid friend. We had countless coffee dates where we would trade stories back and forth of earlier times in our lives. He was 10 years older than me so he had a few more stories to tell.
My heart is heavy, and my eyes are sore from the tears I’ve fought back, from the tears I’ve cried. Loss and grief are never easy. They seem to happen at regular intervals the older I get. Just as I start getting over the loss of one person, it seems I lose another. I pray for ample time to mourn the loss of my friend before anyone else departs, because with everything going on, and this is going to be selfish of me, I just don’t think I can take anymore heartache right now. It might lead to too much dark chocolate, and I’m not sure any of my doctors would approve of that. I can barely see the screen any longer so I’m going to wrap this up.
Oh Boyscout, You made it to 40, good buddy, you did it! You outlived every doctor that ever set a limit on your life. Breathe Easy and Rest In Peace. Much love, and I’ll see you on the other side someday.