Condolence From: B.R.
Condolence: (I didn't have the immense privilege of knowing Joe on Earth, I had heard about Joe's untimely passing from a mutual friend of ours the night it happened and it really deeply affected me. So as means of coping I wrote this letter to him. I feel compelled to share it with you guys because I want y'all to know that you're not alone with your grief, that you're in my thought and prayers, and that even in death Joe still managed to touch lives.)
Hey, Joe. Can I call you Joe? Everyone seemed to call you that, but I hope you liked being called that. I know how it feels to be constantly called something that you really don’t like being called, and I wouldn’t like to do that to you. Anyway, I just wanted to say that ever since I heard that you had to leave us almost two weeks ago, I have been incredibly devastated. I know I never got the immense pleasure and privilege of ever talking or knowing you personally, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I mean some people might think of me as absolutely insane, heck, YOU might think I’m absolutely insane for going into a two-week long (and counting) morose hysteria over the death of a perfect stranger…but here I am! Mr. “Absolutely Insane.”
When I say “hysteria,” I’m not joking, I’ve cried a lot, and sometimes when I’m doing something I enjoy, I immediately think to myself, “Why’re you doing this? Why’re you enjoying yourself?! Joe’s dead!” Which is ridiculous, you probably would want me to enjoy myself. And to be honest, hysteria is an understatement, over the past two weeks I’ve bounced around the first four stages of grief more times than an over-sugared toddler on a medicine ball…never quite getting to acceptance. I think some people might question why I’m doing this, writing a letter to a dead person, but I have to try and let my grief out somewhere, to someone who understands, and who understands better than a blank Word document? I think you’d agree with that.
One of my close friends back home in Pennsylvania was devastated as well, you knew her, I think you attended many a workshop that she offered? That’s how I met her too! She couldn’t stop raving about your crochet work. You made her two Jayne hats and a Doctor Who themed tea cozy. She even took the time to post the note you sent her with it, boy were you a gracious businessman! A free replacement if she didn’t like it? I don’t think any other person on the planet would run a shop like that. God, I wish I paid more attention to your work when she posted about it the first time, I would’ve patronized your shop (Etsy, I presume?) so much I would’ve made you a millionaire! Then you could’ve ran for President in seven years! Lemme tell you, you’d be a bit more qualified than what we have now.
But anyway, I can’t even look at a Jayne hat or a tea cozy without being moved to tears anymore, because I just can’t help but think about you and the loss of everything you offered and had to offer to the world and the people in it. That’d make things awkward if I ever get the pleasure of seeing my friend again, and she brings out a pot of tea covered in the cozy you made…like…how am I supposed to explain that, you know? “Hey, I get triggered because I’m still in mourning of your friend who made it. Someone I didn’t. even. know.” Imagine how strange that’d be to hear…I guess I’d just have to say that her dog gives me hayfever, that’s less strange! But what if it’s hypoallergenic, and she catches me in that lie? Now that’d be über awkward.
Anyhow, I wanted to say that as the son of an avid, avid crocheter, (Is that a word, Joe? You’re in Heaven, you’re supposed to know everything now. That’s how it works, right?) your work was AMAZING, such great attention to detail and everything. Again, I will express tons of regret for not looking your Etsy up. I still can’t get over how strange this whole situation is, before you died I barely knew you even existed, but now that I know you’re dead it feels like losing a friend I’ve known forever. I talked to one of my other friends about that and he said that “some people believe that we knew some people in Heaven before we came to Earth. I personally feel that those connections stay with us.” If that’s true, then why’d you go down to earth ten years before I did? I’m not a very patient person, you know? I can’t help but think it’s true myself, it seems like the only rational explanation for the way your death has affected me.
I really regret never crossing paths down here, you seemed like such an amazing, happy, fun person to be around, and a special soul like yours only comes so often. I just can’t imagine the void you’ve left with the people who loved you, your friends, your family, they must be more devastated than I am. And I just can’t imagine how much grief has been shared between them in the past two weeks. I feel it in my bones that you weren’t supposed to go this soon, 28 years is hardly enough time to accomplish your God-given purpose, and it hurts a lot knowing that. It’s just terrible honestly, but from what I know, one good thing came out of it. One night, I was up being real melancholy over what happened, normally I’d be asleep, but I couldn’t that night. I got a text from a friend saying that he was going to kill himself, and I was able to talk him out of it. Had you not passed away, I probably would’ve been asleep and he most certainly would’ve went through with it. I’d like to think you saved his life! Thank you so much for that.
It sorta makes me laugh now that I can say that Jayne hats and tea cozies trigger me now, I guess that makes me a snowflake, but I don’t care, I can’t help it. And speaking of which, do you crochet much now? You should, you’d be able to make some epic, flashy stuff from the materials available up there, it’d be fierce! And while you’re at it, I did want to say that your work reminds me of stuff my Aunt Carol made…she had passed a year and a half ago. Since she’s up there too, y’all should get together if you haven’t met in the heavenly crochet circle yet! You’d both get along beautifully, and then she could give you some of her amazing baked beans as well. You’d have a great time. Please say hi to her for me, I miss her so terribly.
You know what? If you’re still open for business in paradise, I’d like to place an order for absolutely anything you’d feel led to make. GO WILD, JOE! The catch is I’d kinda want to see it when I get up there, which could be a bit tricky cause I could join y’all tomorrow, in two weeks, three months, four years, five decades, or maybe even longer, you never know! But…if you can’t manage such a broad delivery schedule, I’d be fine with waiting…it is eternity after all, I have nowhere to go!
I should probably say goodbye for now. If I keep writing, I’d have enough tears to make homemade salt water taffy for millennia. (I won’t though, I think that’s a biohazard. The FDA can be really picky about that.) God, I hope you’re really up there. It’d break my heart into pieces if you aren’t, but I won’t receive that. I have to have faith, there’s certainly no reason you wouldn’t be, so you're most definitely there. I do have one last thing to ask though, do say hi to Carrie Fisher for me, I need her advice on how to manage all three of my hurt feelings. Thank you, Joe! I hope to see you, soon, it’d be an immense pleasure.
Your friend in the South,
B.R. aka Mr. “Absolutely Insane”
Monday April 03, 2017
