I Miss My Friend

Early July brings all kinds of mixed feelings. I love the words of the Declaration of Independence. One year, I hand-wrote it out word for word to really concentrate on the meaning of the words. What it must have felt like to be under the tyranny of a mad king with no representation for all the people, land, and wealth that he was ruling over. Now, I’m not naive to think the folks who wrote it were inclusive or had any tender political ideals towards people of color or women, but shoot, it was a start and for that I’m most appreciative. Democracy is messy. But it’s better than tyranny. And I’ll take messy democracy any day of the week. But that’s not why I’m writing. It just so happens that this time of year coincides with one of those unimaginable tragedies that we think only happens in horror movies. I’m not going to belabor the details therein when they’re readily available to any industrious researcher or his friends and loved ones who already know. Instead, I’m going to remember my friend.

When my Dad reached out to me in the fall of 2018, Kyle Martz was one of my most fiercesome protectors. He checked on me throughout the weekend while I went down to Bend, Oregon to visit my Dad after a long estrangement. He checked on me as I came home. He walked with me to celebrate and to process. And months later, after my Dad died, he kept walking with me and talking with me and holding me in a space of love, comfort, and understanding.

Kyle was bigger than the space he was in could contain. Big energy. Big love. Big emotions. Big ideas. And Kyle was not tall and not big in size. But, my God, he made everyone he cared about feel big and important, too. The number of people who knew and loved Kyle who felt loved and encouraged by Kyle are more than I will ever know. I am only certain that I’m one of the very lucky ones. And I’m so angry he’s gone. I’m so angry he was taken. We had more walks to go on. More things to share. More things to process. I don’t want to live in the anger. I want to live in the love and light he imparted, but it is so difficult. I could nurse an incadescent rage. But I know he would talk me down. He would say something outragiously funny or poignant or both and help me find center once again.

Kyle was sharp-witted, sharp-tongued, and the tenderest of humans. I can’t believe I got to be on this planet for some of the same time as him. How lucky am I? To all of you who knew Kyle, over the next week and half, raise a glass as often as you think of him. Say his name. Rejoice in all the good he did in this world. And maybe watch an episode or two of The Golden Girls or Designing Women. I watch this clip when I miss him most because I know his love, defense, and protection of those within his fold were equal to Julia Sugarbaker defending her sister: