For someone like me who normally likes to dwell on the silly side of life, I've spent a lot of time lately dealing with a considerably less silly side of death -- and I've gotta say, I'm not a fan.
Unless your name is Dorian Gray, Vlad Dracula, or Keith Richards, death is tough to avoid. That's a bum deal, but I guess it's the price we all get to pay for the privilege of living. If I could say anything to make it better, I'd probably have a lucrative career writing for Hallmark. Death sucks and it's sad, whether it happens to you, me, someone you care about... or even your favorite cat.
Bez was my sidekick for 16 years. She's the one who ran the house and kept my other cats in check. She's the one who was constantly at my side. She's the one whose hairs are still clinging to this laptop, likely a result of the many times she impatiently slammed it shut on my hands when I wasn't paying enough attention. I'm sure everybody thinks their cats are the best -- they're all wrong. Bez was the best, and losing her has left a giant cat-sized hole in my heart. The house is quiet and empty in a way I can barely wrap my head around. I've never been especially pro-ghost, but I hope she haunts my home forever.
It didn't help that I lost her in the midst of another morbid project I've been focused on for the past few weeks.
When I arrived at college a naive freshman, I fell in quickly with the drama crowd. The theater scene at Augie was full of larger-than-life characters whose acceptance I desperately craved. Nothing was ordinary, everyone was a superstar, and life alongside them was a constant adventure.
At the center of it all were three girls who ruled the clique -- Kim, Beth, and Beth -- each perfect in their own way.
Beth L. was an adorably manic pixie; Kim was funny and fabulous; and Beth R. was smart as a whip with a dry wit that could calmly destroy a room. Seeing any of them smile was the best part of my day. I wasn't the only one with a massive crush on all three.
I'm certain they were never as smitten with me as I was with them, but I can't blame them. I was an immature geek yearning for approval, and they were two years older and thirteen times cooler than I could ever pretend to be. All I could do was rely on the only skill in my back pocket: those folks loved a party, and I knew how to DJ. After awkwardly wallflowering at a couple of their gatherings, I bravely approached the seniors in charge and said, "Here, give this a shot," handing over a mixtape I'd painstakingly crafted in my dorm room. Within minutes, I had the whole house stomping and my role suddenly became clear.
It was the first of many theater parties I soundtracked in college. While I eventually found close friends in different arenas, I've always kept that gang close to my heart. That's why it was a HUGE bummer to open Facebook and learn that Beth R. had recently passed away after a long and brave fight with cancer. I hadn't spoken to her since college, but I can still see her strolling out of the backstage green room like it was yesterday. I hope she knew how much she was adored by everyone fortunate enough to share her rarified air. Based on the photos I've seen of her life since college, it looked like she was surrounded by joy.
They're holding a Celebration of Life for Beth in Chicago at the end of this month, and Kim reached out hoping I'd be willing to help with music. So just like 1988 all over again, I've spent the last month in my basement putting together mixes for the event.
It's not been easy. The only other memorial service I've soundtracked was for a drag queen where I essentially just blared Madonna for four hours straight. It's challenging to find music that's comforting without being maudlin. I'm pretty sure Beth would haunt my dreams if I tried to play sappy schlock like "Seasons in the Sun."
I've been moonlighting as an amateur DJ for over 30 years, and there's nothing more exciting than finding the perfect song you just KNOW will make people lose their minds and set the dancefloor ablaze. But I've spent the last week in my basement trying to find the perfect song that I just KNOW will make people cry and be super sad, and that's a weird thing to get excited about.
These mixes and writing this column could have been heartbreaking. Instead, it's sent me down a rabbithole of old memories, old pics, and warm fuzzies. It's terribly sad, sure, but it's also a reminder of just how lucky I am to have shared time and space with amazing friends, family, and felines. Life may be fleeting, but love is infinite.
Miss you, Beezers. Miss you, Beth.
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