Dear you,
I got back on Facebook, and I read today that you died. When I was gradually starting to add back people I know in my life who are good and decent, I thought of you, which is strange. We didn’t know each other that well…just friends, passing acquaintances, really, but you were one of the first people I thought about. I thought about you because you were always so friendly. You had your friend group, your people you hung out with all of the time, but you also had this way about you. Like, you never met a stranger.
I know in yesterday’s letter I expressed some feelings toward another person I’ll never speak to again, and the contrast couldn’t be more different, but I had to consider that if I’d never met that person, I’d never have met you. I already said because of the exponential growth I experienced as a direct consequence of that relationship as well as some of the incredibly meaningful friends I’ve made in the last six-plus years that I don’t regret it, but I especially am just glad that decision to try kayaking because Sean and I had talked about doing it led me to befriend you.
You always had a smile and a warm welcome. It was foreign to me when we first met. I wish I could recall every moment or conversation with you, but I can’t. But I’ll talk to you about what I do remember.
I remember the way your smile would light up, and you’d offer the most boisterous, “Heeeyyyyy!” when you’d see someone. You had this way of making it feel like just seeing a person made your whole day. You devoted your full attention to whoever you were with. I remember running into you on Mardi Gras Day in 2025. I’d just finished shooting, and I was headed back toward Dauphin St. to grab a drink at Penton’s. Even though I know I was probably being messed around fifty ways to Friday by people who were having fun being unkind, I never saw it that way. I was just entertained. Sure, I wanted to find companionship and happiness, but the mockery was just amusing to me. Consider how much people invested in messing with one inconsequential little woman. Now who’s laughing?
I bet you are, but you’d never have mocked me. You’d never have laughed at me behind my back. You’d never have treated me or my life or my feelings or my trauma like a joke or like something that you were entitled to control. It’s fucked up how the truly good die young. I hate that song. I never told you that because we weren’t close, but I do. Sean died when he was 34. He was a baby, but then so is 51.
It doesn’t seem fair…it’s not fair. You just…were so damn good. I appreciate that you’d DM me with your warm kindness and affection any time you were working over here. I’m glad I was able to bring you water. I’m glad I was able to skip out of my house and give you a big hug.
I remember seeing you after Mardi Gras so many times. I wish I could remember the very last time I saw you, the very last time I heard that “hey” and the last time you flung your arms wide for a huge hug and just some generally kind words.
Like, I have family who don’t greet me with that kind of warm enthusiasm. I like your style more. I’m glad you had the tributes you did. You deserved them. I cried when I read about it. The Arts Council made a post, and I felt like the world stopped spinning. The blood ran cold in my veins because I don’t know…I just took for granted that you’d always be there even though we weren’t close, even though I probably never spent more time than five minutes in your company other than we were kayaking…that’s how powerful you were.
I know you’re still here, still comforting your friends, still lighting up the world. I’ll admit—I never spent much time reflecting on you just because…like I said…I took it for granted that your bright light and glowing warmth would be a constant in this life. I know better, I know, but somehow you just seemed to effervesce in such a way that would suggest that your spark would never go out.
I know your friends and loved ones miss you—if I feel such a loss, then of course I know the gravity of what they feel is exponentially higher. But it’s kind of the same as when Sean died…the world is a dimmer place without the warmth of that loving and genuinely good human being, just like it is without you. I hope when you come back…when I go and come back…I hope we meet again. I hope we meet in every lifetime.
You just had this way of making me feel like I was an okay person even though I’m so hard on myself. You had such a good sense of humor. Such a “don’t worry, be happy” kind of demeanor.
The only way I can think to honor you is to try to be more like you. Be like Brandon. I know I’m not saying the names of people in these things, but you’re the exception because you were and always will be exceptional.
You worked hard. You woke up early. You did your job. You never complained. You pursued things that brought you joy, and you let your joy shine through no matter what. I got the impression that life wasn’t always easy for you. I got the impression that things so many people put value on—money and whatnot, weren’t readily available to you and yet you lived your life with a heart of gold and carried on as if you were the richest man in the world because in all of the right ways it seemed like you were.
You are loved. You are missed. You will always be remembered. Thank you for blessing me with your kindness, smiles, hugs, authenticity, and friendship. I could not be more grateful for the twists and turns of life that allowed me to even glimpse a person as remarkable as you.
In gratitude,
—A