For Joseph Prignano
Dear Joe,
It's been a long time, friend. There must not be a very good internet connection in heaven. I thought you would have at least Best Western level accommodations. I friended you on Facebook several days ago with no response. You’re dead; you can’t be that busy.
I found the tape recorded letter you sent to me though, years ago. What a gift you left me. I am the saddest, luckiest girl alive. I bet you didn't think I would still have it. I listen to it every single day. I have been all through every box in storage over and over looking for the other tapes we made together and your music. No luck. Though we haven’t corresponded in many years, I do have every letter you sent me. Every one, I think. And this past year especially, you have come to my mind as someone I need to locate. You can imagine the shock when I learned how sick you had been, that your legs were amputated a year ago and that you died last month.
So, I’m like a crazy person since I heard the news. I talk to you in my head constantly. And I can’t control the crying. I play out scenarios in my mind that could have been, had I known. God, if I could have known. And it’s not all altruistic. All these years I needed you. We could have helped each other. Somehow we did not connect though. I don’t know what happened. I imagine how I could have come to visit you in Burbank at your Mom’s on my last trip to California in July. I would have held you so long. I could have cooked for you. I swear I can actually cook stuff now. I could have brought you shit. I could have fallen asleep with you. I imagine that I could have stopped the infection. Reversed everything. Ensured every doctor and nurse gave you the proper care. Did all the research to make them listen to me. Fought with insurance companies to provide any lacking coverage. Whatever it would have taken. I would make you so happy your immune system would create superpower antibodies and you would be cured. We would sing and play guitar. We would watch stupid movies. We could make fun of all the ridiculousness we observe and feel smug together. I feel like I would have done anything to make your world better. Anything. I imagine taking you back home with me. I even imagine trying to carry your grande double amputee ass up my 2 flights of stairs. You could have stayed in the living room and watched the sun rising over the Cascade Mountains every morning. Oh the conviction in my heart. I would have saved you.
But maybe this is just my crazy ego talking. I remember all the people that said they would have executed some heroic move on Flight 22 and thinking…how can you be so sure what you would really do when faced with that level of fear? Would the reality of my life already being overwhelmed working full time and caring for my children have held me back from offering myself? Would I be capable of taking care of you? Would that just make you uncomfortable? This is just the kind of conversation you and I would have if you were alive. But if you were here, the questions would not come to my mind...and you’re not here, so I can’t talk to you about it.
I now know why people seek out mediums to contact their dead relatives. A few weeks ago, I would have rolled my eyes at this. Today, it sounds very rational and like something perhaps I should try. I purchased some tarot cards the other day. The Rider-Waite deck. Something I grew up with. The images from that deck seem to bring me some kind of calm. And I don't even believe that BS. God I want to talk to you. I want to hug you. I want to look into your eyes. I keep going to your FB page to stare at you and tell you how much I love you. Apologize. See if my friend request is still pending. I don't have any photos for some reason. Every second I had with you must have been so precious, I didn't want to ruin the moment by stopping to take a photo. At night, I fall asleep listening to your voice on the tape. You had such a beautiful speaking and singing voice. Every laugh I hear brings back the memory of your smile. And those fucking pork chop sideburns you used to sport. I feel your presence when I listen. Passionate and sensual, thoughtful and considerate...some restraint and self consciousness. All the spontaneous music you shared with me. When I close my eyes, I ask you to meet me in my dreams. Give me some assurance that you are not really gone. That you understand how much I really cared. So far I feel like you are ignoring me. Maybe I deserve it. I hope you don't think I ignored you or forgot about you all those years.
Your death has made me question everything about what I believe or have ever thought I believed. I try to imagine exactly what it is like. What really happens to our spirit when our physical bodies stop functioning? Remember when we went to see The Rapture? In the end, the main character cannot get past her anger at God at all that she had to sacrifice. Even though she was a passionate believer...when the last day arrives and her beliefs manifest as undeniable truth... everyone else jumps on-board but she cannot just say she loves God so that she can enter heaven. She is stuck. In the time I knew you, you had a sincere faith in a creator. An understanding of the esoteric beyond anyone I ever knew. Yourself, seemingly without the need for the exoteric, but not full of pretentious disdain for those that rely on it. And there was this sadness for how religion is misused for purposes other than increasing our love for one another and becoming closer to God...I remember these things. You may have been born with the seed of infection that eventually killed you, but you also were given this rare dose of the light, Joe. I hope your faith was there in the end for you.
Sometimes I’m driving to work talking to you. I imagine the ghost version of you is sitting next to me in the passenger seat. I know, fucking creepy...But then I think, why the hell would you do that? Maybe you can read my thoughts and already know what I am thinking. Maybe you realize that I never received your Facebook message from just a couple of months ago when you were alive and looking for me. The late, hidden message that crushed me into pieces. Maybe you're laughing at the irony of that. Knowing it doesn't matter because we will see each other again in a place where we won't even remember what time felt like. Maybe sooner than I imagine. When I die, I hope you are the first person I see. Maybe we’ll laugh about the message together. Commiserate about the failures of technology. But now I don't feel sure we will see each other again. Or that even if there is a heaven or other place we go, that we retain some form of our individuality. Maybe we just get tossed back into God’s creature making soup.
I recently went through a period of getting these stabbing pains in my calves. I was worried about blood clots. I had them checked out and I am fine, of course. The night before I learned of your vascular disease and passing I could not sleep. That night, I felt the stabbing in my calf return. Now, I am taking all this as some sign of the connection we had. That I was feeling you thinking about me. Looking for me. Tapping me on the shoulder. I know it's crazy talk. It's my turn for that.
The pain of you being gone has been excruciating though we haven’t been in contact for so many years. It’s like a piece of me went with you, Joe. It makes me think of another one of my favorite movies that I saw for the first time with you: The Double Life of Veronique where the woman feels she is not alone in the world. It turns out she has a double with many parallels. They cross paths at some point but go on living their lives. When one dies the other feels her pain and a tremendous, unexplained loss and sadness. I remember we left the theater enchanted by the haunting soundtrack and the ideas ethereally presented in the movie. When I first moved to Seattle, I searched and searched for this soundtrack. I was so happy to finally find it. I still have it. It will forever remind me of you and the connection we shared. You were my soul brother.
I am so grateful to have had you in my life, Joe. I am having a hard time getting over that that was it. Our time together is up. I don’t know when I will stop listening to your taped letter. What is amazing about it is that it is just as relevant today as it was on that day in 1996. It is like your very own last lecture. In it you comfort me over a struggle I had and a difficult decision I made. You assure me that the worst things sometimes turn out to be the best. Of course you were right. There are several funny moments- one where you do an advertisement for me for the upgrading of Burbank that was going on. You express your gratefulness for the time we did have here together in Seattle. The convalescence of your stay. It makes me so happy now to hear that and know that at least I gave that to you. I don't even know though if you realize how important that visit was to me. You talk about your own desires and future plans. Musical aspirations. Your main purpose being to live an authentic life. I admire that you did. You talk about your need to be alone to get back to yourself. God, to lose the person I know that really understands this. That you feel the emotions and essence of others so strongly that you take on their feelings, their manners, their pain. That you learned to put up a force field over the years. A force field I am very familiar with. For people that don’t understand, it can look like indifference. Apathy. But it is the exact opposite. A mechanism created for survival. Maybe that is why you never let on about how sick you really were. Even in your letter, you mention your experience with blood clots in passing, but brush it off as if everything was fine. After talking to your mother, I know now it was not. I wish I would have known. Just as you stated in that letter you wish I would have contacted you when I was going through all that shit. But that is our flaw. We don’t want to lay our heavy shit on anyone directly. Especially those we know have a high absorbency capacity. It seems safer to channel it through art, music. Anything else. We should have shared everything though. Maybe so many things would be different.
It’s the day after Thanksgiving. As I listen to your letter, I think that you were the best example of thankfulness I ever knew. You lived it. You gave back with your ears, your heart, your words, your music. You never asked for anything in return. You shared yourself so freely and courageously. You always encouraged and celebrated others. You always understood. I am sorry that I took you for granted.
Anyway, God. I love you with all my heart. You were one of the most important human beings in my life. Our friendship had a magical, liberating effect. A missing key found on a dark path. All your music, every letter you wrote me and the time we spent together enjoying the simplest, mundane things...It was so peaceful and right. You embodied all that is good in this world. Your encouragement of the path I was taking, allowing me to share it with you, the music I wrote and the sharp turns that followed was more important than you will ever know. Or maybe you did know. I hope so. Sometimes, I imagine that when we are dead, we suddenly know everything about everything and it is this understanding and distance from it all that brings us peace. But I don’t know now if that is true or even desirable. B says you wouldn't want us to be sad. I am sorry if I am disappointing you. You are giving me my first real experience with grief and I don't know what to do with it. I just don’t know how to get over you, Joe. Your mark on my heart is permanent. It will ache for a long time.
Much Love,
W
PS: I recently found your album, "Foolswalk" on CDBaby. I must have listened to it 50 times now. It is incredibly beautiful. So honest and intense. I am ashamed to not have heard it until now. I hope someone told you how amazing you were.
It's been a long time, friend. There must not be a very good internet connection in heaven. I thought you would have at least Best Western level accommodations. I friended you on Facebook several days ago with no response. You’re dead; you can’t be that busy.
I found the tape recorded letter you sent to me though, years ago. What a gift you left me. I am the saddest, luckiest girl alive. I bet you didn't think I would still have it. I listen to it every single day. I have been all through every box in storage over and over looking for the other tapes we made together and your music. No luck. Though we haven’t corresponded in many years, I do have every letter you sent me. Every one, I think. And this past year especially, you have come to my mind as someone I need to locate. You can imagine the shock when I learned how sick you had been, that your legs were amputated a year ago and that you died last month.
So, I’m like a crazy person since I heard the news. I talk to you in my head constantly. And I can’t control the crying. I play out scenarios in my mind that could have been, had I known. God, if I could have known. And it’s not all altruistic. All these years I needed you. We could have helped each other. Somehow we did not connect though. I don’t know what happened. I imagine how I could have come to visit you in Burbank at your Mom’s on my last trip to California in July. I would have held you so long. I could have cooked for you. I swear I can actually cook stuff now. I could have brought you shit. I could have fallen asleep with you. I imagine that I could have stopped the infection. Reversed everything. Ensured every doctor and nurse gave you the proper care. Did all the research to make them listen to me. Fought with insurance companies to provide any lacking coverage. Whatever it would have taken. I would make you so happy your immune system would create superpower antibodies and you would be cured. We would sing and play guitar. We would watch stupid movies. We could make fun of all the ridiculousness we observe and feel smug together. I feel like I would have done anything to make your world better. Anything. I imagine taking you back home with me. I even imagine trying to carry your grande double amputee ass up my 2 flights of stairs. You could have stayed in the living room and watched the sun rising over the Cascade Mountains every morning. Oh the conviction in my heart. I would have saved you.
But maybe this is just my crazy ego talking. I remember all the people that said they would have executed some heroic move on Flight 22 and thinking…how can you be so sure what you would really do when faced with that level of fear? Would the reality of my life already being overwhelmed working full time and caring for my children have held me back from offering myself? Would I be capable of taking care of you? Would that just make you uncomfortable? This is just the kind of conversation you and I would have if you were alive. But if you were here, the questions would not come to my mind...and you’re not here, so I can’t talk to you about it.
I now know why people seek out mediums to contact their dead relatives. A few weeks ago, I would have rolled my eyes at this. Today, it sounds very rational and like something perhaps I should try. I purchased some tarot cards the other day. The Rider-Waite deck. Something I grew up with. The images from that deck seem to bring me some kind of calm. And I don't even believe that BS. God I want to talk to you. I want to hug you. I want to look into your eyes. I keep going to your FB page to stare at you and tell you how much I love you. Apologize. See if my friend request is still pending. I don't have any photos for some reason. Every second I had with you must have been so precious, I didn't want to ruin the moment by stopping to take a photo. At night, I fall asleep listening to your voice on the tape. You had such a beautiful speaking and singing voice. Every laugh I hear brings back the memory of your smile. And those fucking pork chop sideburns you used to sport. I feel your presence when I listen. Passionate and sensual, thoughtful and considerate...some restraint and self consciousness. All the spontaneous music you shared with me. When I close my eyes, I ask you to meet me in my dreams. Give me some assurance that you are not really gone. That you understand how much I really cared. So far I feel like you are ignoring me. Maybe I deserve it. I hope you don't think I ignored you or forgot about you all those years.
Your death has made me question everything about what I believe or have ever thought I believed. I try to imagine exactly what it is like. What really happens to our spirit when our physical bodies stop functioning? Remember when we went to see The Rapture? In the end, the main character cannot get past her anger at God at all that she had to sacrifice. Even though she was a passionate believer...when the last day arrives and her beliefs manifest as undeniable truth... everyone else jumps on-board but she cannot just say she loves God so that she can enter heaven. She is stuck. In the time I knew you, you had a sincere faith in a creator. An understanding of the esoteric beyond anyone I ever knew. Yourself, seemingly without the need for the exoteric, but not full of pretentious disdain for those that rely on it. And there was this sadness for how religion is misused for purposes other than increasing our love for one another and becoming closer to God...I remember these things. You may have been born with the seed of infection that eventually killed you, but you also were given this rare dose of the light, Joe. I hope your faith was there in the end for you.
Sometimes I’m driving to work talking to you. I imagine the ghost version of you is sitting next to me in the passenger seat. I know, fucking creepy...But then I think, why the hell would you do that? Maybe you can read my thoughts and already know what I am thinking. Maybe you realize that I never received your Facebook message from just a couple of months ago when you were alive and looking for me. The late, hidden message that crushed me into pieces. Maybe you're laughing at the irony of that. Knowing it doesn't matter because we will see each other again in a place where we won't even remember what time felt like. Maybe sooner than I imagine. When I die, I hope you are the first person I see. Maybe we’ll laugh about the message together. Commiserate about the failures of technology. But now I don't feel sure we will see each other again. Or that even if there is a heaven or other place we go, that we retain some form of our individuality. Maybe we just get tossed back into God’s creature making soup.
I recently went through a period of getting these stabbing pains in my calves. I was worried about blood clots. I had them checked out and I am fine, of course. The night before I learned of your vascular disease and passing I could not sleep. That night, I felt the stabbing in my calf return. Now, I am taking all this as some sign of the connection we had. That I was feeling you thinking about me. Looking for me. Tapping me on the shoulder. I know it's crazy talk. It's my turn for that.
The pain of you being gone has been excruciating though we haven’t been in contact for so many years. It’s like a piece of me went with you, Joe. It makes me think of another one of my favorite movies that I saw for the first time with you: The Double Life of Veronique where the woman feels she is not alone in the world. It turns out she has a double with many parallels. They cross paths at some point but go on living their lives. When one dies the other feels her pain and a tremendous, unexplained loss and sadness. I remember we left the theater enchanted by the haunting soundtrack and the ideas ethereally presented in the movie. When I first moved to Seattle, I searched and searched for this soundtrack. I was so happy to finally find it. I still have it. It will forever remind me of you and the connection we shared. You were my soul brother.
I am so grateful to have had you in my life, Joe. I am having a hard time getting over that that was it. Our time together is up. I don’t know when I will stop listening to your taped letter. What is amazing about it is that it is just as relevant today as it was on that day in 1996. It is like your very own last lecture. In it you comfort me over a struggle I had and a difficult decision I made. You assure me that the worst things sometimes turn out to be the best. Of course you were right. There are several funny moments- one where you do an advertisement for me for the upgrading of Burbank that was going on. You express your gratefulness for the time we did have here together in Seattle. The convalescence of your stay. It makes me so happy now to hear that and know that at least I gave that to you. I don't even know though if you realize how important that visit was to me. You talk about your own desires and future plans. Musical aspirations. Your main purpose being to live an authentic life. I admire that you did. You talk about your need to be alone to get back to yourself. God, to lose the person I know that really understands this. That you feel the emotions and essence of others so strongly that you take on their feelings, their manners, their pain. That you learned to put up a force field over the years. A force field I am very familiar with. For people that don’t understand, it can look like indifference. Apathy. But it is the exact opposite. A mechanism created for survival. Maybe that is why you never let on about how sick you really were. Even in your letter, you mention your experience with blood clots in passing, but brush it off as if everything was fine. After talking to your mother, I know now it was not. I wish I would have known. Just as you stated in that letter you wish I would have contacted you when I was going through all that shit. But that is our flaw. We don’t want to lay our heavy shit on anyone directly. Especially those we know have a high absorbency capacity. It seems safer to channel it through art, music. Anything else. We should have shared everything though. Maybe so many things would be different.
It’s the day after Thanksgiving. As I listen to your letter, I think that you were the best example of thankfulness I ever knew. You lived it. You gave back with your ears, your heart, your words, your music. You never asked for anything in return. You shared yourself so freely and courageously. You always encouraged and celebrated others. You always understood. I am sorry that I took you for granted.
Anyway, God. I love you with all my heart. You were one of the most important human beings in my life. Our friendship had a magical, liberating effect. A missing key found on a dark path. All your music, every letter you wrote me and the time we spent together enjoying the simplest, mundane things...It was so peaceful and right. You embodied all that is good in this world. Your encouragement of the path I was taking, allowing me to share it with you, the music I wrote and the sharp turns that followed was more important than you will ever know. Or maybe you did know. I hope so. Sometimes, I imagine that when we are dead, we suddenly know everything about everything and it is this understanding and distance from it all that brings us peace. But I don’t know now if that is true or even desirable. B says you wouldn't want us to be sad. I am sorry if I am disappointing you. You are giving me my first real experience with grief and I don't know what to do with it. I just don’t know how to get over you, Joe. Your mark on my heart is permanent. It will ache for a long time.
Much Love,
W
PS: I recently found your album, "Foolswalk" on CDBaby. I must have listened to it 50 times now. It is incredibly beautiful. So honest and intense. I am ashamed to not have heard it until now. I hope someone told you how amazing you were.
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