#TrueStory: I was interviewed in a murder investigation (and cried in front of Katie Couric and Will.I.Am telling them about it) PT 3

<editorsnote>: This is part three of the story. Here is part one and here is part two if you need a ketchup. If you want a quicker ketchup, my dog died, my good friend/ family member died, and 15 hours after the celebration of her life my good friend and neighbor was shot five times (and I was there when it happened). There ya have it ... </editorsnote> 

My best friend came home some time later, and instead of being angry at each other, we remained focused on the fact that not only were we both grieving, but we were both in the eye of the hurricane also known as a murder investigation. 

Later that evening, I sent the building manager a text asking if I could see the body be wheeled out ... 

In 2018, when I had another friend die (also while I was there - did I miss my calling as a death doula?), it actually gave me closure seeing her be wheeled out. It was shockingly surreal to go from texting your friend on Saturday to Monday them being dead but then oh yeah we were all still supposed to go dancing together on Thursday and now we're throwing a memorial for said friend. 

Unfortunately, (or fortunately) the detectives wheeled his body out in the middle of the night so I didn't get to see that. Desperate for some sort of something to understand the next day, I went upstairs and saw the results of the CSI agents. 

I was expecting this ... 

... and instead got this ... 

<tangent> Out of privacy, I can't share anything more in this picture, but what you don't see is that they are MASSIVE dog lovers!!! I dog sit now any day I can as a way to deal with the enormous enormous loss of Buster Brown. I happened to be walking a dog when the agents were doing their thing and the result is a totally precious picture. I thought LAPD and anything associated with them would be heartless, I found the EXACT opposite to be true. Which fortunately, in this very moment was so very helpful. </tangent> 

It still didn't seem real. The police tape was now torn down, and unlike in the other instances where I've seen someone's place after they've passed, this one didn't have the corner's blue seal. I learned later that evening it was because the seal is placed on a crime scene because the body has yet to be identified. I'm not sure who qualifies for identification if it has to be a family member or some sort of significant other, but either way, I thought that was interesting. I had assumed previously the coroners seal was part of the deal to protect the crime scene, but apparently they had processed whatever they needed to. 

Later that evening I got a call asking if I knew where his cats were. They still couldn't find one of them and they asked if I could go inside the apartment to see. 

BINGO! I thought scared but also happy to begin my own healing. 

I had my red nike hoodie on (which has an extra long hood) so I placed that over my mouth and took very shallow breaths standing outside the apartment. "I can't go in again," said someone who had also been looking for the cat. 

I turned on my flashlight on my phone and carefully entered the apartment. I had been in it before but had never seen it look like this -the place was ransacked and the lights were all on. I walked to the left where his bedroom was (I had actually never seen this part of the apartment before - just the living room). There on the bed I saw the two large pillows and blood. You could see the holes in the pillows but I didn't get close enough to look at them nor did I touch anything in the apartment. I called out for the cat (which most cats like to hide out under the bed), and didn't find anything. Considering the smell in the place, I can't imagine a cat wanting to not come out of its hiding spot. 

I did a 10 second swoop and lap (careful to not touch anything) calling the cat's name before leaving the apartment. "I didn't see the cat," I said coming out. 

"Yeah, we don't think its in here. It might have escaped somehow. Appreciate you looking." 

"I appreciate that you reached out!" I said. I needed closure and at least seeing with my own two eyes, yep someone definitely died here. I'm a "see it to believe it" type person and in this case I took that literally. 

The crime scene may have been processed but I had yet to even begin my own processing that that person was also my good friend.

The next day, I got a call from one of the lead detectives who asked if he could talk to me.

When something like this happens, you're now living in an active crime scene. There were at any given moment two to four cop cars both marked and unmarked in the building. In one way you could say you felt safer, in another way it was a constant reminder that "yes a murder actually took place here." 

Outside of my friend being gone, this whole thing was SUCH a violation. The only other thing I can compare it to is when someone robs you. If someone breaks into your car, or your house, and takes something - you then feel violated and it's eerie/ unsettling re-entering KNOWING someone has been in your place. The fact that someone or someone(s) committed an act of murder in THE PLACE WE CALL HOME was very unnerving. 

Losing three of my friends in the first five weeks of the year was hard enough. Getting over the violation of a murderer entering our home was a completely different beast. 

That Wednesday at noon, I invited two detectives into the place I call home. 

Excuse me while I now pull an Unsolved Mysteries style re-enactment ... 

The detectives walked in like this ... 

I pulled a third chair over to the table and invited both to sit down. 

I sat here ... 

The lead detective sat here ... 

The other detective chose to sit on the edge of the couch ... 

My instinct on this is that they didn't want their back to the door. Hey, I can't be mad at that. 

What you see in movies is this dimly lit room with a spotlight on the subject similar to this ... 

My reality was it was noon on a Wednesday so no lights were needed AND I was wearing a shirt. 

I then took out my phone to show the detectives the conversation between Batz and I. I couldn't change the choices he made in his life (amor fati), but I could help honor the man that I once knew and cared deeply for. 

Remember, I have nothing to hide in this situation - and I wasn't being interviewed on the murder, I was being interviewed about who my friend was (since not a lot of people knew). 

I'll show you the actual text messages in a bit, as I lead with, "Batz was a protector. He recently lost someone he was very close to, and I think that set him over the 'edge' in terms of making bad choices. We were in contact bi-weekly since the beginning of November. He kept asking what I was up to and if I needed any of his help." 

"Do you know what Batz did for a living?" 

"He was a writer, and (you even see in one of the text messages him referencing his writing as we talked about it a lot) he's been published - I have some of his books on my shelves," I said pointing in this direction to my triangle bookshelf.

"Can you make money as a writer?" he asked as his eyes looked down, "oh it looks like you're a writer too," 

Bee tee dubs, this didn't feel like a "dig" of any kind, and again I have nothing to hide so if that was his intention he can keep on' diggin! 

"Are you a published writer as well?" 

Without skipping a beat I said, "my life is being turned into a TV show. It was previously owned by Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS and we are now FINALLY going into production." 

I took a beat ... and then said ... 

"It's a Wednesday at noon and you're sitting in a place I call home asking me about my friend who was murdered - I'd say that's an interesting enough life to be turned into a TV show." 

He smiled as he read the texts. 

"I can see how protective he was of you." 

"Yes," I said, "and I'm not negating his behavior - I just didn't see that side of it. I know there were some domestic violence calls but it wouldn't have been Batz. He would NEVER hit a woman - and I couldn't be friends with him if he did." 

"We've heard that from a couple of people in the building specifically women. He helped one with a stalking case." 

"Yes," I said knowing what he meant. 

"What's the building gossip," he asked. "You seem to know everyone." 

"There is no building gossip (which was true), we're just absolutely terrified and want to know how we recover as a community from something like this.

Management hadn't even sent out an email or memo that FYI your neighbor was shot IN THE BUILDING." 

"I really appreciate your time," he said as the approximate 15 minute meeting came to an end. 

This is what they looked like when they were leaving ... 

 

... I took my first deep breath of the day once the door clicked shut. 

I took a beat and said out loud, "so that's what it's like to be interviewed in a murder investigation." 

I can't say it was a good or a bad experience - it just was what it was, and there it is. 

Later in the evening my friend and neighbor came over for dinner. I cooked and words came out of his mouth - but slowly things stopped registering. I've never had the life experience of being "catatonic" until that exact moment. 

Remember Cam from Ferris Bueller's Day Off? 

That's what it feels like. You're there physically. Words may or may not come out of your mouth. People see you but you can't see or process anything. The trauma of the shooting, and deaths combined with the loss of my coping mechanism in the form of a furry four legged furrever best friend was proving to be too much. 

I have no idea what my friend said that night, but as he started to get louder and louder - I had enough and said, "you wanna go break some plates?" 

Immediately he started laughing. 

"I'm serious," I said. "With Buster being gone I replaced the plates to change up the routine. Now I have all these plates so let's go smash the shit out of them." 

Which is exactly what we did ... 

We walked down the street to a parking lot and broke plate after plate ... SHOUTING as we did.

Similar to this scene actually ... 

Feel better? I asked when we were all done (my best friend came too). 

"Actually yes," said my friend. 

"We can't change or control what just happened. We just have to grieve and feel what we are feeling even if it doesn't make any sense." 

The next morning I woke up to this ... 

... which technically speaking I didn't listen, I was just a catatonic person presently playing the role of a sounding board. 

Now if you'll excuse me, but I have a meeting about murder I need to get ready for.

I'm not kidding actually, I wrote the PDF myself and called it "Murder Meeting" ... 

I was unimpressed with how negligent the building was in terms of communication, so I took matters into my own hands and not only found the EXACT person to talk to in these situations, but I convinced him to actually come and talk to us. I personally placed this letter under the door of my neighbors and taking action is also how I ended up crying my eyes out in front of Katie Couric and Will.I.Am. 

#staytuned

Click here to read the next part

PS. The meeting says Wednesday but instead the officer had to push it until today - which was annoying because I had to print even more notices ... but hey, at least I'm not the dead person in this scenario so I have that going for me. 

#TrueStory: I was interviewed in a murder investigation (and cried in front of Katie Couric and Will.I.Am telling them about it) PT 2

<editorsnote>: This is part two of the story. Click here to read part one. </editorsnote>

I'm now on the other side (pun not intended) of what was the most difficult five weeks of my life. This life experience brought up oddly a lot of shame. I admitted this to my best friend over the weekend and he laughed:

I said, "I feel shame over everything that has happened. The only experience I can remotely compare this to is when I was 16 and was stalked by my former best friends, had five family members drop like flies, and I pulled a knife on would be robbers in our condo (which I had gone to to escape the drama of being stalked). In that life experience I kept asking myself 'what's my role in this?' 

"Are you blaming yourself for their deaths?" he asked. 

"No," I said, "I'm just really proud of myself that 35 year old Jen is laughing at the concept of feeling any shame toward this situation. 16 year old Jen wouldn't have known to recognize that but 35 year old Jen does!!" 

Onto the post ... 

I woke up the next morning with one holy hell of a hangover. Grief takes away my appetite and I didn't realize it until the next day but I only had three bites of food (which my gf Anneka made me eat) the entire day before. 

My best friend slept on the couch, as I stumbled to the kitchen for some water or a hammer. 

I opened up my gameboy refrigerator (which is actually a thing and I LOVE it) ... 

... as I felt a hug from behind. 

"I can't thank you enough for everything you did yesterday. One, I have no idea how we even got here, but also how you handled the understaffing of her event. She would have been devastated to see people waiting in that long of a line - and you took care of that for her when not a lot of people would. You really are one of the best people ever and now you're my only female best friend so you're welcome and congratulations on stepping up your game."

I laughed as we hugged. There was nothing more to do except try and figure out whatever this new life looks like. 

We then went to get some desperately needed food in the form ramen and after came back to build a fort. 

Not like an imaginative fort, like an actual fort inside the apartment.

We set it up and watch movies regularly inside of it. For some reason if I'm just sitting on the couch on a weekend not doing anything I feel lazy - but if I'm in a fort, it feels like an adventure! 

The next day, my best friend woke up and went for a hike. "I need to be in nature," he said. Not wanting to go or do anything, I said great "you do you!" and walked back to the bedroom and turned on the TV. I knew my workload would be intense for the week so I had to rest up as much as possible (and my back hurt from spending an entire day in the fort). 

Sometime after drifting in and out of consciousness, I heard a knock at the door - and not just any knock the intentional, specific, and deliberate knock of a police officer. 

It must be a noise complaint or something stupid, I thought not answering the door. I have too much on my plate, I thought, let someone else handle it. I had barely been at this place I called home in weeks - so there was no value in anything I had to say. 

Fifteen minutes or so went by before I heard a helicopter. I then looked outside and saw the police officer's car, and some sort of a news crew. Combined with the helicopter I knew that I could potentially be in danger - so I reluctantly opened the door as I grabbed my phone preparing to leave in a moment's notice if necessary. 

Hi, I said sticking my head out of the door and stepping into the hallway. 

Two officers were standing there setting up yellow crime scene tape. They put the tape down as one of the two officers approached. 

"What's happening?" I shouted now FULLY FREAKED OUT and basically preparing to FLY THE FUCK OUT OF HERE USING MY RECENTLY ACQUIRED ANGEL WINGS IF NECESSARY. 

"There has been a shooting," said the officer. 

"Erica?" I asked, referencing my neighbor upstairs. 

He then said no, as my brain flipped to my friend ... let's call him Batz - since that's what he called himself. 

"Did something happen to Batz," I asked scared to know what his next word would be. 

Expecting a yes or no answer, I was surprised when he asked, "what makes you think it was Batz?" 

"He owns guns, I know he had them in his apartment and I've been worried about him lately." 

"You were friends with him?" 

"Yes," I said, good friends. "I was supposed to see him, and I kept avoiding his calls and texts. He just called me after he was released from jail." 

"Did you know what he was in jail for?" he asked. 

"No," I said. "I didn't need to ask him that." 

<tangent> Let me give you a bit of back story on my friend. Not a lot of people knew this, but he was one of my first friends in the building. Batz was the biggest, scariest looking dude and instead of being afraid of him (like 99.9999% of people would) I saw the value in being friends with someone that big and scary and as a single female living alone - I took advantage of that.

Hours into our friendship he offered me his phone number and said "if you need anything ... and I mean anything ... at any hour ... at any whatever ... I want you to call and text me until I answer. Knowing how many whackadoodle noodles there are in LA, he made me feel safe and protected. Plus my dog LOVED him - they were super duper homies, and Buster was a great judge of character so while people found it strange I would befriend someone like him, I would just say "you don't see what I see."

Batz often had to change his phone number, but whenever he did, he made sure to call or text it to me. Hence why in the last post he starts of by saying "hey it's Batz." He took protecting me very seriously so he made sure I had his number at all times.

Whatever Batz did with his life outside of our friendship was his fate. As long as someone isn't a child molester, or abuser of someone smaller than them (physically or emotionally and whether you are an animal, child, woman, male, elderly or someone with a disability) - you have my respect. Your fate is your fate and you have to live with that, not me. Hence, Amor Fati. </tangent> 

"Where were you on Friday night," the detective asked. 

"I was at a celebration of life. My friend just died. Is Batz okay," I pressed harder?

"I can't tell you that," the officer said cold. 

Now FULLY FREAKED OUT and PISSED OFF that the officer wasn't telling me what happened, I took action in my own hands and excused myself from the interview. 

I walked past the officer and sat down on the stairwell texting this to the building manager ... 

I read the text and immediately dropped to my knees sobbing. 

The neighbors started to all come out of their units as well, and one of them put her arm around me. 

"I had no idea you were friends," she said. 

"He was my protector but I knew something was wrong - I kept avoiding him. I didn't know why, I just didn't think he would kill himself." 

"He didn't," she said. 

My tear filled eyes looked up as she said the next part, "he was murdered in his sleep inside his apartment." 

Now, the word murder up until this point, hadn't really had a lot of meaning in my life. I'm an avid Unsolved Mysteries and CSI fan - but I've never known someone (to the best of my knowledge) that has been murdered.

You never think something like this will happen to you, until it does - and even then it's still just as confusing.

Another neighbor piped up, and said "well, he deserved it with the way he lived his life." 

I took a half breath before immediately standing ground and defending my friend. 

"Listen," I said in an I'm a REALLY ANGRY white girl right now and this is REALLY not the time to FUCK WITH ME voice ... "I KNOW you two had your differences (I'll tell you that story in a minute) but now is NOT the time to be speaking ill of the dead."

"He was a piece of shit," he said clearly not registering the anger. 

I stood up on the stair and looked him in the eye (which was great positioning since he was so much bigger than me and in this moment I could actually look him directly in his eye). 

Wanting to say more than this, I censored myself and simply said, "ENOUGH." 

The ENOUGH was good ENOUGH for him to finally understand as I then went downstairs to find the building manager and begin to make an attempt at what was happening. 

<tangent> In terms of the other neighbor and Batz, when I had first moved in, one night there was a homeless guy that was chasing women into the building. Someone had texted Batz that this was going on and he went downstairs to politely guide the man off the property.

Emphasis on "politely." 

Now, I've only had to ask Batz for help once with a guy who was masturbating to Buster and I walking down the street. He had a blank vacancy in his eye so he might have thought his penis was a balloon he was trying to inflate for all I know. Either way, it spooked me enough to call him but I was smart enough to know not to see what he did - I was just happy feeling safe that it was done. 

The other neighbor wasn't smart and watched what he did. Instead of being appreciative that our building was safer, he filmed the guy and called the cops on Batz for assaulting the guy. The charges ended up being dropped, and it was funny any time I would see this neighbor while I was chatting with Batz he would roll his eyes and go "that guy." It made me laugh - he really really hated that guy and I can't say I blame him. </tangent> 

I then found the building manager who was talking to police. Over eight cop cars had shown up at that point quarantining and questioning as many places and people that they could. 

After however long, the building manager was finally free and I asked, "what the fuck happened?" 

"Batz was murdered," she said in a loving but still fearful way. "Someone or multiple people came into the building during the night and shot him five times. They put two pillows over his body as they did it. Did you hear anything?" 

She then gave me the specific time as my heart sank. I have a visual memory of numbers, and I know I woke up at that time. I was in the beginning stages of my hangover, so I got up to use the bathroom. I had Unsolved Mysteries on the TV at the time (since Robert Stack's voice puts me to sleep in .25 seconds). With where I was in the building, there's no way I wouldn't have heard it, I just more likely than not assumed it was from the TV.

I don't know what's worse in this moment, I thought, knowing that I heard the gunshots that killed my friend, or not realizing that it was actual gunshots that I heard. 

I sat in the lobby for what felt like a year. I didn't feel safe enough to go back into the apartment alone. I had called my best friend frantically after I had spoken to the police, but realized he was also grieving his best friend. It felt selfish to ask him to come back, but I didn't know what else to do. Without a dog or Batz's protection, I didn't feel safe. I sure as shit couldn't drive anywhere and I also wasn't sure if we were technically allowed to leave since this was considered an active crime scene. 

"Why wouldn't they tell me he died," I asked the manager. 

"Because you're a suspect," she said. "You're a suspect, I'm a suspect, everyone in this building is a suspect until they find out what happened."

I've been called a lot of things in life, but "murder suspect" was DEFINITELY a first. 

THIS ISN'T ME?!! I THOUGHT!! THIS DOESN'T BELONG TO ME ... YET THIS IS HAPPENING ... AND I HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT. 

I didn't know anything could be more traumatic than testifying in court. I've had to do it three times in my life. Once was for stalking on the criminal side, the second time was for the civil case and the third was when I got hit in the head with a brick. I thought that experience was the most traumatic because you not only have to publicly share what occurred, you are then cross examined on your experiences. In the criminal case for the brick, I was asked by the public defender "how I knew I got hit in the head with a brick." I cried as I said, "because I have four staples in my head." 

Being interviewed in a murder investigation was FAR worse than testifying in court. In the TV version of my life story (which is actually ABOUT TO GO INTO PRODUCTION!!! - more on that once I get over this whole "murder thing"), the character jumps up excited to finally live out the "I MAY BE ABLE TO HELP SOLVE A MYSTERY!!!" 

In the real life version of my life, I was ABSOLUTELY terrified, angry, sad, and wanted nothing to do with ANY sort of an investigation. If I had a choice to be interviewed, I would have said no. The fact of the matter is, I didn't have a choice and I wanted to help my friend. It was the final act of kindness I could show to someone who spent so many years protecting me and I wish I could say the shoe was on the other foot and this act would protect him. The reality is though, he couldn't even protect himself. 

#staytuned

Click here to read part three 

FUCK this is hard to write out ... next part is where I actually got interviewed. I do not do not do not want to write this, but obviously holding it in isn't helpful either. Thanks for reading, nerds!! <3 

#TrueStory: I was interviewed in a murder investigation (and cried in front of Katie Couric and Will.I.Am telling them about it)

I've recently discovered Stoicism (and I'm very excited about it). I spent the last year consistently feeling blindsided. (See this last post.) Less than two months into this year, I have felt "front sided?" 

Is that a thing? If not I'm making it one - because I can't find another way to describe it.

The fundamental principle in Stoicism is "amor fati" meaning to love fate. I'll explain more later in terms of what that means, but the bottom line is that the obstacles that are in front of you aren't in the way, they ARE the way. It says, that you can't grow in a place of comfort (which I fully agree with). 

This year, I lost my best friend/ soulmate Buster Brown on my other best friend's birthday. Then, my other best friend lost his best friend/ soulmate three weeks to the day after. We were there when it happened (which is what she would have wanted), as we went in for a routine visit and didn't realize that they were in the process of pulling the plug. Less than 15 hours after her celebration of life, my friend and neighbor was brutally murdered in his sleep (in our mutual home). 

It's easy for me to be angry at everything right now. It's easy for me to withdraw. It's easy for me to cry myself to sleep. What wasn't easy was PUBLICLY crying (particularly in front of someone I consider adjacent to "idol" territory).

This picture was taken about 15 minutes before I turned into a crying baby sea lion in front of not only the entire theater but in front of Katie Couric and Will.I.Am. 

It's what happened, and I love my fate for it. I'm not someone who backs down from challenges or places of uncomfort. I do the opposite, I let it motivate me ... 

I can't think of a more appropriate song to write to. 

Maestro ... 

On January 2, 2020 I lost my best friend and furrever soul mate Buster Brown Friel. On the last day of his life, he was visited and FaceTimed with those he loved. He ate chocolate for the first and last time (because what was it going to do ... kill him?). 

He went to the dog park for a final stretch and a solid pee session on a tree, and he rode in the car (one of his favorite things to do) all while being sung WE ARE FAMILY in an off-key as he was carried into the vet's office. 

I've never had to put down an animal before, but I KNEW when I got Buster that our love was different. There was NO WAY he was ever going to go without me being there. 

Buster and I were peas and carrots ... 

This is the cover art for our 90s acoustic alternative album.

He was peanut butter (which he also loved) and I was his jelly ... 

We had adventure after adventure ... and dance party after dance party. 

It was like Buster's life burned at both ends of the candle. He loved SO unconditionally and SO hard that his body eventually gave out on him. You can read his obituary here (which I've never written an obituary for a dog but if you met and knew Buster, you would understand). 

Once I started to tell people the unfortunate news, everyone said the same thing "when is the memorial?" I've also never thrown a memorial for a dog but after a stream of flowers, and even groceries I recognized the impact he had on people's lives and it would be cruel to not let them say a final good bye. 

THERE IS EVEN A STAR NAMED AFTER HIM (courtesy of his auntie Lindsay) - A STAR HAS BEEN NAMED AFTER THIS DOG. 

The memorial was held a week later (on a Sunday) and six and a half hours later, I found myself STILL with a crowd STILL wanting to celebrate Buster.  

I have never experienced a loss of love like I did with Buster. I texted my neighbors the day after I had to physically be picked up off the floor shouting "I NEED YOU!!! COME BACK!! I NEED YOU!!!!!!!" 

Wow that made me tear up even thinking of that ... 

I didn't want them thinking that I was in danger (in a physical sense), in the emotional sense? That was to TBD. 

Fortunately, they're all really cool and one of them even sent this text ... 

... followed by more flowers and groceries. 

Buster was my protector, therapist, best friend, furrever soulmate, and while I know we are supposed to "smile because it happened" and not "cry because it's over" - I wasn't capable of doing that. 

Getting out of bed some days was really hard and instead of punishing myself for that, I did the reverse - I congratulated myself. Congratulated myself on getting the sleep I needed. Congratulated myself for putting pants on. Congratulated myself for going outside. Congratulated myself for working out. Congratulated myself for feeling my feelings with whatever that meant and congratulated myself for respecting myself in the process. 

In the past, I compartmentalized things only to "get through them" and then three to six months later (or even years later when I was younger), I would have a breakdown. I mentally put my pain inside boxes and allowed them to stack up and stack up until one day they would fall over. 

I couldn't change how I was going to grieve. All I could do was love the love that I had and experienced and use that as yet another opportunity to see how far I have come away from my emotional unavailability. 

My best friend had not only never had a dog before, but also had never (like myself) put one to sleep. I wouldn't have gotten through this without him, and while I was upset it happened on his birthday, I also like to think Buster had a hand in that. The three of us were the "Three Amigos" and now furrever we can honor both of them on the same day. 

"I can see now why people are so upset when an animal passes," he said deep in his own mourning. Buster was such a loud person in a fur coat, that with his larger than life presence being gone was not only emotional but also physical. 

Part of the ways I dealt with the grief was to update anything "routine" in my apartment. You eat on plates every day (or at least I do) so if I get new plates (which I did) it will feel different.

Buster liked to sit outside on his favorite bench ... 

This was taken the day before he passed. You can see how thin he is but we were able to watch the sunset together one final time.

That is now gone, and replaced with cushions and new lights. 

I can't control that he is gone, but I can change things in my environment to make his absence less noticeable. 

Less than three weeks after Buster had passed, my best friend got a call from the family of his best friend saying that his best friend was in ICU. 

<tangent> The three of us were supposed to all go to Burning Man together last year. Right before we were set to leave she sent this text ... 

</tangent> 

Much like with what happened to Buster her body was suddenly and aggressively decaying. We had seen her just a few weeks prior and personality wise she was 100% there, but her body had gotten so thin as she was fighting this terrible, terrible disease. 

"We need to go see her," I said. "We don't have to go together but we both need to see her." 

Our schedules happened to sync up that week and on Thursday we drove over for a visit. 

We had just disinfected ourselves as we reached over for the mask to place on our mouth before walking in. 

"Don't bother," said her son. 

My eyes darted knowing what that meant ...

... as the rest of my body walked in with a smile on my face. 

"SO GOOD TO SEE YOU!" we said approaching her. 

With a breath barely above a whisper she said "everyone out. These are my two best friends and I need to talk to them." 

In 35 years on this planet, I have never actually seen anyone kick their own family out of a "death bed" situation, but knowing her, it was fitting. 

<tangent> My best friend's best friend called me her best friend because of the mutual respect and adoration we have/ had for each other. I take labels seriously, and while those were her words the reality is that I was grandfathered in the last 18 months of her life. </tangent> 

She then offered us $10,000 as a finders fee to buy her a house in Malibu. "Something on the beach you know what I like," she declared still in a breath barely above a whisper. 

<tangent> I'm going to be respectful of what happened that day, but let me just tell you how cool this woman was for a minute ... she was homies with seated Presidents, multiple billionares (and I don't know if a trillionaire is a thing for a person yet but if it was I'm sure they also wanted to date her/ be a part of her gravitational pull). She had members of royalty at her beckon call (and garnered persistent proposals from them) and considered indigenous elders in the jungle among her best friends. You couldn't write her life and if you tried it was unlike anything or anyone you have ever seen. She was magical, possessed her own gravity, and was a beautiful, beautiful beacon of light and majesty. Respect with her was earned and once you were in you were "in" and that was some VERY interesting company to be "in." </tangent> 

Once we stepped back out in the hall, the family told us that she couldn't survive without the machine she was on and that they were going to make her as comfortable as possible. 

The words barely escaped the family member's mouth before I involuntarily broke down in tears. It wasn't JUST that this was happening, it was that WE WERE HERE WHILE IT WAS HAPPENING. 

Again, she wouldn't have wanted it any other way, but it didn't make the process of going through it any easier. 

Respectfully, I'll keep the rest of the details of the evening to myself. 

The drive back home was brutally silent. There were no words. There was nothing to say. Within three weeks to the day of each other we were two best friends who also lost their best friends. 

Opening the door to my apartment, I got down on my knees and began sobbing yet again.

Why did it have to happen this way? I shouted. It would have been easier if the roles were reversed because I would have gotten through this with Buster. I don't know what to do!!! I shouted out of anger, frustration, and the pain of the loss of not one but two great loves. 

The next day, the family got together to go to the Self Realization Fellowship lake shrine in Malibu. It was one of her favorite spots, and the idea was to give our respects to her on the property.

"Let's bring flowers" my best friend said on the ride over. "There's a lake there, and we can all throw the flowers into the lake." 

We then purchased two dozen white lotus-esque flowers as we hiked the very basic but pretty trail.

It's a beautiful property, but definitely has a creepy "cultie" vibe.

I didn't expect to see Xenu, but I wasn't sure if I'd find Joseph's golden plates either. Clearly nothing in life makes sense right now, so as per usual, I might as well go along with it. 

We all individually paid our respects in the chapel, and then gathered on the dock by the lake. Workers came out and then handed the kids little baggies to feed the massive koi fish and ducks. 

This made me really happy because I used to feed ducks as a kid, and in this moment, I got to relive a really happy moment in life and escape whatever new fucked up reality I was currently experiencing. 

Once everyone gathered, we took the tops of the lotus flowers off and placed them one by one in the water. There was enough for everyone to go around and it left quite the beautiful display when completed. 

Once done, I walked off the dock choosing to sit down on the benches by the car to catch my breath (which had felt constricted after all the grieving). 

"Alright Friel," I said to myself. "You have two choices in this scenario. You can allow yourself to collapse with grief (which you have every right to do), or you can say WOW! that felt great getting to hang out with ducks again."

It doesn't change the grief, it won't take away the pain, but during this painful time it was something I could focus my attention on. 

"Focus on the ducks, Friel. Focus on the ducks." I said to myself over and over and over almost in a trans.

Some ducking time later, a man approached the group, shouting "WHERE IS YOUR LEADER?!" 

HOLY SHIT, MAYBE WE DID FIND JOSEPH'S GOLDEN PLATES - I thought laughing to myself amused that anyone would even ask that. 

I leaned in closer so I could hear better. 

"Who told you you could put flowers in the lake?" he asked with fierce demand and command. 

My friend (who apparently was the most "leader-looking" person) said, "are you telling us we can't put flowers in a lake?" 

"YES! NO ONE CAN TOUCH THE LAKE," he shouted. 

My brain immediately defaulted to logistics and thought, these are real flowers and those are real trees around this lake. What happens should a leaf just HAPPEN to fall in the lake? Would they yell at the tree for its natural shed and throw a shit fit like the one I'm seeing right now? 

"Listen," my friend said. "We didn't know." He may or may not have said sorry, and since we were leaving any way - we didn't really care. 

The personal assistant of our friend then approached wondering what was going on. 

"We can't put flowers in the lake," the friend said. 

"How did we get to this conclusion," he said with a side of sass? 

"This guy came over and yelled at us." 

"SOMEONE YELLED AT YOU" he shouted now just as loudly as the "take me to your leader" man. 

"OH HELL NOOOOOOOO," he said with the extra OOOOOOOOOOOOs. "I'm going to find him. I'm immediately in my anger stage of grief and have NO problem being the "angry black person" in this scenario.

(He literally is a black man and in this moment he also happened to be really really angry.) 

Wanting a front row seat to whatever was happening next ... I followed closely enough to read the body language but far enough away to avoid striking distance. 

I then watched the assistant take an aggressive stance in front of Mr. "Take me to your leader." 

I saw a hand raise, not in a fist, but in a "talk to the hand" style fashion. 

Mr. "Take me to your leader" immediately about faced as I stepped closer asking what happened. 

The assistant turned around and smiled going, "oh nothing honey. I'm an angry black man - you white people want nothing to do with me." 

I then burst into well needed laughter thinking "WHO ALMOST GETS INTO A FIGHT AT A SELF REALIZATION CENTER?!" This group, that's who! 

I smiled knowing how proud our friend would be - we aren't the types to back down from any kind of bullshit bullying. 

We then all went for dinner and in the days after began grieving in our own ways. My best friend took action by being there as much as he could for the family (considering he is considered family), and I helped the best I could by designing her memorial program and explaining any web related needs. 

The best friend of my best friend lived on the opposite end of town that I do. Instead of wanting to sit in hellish traffic, I would often stay at a place I consider home on that side of town to get done whatever needed to get done more efficiently. After all, the silence in my own apartment was brutal enough. At least being there I could be around people more which helped keep me out of my head. 

Her memorial happened about two weeks after her death. It was attended by celebrities, billionaires, rockstars, spiritual gurus, and many people I'm lucky enough to now call friends. The event was documented by a photographer who shoots for Vogue, because obvi you hire a photographer from Vogue for an event like this. 

The reception began shortly after the ceremony was over. I wore wings to her memorial because she called me her "angel" (although again technically her best friend was her angel, but again, being grandfathered in at the last minute meant I wore that label out of pride and respect for both mine and their love). At the reception people kept commenting how beautiful I looked and how interesting the wings were. 

"Only for her!" I would say with a laugh and an attempt to keep it together as best as I could. 

Which I wasn't very good at doing ... 

This is me crying hysterically not being able to process what is happening while falling into the arms of a literal rockstar who is now holding me and the program I designed for our friend in his hands. 

I then waited in an ungodly line for the restroom, and en route back, I offered to get myself and my best friend a drink. Our lost love was the consummate host so she would want us to celebrate her. 

En route, I then stood in yet another ungodly line for a drink and quickly discovered there was only one bartender. I took a handful of steps back to figure out exactly what needed to happen. 

"I'm literally going to have to do this myself," I said out loud and loudly enough that my girlfriend Anneka also heard. 

"Are we about to take this line down?" she asked. 

... I said while getting behind the bar. 

I've never bartended before, but considering it was just beer and wine, I knew I could handle it. I politely asked the actual bartender if he could help with glasses so we can help him expedite. 

THANK YOU! he said not at all offended, just appreciative that people help had arrived. 

Everyone at the event had suddenly lost a friend. The last thing our friend would want to see is a series of empty glasses. 

Within moments, the line was completely cleared, as person after person commented on how badass it was to not only take action but organize an assembly line (which was what was required to get the job done). 

"Acts of service is my love language" I admitted to my friend. "It's selfish actually, but I'm technically doing this for myself." 

She smiled as she went over to get me some food. "You also need to eat, and you also lost your friend." Compartmentalizing my feelings only for this moment, I thanked her as I quickly ate and got back to work. 

Hours later, the official ceremony ended, and the after party began. 

We all piled into an SUV to head back to the host's house.

As we were pulling away, the passenger in the front seat got a text saying we had to come back. We did and as we pulled in, the funeral director passed a document through the front window. I looked down and it read "DEATH CERTIFICATE." 

I've never actually seen one in person before, and as she signed and folded it up, my best friend broke down. "It's all so real now," he said coming out of the coma of shock. 

I had no idea what to say, but much like the angel persona I had adopted that day, I just placed my arms around him like wings and let him cry. 

We arrived back at the house sometime later. One by one, the children of my friend came up to thank me for getting everyone properly smashed at the reception. 

"That was really cool what you did," said her son. "I hope you know that you're family now and you're stuck with us." 

I smiled and thanked him, but I was lucky enough to have already felt that way. 

I kept an eye on my best friend but also took a moment for myself. I literally just bartended a celebration of life; I was not only emotionally exhausted but also physically exhausted. 

Sometime past a point of polite partying, I asked my best friend if he was ready to go. Considering he was already passed out in the downstairs meditation room - I took that as a sign of yes. 

I then called us an uber, and headed back to the place I call home. 

Before the memorial, I had sent my good friend and neighbor of said home a text telling him how funny it was that as a group "we almost got into a fight at a self realization/ actualization center." 

WHO DOES THAT HAPPEN TO!!!?! It's still so so good ... 

I then sent him a picture of us all. Hey, for a bunch of grieving people we still manage to look pretty effing sexy... 

This was one of the last text messages I have from my neighbor and good friend. 15 hours after the memorial, he himself was dead. He was murdered execution style in his bed inside the apartment building of the place I call home. (I didn't know "murder could have a style" but that's the best way I can explain it.) I was there when it happened, and 36 hours after he was shot, I shot out of bed from a knock on the door from some people who wanted to talk to me. 

Shit. I thought, I definitely didn't see this one coming.

Frontsided. I've been frontsided again!!!

#staytuned

Click here to read part two.

Wow that took a lot out of me, but also felt really good to write out. I don't understand this life experience. It has been the worst five weeks of my life and up next is part two. Thanks for reading nerds!! xx