The other day, during an absentminded moment, I thought about calling my friend Kirk James. And then the awful reality set in – Kirk is no longer with us.
I remembered that there would be a celebration of life for him soon to heap much praise upon the man, and to recall how he touched so many of us. Perhaps I’ll stand up and give Kirk the recognition he so deserves. Maybe a few funny anecdotes would be in order.
But one thing troubles me: Why hadn’t I told him how much I appreciated him when he was alive? I can’t remember whether or not I ever told him I loved him. I hope I had. If not, saying so at a celebration of life is probably a little too late.
(It’s like having a birthday party where everyone shows up… except the birthday boy.)
In 1991, my youngest brother, Robert, was at Parkland Hospital in Dallas. My parents had told me that it wasn’t too serious, that Robert was undergoing some tests of some sort. As fate would have it, I had to escort a friend to Dallas just a few days later. Dad picked me up at the airport. He asked if I was in the mood for some Tex-Mex. “No,” I said. “I’d like to see my brother . . . right now, please.”
When we walked into Robert’s hospital room I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was almost unrecognizable. He was skin and bones, covered in blotches, tubes protruding from his chest, IVs dangling from his arms and a machine keeping track of his vitals. It was apparent that my dear brother was on death’s doorstep.
For the next few days, I spent many precious hours with him. He had refused morphine, but I convinced him to let them administer it through his IV. Soon he became much more like the old Robert I had known. We resolved our petty differences and recalled all the happy days, and embraced for the longest time. I told him unequivocally how much I loved him.
I returned to our home in Santa Fe. A week later Robert was gone.
I was very lucky to have seen my brother before he died, and to have told him how much I loved him. But my ‘brother’ Kirk was gone in a flash. There were no goodbyes, no embraces. It’s hard enough for me to write this now, but I can only imagine the total devastation that Mary Jo and the extended family is experiencing this very moment.
Jayebird and I lost our son, Tait, at age 23. And I can tell you this: You never get over it, you only get used to it. Only time can heal these wounds, and even then, a faint, indelible scar will remain. I suppose all we can do is to memorialize and celebrate the life of a wonderful person. I firmly believe Kirk would want us all to smile – even laugh – and remember his music, art and good-natured banter. And, lord, did we have some fun!
So now, we must carry on. Let us all take the time to express our love to those who are dear to us. And guys, it’s okay to say: “I love you, man.”
A memorial service and celebration of life is to be held on Sunday, September 21, at 2pm at the event center of Sky Ute Casino Resort, 14324 Hwy 172 North, Ignacio, CO.
Please visit the webpage…. go to the Event tab and RSVP. Thank you.
DC has been a frustrated musician for over fifty years, and now has decided to become a frustrated writer. Learn more at DCDuncan.com. He’ll keep you posted.