I spoke to Roger on the phone tonight for the first time in several weeks. I haven’t mentioned Roger by name in a single posting. Not on this blog. Not on the Rocky Top blog.
Roger was Wendy’s husband. He was, and is, one of the closest friends I’ve ever had. I proposed to Tab on their couch. I called him at 2 am on several occasions to read him bad poems. I held their son, Jhett, when he was the size of a loaf of bread. Even before I lost one brother, I had found another. After the accident, we called each other across the country and around the world to howl our agony.
We talked about this film–really talked about it–for the first time ever. That conversation is between us. However, it made me keenly aware that my family and friends–especially those whose lives were changed by Brian and Wendy’s deaths–are watching the whole thing unfold again.
Later, as I watched TV with Chad and Jen, I was asking myself why I’m doing this. Why am I putting Tab and Roger and our kids and siblings and parents and friends through this? What is there to learn? What is there to gain?
I don’t know. I can only say that sixteen years ago a hammer struck and I am a bell that’s been ringing ever since. I don’t know how not to.
Chad, too, is still ringing. I know this because Chad and I clung to each other after Brian died. Chad was Brian’s best friend. His brother. We each held a piece of Brian and we tried hard to match them up. The years went by and our friendship, founded in grief, deepened and developed in its own right. I figured out a long time ago that Chad was Brian’s parting gift to me.
The poets–Roger and Hans and Tony and me and all the others–we channeled our grief into poetry…and plays…and anything else that might hold a little of it. Chad’s art is film. It’s been a wonder and a privilege to see him at his craft. This is a story he has to tell, too. And he needs my help. I don’t know what he will learn from it or how he will gain. But I understand that he must tell it.