I’ve been struggling for a few days to write about you. I haven’t even been able to clean the house to The Line this weekend (like we do every weekend). Matthew said on the night that we found out about you transitioning, that with all of your travels, you’ve taught us to get used to you leaving. I keep thinking that you’re off on another tour. I’m waiting for the email or text or phone call where we catch up on where you’ve been. I love…loved talking to you. The way that you tell stories; the way you put your whole body into the conversation, I miss that. I will miss the Sunday dinners…the late night games of Scrabble, and that stupid music game that Christina made us play when you twisted your ankle trying to act out James Brown, or you kicking my ass at Cranium. I will miss your hearty laugh, your gap-tooth smile. I will miss conversations over good beer. I will miss a thoughtful cigarette and honest conversation. I will miss you sharing new poems, newer unreleased music. I will miss my brother who always brought soda or wine or salad (which Marvin hates) to Sunday dinner.
I will miss calling you by your first and last name. David Blair. David Blair. David Blair. I will not pretend to know the mind of God. I will not clench my fists in anger and toss expletives about why I think you should still be here. I, like Marvin, am hoping that you and Michael Jackson are dancing and singing somewhere dope. You are dope, Blair. Running through my blood. You were…you are the sweetest, most beautiful addiction I’ve ever had. You are inspiration. You are why I will never believe that I’m too old to do anything. You are why I will love to the fullest – everyone that I come in contact with. I will miss you and love you for a long, long, long time.
Book club will never be the same without you. Remember when you and Matt called book club The Old Middle-Aged Women Book Club? Remember when you told me that Eat, Pray, Love was gay and your ass was the first one to read it? Do you know how much life you bring to a situation? How do I fill the bottomless hole that you’ve left here in my heart, my beautiful inspiration? I’m glad your transition was peaceful. I’m glad that you left KNOWING that you were loved and that you gave the best love to everyone you came in contact with. Thank you for celebrating my birthday with me. For sharing a drink (or three) before the show. For showcasing your new poem. For calling me an old bird at my dinner party. For rushing to make it to almost every performance I’ve had. Blair – you almost never missed a performance of me. For loving my book. For loving me. Thank you for loving me so so much.
I have too many memories over the last 9 years to process about you. I would never be able to capture them all. You were HERE. You are HERE – forever -walking the line between various worlds. Loving us. Guiding us. Thank you.