A dear friend of mine passed away last night. I had known him for about two years. He had read every one of my books, and he reviewed most of them. We met as a result of my writing — otherwise, our paths would never have crossed. And no, we never sat down on a couch and had a face-to-face talk. In fact, I can’t rightly say what he looked like…he never had a picture of himself on Facebook, Twitter, or Empire Avenue. But he was my friend, nonetheless.
It seems unfair that he died the day before the Supreme Court took up the matter of gay marriage. Unlike some of my other friends, he didn’t get to take comfort in the massive groundswell of support for gay rights that many of us witnessed on Tuesday. He was openly gay, and he loved my gay characters. He thought Sax, Adam, and Steve were pitch-perfect.
Last year, he endeavored to write a blog post every day. In doing so, he revealed to his readers his struggle with bipolar disorder — all of the manic highs and frightening lows that accompany the disease. Though he didn’t succeed in posting every day, he did post 80% of the time — giving himself the grade of “a gentleman’s C,” as he put it. Considering that there are days (like today, for instance) that I really don’t even want to write one of my two posts a week, I greatly admire his dedication.
In recent months, he had made it his mission to support my writing in a way that very few have done. He posted reviews and blogged about me at least five or six times since January. In his review of my last book, Just One Note, he wrote, “I honestly can’t wait to see what she writes next.”
I wish he were going to be here for that. I’ll do my best not to let him down anyway.