A Letter to G.

Hey G,

We are almost to Christmas number two.

Happy holidays, my friend. I suppose.

Couldn’t sleep again…

There are ghosts in this house, G.

People who passed on long ago,

But still can’t quite let these walls go.

For their own reasons.

I don’t mind. It’s their house, after all.

But as I attempt to take solace in peaceful dreams,

They fill my head with noise.

Plus, I been fighting this bug since Tuesday.

They say it’s going around. Yes, and…

I bet you fought your fair share of theatre bugs

In your day, G. They unite us in a common suffering, do they not? But also,

In a common resilience.

It’s like, “fuck you, Sick. I got things to do, and no Understudy to do em for me.”

Plus, I like this character I’m playing. Mr. Bingley.

Heard of him? Yeah, I know ;)

He’s cute. And he wouldn’t let a nagging cold

Screw up his Christmas. Or any other winter holiday, for that matter.

Because they all hold value, and deserve held space.

So, Zinc and Zicam all day, bae.

I’ll be fine.

But I miss you, G.

It’s been an especially lonely holiday season.

As I knew it would be.

I was living in a lake house when we lost you.

I slept better there.

Not that day, though.

“Death is for the living.”

Best advice I received in the wake of your passing. Thanks, K. Truly.

I bought you a card from Powell’s

The week before you stepped through the

Red Door. Where it all gets washed away.

But I think the immediacy of, well, everything

Paralyzed me. Plus, not wanting to

Give up so easily.

I wrote you a couple of lines in that card

And then I put it aside,

Because we had time… right?

Because radiation, the kind that “travels by armored car, and is protected by armed guards”... that’s what it was time for.

That’s what you told me. Or something like that.

And then we listened to the

They Might Be Giants album on YouTube,

At your request. Remember that, G.?

That is one of the final things you shared

with me.

I promise I got plans for that music, G.

The next generation will know those sounds.

Thank you for the inspiration. God,

If I had a nickel for every time I said that to you,

In my head,

I could’ve donated more than twenty dollars

To your GoFundMe. Fuck cancer.

You gave me the best hug ever that day, G.

That hug made us giants. It made us forever,

Because that’s how long the hug lasted.

I was talking with a cast mate just yesterday

About the last round of Henry(s) at the Festival…

“Black hole sun, won’t you come/

Wash away the rain?” Remember that, G.?

Shit, that was an awesome moment! Perfect.

“Yeah man, his passing really hit me.”

Yeah man, I know how it feels.

I asked this new friend if she’d seen The King

On Netflix yet. I liked it, G.

In particular, I thought the writers made Falstaff

The man we all hoped he could be.

They give him an ugly, beautiful arc to pursue.

As you pursued, in your life. Time and time again.

And in the end, he found a place of peace,

I believe.

Your Falstaff was a glory to behold, my knight.

Cut too short.

But I hear the falling action of your arc

Was beautiful, too. Was it, G.?

God, I hope so.

In those final photos,

Your eyes were aglow and your smile was bright.

A place of Peace, perhaps? I hope so.

“He was a man

Take him for all and all

I shall not look upon his like again.”

No, I don’t believe I shall.

You were a king among men, G.

A guiding light, raging against the confusing darkness.

Mentor. Friend. Family.

Burdened by the crown that you created.

I speak of you often. I think of you even more.

Because I know you’d ask:

My goal in this moment is

‘To Honor You.’

My tactic is

‘To write you a letter.’

Better late than never.

I hope you’d agree.

I love you, G. Forever.

~OB.