Over the weekend I found out that my old friend, Dorian Estevez, died. Not even a month after his 35th birthday. He had high blood pressure, diabetes & recurring bouts of pancreatitis, his brother (another old friend) was telling me.
I can't say Dorian & I were super close, but we were both on the scene. I remember him as sweet but troubled, like so many of us were, including me. I wish I hadn't been on so many drugs back then & could tell you some story that would explain to you how he was but that's not the case.
I know I should remember that the generation of gay men before me were attending more funerals than birthdays when they were the age I am now, but it doesn't help. Not really. I didn't really imagine I'd ever see Dorian again (he'd moved away along time ago & I am practically a hermit these days) but to know that I definitely can't see him again...feels like a kick in the chest.
There's another side of me that thinks all this upset is just self-indulgent claptrap, after all think of his brother, who suddenly has more on his plate than I can even imagine. Think of his 17-year old daughter. Think of their loss. Think of it & pray for them & stop playin the martyr & just get up already & LIVE.
Live for those who can't do it any more. Live & love for those who don't want to do it any more. Live even when you don't want to do it any more. Live for yourself, for tomorrow, for whatever, but for pity's sake, just LIVE.
Let yourself cry out your anger & heartbreak of the ungodly unfairness of it all but then when the crying is done and you can breathe right again, LIVE.
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