Tribute to those that have gone before us.

"When a man lies, he murders some part of the world. These are the pale deaths which men miscall their lives.

All this I cannot bear to witness any longer. Cannot the kingdom of salvation take me home?"

-Cliff Burton "To Live Is To Die"

Today marks the 21st anniversary of the singularly worst day of my entire life. March 27, 1986 is the day I watched my best friend die. He was struck by a drunk driver that swerved to avoid hitting me and after bouncing off of a bus swerved back and killed my friend Gordon Stoney. This is the first time I've seen his name in print in a very, very long time.

Over the years I've developed a ritual tribute that has helped me deal with the pain of his passing. Have a drink and smoke and listen to Metallica's Master of Puppets. On that day, we were returning home from the record store. I had just purchased the vinyl and we were both eager to hear it. I had just turned 14 and we were both fanatical Metallica fans. I was already a guitar player and he was saving to buy a bass. When we weren't talking about the girls that we liked (or up to no good) we dreamed of the band we would have. At that particular time in our lives I understood him as no one else could and he understood me likewise. We were inseparable, often getting in trouble with our parents because we would say that we were staying over at each others house so that we could go out late at night and either just hang out, or commit a number of relatively harmless, yet nefarious deeds (at least for our age).

Last year which was a milestone of sorts, I had Jill to help me. We had a drink and she helped me celebrate the short time we had together and remember the happiness. This year memories I had thought that were long forgotten rose like Lazarus and kicked me in the ass.

This year I'm alone with very few friends and trying to deal with a lot of past pain. Slowly I've either been able to let it go or integrate it into who I am. Today the memories of that day came flooding back in a torrent that I was unable to deal with. Every detail of that fateful day have come back to me in such detail that it feels as if I'm reliving that day all over again. I can still see his lifeless body lying on the ground in front of me. I can see the river of blood running down the stormdrain, the blood on my backpack that he was carrying for me, my bike thrown aside as I rushed to his aide. I can remember the kindness of strangers attempting to calm me down as I screamed bloody murder. I remember being chastised by the coroner for moving the backpack. I remember having the police drive me to his house and make me tell his mother (whom I loved and loathed as my own) what happened.

I remember being at my grandparents house. I remember my mother crying in the kitchen. I remember listening to Master of Puppets for the first time. I remember everyone telling me not to worry, even though I knew he was already gone. I remember sitting in the living room with my great-grandmother watching the late news and learning that he was dead. I knew that he was gone, but hearing the newscaster report it made it concrete.

That day forever changed me. It marked the beginning of my descent into hell. It was the one event that irreparably changed my future. After the funeral I returned to school immediately and was ostracized by nearly all of my classmates. No one knew how to deal with my trauma. It marked a very empty, lonely period of my life.

I'm hoping that with everything going on in my life now, remembering that day can finally bring the closure I'm looking for. For years I held onto the pain because I feared that I would forget about him and what he meant to me. I've since learned that I can carry all of the good feelings and memories and let go of the survivor's guilt that has been plaguing me these many years. I know he would want that and I know there is no way I can ever forget him or the impact he had on me as a friend so long ago.

Farewell my friend, know that you were loved and I raise my glass high in your honor.

R.I.P.
Gordon Stoney
1973-1986