my steve rogers

All words ring false and hollow in the face of tragedy. And yet they are all I have to give.

My great friend Joey lost his mother, today. To idiocy. To idiocy and rage and selfishness and self-loathing. And it disgusts me. It pains me. It sickens me. And I dread to think of how it tears at him.

And I am awed. I am awed by his courage and strength. I am awed by the support and the rallying cries and the creativity of the friends that surround him and rush to his side. A wave of good faith that barely begins to illustrate what a great guy he is. And I hope that this loss does not curdle or darken his oversized heart. He's a goddamn hero. He's the most courageous dude I have ever met, and it fills me with pride to know him, and near to bursting that I am able to count him among my friends.

And I did not know much of his mother, who died trying to save her own mother, today. (Her mother -Joey's grandmother- is now safe and well) But I knew her to be kind and caring. And funny. And the kind of woman who would give her own life to save someone else. The kind of woman who raised a son who would do the same. For his family, of course, but really for anyone. And I know it must seem I am idealizing, in the face of this too-close-to-home blowback of gun violence, but I'm not. Joey Breeding is, as anyone who has ever met him will tell you, simply the best dude living. Loyal to his friends and to music and to his beliefs, supportive to all artistry and brotherhood. I know I'm getting a little hallmark-y, but somehow HE does it with the blue-collar, business-as-usual nonchalance of a young Clint Eastwood.

"Yes, I will hold open these doors and help these old ladies with their groceries. Not to show off, or for some great reward, but because this is how we should all live."

And that is where I want to show him that his mom still is. Inside of him and all of his accidental kindnesses. In his hope and his strength. In his humor and his determination. She could only have been the greatest woman, to bestow on him all of these gifts.

I wish that I had more to give. More than my words and my support. Some sort of shelter against the storm he is now facing, rather than the paltry life vest meant simply to keep him afloat. But I am one of many life vests for him to cling to, and his own will and hope lash them together to form a raft, and he navigates it with his heart and with his honor. And if I can help him, even in part, to make it -whole- to safe harbor, it would be MY honor, and my greatest pride, to have done so.

The world is better for having Joey in it.