Some times I have forgotten how lucky I’ve been. Not this week though.
When I grew up, I had a half a dozen or more friends who were my brothers. We learned the world together. Grade five, grade nine, grade thirteen, university. We were in it together. We went to each other’s weddings.
We learned music, politics, sports, ethics, literature, movies…everything. They really were my brothers.
I’m crying as I type this. We lost our brother Jeoff this week. Jesus fucking Christ, what sadness.
Jeoff was the true north. He taught us about music. He was our teacher. He was smarter than us. And wiser. He had a difficult childhood because he was a bookworm and wasn’t a great athlete. But in retrospect, he was probably the coolest cat I ever knew. So smart. Such great taste in music and just about everything else.
I’ve expressed that my guitar was my very favourite birthday present for my twentieth. But my other favourite was from Jeoff and Julia. A mixed tape and a book. The book that inspired Field of Dreams and a tape that had Ted Hawkins on it. The Venice Beach Tapes. And Keith Jarrett. And Willie Nelson. Jesus Christ, what a gift.
Jeoff was a host. His weekends at his family’s chalet at Mont Ste. Marie are among my very favourite memories. They defined the happiness of my youth. I want to play bumper pool right now. I want to ring the bell that told of a beer being opened. I want to hear the quadraphonic speakers playing Peter Gabriel or the Beatles or Laurie Anderson.
God Damn it Jeoff. Why did you have to leave so early? We should have grown old together. Fuck.
Travel well, old friend. You were the best. You’ve left a hole in this world. A hole that will never be filled.
But your friends won’t stop loving you.
I love you.