Hello. Goodbye.

Posted on
Jan 1, 2018


I am back. At least, I’m telling myself that I am back. I am committing, under the binding oath of the internet (my hand firmly placed on a laptop open to reddit’s homepage as I swear this to you) to try to blog again this year. Do you hear that, internet? I AM GOING TO TRY.

(Please, no one point out that trying is like, the most non-committal of all the promises).

Ask me why I stopped blogging, and I’ll tell you I didn’t mean to, while simultaneously offering up a dozen excuses. I stopped because I was tired, because I was swamped with the book, because I missed my dad, because blogging literally hurts. The last two years have had me tweaking “my brain medicines”, trying to figure out what works and what doesn’t. Most things, I’ve found, don’t work. Sitting at my computer for more than a half an hour equates to a major headache.

But I miss writing. I miss this weird site and this weird community that we made together.

It’s strange to jump in again, to try and pick up the story where we left off. I don’t remember where we were. I don’t remember what trip I last told you about. So I will simply tell you about the day before yesterday. That was when I found out that Chad died.

I’d written about Chad before – both on this blog and in my book. Around the time I had brain surgery, Chad did as well, but his diagnosis was for glioblastoma multiforme – a nasty form of brain cancer that Chad discouraged people from Googling because (in his words) “all you’re going to find is depressing survival rates of 3 to 4 minutes.” (Chad was funnier than me.)

He went on to have five more brain surgeries, which he documented on his wonderful blog.

Chad was instrumental in helping me finish my manuscript for All Over the Place. I’d been feeling uninspired, so I’d hired a career coach. She told me that since I wasn’t internally motivated (I won’t change out of pajamas unless I’m going to see another human being, and even then I might not) I needed to enlist someone else who I was accountable to, to help me finish my book.

I enlisted Chad. Every month for a year, I sent him a chapter of my book. He joked that I’d asked him to do it because I was planning on him dying and that way I could procrastinate forever. Then he made a terrible pun about deadlines.

Our emails ebbed and flowed. Sometimes we’d send several back and forth in a day, sometimes one of us (almost always me) would fall off the planet for weeks or months.

He’d lived with glioblastoma for five years. During that time he wrote a musical about cancer, started a non-profit, and enjoyed himself to the point of “curing” his illness (if only for a little while).

The last email I sent him was in March of last year. Part of me figured I had the luxury that we have with so many relationships – to dip in and out of them over the span of a lifetime, assuming they’ll be there when we need them. Part of me was was easing myself out of our friendship, slowly backing away from a dying man, because it’s easier to lose an acquaintance than a friend. I know. I know. It’s a shitty thing to do.

Aware of how awful and cowardly I was being, I finally texted Chad a few days ago. A text came back, and just a few words in, I could tell it wasn’t him. A family member graciously apologized to me and broke the news, but by then I already knew he was gone. He’d had a severe seizure and died a few weeks earlier.

We didn’t spend that much time together. We’d hung out in person once, back in 2015. The only photos I have of the two of us are two ridiculous, grainy images taken with my cell phone during that trip down to L.A.


I had other pictures and texts from him, but I lost them when I got a new phone. So now I just have his emails, these two photos, and his blog, which I keep returning to.

I’m left with regret. I’m always left with regret. I should have written to Chad more. I should have written to my father more. I should write more. I should tell the people I love that I love them more.

We don’t have an infinite amount of time on this planet. Chad was acutely aware of this. He spent his time creating – through headaches, through seizures, through cancer. He even helped me create. He reminded me to “stop and smell the fucking roses” and to appreciate just being alive. He reminded me that every damn day is a gift. Every damn day is chance to make something wonderful.

So I’m going to try to spend more time doing that.

Goodbye, my friend. I’ll miss you.

And hello, my friends. It’s nice to see you all again.

Also published on Medium.

Leave a Comment

  • Killau

    Watch OtherLife only on this web site : RETROVISIONHD.BLOGSPOT.COM

  • Sad to hear about Chad and also sad to hear you are not gonna write here. :/

  • Theresa

    I’m so sorry, G. I remember reading about Chad both on your blog and in your book and thinking he sounded like such a singular person. It’s always devastating to lose a friend, but I think it is especially difficult when they were so vibrant and full of life. Death just seems like an impossibility for someone like that. I am glad that you are pushing forward in your little community, though. I don’t always comment on here, but I read every post you make – they feel like a present to be unwrapped with much anticipation and relish. Truthfully, I had your book for several days before I started reading it because I knew as soon as I picked it up I was that much closer to finishing it. Anyway, I look forward to seeing more of you around these parts.

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    • Chandra Winata

      Let’s stop by to see Salyut 7 >>>>>>> cinemafox3d.blogspot.com

  • Pamm McFadden

    You are ‘shoulding’ on yourself a bit much there.Be as kind to yourself as you want to be to others. You’ve got this. We’re here when you are ready.


  • Veronica I Lucio

    I’m so sorry to hear about Chad. I found your blog two weeks ago when I found out I had a growth in my brain and did what I only knew to do: google “brain surgery recovery”… This morning I found out surgery is the only option, after a couple opinions. For what it’s worth, thank you for writing… even in your pain. It has helped me a lot. I’m sure it’s helped countless others. Your life and story are a light. Hugs.

  • Cindy Krum

    So sorry to hear this. Sending you all my love and support!! (And free puppy cuddles if you come to Denver!)

  • Miu

    I’m so sorry for your loss 🙁

  • Anthropologal

    I’m going through the blogs on my feed reader and saw his friend Brian’s post and as soon as I saw the title I just started crying. I found Chad’s blog through yours and even though I never met him in person I am so sad he is gone. He had such an amazing outlook. Thanks for writing about him so I got to share in a tiny piece of his life through his blog.

  • Reeallyme22

    As I am new to the wonderful and inspirational stories that you share via Twitter, this blog, Medium even; I constantly feel we have gone through many of the same difficulties in our lives. Regret is one of most painful feelings out there and I guarantee your buddy Chad wouldn’t want that for you. Especially you.
    I am a stranger to you so why should believe me but because I have seen survivorship and loss, it is something I live by.
    Thank you

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