For Travis Wrath Crider... I like to think of myself as strong person, like most men do. We like to believe that certain painful things can simply be compartmentalized and stored away in the attic of our minds, never to be opened or thought of again, except perhaps on very rare occasions when we’re feeling sorry for ourselves. Unfortunately, I have failed this test when it comes to the loss of my friend and former bandmate Travis Crider. The man I called my best friend passed away six years ago on August 21st, 2008, and as each August approaches I tell myself, my wife, my doctor, and concerned friends things like, “I’m okay now”, or “I’m all cried out”, or “I really think everything will be fine this year, after all; it’s been “x” number of years”. Besides, Travie wouldn’t want the annual lamentations that always appear like Jack from his box, catching me off guard, always at the exact wrong moment. With said lamentations come the inevitable tears, severe depression, and at least in my case, severe panic attacks. I’m not too proud to admit my vulnerabilities; it is what it is. Hell, I’ve dealt with panic disorder my entire life. I’m also not too proud to admit that when it comes to this particular traumatic event that I’m just too damned weak to deal with it most times, particularly this time of year. I say this without shame or even the slightest modicum of machismo. Good God, I wish it wasn’t so difficult, or at the very least that it will somehow get easier with the passage of time, a thing that has not yet happened despite so many assurances that time heals all wounds. Maybe memories fade over time, but the pain does not seem to have an expiration date, I’m sorry to say. It clings to us like thorns that stab, cut, and break off into our skin. Travis was called home, leaving behind multitudes of bereft loved ones who, to this day, think of and miss him every single day, just like I do - even more than I do. I cannot even begin to imagine the breadth or depth of his family’s sadness and grief. Who the hell am I to feel this way in light of that? I had a miserable thought about six months after he left us, and that was this: the worst part of losing someone so close to you is that life goes on. You’re expected to just move on because you “must”, despite your shattered heart, the daily sadness, and those godforsaken off-guard moments when you’re in the middle of a conversation, or just driving, or hear a line from a song, and a memory rushes in and overrides your emotions no matter how hard you fight to keep it from happening. It’s like being emotionally hijacked. With the realization that life must go on, despite the horror of it all, the worst part of it hit me. I found myself in tears begging Travis for forgiveness, because just moving on seemed like one hell of an epitaph for someone who meant so much to so many. It seemed - no that’s not right; it seems monstrously unfair to him in every way. But then I asked myself if grief was all he left behind? If the pain of moving on was truly his epitaph? The very simple answer to that question is absolutely not. Travis, through his music, his humor, his gentle, laidback sense of peace, his acceptance of his medical condition, his inspiration, his love of his family and friends, the time he made for all of his fans, the messages he wanted to convey through his music before he left this world, the hope and encouragement he exuded, a sense that somehow, no matter how bad the situation seemed that everything would be ok; that and a thousand other intangible things. For me, Travis’ gift was his complete acceptance of who I was, without precondition and without a single ounce of judgment. He saw my panic attacks coming every time, and without my being aware that one was about to pile drive me into the floor, he was there distracting me, helping to pull me out of a very dark place. So, sadly, here we are again, friends, another year gone by, and Travis’ memory lives on through his music, and the memories of his family and friends. This year, however, I’m happy to report that by the grace of God, his name now appears in the Library of Congress because of the movie soundtrack Almost Home appears on. As long as that Library exists, so will Travie’s name, music, and his legacy. Maybe, just maybe, someone many years from now will become curious enough to listen to his song and find the inspiration, the message, that he intended to gift to those who need/needed to hear it. His epitaph is not the quantity of his life, but the quality of it. While he did not realize it until very late in the game, his living spirit touched so many people, and actually saved more than a few along the way. The latter isn’t conjecture, my friends; we have letters written by fans and soldiers who found the strength to cling to life because of his music. For those of us who were lucky enough to know him, we benefitted from his ability to somehow make everything seem ok, no matter how bad the situation. He made us smile, he made us laugh; he made us feel special. That is such a rare and special quality. I miss so many things about Travis, but if I had to pick what I missed the most it would not be the jam sessions, the shows, the long conversations, writing songs together, or the hilarious late-night phone calls when he was, well, a little less than sober. What I miss most was his quiet presence, whether we were watching a movie or just chilling between sets at practice. I truly miss his silent strength, and I miss the unspoken communication we shared together, be it a simple glance or facial expression. We always knew what the other was thinking and what to do about it without exchanging a single word. So on this, the sixth anniversary (is anniversary even an appropriate word for such a terrible thing?) of his passing, I want to once again express my infinite gratitude to Travis for his friendship, for all he did for me, and for all he was to all of us. I want to thank God for bringing him into my life, just as I thank Him for the pain that accompanies Travie’s absence: while it would never be my first choice, the pain is worth having been a part of Travie’s life. As long as I live I will never forget my friend or stop mourning him. I know we’ll meet again one day, as we all owe life a death. That thought gives me a certain amount of comfort, knowing that no matter how or when the good Lord decides to bring me home, that Travis will be there as I cross over, no doubt smiling, and hopefully as happy to see me as I will be to see him.
Posted on: Thu, 21 Aug 2014 04:01:04 +0000
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