One week ago on May 5th, 2013 my old and dear friend took his own life. His wife, Katy, and 2 adorable children Leo 9 and Sofie 5 have lost their loving husband and wonderful father. I hadn’t seen Afran or Katy since that hellish week of Sept 11th but we reconnected on Facebook and felt close even though we are separated by 3,000 miles. And all week I have been preoccupied with questions, bitterness, and dread.
I love Afran. What an awesome, amazing person! When we met in Berkeley I had just finished spending the summer working on music videos in Nashville. I learned to load a 16 and 35 mm camera and had dreams of making movies. So did Afran. He respected my ideas about film-making. He wanted to make a movie and he wanted my help. Damn, I should have tried harder to make that happen! His script ideas were funny, deep, and relevant. I knew about cameras and lighting but my script ideas fell short. I thought he was a genius. I looked up to him.
Afran loved to talk movies, and scripts, and music. He also had this way of telling you things that you need to hear. He could say these things in a funny way. Someone cut down that tree at the Dwight Ave house that stood between the hot tub and the house. Afran pointed this out to me after I spent an intimate evening in there. He could have never told me and spared me the mortification. Thank God, he didn’t.
Cut to New York 4-5 years later. I had almost given up on film for no other reason than my raging depression and budding alcoholism. It was Afran who kindly said something I already knew. That was his superpower. He could point out things about your that you know, but you aren’t aware of or you can’t think clearly enough about those feelings to express them to others. He had a way of showing you things about yourself so you could fix or change those things. Hell, I was in New York doing camera work on a mildly successful documentary, spent time learning to edit and edited my own short film but I was a mess. Afran could say this and it was cathartic. He was a genius.
Then the whole world fell apart. It was tough. I remember sitting and discussing the state of the world crumbling around us. With smiles and somber realization, Afran and Katy helped me to see that the world was still ok after Sept. 11. Another superpower.
About a year ago, I was chatting with Afran about all things and I mentioned my new career goal: teaching science. “In TN? Isn’t that…on the 7th day he rested?” I laughed and I wanted to cry. Because it was so funny and so true. Damn it, Affy, I miss you! There is NO ONE like you. You are irreplaceable! I am so sorry I didn’t tell you more how awesome you are. I am sorry I never sent you a Nashville western wear shirt. I am sorry that I didn’t make a film with you. It would have been grand. I am sorry I can’t go to your memorial this year.
When I do go, I am going to play you that Pink Floyd song, “Shine on you Crazy Diamond” because it’s fitting and because I like to imagine your commentary because that song is like 12 minutes long and that length is inappropriately silly as a memorial song. I look forward to hanging out with you again in that great commune in the sky, my brother. Peace and love, always and forever.