Saying Goodbye

It’s been a rough few weeks. I spent most of last year struggling with bipolar episodes and finding my way back to reality. Perhaps I should have stayed away.

On January 18th, Justin Macumber, my friend, and founder of the Dead Robots’ Society, passed away as a result of a liver transplant. The new liver ended up attacking his immune system and ultimately killed him. The condition is very rare, like 1 in 20,000, so Justin hit the wrong lottery.

The horrible thing about all this is the fact it felt as though it were inevitable. Justin had been struggling with his failing liver for two years on top of his bout with testicular cancer and his wife’s struggles with breast cancer. It just seemed as though tragedy was inevitable. And there was nothing any of us could do to help.

A few days ago, Terry Mixon and I gathered Scott Roche, and Elyannia Kaiser, two former DRS co-hosts, to pay tribute to Justin. The tribute is going out later today both on YouTube and in the DRS podcast feed. Maybe you’ll give it a listen, even if you aren’t a writer or a regular DRS subscriber.

While recording the show, I felt as though I were pulling fragile scabs from dire wounds. They bled, they hurt, and every word uttered was another scrape of a razor blade across freshly macerated flesh. In short, it was tough. We got together to celebrate his life, and did our best, but the maudlin shroud of grief hung over us like fog.

As is my job, I had to edit both the video and the audio portions of the episode. This was difficult to say the least. I had to hunt for pictures to use and even put together a plan for a shorter memorial YouTube video. Needless to say, I haven’t been able to put that together yet. Why? Because I’m not ready. I just don’t have the will.

Terry and I had discussed the possibilities that we might eventually need to put together a tribute show. Months ago, before Justin had received a transplant notice, we were fairly certain it was inevitable. After he made his way onto the top of the transplant list, we were relieved. So you can imagine what a kick in the head it was to find out two days after his surgery that he was definitely going to die.

I never had a chance to speak with him before his death. No trading of messages, no “hey, I’m here,” or “I’m going to miss you.” Nothing. He perished without ever hearing those words or me telling him how I felt. Or that I owe my career to him and Terry. Those words tumble in the ether, never to be read, never to be heard, never to have impact.

I don’t believe in regret. Things are the way they are based on the choices you make. You should admit to yourself when you made a mistake and you should admit when you were wrong. So you deal with the consequences and try and do better the next time. The bottom line is that most of us don’t get many second chances, and when we do, we need to make the most of them.

I’ve said goodbye to Justin again and again over the past few weeks, but none of it seemed real until we recorded that show. Until then, the event was something that happened, but had no impact. I was too numb, too dazed by the sudden cosmic joke that had been played on us. I mean, guy waits over a year for a new liver, finally gets it, and the fucking thing kills him? That’s like a goddamned story some asshole like me would write. Ridiculous. Cruel. Tragic. And senseless.

Death doesn’t have a listing at the Better Business Bureau. There’s no one to complain to when karma goes insane and visits so much misery and pain on a pair of people who are nothing if not loving, caring, and excellent friends. The void doesn’t answer prayers. They merely end up swirling there, forever locked in the gravity of the immense nothing. My shouts and protestations of cruelty shall go unanswered, as they always do.

We, the living, need to remember that time is short. No matter you take care of yourself, no matter how responsible you are with your health, your job, and your life, accidents and misfortune happen. Those potholes of fate are there for all of us, waiting for us to stumble into them. Or perhaps they are guided missiles from the universal plot machine. Regardless, we don’t know when our time will be up. We don’t get a calendar appointment saying “on such and such a date, you shall have dinner with Death.” There’s no heads up. It simply is.

I’m going to say something cliche, but perhaps it’s a cliche because it’s a true sentiment. If you’ve always dreamed of doing something? Make it happen. If you’ve always wanted to write a book, make a movie, compose music, or change careers? Don’t wait. Do it. If you fail, you fail. But do it. You’ll never know one way or another unless you find the strength to start.

Terry and I will be back to our normal recorded schedule next week for DRS, but I feel as though Justin’s ghost will be there with us, sitting in a chair we can’t see, his mic muted, grinning and laughing at us while we try to be both entertaining and informative. I can only hope I continue to do his legacy proud and continue inspiring writers every day to keep creating and keep dreaming.

Justin Macumber affected the lives of thousands of writers with the creation of DRS. But most importantly to me, he was a great friend, a great cheerleader, a great writer. The world is darker for his passing which just means I need to try and make the world a little brighter to compensate.

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