Time flies when you’re saving lives! I can’t believe that its already been a couple weeks, and here we are, back, with another edition of This Must Be the Newsletter. At this rate, it will be summer again in no time, and all of us will be be throwing on our festival gear (naloxone is a must-have!) and heading out to celebrate life, love, and friendships!
Speaking of music, that is the topic of this weeks edition, because in this time of giving thanks, it is music that we honor. It has allowed us to reach people in this powerful way, equipping them with naloxone and awareness about a problem that has made so many of us feel helpless. But it is more than that: music has allowed us to heal, saved us during difficult times, and been the tangible thing that we can carry with us; a piece of someone or some time that we can cherish and hold tightly, even if they are unfortunately gone. This week’s story from Eden Mckissick-Hawley touches on that very sentiment.
I've spent a lot of time the first year without Nick pushing the pain of his overdose out of my mind. I got really good at it for a minute there, too. I told myself that I didn't have the right to mourn because I hadn't spoken to him consistently in the months and weeks leading up to his death. Over and over, I reminded myself that we didn't even date for a full year, and convinced myself that six months doesn't really amount to anything. I told myself I was only hurting for the people closest to him and not at all for me.
I found out Nick died while I was picking up salmon at a Whole Foods in Fort Worth. Just like that, the news I was scared to hear for so long became a reality. Evan told me and Emmy confirmed it, I think. I don't really remember what ended up happening with dinner that night. I texted Kim and told her what happened. She insisted I take the following day off. The people around me were really supportive and told me to do whatever I needed.
I didn't go to Nick's funeral, and that was hard. Logistically it would've been hard to get there, but I was more struggling with largest questions about whether or not I had the right to attend. I'd been out of the picture for a while and didn't want to take up physical and emotional room from people who were more recently a more part of his day to day. And underneath the sadness, I felt anger, and didn't know what to do with that.
I wish I'd had the closure and space to grieve him with the people who fully understood the weight of the loss. And what a loss it has been, a loss too big to push aside, too profound to ignore or reframe. I was confronted with this a month or two ago sitting on a blanket with friends at Goodale Park, where Nick and I played a lot of tennis. Someone I didn't recognize joined the circle. When a mutual friend started to introduce us, he stopped her and said he knew me - "Nick's girlfriend.” It was cathartic to hear. But the thing that was the most surprising is what it made me feel: relieved. Relieved that someone whose name I didn't even remember recognized that Nick was in fact a person in my life. It gave me what I'm hoping writing this gives me - basic reassurance that any of this even happened.
I'm grateful for other moments recently that helped me remember him - in Emmy's chair, on Steph's couch, in his old playlists, walking past his favorite bars on High Street.
The last time I saw Nick was a warm summer night before I moved to Texas - my last night in Columbus for a while. I was with my best friend Taylor and her friend who I didn't know very well, and you invited us all over for after hours dancing at your place on Michigan Avenue. I'm so grateful for that final memory to add to our collection. It was so him: open and welcoming and fun. A curator of friend groups and music and memories and weekend trips that will forever define my early 20s.
There are moments that have made me laugh lately: the terrible Sorority Noise concert that he dragged Utsa and I to, where he spent the entire time making fun of all the sad white boys. When he had Emmy give him frosted tips because he wanted to look like some famous footy player, and how shockingly supportive everyone was of that decision. I miss his chaotic, anxious, vibrant energy so much it hurts. I loved running into him in the Short North in recent years where he can usually be found on the weekends, floating between Bodega and Oddfellows, oozing with charisma, doing his Miklos thing.
And there are memories that hurt. Him talking constantly about how much he loved every member of his family, and how I tried to help him, sometimes at my expense.
I woke up today in a weird place, and the day has continued to be that way. Still I gave myself the same advice I gave Nick before he died and just tried to be good to myself. I tried to be forgiving and healthy and honest. It felt like an okay way to honor someone who would want that for me, and who deserved it himself. There's a lot to grapple with, and there's a big gaping hole in Columbus where he used to be running up and down high Street. It snakes from Cincinnati to Cleveland and all the way to the coasts.
The grief is real and it is different for everyone.
This evening I am going to make some sort of chicken paprikash soup situation with Serena and listen to a favorite Miklos playlist. I think some of us are left not knowing how much of Nick was ours to hold onto. But that's the thing about Nick - he gave and gave and gave. I think Kurt Vonnegut is kind of annoying but Nick always liked him. I feel this quote a lot right now: "And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, and how much was mine to keep."
Here I'll be, holding onto my little piece.
-Eden Mckissick-Hawley (our Columbus neighbor).
Eden’s beautiful words about her loved one, the dissonance of losing him, and the healing process that she has underwent, have put to words something that we have only felt. It is her truth that has inspired us to create a new way for us to interact and share these moments and feelings with each other, a shared playlist of the music that has helped us heal, hope, cope, and be inspired. It is here that we introduce This Must Be the Playlist which we hope will be a place for all of you to share those songs with us and each other, so that on the days when we need to give some thanks for the moments we gratefully cherish, or the ones meant so much to another just like us, we can have this place to go.
We will start it off, but just hit reply with your song, and it will be added to the playlist. DM us, text, however you wish… this is for all to share. We firmly believe that community is the method, so this belongs to all of you!
This will be available here, on our IG @betheplace, and on website. Feel free to share, add to it by sending us your songs, and let’s share this together!
One of the most impactful moments of last summer, for Ingela and I, was at Burning Man, as we trudged through the 100 degree sun on the Playa, each toting a duffel bag filled with naloxone kits. Two very kind souls stopped and offered us a ride in a contraption that they called a car (I still have no idea what this thing ran on or how exactly it moved), but only on the condition that we go with them to ‘the temple’ and take some of the cold water that they offered. For those of you who have not been to Burning Man, there are two giant structures that the city is built around; the iconic ‘Man,’ and the Temple. On the last two nights of the festival, each is burned, one in celebration, one in silent remembrance.
When we entered the temple, we quickly realized how much more than just another festival this was. Inside, pinned to the walls, painted, and set on the floor were thousands of momentos of those loved ones who had been lost in the interim since the last burn; lost to the pandemic, fentanyl, mental health issues, and a myriad of other things. Thousands. The air was heavy, and no one was saying a word, although there were dozens of people there. Then I saw it; leaning against the wall, a burned CD mixtape, someone’s ode to a person or feeling or a summer… a moment capture in music from a life cut short. Ingela was already crying, I lost every once of composure that I had, and we stood there crying in silence, for those we knew and those we never met, letting the gravity of grief wash over us. This sounds like a sad story, but it is not, it was exactly what we needed after the summer that we had, just to let it out and finally be OK with things.
So that’s it for this week, just one last thanks to all of those who make what we do possible: Thank you to the local businesses, those who have donated, those who have volunteered their time to help us, everyone who has taken naloxone- whether at a festival or through the mail, and thank you to the music and art which is the vehicle for the message!
That’s it, that’s all, only one thing left to do: hit that subscribe button, and become a monthly supporter, or head on over to IG and and give us a follow. (or send your friends there!) We love every last one of you lifesavers!