Soul Mate

In two weeks it will be 18 years since my best friend died. I have a particularly hard time dealing with it since the anniversary date falls on my birthday. I also still live with the guilt that I, albeit not responsible for his death, could have very well prevented it. However, this post is not about guilt and what ifs. Its about the relationship I shared with him and how it forever changed my viewpoint on what a soul mate truly is.

Most people, when asked, would say soul mate refers to two people sharing an intense unusual love, including sexuality and intimacy. We all think that soul mate refers to the one person who you can be yourself with no matter what. We view the relationship in terms of marriage or permanent commitment. What we don't usually acknowledge is the fact that soul mate doesn't always have to be about sexual relationships.

My best friend Richard was indeed my soul mate. On the outside our friendship seemed that of convenience, both of us taking what we needed from the other to push on through a very troubled time in both of our lives. But that very convenience is what connected us. Each one of us relying on each other for an incredible amount of things, both tangible and emotional. Richard was gay, as am I. We had absolutely no desire to 'be' with each other. Yet we shared a bond that went beyond what intimacy usually brings to the relationship.

As much as I loved Richard. As much as I needed him. He drove me crazy. It was like always having to be with myself. And I didn't necessarily like myself very much. Richard was a junkie and a drunk. We was loud and rude and flamboyant in public. He was embarrassing at times and would let his passion over rule his common sense. He was violent at times. His behavior an unfortunate side effect of drugs and alcohol. And I knew this. I was the only one capable of seeing who he was, who he was hiding behind and what he had to offer. A gentle sad soul lost in a world that didn't fit him. That is where we connected.

I received a call from Richard the night before my birthday. He was drunk and loud. He wanted a ride to my house to crash. I refused. The baby was asleep and frankly I didn't want to deal with him in the sober state I was in. He hung up on me. The next morning I received a call saying he was dead. After the phone call with me he allowed someone to shoot him up with heroin at the party. It was a lethal injection.

My heart still aches for him. There is hardly a day that passes that something doesnt remind me of him. There are so few memories of the behavior he displayed that people avoided at all cost. What memories I can still recall are the tender moments. The vulnerable times. The need we had to balance each other out. We were soul mates. We walked the same path inside. It was difficult to breathe alone. We shared a love that didn't include sex and obligation. It was genuine with no strings attached.

I learned a lot from Richard. I learned what I needed in my life and I certainly learned what I didn't. I learned that love and connection don't come in the form of sexuality. That sexuality and intimacy are a by product that don't truly dictate how your soul feels.

I have photos and trinkets that still link me to Richard. But I will always have a hole in my soul where he used to belong.