Today is a special day for most as far as time-honored, American pastimes go. It's Super Bowl Sunday, and a hometown team is involved this year. Everyone is excited; the air is alive around here; the streets are buzzing with hope; bars, restaurants, and living rooms are filling up with diehard dreamers. And my mind could not be farther from any of the celebrating.

Last year at this time, one of the best friends I'll ever have in my life was overcome by tragedy. My friend, Melinda, who was in the Army, lost her life by way of a freak accident. A piece of bread from a sandwich tore a hole in her esophagus at a Super Bowl party and lodged itself there. People that were extremely qualified to perform CPR had no success in doing so. The lack of oxygen left a vibrant and unique woman with irreparable brain damage after sending her into a coma. Four days later, she was gone.

I know full well that a football game is not to blame here. Distinguishing between a party and the visions my mind has created based on this accident seems downright impossible, though. I can't be at a party making sure everyone is chewing their food a hundred times per bite. The Super Bowl has honestly never meant anything to me, and it sucks that it does now for all the wrong reasons.

A ray of hope that blasted through all of life's garbage was silenced without warning when Melinda had her accident. She and I were brother and sister because of what we shared as friends. She got me so well, it was uncanny. And she could do so whether we went a week or a year without speaking. Her guts, spontaneity, and raw emotions were things I deeply admired. I still do as I look at her picture right now, thinking about how ridiculous it is that she is in an Army outfit. She got tired of paying rent and of being sedentary, so she joined the Army. When she wanted change, she sure as fuck went after obtaining it. Our all-nighters at diners were some of my favorite moments with a person. We made a checkers set out of napkins and placemats once. We'd park and listen to albums from start to finish. The last time I saw her, she filmed a Match Party show and we watched movie after movie at my apartment. I could talk to her about women...she liked women more than I did. It is possible to be in love with a friend and simply remain friends. I should not be speaking of her in retrospect, and it will never make sense that I have to do so.

She was the first of four people I knew who passed away in 2007. Every one of those people were younger than I am. None of their passings are understood. I lost Big Daddy (Frank) at the end of 2005...he was younger as well. At least with elderly people, there are warning signs and opportunities to make peace with losing them as you're losing them. How do you rationalize five deaths within your group of peers before the age of 30? You don't, plain and simple.

I'm not here to bitch about them being gone, though it may have seemed that way up until this sentence. I don't miss them because they're gone; I miss them because of who they should have been to the world...and were to me. I don't miss Frank because he was drinking while on pain medication. I don't miss Melinda because she choked. I don't miss Anthony because he was senselessly murdered. I don't miss Joel because he had a seizure in his sleep. I don't miss Steven because his life overcame him. I miss all of them for the same reason. They were five of the single most liveliest bunch of human beings that any other human being could ever encounter. They were different, special, refreshing, real. They were what those who step on others on a daily basis without conscience should aspire to be and wish they were. They didn't give a shit about what the world thought of them. They possessed these qualities long before they passed away, and they still do. I would have nothing to say if they didn't.

Today I grieve over what Melinda and my other friends have left me longing for: their voices, their laughter, their tears, their touch, their humanity. Their lives. In grief, I celebrate the enrichment their lives have lended to my own. They are all inspirational building blocks to my life's story. If you have taken the time to read this, I hope somehow that they have become a part of your life as well.

Next time I see you all, we're going to have one sick fucking party. Mark my words. May my love reach each of you as you all show your love through me today and always.