Joe McSwain, 1972 - November 8, 2011

It was a Wednesday morning last year when I got a phone call from Joe's number. As per our standard procedure, I answered the phone as a high-toned British woman (an ongoing joke). I had to quickly adjust my tone as I realized it was Joe's sister, Theresa.

It was then I knew something was wrong. This wasn't the first time I got a call from Joe's sister, though. Around a year before that, I believe, she called because Joe was in the E.R. At this time he was having excruciatingly painful back spasms. He had a history of back issues and had a steel rod inserted into his back as an adolescent. This was part of his ongoing health issues related to Marfan's Syndrome. At any rate, at that time she called because Joe needed support and someone to be with him at home after he was released.

So, naturally, I thought the same thing when it was her that Wednesday morning. It was not. In a rather soft voice, she said, "Jason, Joe passed last night."

I remember being fully aware and in total denial at the same time. Joe had told me stories of his sister's history of dark jokes, but this was not something she would do. This was real.

I remember predictably stammering as I said, "Wha-wha-what happened...how did it happen?"

She told me that they think it was an aneurysm, but they weren't sure. His mom found him at his computer desk slumped over. I tried really hard to imagine this. In fact, since his death, I have relived that moment many times through her eyes. I honestly don't know how I would have responded.

And then I remember walking near the windows of my floor. I work on the 21st floor of a building in downtown Chicago. The entire floor is lined with those huge windows, top to bottom. I walked back and forth in front of the windows, mindlessly gazing on the people and cars below. I had conversations on the phone with Joe while looking out these windows as well. The cell phone reception  was better, and we were likely to get into a heated debate at any moment. Or I would have to do some ridiculous voice for him.

But I was just talking to Joe's phone. I wasn't talking to Joe. I was talking to his older sister, Theresa. And we were talking about funeral plans, arrangements, and the like.

I barely remember telling my co-worker what happened. And you know, as a 38 year old guy, it sounds odd to leave work because you lost a best friend. I mean, I kind of wanted to defend it and say, "Well, we were pretty close." It's not unusual to have a close guy friend at my age, but it is unusual to lose a close guy friend at this age. Joe was only one year older than me.

After I left the office, I called Heather and said I would take the next train home. I then called my mom and dad. They loved Joe so much. In fact, I would often call Joe while visiting them. I would put the phone on speaker just so they could hear his laugh. They loved his loud, echoing infectious laugh. He was the best laugh track ever. Everything was funnier if he was laughing. His spit takes with laughter often left me rolling on the floor.

I had never noticed how much of a hell it is to be downtown and at the mercy of mass transportation when you are in the middle of grief. Or sickness. But at this time it was grief. I had a 40 minute train ride home. And then I had a 15 minute drive home. And for some reason, I felt the need to hold my crying in until I got home.

When I got home, I hugged Heather and laid down on the bed. And I cried. I cried the coughing cry. Most of you probably know what I'm talking about. You cry and cry and cry and make ridiculous noises, moan and cough. And sometimes you sound like you are going to puke.

The whole thing was so incredibly astonishing to me. I was just texting him. We texted daily. Almost hourly on certain days. He made my days go by faster. We had a reservoir of in-jokes, quotes from movies, and lyrics from songs that we volleyed back and forth in text. And if we were hanging out, we continued this trend out loud.

Ironically, I remember now one that we quoted back and forth was from this cheezy Final Fantasy game. With really bad dubbing, one character just said, "You cried." When we first saw that and heard it, we couldn't stop laughing about how odd it sounded. So, sometimes if I lost a debate or something happened in a game and I died, he would say, "You cried."

This time I really cried.

His mom and sister wanted me to speak at the funeral. To share stuff about Joe. Of course I would. Yeah. Of course I would. I'm a wreck, but I think I can do it. And I did it. And I feel like I barely touched the surface of how much Joe meant to me. I shared some anecdotes, jokes, memories, and the qualities of his character, but it felt so forced.

After a year has passed since he died, I have realized something. I realized you spend the entire first year after a loved one's death formulating a proper eulogy in your head. And so, here I am. I'm trying to give a proper eulogy, but so far I'm focusing on my reaction to his death. I guess it still seems so close to me.

I have had countless dreams where we hang out, play games, talk, etc. The dreams are so real that I often have a hard time convincing myself he is buried in a grave it Galesburg, Illinois. I'm serious about this dream stuff, though. They are hard to shake when you wake up. In fact, the dreams have been the most difficult part of the loss. And almost inevitably, in every dream, I can't just enjoy being with him. Instead, towards the very end, I start to realize, wait a minute, he died. He was dead. And I want to tell him that. I want to ask where he's been. And I want him to make sure he takes care of himself this time.

I could spend some time telling you about Joe's health issues. He had many. Marfan's Syndrome just sucks. Due to this syndrome, Joe had been through more surgeries by the time he left junior high than I have been in my whole life already. He wore contact lenses and bifocals. He had a metal rod in his back. And for the past two or three years I've seen him suffer more from worsening eyesight, hearing and his energy levels were not improving. He didn't exercise or really watch what he ate.

Still, I don't want to focus on this stuff. He hated that. He once had to walk or jog a mile in physical education. And Joe did it. And pretty much the entire school knew it was hard for him. So the coach uses Joe as an example to his sports team. He said things like, you guys need to be more like Joe. He has a bad heart or whatever yet he overcame it and finished the mile. I didn't even know this story until his mom told me. That's how much he hated it.

And I can appreciate that. He wanted to be evaluated and viewed like everyone else.

But he wasn't like everyone else. However, it wasn't for those reasons. He was just an amazing and unique individual.

We met in a junior college Bible Study my freshmen year. This was probably in 1992. We hung out often between classes and on weekends. I went away to a college in Kentucky and we still stayed in touch, relatively well. We reconnected over the summers and winter breaks. Watched movies. Played more video games.

We really started to reconnect after Joe's best friend died. Joe lived with him and went in one day to wake him and found him dead. I think he died of a heart attack. I went to the funeral and spent some time talking to him there. And then he moved back to Galesburg to live with his parents. A few years after that his dad died after a long fight with cancer.

These things took the wind out of Joe's sails. It was sometime during this period, and maybe even before, that he really started to struggle with his faith. We would end up having many conversations about this. Despite his doubts and struggles, Joe was a great flint stone to be sharpened upon. He always asked difficult questions. He never liked easy answers either.

Joe took me to my first football game. He was a big Bears fan and got us tickets for a Bears and Lions game. Unfortunately he got tickets for a game in Detroit. We still ended up going and having a great road trip. We even went to a casino where we played some games and saw a Canadian Elvis impersonator (our hotel was right across the border in Canada from Detroit).

The Bears lost, but Devin Hester got a touchdown on a kickoff return. That was sweet.

I took Joe to his first baseball game at Busch Stadium. We went with two other good friends of mine and had amazing seats.

Joe once evaded the police by driving into a parking lot for a factory and ducking down. To be fair, the cop didn't have his lights on, but Joe knew he was after him.

Joe had a cat that he loved. He changed its name at least five times. When Joe died, I believe the cat was named Captain Kitty. He was an awesome fat cat.

Joe had also had a budgie at one point. The bird and him were pretty good friends. He would just sit on Joe's shoulder all the time and nudge against him.

Joe's favorite football player was Dan Marino. I don't think he ever had a favorite player after him, but he loved football. He watched the NFL Network year round.

His favorite movies were Das Boot, The Big Lebowski and Aviator. I believe. He also loved Star Trek: Wrath of Khan.

He probably quoted The Big Lebowski and the Aviator more than any other movie.

He loved the TV show Breaking Bad. His profile picture on Facebook was from the show.

He hated wearing sweaters.

He loved to scare the crap out of me. After watching the first Paranormal Activity, he came into my room one night and started tugging on the blankets like in the movie. I pretty much freaked out.

He loved Mountain Dew. He also knew I tried to keep a clean house and car. His favorite thing was to leave almost-empty Mountain Dew cans in my car and at my house. He really wouldn't go out of his way to place them in certain locations, he would just make sure he left them behind. In honor of him, I will be drinking a large Mountain Dew can this evening.

We often fought and bickered like a elderly men. Or like the Odd Couple. We were kind of like the Odd Couple. Most of our friends would say they were entertained by just watching us argue.

He was an incredibly loyal, caring and honest. I can't define his care or loyalty in the normal ways, like, by how much he kept in contact, or how much he inquired about my life on a daily basis, but just was a caring person. I always believed he would defend me. The biggest compliment he once payed me was that I was not like other Christians he knew. Even though he might later turn around and say I was a bit too wishy-washy/touchy-feely in another area.

But that was Joe. If you gave him enough time, he would argue with himself.

That's why I loved him so much. I don't think I ever told him that either. If you know me at all, you know I tell almost everyone I'm close to that I love them. But that's just not how Joe rolled. And I respected that.

I know this is cliche, but there are so many things I could still share about Joe. So many ways he was a great friend. So many ways he was just an awesome human being. I still find it astonishing and truly unbelievable that he is gone. We joked about our deaths. We talked about our surgeries and shared war stories. I still thought he would be there for a long time, though. And yet, I knew his health was declining. It's a paradox. I think maybe all of us with best friends secretly want to get married and lose touch. Or at least, grow detached. We may not admit that to ourselves, but I think it's a secret desire. We never envision losing our best friends while they are still very close friends to an early death. Or maybe any death. I don't know.

I know my body and soul has still not recovered. I still find myself looking down at my phone, waiting for a text message from him. I find many things I want to share with him. And when I get a new game for console system, I think of how this would be so much fun with Joe. But that's how a best friend is. Everything is more fun with them.

I will finish with one of my favorite moments with Joe. It was my birthday. Joe, me, Joel and Nickie, and my friend Rod were out for dinner at my favorite place, O'Charley's. Joe said he had a joke. He looked at me and asked, "What's the difference between crap and a tomato?" Expecting this to be some sort of debate-worthy question, I then began listing off differences. When I finished, I looked over at him, and could tell he was perplexed. We were all pretty quiet for awhile. The entire table was watching Joe while he just say there, chin resting on his hands and smirking slightly while he his eyes said he had no idea what to say next. He finally said, "Uh...uh...I have no idea what to say next." We all just lost it.

Basically, we both ruined the joke, or at least I know I did. I think he was supposed to ask, "Do you know the difference between a tomato and crap." And I was supposed to say, "I don't know, what's the difference between a tomato and crap?" And then he was supposed to say, "Well, if you don't the difference between a tomato and crap, remind me never to send you to the grocery store."

So glad to have known you, Joe. So glad you have a permanent residence in my memories.