In July 2015, my dad died. And Chris, this guy I hadn't met in person, reached out to let me know that I could depend on him. In 2016, I started one of the hardest stretches of my life. I got divorced. Chris, who had been divorced and remarried, reached out to me again. He checked in almost daily. He listened to every single ex-wife story I had and countered with his own. He let me know that, in the end, if you worked hard and let go of the anger, divorce wasn't a death sentence.
The first time I actually met Chris in the real world, he helped me move out of my house. He moved boxes and furniture as I worked toward figuring out my new normal. I had to move back in with my mother and Chris was right there, helping move boxes in. Again, he didn't just leave it there. He checked in on me. He wanted to know how I was doing. He invited me out to hang so I wasn't just sitting at home feeling sorry for myself.
We talked about a lot of things. Exwives, kids, life in general and... mental health. Chris made a habit of touching base if he saw a Twitter post that didn't seem right or a Facebook post that most people would have overlooked. Over the last few years, when I was down, Chris was usually sending a "hey, you good?" text. It wasn't just superficial and he wasn't just doing it for show. For every "yeah, I'm good," he followed up with additional questions.
Chris was a diehard liberal (I would routinely send him pictures of Sarah Sanders just to aggravate him). An ally to marginalized folks when he didn't have to be. He had some wild takes, particularly about food, but he was an ally to minorities and LGBTQ folks that you don't usually see: he listened. He listened because he cared. He listened to my stories about my parents and what they had to endure in pre Civil Rights America. He marched in Pride parades and he opened his home to everybody.
Chris and his wife Ami opened their home to me and my girls and I'm going to be forever grateful. It's one thing for a friend to stand by you when times are tough, it takes someone special to decide to be your friend when you're at your lowest and not expect anything in return other than your friendship. And that's Chris. He celebrated my successes and was there in the dark parts. That's a friend.
I'm going to miss my friend. I'm going to beat myself up wondering if there was anything I could have done to help him with his pain. But I've been there. I know that sometimes our demons can get the best of us. I hope that he's found some semblance of peace. Chris was an atheist and I certainly respect his beliefs, but I'd like to think, I hope, that one day I'll see him again and tell him that fried chicken is good, the Notorious BIG is not overrated and cold weather sucks.
I love you, Chris Renfrow.
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ReplyDeleteThis post hits so close to home. Chris was the first person I went on a date with after my divorce. The relationship didn’t last (he met Ami) but the friendship managed to blossom. He’d check in every couple of months and we’d laugh and joke and talk. In 2017 I was diagnosed with kidney cancer. From then on, never a week went by that he didn’t check on me. At low points, it was daily. Last year I had a second surgery. I was also diagnosed with diabetes, fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis. He talked me through panic attacks. There were times he was a life line; always someone I could count on. We didn’t see each other often but he was always there. I saw him the week before his death and talked to him Tuesday night. I knew he was suffering but had no clue how much. That last conversation is eating at me. Could I have said or done more? The guilt is immense. But, I honestly never suspected he was that upset. My daughter told me today that those who are suffering are often those that help others the most. With all these tributes, I believe that with all my being. He was 100% there for the friends and family he loved. I don’t know when the sound of Messenger going off isn’t going to send a dagger through my heart. I, too, am an atheist. It hurts to think of him as gone but at least the pain he obviously kept to himself is over. Though we both found other loves, I’ll never forget him and the place he held in my heart and life. I will always miss him and mourn the lost life of a passionate advocate and friend.