What would you do if you knew that the conversation you were having with someone was the last time you would ever speak with them on this earth.
It was a year ago. The saga began on August 17, 2021. At the time it started I didn’t think much of it. I was concerned, of course, and I prayed for him to get better. I was on a trip at the time, and hadn’t seen him in over a decade. Our last parting wasn’t great. But that didn’t change anything. We were still friends. We were the type of friends who could make it through anything, and we did. Even to the last phone call. The hardest call.
When I met Adam, it changed my life. I didn’t know it then, but I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for him. Adam introduced me to so much pop culture it made my head spin. He introduced me to a group of people, and from then on, my life was never the same. Many of that group I am still friends with today, and in some ways, we have all grown up (or not) together. Adam was there, and saw first-hand what I went through with my family. He watched my daughter grow into the adult she is today, and I was there for the early years of his daughter’s childhood.
E. Adam Thomas was a close friend, even when we weren’t talking. We were sci-fi geeks, and Britcom geeks. We were music geeks (I used to take pictures of his band) and theater geeks (it’s not everyone who will let me hold a sword to their throat!). And at times, he was the epitome of the forlorn artist. He created the Boritom webcomic. He’s the one who gave me confidence in my make-up skills, and he is the only person to ever get me front and center in a video, and he got me to do it without a costume. He was also my first college boyfriend, and when my daughter (who is also in the video) and I needed a place to live, he rented out his extra room.
Adam and I used to have a lot of Spiritual conversations, especially while I was staying in his condo. In one of our nighttime, smoking, drinking, catharsis discussions, he told me how afraid he was of dying alone. I promised him that no matter where I was, whether I was near or far, he would never be alone. I promised him that even if no one else was there, I would be, even if it was only on the phone or through the Spirit. And last year, when the time came, Adam found out that he had never been alone.
When it began, we didn’t know what happened. All we knew was that Adam went to the hospital. It didn’t take long for the news to get worse. And then it got worse. As the news spread, everyone who knew Adam was connecting again, sending messages, phone calls, sharing information with each other. I was talking to people I hadn’t talked to in years. Adam wasn’t coming home.
I knew I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t know if I would have time, or get through, but I had to try. I called the hospital and gave his name. He answered the phone, and just like me, I yelled at him to not turn down the pain medications, I wasn’t worth it. That was before I even told him who I was. We only talked for five minutes. But it was the longest five minutes and the hardest phone call I have ever made. It was also the most worthwhile.
When you know it’s the last time you will ever talk to someone on this earth, your entire perspective changes. All the bullshit stops. Five minutes is all it took for us to talk about the conversation, how he wasn’t alone, that all of us, all of his friends were with him. Five minutes gave us the chance to forgive each other, for us to say, “Goodbye” and “I love you” one last time.
The Warriors Den 