When trying to explain to someone some months ago what is so special about Kevin O’Sullivan, I said, “He’s the kind of person you want next to you when the worst things in your life happen.”
Now he has died and I don’t know what to do with myself. Numb. Punchy tired. Crying. Mind whirring like a projector.
Kevin, where are you when I need you? You’re the one who helps me make sense of this shit.
I went to the river, a spot we both loved. So many beautiful and intimate words spoken there. I looked for answers in the seagulls, the water, the cloud formations, the stunning Manhattan skyline. I found none.
I let my iPod lull me, knew the sunglasses were hardly hiding my bloodshot eyes and streaming tears. Christina Aguilera was singing Bound to You and all I could hear was “I’ve opened up, Unsure I can trust, My heart and I were buried in dust … ” — all so true. I have, I did, it was.
An acquaintance I hadn’t seen in a while came by with her dog as I sat at the pier. She went to greet me and was stopped in her tracks when she saw my tears. She comforted and she listened as I babbled on about this man she didn’t know.
You sent her, didn’t you, Kev? It sure felt like you wanted to make sure someone was next to me.
I so had you pegged, you gorgeous Irishman. You knew it and you loved it.
Oh, what will I do?