September 04, 2009


When you love someone who has a problem with drugs and also a problem with living there is a call you expect to get. One day. Eventually. And then time passes and you do not get the call.

I didn't think JJ would live forever, but when she was alive, she was alivest. And to see her high was crushing, she was muddled, extinguished as anyone.
We were best friends but after about a year took to introducing each other as "my wife". It confused people, but best friends didn't convey the sense of partnership, of eternal pledges of got-yr-back, the idea that everyone else was secondary to each other. "I always thought of her as yr other half," Matt said.

Then there was the wilderness of everything after. I never screamed at and cried over anyone like I did her. I called a friend who understood and she said "Just do whatever you need to do now, try everything you can, so that later on you don't regret it." Later on meant "when she dies". Everything I could do took about a year and a half. I tracked Barry down to Canada last night, he had heard last night. "We tried," he said. "We all tried."

The last time I saw her, she came to my show. She was sober. Her and her boyfriend got in a fight and she couldn't stay. She was apologetic. There was too much to say. I didn't want to imagine her life during the long drop out in between.
Calling around, being the death news phonetree, several people knew, if it was me calling and it had been this long it meant JJ is dead. Lot of people left it at fights, explosive last band practice, running into her downtown when she was not well.

It was not unexpected. It's the nature of the disease. You get out or you die.

And now my head is heavy and fatted with the ghost of JJ past.
Better place and all that.

Posted by jessica hopper at September 4, 2009 10:59 AM | TrackBack