Zach's flowers for Elliot.
Zach Witness, one of Elliot’s lifelong friends, texted me last week to say he was traveling to Toronto for a weekend gig and wanted to know some of “Elliot’s places.” Zach, a successful musician and multimedia artist, exudes an almost feral creative intensity, yet his tender heart is one of the most open I have ever encountered. He and Elliot met as babies, co-raised by gentle caregivers—Ms. Bonnie, Ms. Rubye, Ms. Cindy, and Ms. Vicky—in the basement day school at First Presbyterian Church in Dallas. Years later, they reunited in the music halls of Booker T. Washington High School for the Performing Arts. It was a challenging place to navigate, but they helped each other find their eclectic paths. 
From day one, their bond was visceral and indelible. “Still is,” insists Zach, who is deeply spiritual. “My bestie in this Life and in the great Beyond <3.” He speaks of Elliot in the present tense and refers to him as “a constant companion and guide in his life.” My heart can hardly contain the expansive beauty and love of Zach’s words. Responding to his request, I sent Zach several significant addresses and locations as I tumbled into the memories I could still conjure about Elliot’s life in Canada—so far away. Bitter, sweet, and cold. Toronto, another country, was too far from Dallas for my comfort, given Elliot’s high school battles with depression, but he found his way with the help of so many creative, kindred, and loving spirits. It was truly “the best of times and worst of times,” as Dickens and Elliot would have said. His friendships have always been such a potent balm. Even now, they send traces of Elliot’s past into my present, like new memories—more meaningful than I can adequately describe. So, in the middle of my patchwork-quilt Friday last week, Zach texted me his gorgeous photo of Japanese flowers pinned to “new growth” on the tree just outside the apartment where El once lived. “The guys living there now even came out to help me,” he said. 
Elliot in Toronto 2015
When I opened the photos—the flowers in the tree, then Elliot standing in that same place more than a decade ago—something sparked low in my stomach. Not memory exactly. More like current. Brief, bright, and gone too soon. I am endlessly grateful for these micro-moments, fleeting as they are, for the way they keep Elliot’s memory alive among those who knew and loved him most. It’s the best medicine. Remembering their connection over so many years, also cut painfully short, I thought of baby Elliot, the boy Zach knew before either of them had words for friendship. I thought of the years of Elliot’s ear infections, the Augmentin he took under protest, and the ache it ultimately relieved, if only until the next time. I cherish moments like these—when I hear from Zach and others in Elliot’s orbit. They are my everyday Augmentin. It’s how I live, how I move forward. Thank you, dear Zach. Love to you and your mom. Thank you for your gracious heart and for shining Elliot’s light so brightly. You're currently a free subscriber to Grief Matters. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription.
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