For Brad

One of the scant benefits I get from social media is discovering what I wouldn’t otherwise. It’s not always pleasant, though.

Recently, a Facebook friend posted that someone from the Green Bay music scene had passed away. 

He tagged this person in his post. Their name rang familiar and sudden dread hit me, so I clicked the tag to sate my curiosity.

Once at the profile, I welled up in recognition of the deceased. 

His name was Brad. We knew each other from working at Shopko in the late 1990s. 

Brad was hired a few months after me and placed in the department I worked in. He quickly acclimated to his role and the store as a whole. Brad’s willingness to help in outside his responsibilities was palpable; when he couldn’t, his lament was delivered humanely. 

Brad’s Shopko employment began shortly before I turned my obsession to play drums into my reality. After I met Brad during his orientation, I waited until our next conversation to shoehorn that I was working at Shopko to pay for drums and drum lessons. Brad immediately smiled and told me he could relate—he played guitar and was in a local band. 

When I asked how well known his band was, Brad said they did pretty well locally and it took a while to build it up. While modest, he was clearly proud. 

Brad could engage anyone with his professional and amiable personality that was malleable without being diluted. Though he was well over six feet tall, Brad’s presence was calm and gentle with a humble demeanor, rolled together with a wicked dry sense of humor. I partly attributed his unique combination from what he likely gleaned and sharpened from his band’s fandom.

Over the next nine or so months I was at Shopko, Brad and I had a recurring conversation. About half of my shifts began when he was almost done with his. Once clocked in, I would locate him for the obligatory Shopko talk, then to chat about whatever was going on with my drumming and his guitar playing and band endeavors. I anticipated those opportunities because I didn’t have nearly enough people to talk shop with that also understood and related to my enthusiasm, and who would simply hear me and encourage me.

As the years went on I thought of Brad often. It would sometimes be in the aforementioned contexts, and wishing I could have seen him and his band play to experience why they were a draw. Mostly, it was because I wanted to thank him.

Then I was confronted with the sad news of Brad’s passing.

Brad was only 50. His brief obituary mentioned his extreme love of music and playing guitar, that his dad was his earliest inspiration and he could play by ear; even after hearing a song once, Brad could play it just as good as or better than the recording. Then, some of the bands he played in were named; the band Brad was in while my coworker played throughout Wisconsin and all over the United States. In that span, Brad also recorded two albums of his own.

Listed next was those who preceded Brad in death—his parents and three of his four siblings —followed by stating Brad was survived by his remaining sister and nieces and nephews, plus his best friend.  I learned why I had not seen Brad in many years: he moved to Oregon in 2012. 

There wasn’t a service listed for people to celebrate Brad, just a space below the obit for anyone to note remembrances and/or offer condolences, and another space to plant a tree in his name. Those spaces, plus his social media, were sparsely populated.

Brad’s obituary did not mention his cause of death, nor did it have the daunting phrase “natural causes” that could mean almost anything, leaving his cause of death even more ominous to me. 

All of this makes it easy for me to conclude the worst. However, and obviously, the internet is not real life and it would be misguided to judge the public view. While it can be unsettling, scarcity of evidence does not equal its lack of occurrence.  

Being a renowned local musician who worked retail before an all-encompassing internet, Brad probably knew what his limits would be when this era of technology began. If he was happy, I wouldn't be surprised if privacy largely contributed.

I am forty two years old. Until my mid thirties, I did not like myself and was confidence deficient. Anyone who showed me authentic grace and warmth in those thirty plus years was appreciated in real time, my gratitude swelling over time. Never being able to thank Brad for offering me his kindness and patience despite my abrasive and entitled and insecure personality is why Brad’s death hit me hard. 

However Brad’s life was or was not for him, I wish he was aware of my gratitude. I don’t know if that knowledge would have improved his life. All I know is that Brad deserved to know. 

Ultimately, I hope a fulfilling life prefaced Brad’s death despite him being so young.  

Thank you, Brad. Very, very much. You made some important impressions on me in a short amount of time, ones that took me many years to fully comprehend, and I’m sad you’re not here for me to thank you for them, person to person.