Yesterday, Friday, at 5:48pm, my good friend Kris passed away. He was 55 years old.
I'd like to eulogize for a minute.
Kris Michael Loving was affectionately known (to me) as "Doc" or "the Doctor," a moniker I gave to him many years ago. I've mentioned him in many past blog posts, even detailing some of his physical and mental ailments. The last few years were not kind to Kris. He suffered from Parkinson's, brought on from the years of medications taken for his mental disorders, including bi-polar disorder and paranoid schizophrenia. Not only did he have extreme difficulty walking (ending up in the hospital on multiple occasions from falls suffered), he was plagued by voices...voices telling him all sorts of bullshit that wasn't true or accurate. He would call me every now and then, when they got particularly bad, asking for advice. More than anything, I think he wanted to talk with someone who was real, not some disembodied "other" telling him (in his head) that everyone hated him and wanted him to die or that he had to "do" things (like marry people unrelated to him and care for their unborn children) just because it was "the right thing" for him to do.
A few centuries ago, Kris would probably have been diagnosed as being plagued by demons. This would not be a bad analogy.
More than once in the last couple years he mentioned killing himself. He suffered a lot. I would always advise against this, as I would advise against listening to the "voices" (ever) just as a matter of course. He had a therapist, and a psychiatrist, and a doctor...all for different aspects of his suffering...but they were rarely available outside his normally scheduled sessions. Truth be told, I was seldom available to take his calls either (I'm an extremely busy guy), but I would take his calls every fourth or fifth time, and would call him back when I could. I would talk sense to him...reality...then steer the conversation into something lighter and always end with suggesting he do things to take himself out of his head. Walk (as best he could) or play music (as best he could) or do something artistic (as best he could). Something positive, something constructive, something concrete and real.
Kris never did kill himself. He suffered a stroke on July 30th, and was hospitalized (and intubated) ever after. I received a call from his sister...his caretaker of the last few years, a woman I'd never met...on Thursday, explaining what had happened and that they were removing the tubes Friday afternoon. I drove up to Skagit Valley Hospital (in Mount Vernon) Friday morning to say my goodbyes and to meet his sister. She was a nice woman...she said she'd really wanted to meet me, and thank me for being one of her brother's only friends, and for making his life more enjoyable for him.
...
To an outsider, Kris and I would seem to be very, very different people. Very different. Most would probably consider me a "responsible member of society." Graduated from a four year university. Had a professional, white-collar life (prior to becoming a stay-at-home dad) for some 20+ years. Wife and kids. Church-goer. Socially functional. Well-adjusted, pay my bills/taxes, do volunteer work, coach kids, etc.
Kris, on the other hand...well, even before his health went to shit, he'd probably be labeled something akin to a "burnout." Graduated high school, but not much of a student. Worked a variety of line-cook jobs: Tony Roma's, Red Lobster, Hooters. Drove a shitty hatch-back (fast, smoke-filled, loud music) till he got a DUI and had his license suspended. Drank cheap beer, smoked weed, shot pool. Lived with his (retired) parents, till they died. A bit of a misanthrope...didn't care what your race/gender/religion/sexual orientation was, but if you were an ASSHOLE he'd walk...without a word or backwards glance. Just did not suffer fools, at all. Terse. Smoker. Heavily tattooed (some done by himself). Leather jacketed hoodlum. Had a mullet into his 20s...and could pull it off. About 6'1, Swedish ancestry, brown hair, blue eyes. But nothing "smooth" about him. Awkward...or just plain close-mouthed silent...when it came to ladies, or straight-laced types. No spouse. No girlfriend. No kids. Beer, weed, and rock music and fuck off. That was Kris.
Why would I be friends with that? Why would I continue to keep in touch with such a man...especially as everything in his life started to roll downhill and the the (few) people that were in his circle quietly bowed out, allowing him to disintegrate on his lonesome?
Kris liked me...and I liked him. Truth be told, reflecting on our history, I'd say I got a hell of a lot more out of our friendship than he got out of me. There are MANY people who might say otherwise...they might assume I pitied him, or I was just a compassionate person or some such crap. I think, perhaps, that Kris's sister and former caretaker (both of whom I talked with at the hospital) might have thought this. Heck, they had no idea what to expect, although his sister said Kris's mom had talked about me fondly (which is amazing as I had no idea I even left an impression, only meeting her...briefly...once, maybe twice, three decades before).
Kris and I bonded over beers, shooting pool, and a shared love of music. For all his heavy metal persona, Kris had eclectic music tastes (as do I) and while we PREFER the hard rock, we have deep appreciations for everything from Prince to ABBA to classical music. The last time I talked with Kris (July 22nd) he was telling me about some country bands he was getting into...not my jam, normally, but then I just discovered Outlaws a couple days ago. Doc was a musical encyclopedia...picking his brain about some group or other, and letting him share his expertise, was the kind of things we did. He burned me many CDs over the years, introducing me to the glories of Judas Priest and Dio-backed Sabbath. Our mutual admiration for Kiss...a vastly underrated band, in Doc's opinion...was probably the first brick in cementing our friendship...the nickname "Doc" comes from playing on his last name (Loving) and their song, Doctor Love.
[jamming Iron Maiden songs was also a shared hobby...he'd play the guitar licks and I'd do the operatic vocals]
But more than music or cocktails or hours spent shooting pool in smoky bars (and, to be clear, Kris taught me how to shoot pool...to the point I could hold my own against the occasional shark and place in local tournaments), we bonded over a love of gaming, especially D&D. Without Kris, I might not even be playing D&D today.
As I've related before, I'd given up the game sometime in high school, instead focusing on other games...So Many Games. I met Kris circa 1997, and when he found out I played RPGs he was more than glib about how he used to play (and love) AD&D...not something one brought up in casual conversation back then.
But he did. And we put together a game with another mutual nerd I'd made the acquaintance of (an ex-USMC scout-sniper who was trying to get away from a murder career), as well as my then-roommate Mike. We had a good, silly session of 2E D&D, mostly intoxicated (someone else DMing), a lot of laughs and plenty to critique later. After that, Kris was...often enough...my go-to guy for bouncing gaming ideas off of.
When 3rd Edition came out, we fired up a campaign...multiple times. I converted Village of Hommlet to D20 and ran Kris solo through it. He ran me solo through a bunch of stuff...Forge of Fury I think it was. We swapped off DMing two or three other times, including a high level (15th) adventure he designed that he simply folded after a single combat...in disgust. D20 wasn't the same thing as AD&D, and after mutliple botched attempts, we shit-canned the whole system.
Ran some Top Secret. Some Maelstrom. Ran a Hunters Hunted adventure for Doc using 1st edition VtM that scared him so bad, he asked me to stop (he had asked me to play a human rather than a vampire; afterwards, he told me he'd be a member of the kindred next time). We both loved Gamma World as kids and collected a bunch of stuff for it, talking about getting a game off the ground...it never materialized and he sold my books (!!)...accidentally...before moving to Oregon. Still haven't quite put my collection back together.
Not that GW is all that important without Kris around.
He moved out-of-state before I got back into D&D proper...sometime in the early 2000s. Used to come over to my apartment and cook for/with the wife and me. He liked her, too. Like me, Kris found she fell into the "non-asshole" category. Kris could be sweet and funny and generous...even though he was an odd duck and not the kind of person my wife would ever have (normally) warmed up to. Getting to know him, through me, she found him endearing.
When I started the blog and the D&D writing, he was out of town, but we kept in touch via phone and email and he encouraged me with my first books. He always encouraged me. Just as he encouraged me with music, in his own way ("these guys suck, you're a lot better than them"). Honest to a fault, he could rub thin-skinned folks the wrong way. Fortunately, he knew this and simply kept his mouth shut, rather than badmouth people to their face. We went to a Tommy Lee concert (I think it was in his Methods of Mayhem project) at the Moore and realized during the first song (due to a glitch) that the band was lip-synching. Kris just said "Let's go" and we left. Who was I to argue? He'd bought the tickets.
I say this to illustrate that his encouragement (or criticism) was often simple, direct, and genuine. As such, his belief in my writing was very welcome and helped me through any "imposter syndrome" I felt, being a hack with no background or education/training in writing. And you may think that's a very little thing, but 20 years ago, I didn't have a purpose or meaning or vocation in my life. My life was not unexamined, but it WAS...mostly...without direction. These days, I have a direction...because of my choices...and Kris helped start me down that road. That's no small thing.
Kris's family, no doubt, thinks I'm some sort of saint for taking his calls, and taking time out of my life to listen to him, talk him through schizo episodes, put up with his crazy. I'd guess they think I did it out of loyalty or nostalgia for days of friendship past or whatever. All bullshit. Kris was a good friend to me. Plenty were the times HE would listen to ME and all the drama in my life...my problems with my idiot brother or my dying mother or whatever stress or issues or injuries I was dealing with. He was an open ear that gave just as much to me...if not more...than I ever gave to him. The burnout metal head who could barely talk thanks to the missing teeth, the palsy, the anti-psychotic meds...our last few phone calls, I could barely make out what he was saying. But I'd listen to him and give him encouragement, and talk to him of positive things, and tell him to stop listening to the voices, that NO, not everyone "hates you," I certainly don't I appreciate you and value you and treasure your friendship and what it's meant to me.
Not everyone has a friend that "gets you." Even if he is a vastly different person with a vastly different life path. Kris approached the world in a different manner from me...but he still "got me" in a way that few individuals in my life do. Maybe no one, really. Steve or Michael, maybe. It takes a similar type of upbringing. Seattle in the 1980s. Kris grew up in Edmonds, but that's close enough.
I already miss him. And I know that as time goes by, I'm likely to miss him more. That sucks.
I am glad Kris is at peace now. I am. I really am. BUT. I wish I could go back in time to when we were both younger, spryer. Wish I could buy him a beer, shoot some pool, hear his wry chuckle which always brought a smirk to my face. Wish I'd had a chance to run some AD&D for him before he left this planet. I know he wanted to play with me, but the logistics never worked out these last few years.
*sigh*
Rest in peace, Doc. You were a good friend to me...better than most. That's something.



