This week I’m taking a break from my series on development to reflect on where I am 1 year after the death of my friend and longtime band mate Bill Petersen.
I still miss him of course but I also feel lingering guilt. Not because I had anything to do with his death but because I could’ve been a better friend.
This may seem tangential but stay with me:
All the victim blaming stuff in the media lately has made me realize how ingrained it is in me and everyone. When something bad happens to me, I almost immediately ask myself, “how could I have prevented this?” In fact, just writing the words “when something bad happens to me,” makes me cringe a little. My inner editor wants to change that line to, “when I make a mistake” or some other language that makes me responsible for everything I experience.
But the truth is that there billions of other people in this world and many more forces in the universe at play all the time. To think that we are 100% responsible for our paths is arrogant, in my opinion. And writing that today is relieving in some ways.
Bill had a lot of stuff going on that lead him to an early death. Sure, some of those factors were his own doing – in 10 years of knowing him, I never knew him to do much of anything physically strenuous even close to what you might call “exercise”. In the time we lived together near St. Ed’s University in Austin, I witnessed a lot of beer drinking and TV watching. Bill knew he had some medical issues that eventually led to his heart condition but he chose to just live his life the way he wanted. It was really easy, after he died, to say that he hastened his own heart failure and it was really easy when it was happening to essentially blame him for not taking better care of himself (which I still think he should’ve done!)
But Bill didn’t choose to have the heart condition. He was born with it. I guess he could’ve chosen to work a day job that didn’t provide him any health insurance but even if he’d had medical insurance at the time of his first heart attack (pre-Obamacare), the cost of his treatment would have still put him in debt for life. Plus he probably would’ve had to have some job that would’ve prevented him from playing music or doing what he loved.
There were lots of ways he could’ve probably lengthened his life. But what was the price? Was it worth it? Just barely, to him. Bill LOVED salty food and beer. After his first heart attack, he lived 5 more years that were spent fighting the temptations of all that he felt was worth living for!
I mean… he couldn’t eat pizza. That’s just unthinkable to me.
Last night Hen3ry Q Vines said to me, “Joggers and non-smokers die every day.” HA! So, even the people who do all the “right” things eventually die. What choices could they have made to lengthen their lives and at what cost? I suppose they should’ve had the foresight to be born in a future where their consciousness could live on forever by some technological means I can’t even imagine. It’s their own fault. It was a bad choice to be born now.
That sounds silly but I think that’s the message many people get from our society – if you’d just made better choices, all of this could’ve been avoided. I guess that’s true when it comes to things like dropping out of school or spending all your money on weed instead of paying the rent. But it doesn’t apply to things we don’t actually choose — like someone else’s actions or biological realities. She would’ve made so much more money had she only been born male…
Each of has only our own experiences and resources at hand to guide us. Some of us are lucky enough to be born into lives that are rich with those things.
Most aren’t. Does that mean that the less privileged are unworthy of help?
Apparently so. Americans are so obsessed with “the best” in our modern day Social Darwinist climate. If it’s not the absolute best, it may as well be dead last and not bothering to foster. Anything short of #1 is not worth helping.
That seems so backwards to me. We only seem to want to help those who are already winning. So the only way to deserve or earn help is to not need it? Sounds like the entertainment business… or just about any business in the US.
(What’s mind boggling is that those “winners” are often only winning BECAUSE of the help they get but don’t acknowledge – like corporations that lobby for lower taxes and regulations as they bank on public funds/infrastructure, claim public resources for their own and then create their own self-serving regulations that keep anyone else from having a piece of the pie ever. Even more mind boggling is how we seem to buy into it hoping to be struck by the lightning bold of luck so we can become just like them!)
There’s truth to the idea that we all make our own choices and must live with them but it’s not as if we all have an entire spectrum of options ranging from the best to the worst. If we did, who would ever choose anything but the best?!
Because of that, “the best” is relative and in our only-the-best-will-do world, “the best” eventually just becomes lowest common denominator – odorless, colorless and easy for everyone to digest. If variety is the spice of life, then most Americans choose to eat mayonnaise sandwiches. They’re “the best”.
Bill never ate mayonnaise sandwiches. Not until the end, anyway, when the cost of all that spice caught up with him and he had to start making choices his body could afford.
He lived how he wanted. He paid the price but I think he was glad to.
I wish I’d been more understanding. At one point, his health and attitude became so bad that I finally made him take a 6 month hiatus. He did NOT like that. I felt bad even at the time, but he felt awful, acted like he couldn’t stand rehearsing or gigging and wasn’t playing well. He didn’t talk to me much in those 6 months and you know… he never really came back full time. I felt somewhat justified (but not happily so) when, at the end of the 6 months, he had a cardiac “event” that made him realized he really did need to focus on his health. That was about 16 months before his death. I’m really glad that there was time for him to be annoyed with me and then for us to grow closer again before he passed.
I guess what makes me feel so damn bad is that I was just another person telling him he needed to give up something he loved so he could go on living – and even worse so that I could go on doing the thing he loved without having to drag him along (his own words). One more person giving him mayonnaise sandwiches on white bread as if eating enough of them would ever make the salty sirloin dinners that made life worth living an option again… all the while indulging in those delights right in front of him. Sometimes literally.
I wish I had found a better way to be more inclusive and kept him more active in our band. I wish I’d played to his strengths rather than writing off his surliness as unwillingness to grow or change for the better when if fact it was because maintaining his existing abilities had become so hard for him. I wish that when he was gruff with me, I could’ve seen the bigger picture – that his anger and impatience weren’t because of me, just directed at me because I was the guy in charge.
I mostly wish his last meal in OCT 9, 2014 would’ve included a salty ribeye and a whole twelve pack of India Pale Ale.