On Sunday, October 3rd, 2004, my Tree, Matt Naslanic died by crashing into a guardrail on a motorcycle. I was told this by his cousin, Karin Yarborough (Dunaway) the following Monday after she, concerned by my concern that I hadn't talked to him in 24 hours, called his cell phone to find it answered by his mother.

I've spent the last 4 months mourning the death and loss of someone I loved dearly.

Then last night I got to have a lovely chat with a handsome, 6'8" young man named Matt Naslanic who just happens to live near DC. He confirmed that the set of pictures I have on my hard drive, given to me by my Matt and Karin are photographs of him. On noticing the log file I've saved of when Karin told me about Matt's death, we discover that we have Karin in common.

The math is pretty simple, even for someone as math challenged as me.

I must say, now that it's been a few hours for it all to really sink in, that having Matt "die" by a crash after I jokingly tell him that he'd make a horrible mess for someone to clean up if he had an accident was a beautiful touch. I'm sure the absolutely lovely mourning workbook I sent Karin was used to its utmost. You know, while she came to terms with the loss of her "brother". Bravo. Well played.

You fucking piece of work.

My grief, every fucking ounce of it was real. I lost someone precious and beautiful and good. That blinding pain of the first few weeks was truth. That quiet grief after I had pulled it in was truth. That I still have moments out of every day where I pause to just miss him is truth. That seeing a super-tall guy at the grocery store makes me hurt is truth. From the moment "Matt" asked for some coffee to right now, my end was truth.

I wonder about the mechanics of it all. I played around a little at being someone else when I first got online and the multi-tasking was *hard*. I wonder who played the role of the eager young man, aka Squeaky, aka Matt. I wonder how it got juggled. And then I realize it doesn't matter. It really doesn't. What really matters, what really hurts is what came after he "died". And that's all Karin.

I can't even resent the passion, the care, the concern I spent. Because they speak to whom I am. I honest to god believed that my sweetheart died in a horrible, violent manner. That I was dealing with that reality and still giving as much support and love to his "cousin" as I did, says an awful fucking lot about who I am as a human being.

That she took it, for months, says an awful lot about whom she is.

But I suppose I owe some measure of gratitude. Greg's one of the best friends I've ever had. He's as beautiful and kind as "Matt" ever was, and he's real. He makes me laugh, feel cared about and valued, and is simply there. If it weren't for Matt's "death", we would've never become as close friends as we are. Thanks a ton. I'm blessed.