Trey Graves

I was checking out friends of friends on Facebook the other day when I saw the sister of a friend I was fairly close to in high school named Trey. We lost touch after high school and I haven't spoken to him in 19 years. I messaged his sister (Tara) and said hi and asked her if she remembered me and how Trey was doing. I got this response:

"Hi Jason. Of course I remember you. Thank you for asking about Trey. I'm sorry to have to tell you that Trey died 8 years ago from a drug overdose. He had been clean and sober for 6 years but this last time was just too much for him. Please don't feel bad. He is in a better place now. I feel bad having to tell people from time to time that don't know, but please don't feel bad. -- Tara."

I felt like someone kicked me in the stomach. I spoke to his mom right after I graduated high school and she said he had finally agreed to go to rehab. With an 18 yr old's naivette, I just thought that he was into pot or something. I don't know. Probably it was something like coke or meth or heroin I guess. Tough habits to kick.

He was so young though when I knew him. he was a year younger than me. He laughed all the time and liked to get into minor mischief. He had braces that made him slur his speech a little like most kids with braces. He liked to play video games and he liked to drive his car (an 89' dark blue Probe) way too fast. He liked going to the movies. He liked telling me about girls in our church youth group and their rumored exploits. He snored even as a kid when he slept. His feet stank. Memories fade with time but I remember that stuff.

I was vocal against drugs even in high school. Especially with my friends. I guess that's one of many reasons why he never told me what he was into.

I'm vaguely familiar with the phases of grief. I think anger is one of them. Reading his sister's email, I got angry.

"He's in a better place now."

Clearly she was trying to console me. She's religious. She said what she would want to hear if in my place. I'm not mad at her. Just the idea. The idea that God would let this kid that I loved get hooked on meth or whatever. That his teeth were probably cavity-ridden and decayed at the end. That he probably wanted to kill himself when he detoxed becoming sober initially. The shame and dispair he must have felt as he was tortured with internal debate about what he was doing the night he broke his 6 year sobriety. That my friend that I loved died alone either drowning in his own vomit or clutching his chest as his heart stopped or worse. Defecating in a pair of pants he probably hadn't changed in a week or two as he died. The lies he told his family about where he'd been and what he'd been doing. Making up alternate explanations as to why he switched jobs again and again and again, instead of telling them he just didn't show up cause he went on another 6 day bender.

The notion that God allowed all this to happen so that my friend could go to a better place is fucking offensive. I don't beat my kids for 5 years before I take them to Disney World. What a weak, weak logic to explain it.

Maybe I need God to direct my anger at. But even in the middle of my anger, I realize sadly that God didn't do this. It was a combination of some government bio-chemist in the 1950's that figured out how to make rats wig out by having them inhale burning crystal-methamphetamine fumes; along with my friend, having too much money and too much time, being bored at a party one night and some other rich little kid that said, "Hey Trey, ever tried this before?"

He isn't in a better place. He isn't anywhere anymore. Trey's gone.