Not the same ACL without him

Almost a year ago, I lost the friend that told me to never take Advil for a hangover, especially during the 72-hour ACL binge. To do so was "sending my liver into a gun fight with a knife." I lost a friend that, even though I knew him only briefly, was one of the most precious of my new Austin friends.

I still think about him every day without fail and wonder what things would have been like had he been around to offer direction. Things, I believe, would have been so very different.

After Travis died, I was never able to console my now ex-boyfriend, Travis' best friend, who was devastated by the loss. In turn, he offered me no comfort either. I was told I was a failure because I could not take the pain away. Bringing him back was the only solution, a task I was indeed quite incapable of performing.

A failure, however, I am not. I try, just like everyone, my hardest. I miss him, just like everyone...with an intensity that is unspeakable, with a sadness in which I dare not even indulge.

If I could have lessened the pain for my man, my friends, Travis' family, the state of Texas, the universe, believe me, I would have. But that isn't how these things work. We all take a piece of the pain and carry it whether we are strong enough for the extra load or not. That is the burden you accept when you love someone like we all loved Travis. Like all things we love, to have them taken is a risk we must be prepared for, a weight we must be ready to bare without warning.

And so I try to carry my grief with gratitude. I don't always do it gracefully. I don't always do it right. But I do it, always. Because like I said a year ago, there is no greater thanks for the sadness I feel because I'm one of the lucky ones that gets to miss him.

I miss you, my dear friend. ACL won't sound the same without you. I wish you could be there to sing along to Avett Brothers with me. But, I have my tarp ready and I've chosen Jack White instead of that old guy. I know you'll be listening. 

Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise by The Avett Brothers

The rainbow after the tears are gone

It is not easy to win the affection of a boyfriend's friends. The approval rating usually ends up somewhere between tolerance and murderous spite. But, nothing is more valuable to a girl trying to land a man than a "gold star" from his best friend. That is why this week is so hard. I didn't just get a thumbs up from Travis Sampley. He was my biggest fan and the feeling was mutual.

Travis, AK, and I spent the last year on a whirlwind of rowdy adventures all over Texas. We were the 3 musketeers. We did everything together it seemed. All of my most fun and memorable moments since moving to Austin included him. We traveled in a pack, literally, walking home together (he lived just a few blocks away). Inseparable barely covers it.

He was my most enthusiastic kitchen guinea pig, gobbling down even the most inedibly tough steak and over-salted fish like he was eating first class at III Forks. He rarely even asked what I was making before agreeing to come over and he always brought my favorite Zinfandel.

My constant heckling for his taste in slow, emotive music didn't

Outside Sidebar hitting on chicks

deter him at all from turning off my tunes immediately upon arrival to plug in his iPhone. Every ride in my car started with, "Have you heard the new [insert band I've never heard of here]?" and a reach for the aux cord. He invited me to the most obscure concerts and taught me why vinyl sounds best. He introduced me to music far beyond my comfort zone and I ended up eating my words every time.

Most importantly, he liked me. Not just because he was obligated to. And, I liked him. Not just because I was obligated to. I looked forward to him like he was my own pack member and eventually that's what he became.

His sudden death makes me feel strange. I'm overwhelmed with sadness with spurts of disbelief. Sharing this grief with so many people is simultaneously comforting but also selfishly difficult. I'm watching my man's heart break and it is unimaginably painful. I don't think I'm alone in wishing that there could be just one more moment to say goodbye. In situations like this, I suppose it is natural. But, what would I say if I had that chance?

After Travis' birthday party at G&S

How do you put into words the solidarity of a friendship that strong? How would you let them know how much you appreciate the joy they bring to your life? Could you really express how much you'll miss them and how much you don't want them to go? I doubt it. Sometimes there are just no words. That is the blessing of death I guess. You can't and so you don't. You just feel it and know it and that has to be enough.

His absence will also be distinctly felt and known...at every party, at every bar, at every concert. His absence will just be distinct. Because someone like Travis doesn't go unnoticed.

I'm sending love and healing to his family and friends. We might have lost a rare one, but there isn't enough gratitude in the universe to match the thanks I have to have known him.

That's How Strong My Love Is by Ryan Bingham