CHRISTMAS 2018

It seems like only yesterday that Ebony was here. I feel that way all the time. Ever since she passed, friends who have lost loved ones have told me, have cautioned me, that the first year is the hardest. “Everything is going to be ‘The First…’ something and it is going to be difficult. They were right. But ‘difficult’ is a word they use in generosity: it flat-out fucking sucks.

I have been reliving every day since she needed 24-hour care as if I was living my own personal version of “Groundhog Day” directed by Ingmar Bergman. I loved her so much and miss her so terribly there are some days I cannot get out of bed. Even when I have to pee… I can just pee in an empty bottle of Powerade and slump back into the covers, because who gives a fuck? What’s the point?

Some days are okay. I have a mandate to work one day a week at my friend’s restaurant, tending bar. Not that I want to talk to anyone, but mercifully it’s so busy I don’t have to. But I don’t want to go out, I don’t want to engage with anyone, and yet, doing so distracts me enough that I don’t flame out and everything kinda works out. But when I’m back home, alone, thinking about Ebony, I am miserable. Completely fucking miserable.

When I lost Ebony, I didn’t just lose my lover. I lost my best friend; my champion, my confessor, my life coach and my partner-in-crime. I lost everything when I lost her and I have zero coping skills. I’ve never lost anyone.

People say, “Ebony would not want you to suffer this way…” but it’s meaningless. The pain of her absence does not subside and I figured and wished by now it would. But it hasn’t.

The many beautiful distractions of the summer, seeing bands, going to concerts, is gone and I find myself alone and miserable. I’m not a good person to bring to parties: I only have one thing to talk about and who wants to hear all that shit?

When I wake up tomorrow, on Christmas Day -- because it is never tomorrow until I wake up -- all I will be able to think about is everything I’ve been thinking about: the last few weeks we were together. Harrowing goddamn stuff.

When it became apparent that Ebony needed 24-hour care, I vowed to do anything and everything to give her a life and not just an existence. I just loved her so goddamn much I didn't want her to have to suffer like that. I wanted her to be at home, surrounded by love and people that loved her.

This time last year, I asked all of our friends to make a little video, anything, just wishing her a Merry Christmas. I knew. Oh, I knew. I hoped against hope that things would change, but I knew. She never let anyone in on this, and that included her mother. So that was a whole thing. I knew, her Mother didn’t. Fun. Nevertheless, we persisted.

This time last year, all of you, most of you, participated in ways that I can never repay in a million lifetimes. I couldn’t bring Ebony to you, but those little videos and all of your efforts brought you to Ebony. It was, in a manner of speaking, a small miracle. A Christmas Miracle. If I was a screenwriter, it would be one of those crazy, awful LifeTime Christmas movies that run incessantly from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. “A Cancer Christmas in Newport” or some god-awful nonsense. Nevertheless, it would have been beautiful. Starring the chick from “That’s So Raven” and some washed-up 80s rockstar. 90 minutes of grief and a lot of poinsettias.

I obsess about this because whenever I wake up, a lot of times anyway, I think Ebony is there. In the next room or in the shower and I need a few minutes to gather my thoughts and get it together and realize I was dreaming. And then I realize I’m back, alone hugging my pillow and missing her terribly.

I constantly feel like a failure. Like Liam Neeson at the end of “Schindler’s List.” I could have done more. What could I have done to make things better, beyond whatever it was that I had done? This haunts me. In her last days, when she could no longer swallow and had to have... ahh… this thing, this stomach thing called a “percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy” it was so devastating. Not just to me, but to her. No more pizza, no more anything ingested through her mouth. I was heartbroken and I know she knew. This haunts me daily.

I claw through the veils of darkness and try to find some comfort, some sanctuary. But it does not exist. I cry for her, alone, and have no way, short of writing about it, to find any comfort. It was awful and now I am here to contemplate it all and, in the end, I am miserable and alone.

I cherish silly things in her absence. There is a bottle of Diet Coke, from when they were promoting “Share a Coke with friends” or whatever. We have a 16-ounce bottle of Diet Coke in the fridge, with her name, Ebony, on the label. I won’t let my Mother throw it out. It has to stay there. It was hers, one that she found on I-95 on one of our last drives up. It will stay there until I am gone; at least as far as I’m concerned. I cherish things like that.

So I have been thinking a lot about this time last year, when everyone came to us to show their love for her. I have been crying like a girl who just lost her puppy. I keep doing this and keep trying to snap out of it. But I will never forget the amazing outpouring of support that she was shown and I cherish it so.

Of all the amazing, beautiful, selfless efforts, there was one that stood out. So many, many videos stood out -- Richard Patrick, Johnny Kelly -- but there was this one… Not a person I solicited, but a person who gave of himself that neither Ebony nor I had any contact with. A man who so influenced rock and roll and heavy metal that his legacy is infallible. A man who inspired so many. A man who battled many demons. A man who consorted with Muppets. His name is Alice Cooper. And while we all sit back and consider this time of selflessness and charity, here is a man who gave of himself to baffle and entertain a beautiful girl he did not know, because he is just that amazing. And I want to share that with everyone, once again – and thanks to Katherine Turman – because, at least for me, this is denotative of the true meaning of Christmas.

AT SOME POINT later today or whenever – on Christmas – we are going to have “chowdah” from the Black Pearl (Ebony loved clam chowder after I brought her up here and turned her into a “Chowdah Monstah”) and then I will open up some red wine and toast her magnificence. Not sure what 2019 will bring or if it will ever be better, but I will continue on, trying to be better and trying to navigate my way through this fog.

I am reminded of those of you who knew her and those of you who came through for us and I thank you from the bottom of my black heart. In those last days at the hospital, which haunt me, I remember that my friends – our friends – Angus McIndoe, Kerry DiGiovanni and Leslie Silva – all came by to support us and lift us up. I may still be down, but I would be far worse off without all of you. And Lez, who is far more spiritual than I will ever be, I thank you for being there when you did. And Deeg… Deeg... thank you for everything.

So now. Trying to get it together here. I hope you are all having a Merry Christmas and I wish you all a Wonderful New Year! I know Ebony would feel the same.

And one last thing. About this video. I had no idea this was coming and when I showed it to Ebony, she leaned in and then turned her head toward me. She couldn't speak at that point. My mother, her mother and I laughed. I said, "Yeah. Fucking Alice Cooper. You got friends in low places." And she just shook her head. And I replayed this thing about a hundred times and she just kept looking in disbelief. It made her happy. So happy. Me too. Because -- Jesus Fucking Christ -- how in Holy Hell did Alice Fucking Cooper get involved? Well... we're all still baffled to this day and it doesn't matter. His effort made Ebony happy. So who cares? And what else is there to know? That's it. This made her happy.

So. Merry Christmas. And Good Lookin’ Out~!
And you should all listen to more reggae.
And Alice Fucking Cooper.
I love you all.

-- Mick