RIP LoOp

[NoraC]

RIP LoOp

My thoughts are with you and your family Renee. He was a very special person.

[Yourfriend6116]

RIP LoOp

Renee,
Thank you for updating everyone. He was obviously very loved and admired and changed so many lives during his (much too short) life.

[mama bear]

RIP LoOp

I am stunned....
much love and support to you Renee

[YoungAtHeart]

RIP LoOp

Thank you, Renee. I am so sorry about the loss of your son. Sending prayers to you and your family/friends for healing.

[SKendall]

RIP LoOp

What a tragic loss. Sending much strength Renee. He was a beautiful boy.

[RedThread12]

RIP LoOp

There are few words to speak of the intense levels of sorrow and dismay that are arising for me, and for many of you, as well. I have been away from MWO for a while, primarily due to inordinately demanding personal matters. I’m still thinkin’ the Mayans knew a things or two!

But I remained in close contact with Evan, and when events in his family also shifted, it was time for me to stand behind what I had always told him – "if push ever comes to shove, you can move here, and make baclofen in my basement."
*Note to self – think some things through a little more before saying anything aloud.

However, this project seemed to be moving along well, with full support and communication with Renee, Evan’s amazing mother. So I will also share a few things that I know about the days and weeks before he departed.

I am absolutely certain that he did not consciously intend this outcome. My downstairs is full of boxes he had forwarded in anticipation of arriving here on New Year's Eve. And we had been on the phone quite a bit during the day while I described all of the furniture, kitchen and household items I have been sorting from my own cabinets and house, and from my friends', all waiting for him to set up his new apartment that "must be walking/biking distance from a Post Office and a gym!"

As some of you may understand, a part of me kept waiting to think, "Oh, f**k, what have I done now?" But that never happened. Even on a few recent days when the the stress of the tasks ahead of him was audible, I only felt joy at the prospect of having him nearby, and introducing him to friends who were waiting to welcome him. At some point I said, "We need to get our story straight. How do I introduce you - a very, very close friend whom my friend's of decades have never met?"

He said, "I think we just tell the truth. 'This is my dear friend Evan. He makes chemicals that save people's lives, just like Monsanto.'" I had asked him to leave his Monsanto jacket at home, and learn to say "y'all" - which was hysterically appalling for him.

I did understood some of the challenges he was facing: painful physical symptoms, separating his life from his family's, an enduring ache around the passing of his aunt . . . and I told him that it is not possible to go through these changes and events without discomfort. And I will say that again for all of us - this IS life. From the moment we are born, we are moving toward the moment Evan met Wednesday night or early Thursday morning, by all appearances peacefully, as he slept. I have been in close contact with his mother over the past two days. She, too, was fully taken by surprise, noting that he had packed additional boxes to ship, and appeared to be preparing his move.

I will close with a bow of gratitude to each of you, which comes from Evan, and the richness you brought to his life, directly and indirectly, as you shared your journeys with him, read his contributions here at MWO, and further ways he sought to manifest his passion, curiosity, sharp intelligence, and not a small amount of humor and wit.

I know how happy he was to have found his clear and passionate mission from the time he burst through the doors of My Way Out. And I KNOW he was grateful to be able to do the work that he knew was his.

And that will continue, as we enliven ourselves in all ways; through our individual and joint work to lift the profile of baclofen for alcoholism and pursue other ways it may relieve suffering; through each and every effort we all make to find our own health, and to keep a candle lit for those who still must drink against their will.

RedThread
Beth

RedThread is the name I originally logged into MWO with. Buddhist traditions tell of the "red thread" that ties together all of those whom are destined to come together in this lifetime. I had no idea - partly because I was drunk when I logged on and had a helluva time remembering my username and password when I remembered that I had found MWO; but for the most part, there is no way I could have imagined the immensity and depth of the "work" I have seen unfold over the past 4-plus years through amazing people with enormous hearts . . . and am grateful beyond words.

[NoraC]

RIP LoOp

Thank you Beth. That was beautiful.:h

[fishcake]

RIP LoOp

RIP Evan, you were a great moral support.

[_serenity_]

RIP LoOp

Thank you Beth. He referred to you as a person of "incomprehensible wisdom" (and gave amazing examples) and also referred to you as his best friend. You had a profound impact on his life. That was a beautiful remembrance. :l

[Littlebluebird]

RIP LoOp

I have just learned of Evan's passing, I am so sad and shocked to hear of this. I have not been on this forum for quite sometime although when I was he was always a kind heart full of knowledge and always willing to help anyone who asked. The world will be a tougher place without him! I know he is held in a special place in all our hearts! God Bless!
Sadly, Chris

[RedThread12]

RIP LoOp

I understand even more now, that our disease is more profoundly a symptom of some discord that most of humanity suffers from. I have been blessed with teachers of incomprehensible wisdom - thank you, serenity, through my tears, I am taking those words in deeply. Look for me soon over on Evan's site, where I will do what I can to pass along as many tools and skills for "full catastrophe living," as Jon Kabat-Zinn says, as I can find means to do so. Being sober, as we are all noticing, is just a chance for something more fulfilling - not a cure for life.

Understanding that there is no single remedy for the maladies of life, I will do what I can to open some doorways into the amazing array of wisdom teachings and teachers that this particular moment in history, on this planet, is so rich with; and hope to share the conversation with others who also know and have experience that I don't.

Like Evan. We met in a totally new and unique place for us both. Except it also felt so familiar. I was waiting for him for a few things . . . and those will be where I start. It takes so much to do this life, doesn't it? :nutso: :h

[TexasAg]

RIP LoOp

I just learned of Evan's passing. Thanks for the email Red.

There are no words to express my disbelief and hurt.

Renee, you truly had a beautiful boy. Baclofen took me out of my alchoholic prison and Evan's liquid bac helped me push through with much, much less side effects. Everytime I spoke to Evan he would listen to me endlessly rant over things and seemed to truly enjoy helping. He was selfless.
May God bless you and your family.
Sincerely,
Joe

[Samandkatharine]

RIP LoOp

I "met" Evan twice on a baseball field. First time was during my sons championship game. I did not want to talk to anyone about my problems about alcohol, especially during a baseball game! But Evan would not let me off the phone! We concluded that A- he trusted me and that B- we had more in common than was normal. I have a son with Aspergers and Evan had that sweet touch of it that endeared me. Way too smart...Sheldon Cooper but with a heart and a heart of gold. The second time was during my sons practice, once again on a baseball diamond. I was worried about driving to LA after bumping up my dose, and was having trouble sleeping at night. Evan wouldn't let me go until he had every base covered . He told me about moving to be closer to Red, and his passion to keep liquid Bac going.

Sam

[redhead77]

RIP LoOp

I haven't read through everything posted today, I'll admit that in advance. I was busy working Taking care of critically ill patients.. My eyes were so swollen from crying all night, I shouldn't have worked today. I loved Evan so much. Although I never expressed it, as I should have. He was always there for me.

I'm angry, very upset with him. He had too many people relying on him to do this. From the little I've read, nobody feels anger. Maybe they are advanced human beings- I already know some of you are. I'm working on being more advanced. But I will say, you're not allowed to check out when people need you. *Even by accident*.

I'm sorry, Renee. I sincerely apologize for your loss as a mother. I adored your son. I'm going through stages of grief. There are stages. I'm in the anger stage. I'm not an angry person, so I can't imagine it won't last long. I hope the next will be acceptance. He was such an influence on my life. I'll always have much love in my heart for him.

[windycitylady]

RIP LoOp

Jesus.
So this is real, huh?
I've been a mess for the last 24 hours.

I, like Evan, am an atheist. I put my faith in science. But, also like Evan, I believe that we don't understand everything around us and that really anything's possible. Thank you to Mandiekinz for reposting "Pulverizing Synchronicity", where Evan so eloquently explains this.
Blaise Pascal wrote of "the perfect bet" in regards to religion and spirituality. The perfect bet is one in which you win no matter the outcome. Pray to God, imagine heaven, try to speak with your loved ones who have passed. If there is a god, if there is a heaven, if your loved ones can hear you, then you win. If there isn't, then you have not lost. You have been comforted by your beliefs and have lost nothing.

In that spirit, I need to talk to Evan. And maybe this is selfish on my part. And maybe it should be more private. It is not meant to discount the pain that those closer to Evan than me must be in right now. Thank you so much to Renee for posting and keeping us updated. I can't imagine the grief you must be experiencing. And to Beth. Oh Beth. You don't need me to tell you how much he loved and respected you. You helped him, no, you healed him in a profound way. He adored you. But, yes. Selfishly, I need to do this. And, who knows? Maybe Evan can see it or feel it.

Evan, I sent you a text Thursday night. It said, "Did barbell squats with 100lbs today for the first time. I know you're busy, but it felt like a milestone that I needed to share with you." When I heard what had happened to you, this seemed like a wildly inappropriate last text. A bad joke. Now that a little time has passed, I think I like it. Before I discovered drinking, I was anorexic. Once I quit, the desire to be smaller returned with a vengeance. And in those turbulent first months, exercising kept me sane. The fear, the anger, the grief I was feeling, that all disappeared when I was running on the beach in Chicago. But you helped me see that I didn't want to be small anymore. I wanted to be strong. And that there was a difference. I followed your advice to the letter. You said that in a year you wanted me barbell squatting my weight. I laughed at you. But I started doing squats unweighted. Then with 20 lbs. And so on. It's been a year, Evan. And I'm so fucking close.
You told me that I was beautiful. I told you that you had no idea what I looked like. You said it didn't matter. I sent you a picture. All you said was that I still needed to build more muscle. You accidentally sent me a text meant for someone else about our conversations. It said, "She thinks I'm referring to her physical body. I'm not. She's a beautiful person no matter what." That blew my mind. I cried.
You told me that we would meet in Chicago in two years. Again, I laughed. But it crossed my mind maybe a week ago that it has been a year since you said that. And I wondered...but, no. I know now that that isn't going to happen.

There were, of course, much more profound conversations than about bodybuilding. You helped me through several difficult times in my life, and I think or I hope that I helped you through yours. There is the amazing work you've done to forward the cause of baclofen and to help others find their way to the freedom we've all found. You were an astoundingly generous, kind soul. And blisteringly intelligent. I jokingly told you once that you should use your smarts for good and find me a recipe for a homemade 2% salicylic acid face treatment and a hand fed rosey bourke Australian grass parakeet. Within minutes you fired back with the weight and percentage of salicylic acid in a pill of aspirin. "You're smart enough to figure it out from there. Put it in vegetable glycerin." And you found a rosey bourke in northern Michigan that wasn't hand fed but was very young. Close enough. I was very impressed.

These things seem silly to recount now. You did so much more impressive things. But these are the things that run through my mind when I think of missing you. Your silliness, your wit, your intelligence. Most of all your fierce love of life and of humanity. But yours was not a blind optimism. You understood better than anyone the pain that exists in the world and within the hearts of individuals. You were aware of your own darkness and sadness. But despite that, you had a deep, unshakable faith in the goodness of people and in their potential for happiness. One that I envy. You were a better person than I am, Evan. Better than a lot of people. You would argue with me about that, I know you would. I wish you would.

On your forums I posted what I called my love letter to you a few months ago. A few excerpts from songs and books that I thought would appeal to you. You had a very strong reaction to the last thing I posted, an excerpt from Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse, of all things. You left me a voicemail where you seemed upset about it, and I felt guilty. But you later explained that you just felt that it described you so well that it shook you up. Well, you were a lot more poetic than that, of course, but that was the gist of it. The excerpt was:

There are a good many people of the same kind as Harry. Many artists are of his kind. These persons all have two souls, two beings within them. There is God and the devil in them; the mother's blood and the father's; the capacity for happiness and the capacity for suffering; and in just such a state of enmity and entanglement towards and within each other as were the wolf and man in Harry. And these men, for whom life has no repose, live at times in their rare moments of happiness with such strength and indescribable beauty, the spray of their moment's happiness is flung so high and dazzlingly over the wide sea of suffering, that the light of it, spreading its radiance, touches others too with its enchantment. Thus, like a precious, fleeting foam over the sea of suffering arise all those works of art, in which a single individual lifts himself for an hour so high above his personal destiny that his happiness shines like a star and appears to all who see it as something eternal and as a happiness of their own. All these men, whatever their deeds and works may be, have really no life; that is to say, their lives are not their own and have no form. They are not heroes, artists or thinkers in the same way that other men are judges, doctors, shoemakers, or schoolmasters. Their life consists of a perpetual tide, unhappy and torn with pain, terrible and meaningless, unless one is ready to see its meaning in just those rare experiences, acts, thoughts and works that shine out above the chaos of such a life. To such men the desperate and horrible thought has come that perhaps the whole of human life is but a bad joke, a violent and ill-fated abortion of the primal mother, a savage and dismal catastrophe of nature. To them, too, however, the other thought has come that man is perhaps not merely a half-rational animal but a child of the gods and destined to immortality.

Evan, in retrospect, it was a pretty dark thing to post. And I would never call your life a perpetual tide that was terrible and meaningless. But I do know with all my heart that the light of your happiness did spread its radiance over the sea of suffering.
That you changed lives.
That you fucking saved lives.

There were a couple things that I'd been planning to post on your site soon. I'm sorry that I didn't do it soon enough. One was these lyrics from the new Eminem (who you know I love as much as I love TS Eliot) album about rebuilding your life in recovery:

So feel the fire beneath your feet
As you barely even perspire from the heat
Exhale deep and breathe a sigh of relief
And as you say goodbye to the grief
It's like watching the walls melt in your prison cell
But you've extinguished this living hell
Still a little piece of you dies, as you scream

I'm standing in the flames
And it's a beautiful kind of pain
Setting fire to yesterday
Find a light, find a light, find a light

I feel the burn, watch the smoke as I turn rising,
A phoenix from the flames
I have learned, from fighting fights, that weren't mine
Not with fists, but with wings that I will fly


I love you, sweetheart, and I miss you already.

I hope I haven't offended anyone with the epic length of this post. I never meant to imply that I cared more or knew Evan better than other people. In fact, I know that's not the case. But, for better or for worse, this is how I deal. People who know me around here know that.
And I feel better. So thank you.

Much love to Renee, the rest of Evan's family, and to Beth. Take what comfort you can in the fact that he was such an amazing, kind, generous soul who helped so many. My thoughts are with you.

Much love to everyone, in fact.

Devon