Tonight, there is a music that you will never hear, there is a joy that you will never experience, there is a young man, that will never grow, there is a void in the hearts of those who knew him.
The circumstances of his life, to me, are truly unknown. I have heard stories but who knows what is fact and what is fiction. I do know that his father lived on one coast and his mother on another and his decision to align with one over the other rendered him homeless and that is how he came into our lives.
When we first met Zane, he was a boy trying to be a man. He thought drinking and brawling would make him tough, macho, manly. He was just 15. Why I ever allowed him in my house I will never know. But like a stray kitten, my daughter brought him to us, and we could not resist. And then, we got to know him and saw beyond the arrogance and over confidence of youth.
Zane was our daughter’s friend. She met him at the square, he was playing “Folsom Prison Blues” and she was intrigued and enamored by his personality and talent. And for all his faults, and there were many, he was a good kid. His first visit to our house Zane asked my husband if he could play his Martin. The response to this request from any of our children’s other friends had always been a resounding “No, end of story, do not ever ask again.” This HD-28 was “the mistress,” no one else could touch her. But this night, the answer was yes. I will never know why, but I am forever grateful it was.
His talent was immense. Zane had only been playing for six months, but it was there, it was palpable, you could feel his gift. The kid had “it.” And then he left. Moving to the other coast, we did not see him for months. In the time he was gone, we had many demons in our own life to deal with. Demons no parent, no person wants to face. Our daughter was a heroin addict. But with the grace of the gods and all things good, she was strong and with help, she overcame it, and to this day, is clean.
Soon after her recovery, Zane came back to us. His mother did not want him, nor did his father. He lived with us. During the day, Zane was our son, pick up this, do that, come on dude, get it together. At night, when we were asleep, he spent hours on the internet searching for tablature and practicing songs, practicing the craft that would make him famous someday. This led to conversations where we would sit and joke how someday Zane would come back after he had his first recording contract, what a celebration we would have! He had the talent, it could have been, it wasn’t just a pipe dream.
Finally the day came that he had to leave. My husband, fellow musician, took money from our savings and bought Zane a guitar, a tool of survival, something to help him make his way. The look of pride on Zane’s face when he realized it was his, with no preconditions, with no stings attached, will forever be with me. We loaded up his things and I when I dropped him off he was proud and ready to face whatever came his way.
And then he was gone again. We didn’t hear from him. There were sporadic messages to our daughter. “I’m back in town.” “I’m in rehab.” “I’m clean, please talk to me.” But our daughter, savvy beyond her 18 years, knew he was not. To her ultimate regret, yet to her ultimate survival, she told him if you are not clean, if you are still using, do not talk to me. And he didn’t. And last week Zane left this world, a needle in his arm. I pray it was for a better place, because this kid truly deserves it.
By chance, the day after we learned of Zane’s death I found this story on Crooks and Liars. Serendipity or Kismet. A cause I will support. I think I will adopt a tree, or two, or three, for Zane. For a young man who fought his demons and lost. And I would encourage anyone who has experienced the hell of addiction or lost someone to addiction, to support this cause. If nothing else, do it for Zane. Even with his flaws, he was a wonderful soul and I will miss him.
The pomegranate. It is a beautiful, healing plant, a plant that symbolizes life, especially for Zane and anyone else in his dire circumstances.
And so forever there is a music that you will never hear and there is a joy that you will never experience. There is a young man, that will never grow, because he has died and left a hole in the hearts of the few too many people who knew him.
Tonight he lies on a cold slab in a room I never want to see. And his fingers are stiff, never able to caress the music from a guitar. And his voice is silent, you will never hear the beauty in his songs or experience his heartfelt emotions. And the world is a little less special. And I truly miss him.
With love, to Zane.
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there was no one there for Zane. I wish we could have, would have done more.
what a lovely and terribly sad story.
no regrets. tell your daughter. she did the right thing. and then whisper, in her ear, your sig line.
than his parents. you showed him love & trust. you showed him what family was. i don’t know what more you could’ve done.
Great kisshugs for you & your family.
we’ll play & sing a song for your Zane this evening.
peace
♥~
were the best gifts possible. No matter how much you love Zane, there is nothing else any of you could have done until he was ready to be clean. Your daughter is wise beyond her 18 years.
In one year I lost 3 very close friends in the same way, all talented, all beautiful and all chasing their own demons. It is sad to think of the lost potential. It hurts.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
He would listen to the new records friends would send down from LA, all the new stuff, listen to it once and play it back note for note, then giggle and say, “but I would do it this way” then and give the song his own twist, usually a step above. Had a baby blue telecaster. Out of the army, back in LA, he was gigging with Canned Heat when he and his girl friend, both heavy junkies, said enough is enough.
They moved to the hills across the valley from Sacramento, went cold turkey, it worked, as far as heroin goes, he still drank. I visited with him and his family there in the hills of N California in 78 or so.
After his first born, a son he loved dearly, died of a crib death he felt guilty and lost it, drank to excess…..and he ended up doing himself over it.
I found out about his death several years after the fact. I had come down from Alaska again , and in trying to find him (Did I say very, very good army buddy?)found out about it. When I found out when he did it I was floored, and immediately started feeling an immense guilt. I had been across the Sacramento Valley from him at the time, just for a couple of days. I had heard his soul, but had not recognized his anguish. I had looked west the 50 or 60 miles and said ‘Hi Ron, and sorry, no time to come visit this time.I have to get back to Alaska and go to work, see you soon.” I found out, from his tombstone in the little town’s cemetery, the date of his death, and I had been across the valley the week or so before he did it.
I parked my butt there on his headstone and played every song I knew on my old Martin D-21, and some new ones too. I dug a little hole in the bone dry dirt there at his grave and put my guitar pick in it and told him I would be back to hear what songs he had put in that pick for me to discover. I picked up a couple of rocks off his grave the next morning before I drove off in my camper.
There is a purpose for this very personal, and probably way too wordy comment. I still have my Ron Rocks, one lives in the case of that same old Martin, the other one hangs out in that same old truck/camper. When I run across one of them , or if I think of Ron, I pull the rock out and sort of caress it and give it all my love while I say “It’s OK Ron, It’s OK Buddy” and visualize him in his next incarnation, doing great, working through the problems of his demise, having a full and good life. The power of good vibes knows no bounds, death not withstanding, and your young friend Zane will benefit greatly from your current thoughts and love.
I failed my friend Ron all those years ago by not going across the valley to see him, and it has taken most of all those long years to lose the feeling of guilt I have carried, because I felt I could have prevented his death. It took going through my own lessons to learn that we are never responsible for any one else, we are only responsible for our own actions, and others will listen to us or not.
Through the sorrow of your diary, I have sensed, perhaps, a vestige of guilt, as if there might have been more you could have done. As one who carried an unreasonable guilt for 20+ years, I wish you the very best in your sorrow.
Peace
I’m sure there are way too many such stories! You did lend a helping hand. Maybe, there were just too few helping hands! It takes a lot of strength for a child to endure the loss of the love of both parents, much less just one!