Transcript for Podcast: "I Feel Snitty," Episode 210: "Live in War, Rest in Peace," is now available.

Podcast: I Feel Snitty

Episode 210: Live in War, Rest in Peace

Premiere Date: 4/6/2023

Length: 14:32 (2,333 words)

Link: https://ifeelsnitty.podbean.com/e/live-in-war-rest-in-peace/

Transcript: 

Welcome to “I Feel Snitty,” episode 210, entitled, “Live in War, Rest in Peace.” I’m your host, Craig Rozniecki.

 

This is going to be a different kind of episode. The main reason why I’ve been so absent on social-media in recent months is because in early January I learned one of my best friends from high school – Brian Grgurich – passed away. I actually recorded a podcast shortly after hearing the news, but was so angry I decided it’d be best served as personal catharsis. While I’m still mad as hell, I think I’ve finally accepted the loss, and am ready to discuss it, as calmly as I can manage.

 

We’ve all lost people close to us, and sadly death is one thing which tends to bring us closer together. So, whether you did or didn’t know Brian, I’m sure you can relate to what I’ve been dealing with, and I’d like to talk about the person I knew and loved.

 

Brian David Grgurich was born on February 26^th of 1981 and passed away on December 22^nd of 2022. I didn’t really get to know him until high school, but we quickly became friends, and between the two of us, Matt, Joe, Ben, and Jon, we were nearly inseparable – especially during the summer months. The six of us were kind of chameleons in high school. We weren’t the cool kids, but outside of perhaps myself, weren’t considered nerds either. We just kind of blended in, regardless of the setting or clique, and never met a party we didn’t like. It didn’t matter if we were surrounded by college kids, jocks, nerds, goths, we’d be there to drink, laugh, and get stupid – in other words, be teenagers.

 

Brian may not have been the greatest athlete in the world, but he took this fact in stride. When he ran junior varsity (or JV) cross country, he became known for striking a pose and jokingly shouting “Last on JV!” At this, the rest of the aforementioned gang couldn’t help but crack up. That was Brian. While he most certainly had a serious side, and knew when to broach subjects in such a manner, the guy was seemingly always laughing or about to do or say something which would inevitably result in laugh-out-loud moments.

 

There were times Brian would just randomly stop by in his Cavalier. It was old and beat up, so he aptly named it his “Shitalier.” He’d pick me up and we’d just cruise about town, listening to Garbage, Hole, and Marilyn Manson’s “The Dope Show.” We had no plans, no set objective; we were just two kids who enjoyed jamming to ‘90s alternative rock music while busting about West Omaha in a Shitalier.

 

It's difficult to accurately describe in words, but whenever I hung out with Brian, it was almost like there was a light surrounding him. Wherever he went, he’d brighten the room with his smile and silly, personable demeanor.

 

As I alluded to earlier, while Brian seemed to always be laughing, he also had a serious side. The guy was not only humorous and personable, he was smart, and may I just say had impeccable handwriting. Maybe more than anyone else at the time, I felt a certain ease confiding in Brian about personal matters. It felt as though he’d listen; wouldn’t judge; and would provide sensitive, yet honest feedback.

 

This was especially the case in the summer of 2000. We graduated from high school the year prior, and while I stayed close to home for college, Brian moved from West Omaha to Tucson, Arizona, to become an Arizona Wildcat. After the first year of college ended, Brian headed back to Nebraska for the summer. Late one night we were chilling at his folks’ place; drinking the unbeatable combination of Popov Vodka and Grape Welch’s, while sitting on a bench on his front porch. We were just talking; perhaps slightly buzzed; when I remember him asking, “Does that surprise you?”

 

The conversation had been fairly light prior to that point, so lil buzzed me was half-listening, half staring at the stars, half focusing on my beverage, and half seriously considering a major change from psych to math. I remember feeling a slight knot form in my stomach, as I felt as though Brian had just told me something important; it whizzed right past me; and I should have an answer to his question. But it then suddenly came to me – he had just come out (as gay). Now, I think anybody who knew Brian would say he was rather flamboyant, and no one I knew – at least amongst our circle of friends – was too terribly surprised by his announcement. Especially at the time, though – in 2000, making such an announcement was a big deal – especially in Nebraska. After a couple of seconds, which felt like hours, I responded with kind of a shrug, and said, “I don’t know; I never really thought about it.” I may be a follower of politics and current events now, at 42, but at 19? You could have asked me what “term limits” were, and I probably would have responded, “Eh, restrictions English professors impose on the frequency certain words can be used in a paper?” If I’m being completely honest, I just didn’t give a shit. I was too busy studying; catching movies; attending concerts; and partying to worry about the deficit.

 

Having said that, while I was indifferent about politics, I was torn about religion. I was raised in a split-Christian household, as my mother was non-denominational and my father was Catholic. I wound up attending church with my mother. I didn’t mind it too much as a kid, but as I entered middle and high school, I began having some questions. This was especially the case when it came to how the church saw and treated homosexuals. While I didn’t spend a great deal of time researching the matter (there was only so much you could do with Prodigy), just from a logical perspective, I didn’t understand how a religion could say to not judge; that their savior loves everybody; contend nobody is perfect, but then demonize one group of people as lesser than the others, and condemning them to eternal damnation. At the time homosexuality was treated like a disease, something which medication, prayer, and/or gay-conversion therapy could cure. There wasn’t much talk about it being in-born; it was viewed as a choice; it was our responsibility to change these people from gays to Christians; and if they refused, the onus was fully on them; and they’d eventually reap what they sowed. I remember asking my mom while she was driving one time, “Why would someone choose to be gay? If they knew they’d be hated; bullied; and damned, why would someone choose that?” It just didn’t make any sense to me, and I came to the conclusion it was in-born, and people shouldn’t be judged for who they’re born as.

 

Brian then asked me if there was anything I’d like to ask him, upon unleashing the bombshell my way. He added I could ask him anything, and he wouldn’t be offended. While I was a little nervous about this proposition, I was also excited. Living in uber-red Nebraska in the ‘80s and ‘90s, I didn’t get much chance to interact with members of the LGBT community. Brian was the first such person who willingly broached the subject with me, and I couldn’t wait to learn. Ask just about anyone who knows me: When I don’t know something, I immediately want to learn about it. Nowadays, if I’m on my phone, it’s probably for one of three reasons: Taking and sending pictures of my 4-year-old son; playing Candy Crush; or reading about something I didn’t know previously. The first question I asked Brian was how long he’d known he was gay. When he said, “I’ve always known,” everything just sort of clicked with me. All the questions and confusions I had previously about homosexuality and the church’s response to it were answered with that single response. We shared just about everything with one another that night. He opened up further to me about his coming out, and I did similarly to him about childhood abuse I suffered and daily seizures I hid from the world through middle and high school – which I had never told anyone else previously. From that night forward, we never wore masks around one another; never shielded our thoughts nor feelings; we could be completely at ease in each other’s presence – knowing full well we accepted the other as is.

 

Unfortunately, that acceptance wasn’t as widespread as we would have liked. While, to my knowledge, all of Brian’s friends accepted him with open arms when he came out to them, that wasn’t the case with his parents. Later that same summer I received a call from a mutual friend of ours to get over to Brian’s place stat. He had apparently come out to his folks, and in response they rejected and disowned him. As soon as I walked into their home, I heard yelling. Brian was drunk – understandably so after getting disowned by his own parents. He and his father were yelling back and forth. The friends that were there tried to simmer down the situation to the best of our abilities, but while we tried stopping him, Brian stormed out that night and drove off to Colorado; wasted; and we feared that was the last we were ever going to see of him. Fortunately that wasn’t the case, but looking back, that night was sadly the beginning of the end of Brian David Grgurich.

 

I was devastated. I tried talking to my folks about it and they were shocked. We discussed the possibility of him moving in with us – basically adopting him, but due to financial constraints at the time, it just wasn’t feasible, unfortunately. I typed a long letter, which I placed in Brian’s parents mailbox – begging them to love and accept their son for who he was, and trying to win them over by citing Bible verses which painted Jesus as a benevolent being. Unfortunately, things were never the same.

 

Between then and his passing – so over the span of about 23 years, Brian moved a total of 39 times. Let me repeat that: From the time Brian left for college and his passing 23 years later, he moved 39 times – an average of almost twice a year over the course of nearly a quarter of a century. Those numbers speak volumes to me. They signify a lack of stability. They signify a need for a family. They signify a need for a genuine home. Brian never had that after being disowned by his parents, and through 23 years, through 39 moves, tried finding it, until he just couldn’t do it anymore. Honestly, it exhausts me just thinking about moving that many times in a lifetime, let alone 23 years; I can’t imagine how drained Brian was mentally, emotionally, and with that physically.

 

I refused to attend Brian’s funeral, because I couldn’t look at his parents. From my vantage point his spiral started that fateful night when they disowned him. Whenever he’d attempt to move back, visit, or move in the vicinity, trying to win back their acceptance, he always fell short. The answer was never to accept Brian for who he was; the answer was to change him into who they wanted him to be – through medication, prayer, gay-conversion therapy, and the like. Others may disagree with me on blaming the parents, and that’s their prerogative, but when did the self-destruction start? When he shared his true identity with his parents and they rejected him. I’ve tried night and day empathizing, wondering how I would react if I were disowned by my own parents, my flesh and blood, the people who raised me since the time I was a helpless baby. I fortunately will never need to discover the answer to said question, but I imagine I’d self-destruct as well – for it’d feel as though significant parts of me were gone, and what would I have left? Others may feel I’m being insensitive to his parents for feeling the way I do. Once again, people are allowed to have and express their opinions, but I feel the opposite is true. I’m not one to beat around the bush, so to speak. I’m about the truth, and the truth is Brian David Grgurich spent the first half of his life denying who he really was, and after he finally accepted himself, spent the second half of his life trying to win back the acceptance of the people who raised him since he was a helpless baby. I was there when Brian came out. I was there when he was disowned. I was there when he’d call me with suicidal tendencies due to not finding an accepting family and home. Just because a family showcases what appears to be genuine emotion over losing a loved one, that doesn’t detract from the pain they imposed upon him the past couple of decades.

 

I just recently received Brian’s autopsy results. His family has apparently been spreading the rumor that the “cause of death” listed in the Medical Examiner’s Report was “undetermined.” Well, while I can’t go into details due to contractual obligations, I can say that was a lie.

 

Brian David Grgurich was a warm, kind-hearted, fun, smart, joy of a person, and I’ll be eternally grateful to say that I not only knew him, but could consider him one of my best friends. Having said that, I won’t for one moment allow anyone to drag Brian’s name down in the mud. Through no fault of his own his life was a constant battle. I won’t let that life become a lie while he rests in peace. Feel no pain, my friend. You’ll be sorely missed, but never forgotten. Now it’s time to share your light with others.