Remembering Isaac Kirkman

My friend Isaac Kirkman passed away, last week.

He was well-known inside online writing circles for being a benevolent presence and a wordsmith of his own. His words had an celestial quality to them. Nature and the mind constantly cohabited within one another in his work, illustrating the circle of life and the oneness of the universe better than anything else I’ve ever read. Isaac’s writing was amorphous, chameleon-like, tailoring itself to what and who he encountered along his path. He was blessed with an incredible, unique talent that would’ve made him immortal, had he lived in a more appropriate era.

I met him several years ago through a writing collective named Zelmer Pulp, to whom we both proudly belonged. We read, critiqued and edited each other’s work to the best of our abilities. We’ve given one another words of encouragement we both wore like armor against the hardships of the business. Most importantly, we talked. Talked and talked for hours at a time. Constantly at first, like long-lost brothers from another life and periodically in recent years. But Isaac kept up his friendships with ferocious discipline. I was not the only one blessed with his presence.

Funny thing is: I’ve never met him in the flesh.

For years, Isaac Kirkman’s been a Holy Ghost inside my computer. A kind, caring string of words that digitally materialized when I needed it the most. That would keep my attention with a relentless staccato of ideas and invocations, which never failed to chase the shadows away. He was there and he cared more about me than people who look me in the eye for 40 hours every week. I dare to believe it went both ways. Our friendship was spontaneous, disembodied and heartfelt. It had a chaotic, unpredictable structure that alleviated the guilt of long silences.

Last time I spoke to him, we went on for two hours. We updated one another on recent successes, failures, challenges and the road ahead. I was reading the Instagram DM conversation this morning again and it felt unreal. Hollow and unreal that it is over. That the monument to the betterment of this planet he was building will be left unfinished. That I won’t be a part of it. Now, Isaac was well-acquainted with death and his passing is way more a tragedy to us than it is to him. I take solace in the idea that he’s now reunited with his dear brother Joshua.

We knew Isaac was not long for this world. That he was a wanderer along the way, seeking a truth that wasn’t visible to common mortals. He suffered from a very painful disorder called the Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which unfairly sped the clock he was working on and made life in general an uphill battle. He accepted his fate long before we did and I’m sure his departure wasn’t a complete surprise to him. But it fucking sucks not to have him around anymore. The world is a better place knowing that someone knows you just need a little wind to take off.

To me, that person was Isaac.

So long, brother. I love you. I’m sorry that I never got the chance to hug you and tell you to your face how much you mean tome, but I promise we’ll see each other in the next life.