My Best Friend, Zen

(AKA "I currently want to respond to all of my emails and texts with, 'How do you expect me to deal with this right now when one of the best friends I ever had is dead!?', but instead I'll channel those emotions into my writing")

A candle I lit for Zen on a day he was struggling. He was so appreciative.

When people talk about their best friend, most are referring to someone they grew up with since childhood or met in college, were in each other's weddings, and continued along into decades of friendship. It might sound strange then to hear that one of my very best friends was only in my life for 9 months. Not even a full year. 9 short months. And now he's gone. And my heart is broken.

Zen used to say to me all the time, "you'll never meet another Zen", to which I'd reply "and you'll never meet another Marina". He was right. I'll never meet another person quite like him. Zen was special. He had the kindest, purest soul, but it was a tortured one. He experienced more pain and suffering in his short life than anyone should ever have to face.

I first met Zen in July of 2025. We were both in residential treatment (or as he liked to call it, the "gated community") for our mental health. Neither of us were ashamed of this fact and didn't care if people knew about it. We were each of us deeply depressed and barely hanging on to life. I still remember the first time I spoke with him. He was just one of those people you meet and know you want them to be in your life forever. I had been in treatment for about a week when he arrived. We were in the common area of the treatment facility and I went up to him, introduced myself, and welcomed him. Over the course of the coming weeks I grew to know him and his struggles, of which there were so many. He grew to know mine, too. We bonded over a shared love of poetry, cooking shows, and dogs. I still remember his face lighting up telling me about his beloved Dachshund dog, Wyatt. He lovingly called him "Bean".

But nothing lit his face up more than when he was talking about his wife, Jessica. She had become ill and passed away just a few months prior. My god, how that man loved her. It was the stuff of fairy tales, but with a tragic ending. He missed her on a level that none of us could fully comprehend. He glowed when he spoke about her. He loved to be asked about each of the tattoos he had, the majority being dedicated to her memory. Over the course of our friendship he shared so many touching stories and anecdotes about their years together. I don't think I've ever heard someone talk about their partner in as beautiful a way as he spoke about Jessica. Their example will now set the standard for how I desire to love and be loved one day. If it's not like that, I don't want it.

He adored drift car racing, dirt biking, and skydiving. He loved cucumbers, but hated pickles. He refused to eat steak that was cooked any other way than medium-rare. And it definitely couldn't have steak sauce on it. We agreed on that wholeheartedly. He despised coffee with almost as much ire as he reserved for license plates that had their registration sticker in the wrong spot. And his laugh. His laugh. A thing of sheer joy and happiness. He used to tell me that it was rare that anyone got to hear him laugh after the passing of his wife, so anytime I had the privilege to experience the sound of it, I relished it.

Another interesting thing about Zen, though it makes perfect sense given his name literally means "calm" or "peace", was how he could instantly bring me to a place of calm and peace. I've never met anyone else in my entire life who had the ability to calm me down the way he did. Normally, if someone tells me to calm down or to breathe, it has the absolute opposite effect. I'll never forget the times where he would sit on the phone with me and make me mimic his slow breathing in and out until my anxiety was eased.

Zen understood me. He saw me. For who I truly am in my core. He saw both the character strengths and flaws. He used to say to me all the time, "I see you for who you truly are deep down in your soul and I understand you" and he did. He appreciated the parts of me that so many others in life had tried to convince me were "too much". We had a friendship that was forged in the trenches of some of the worst moments of our lives. There's just something about seeing someone at their worst and choosing to stay in connection with them and support them no matter what. He used to beg me to never give up on him. I never did. And he never gave up on me. Through thick and thin, we supported each other. I think I could sum up our friendship by saying it was a beautifully appreciated gift of raw vulnerability.

Over the last four months, we spoke daily. Multiple times a day in fact. On several occasions, we'd talked for over 10 hours straight and it went by as if it were mere minutes. He used to thank me for spending my time with him. He knew the value of time and how precious it was. Time is a limited resource and he taught me how important it is to choose wisely how we spend it and who we spend it on. That's why he hated small talk and surface level conversation. He wanted to talk about things of depth. Things that actually mattered in life. I remember one time I was worried about something, and he asked me, "Will what you're worried about right now matter a year from now? 5 years from now? If not, it's not something to even think twice about."

Zen became my greatest cheerleader. He didn't stand for the side effects of my "imposter syndrome". He believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. He encouraged me to get back into my writing, as he knew how passionate I was about wanting to one day turn writing into a career. He gave me pep talks before jiu-jitsu, always telling me to "kick ass and call me on your way home to tell me all about it". He loved when I sent him photos of what I was cooking or baking on any given day. He used to tell me I should start a cooking show on YouTube. He said he'd watch every episode. We spent countless hours sharing our hopes and dreams with each other, making goals for the things we each wanted to achieve. He inspired me to dream bigger and want more out of life. He used to ask me what kind of life I'd live if I had "fuck you money". Oh, the hours we spent telling each other the things we'd do one day. We both shared a dream of having a field of wildflowers. That's how I picture him right now. Sitting in the warm sunshine, amidst the wildflowers, next to his beautiful bride. Someday, I promise I'll plant my field of wildflowers in his memory. I also promise I'll go on the adventures we had planned to go on. Though our skydiving day is just weeks away, I don't think I have the strength to do it without him. One day though, I will jump out of a plane and hope to feel his presence. In fact, I suspect that's probably where I'll feel it the most.

There are so many lessons that I learned from Zen. In the coming days, I am going to write as much as I possibly can about these last nine months of friendship. I don't want to forget a single thing. He always used to say to me, "you never know when the last time you'll talk to someone is, so always make it count". Oh how I wish I could go back to our last phone call and hear his voice one more time. He always had a gem of wisdom to share with me, be it a philosophical belief on something or a random fact. His soul contained a depth of knowledge that most people could never appreciate. How lucky I was to know him for even just a short chapter of his life. Knowing that he chose to call me during those last moments of his life (in what I now know was his goodbye to me) will remain one of the greatest, most bittersweet gifts of my life. He was a one-of-a-kind friend and he was right- I'll never meet another Zen. Our unconventional best friendship will remain with me always.

Zen, words can't begin to describe the gratitude I possess for how much our friendship meant to me. Hearing you call me one of your best friends brought me so much comfort in my dark times, and I hope I was able to bring some of that same comfort to you during yours. I will never, ever forget you. You are a flame that can never be extinguished. May you rest in the peace you were never able to find on this earth. No one deserves it more than you.

Enthusiastically,

Marina