There are very few people in my life who have been allowed to call me Jimmy. I hear that name and I am a kid again. Hearing my grandmother call out my name as she walked up the stairs to our house. Hearing my mom yell my name from across the room or my best friend from high school not knowing to address me as Jim or James or Jimmy when he's with the people I've met along the years. Of all the times, I'm not sure when my friend Michael first called me Jimmy. But when he did, I never corrected him. It just felt, I don't know - right.

When I met Michael, it was late 2000. I had just moved back to Boston that January, after spending 10 years in San Francisco. My friend Josh introduced us on a holiday trip to Provincetown and I will always remember walking into the now defunct Carriage House and seeing Michael still in bed (it was well past noon) and we were all going to lunch. From that first meeting, there was an ease between us, and I will always be grateful to Josh for being the bridge that brought us together. Twenty-five years of friendship. How do you encompass them in a post that you shouldn't be writing? I have written too many eulogies for my taste and putting these thoughts into words about someone who should still be here is breaking my heart.

In Boston, we spent countless hours together. We bowled every Monday night for three years. I made him dinner long before we knew he had celiac. We looked back on those times and laughed til we cried. Especially the time when his doctor suggested adding wheat to his diet to increase his weight. I can't remember my years in Boston without Michael being there, and after I moved back to San Francisco in 2003, I re-located once again to Los Angeles. To my great surprise, Michael told me he had accepted a job in Long Beach. He was leaving Boston, a place that was ingrained in every fiber of his being. A more proud Bostonian you will never find.

Since I knew so many Michael's, I gave him the nickname of LBM, which stood for Long Beach Michael. It's how every one of my friends addressed him. There were Thanksgiving dinners, trips to Disneyland, countless nights out in West Hollywood and although he nicknamed Long Beach the land of misfit toys, we tore up that town on many a weekend night. We both loved Palm Springs and I have lost count on how many weekends we spent in the desert. New Year's Eve's there before the time of Uber were like nothing this new generation could comprehend. How many times was I on the lookout for hidden gluten in food when he got complacent about his menu choices and just wanted to eat. There's a taxi driver in Palm Springs who I bet is still talking about that night. In fact, the famous flourless chocolate cake that I made for John when I first met him was really a cake I originally made for Michael. It was his favorite and I can remember one New Year's Eve where he didn't share one slice. I wouldn't have minded so much, except he threw away the bottom of my springform pan that doubled as the serving dish! I never let him forget that.

I think Michael and I had a great connection because we were never afraid to change paths. I was always happy to lend my advice or thoughts on his moves and I think those adventures, in an unspoken way, brought us closer. Shortly after I met John, I wanted to introduce him to as many of my friends and family as I could. Michael didn't hesitate when I asked him to join us in Palm Springs in October 2022. I don't know if John knew he was being given the once over by my friends, but seeing how well LBM got along with John made me quietly happy. In fact, before they even met, when Michael was living in Scottsdale, he was willing to drive to the airport to pick up John when it looked like his flight to Los Angeles would leave him stranded in Phoenix for the night.

After that Palm Springs "meet and greet", I could not have asked for a greater cheerleader. He flew out to San Antonio shortly after I moved here and he was one of the first to RSVP to my wedding. If there was anyone that I wanted to witness the start of Limontella, it was LBM. When I looked out to the people gathered at the reception, seeing him there with Josh was, for lack of a better word with all the cocktails that day, sobering. From Provincetown to Boston, to Long Beach, Los Angeles and helping him relocate to Phoenix. I can't remember the past 25 years without a memory of Michael in them.

You can never anticipate the loss of a friend and when it happens, you think, did we say how much we meant to each other? Did they know how much they impacted your life. One of his last texts touched my heart:

"Jimmy, you give Josh and I hope. Your life. It's like Rhoda Morgenstern's wedding."

I've tried over the past few days to make sense of his loss. To try and understand how he is no longer here for me to call, to laugh about our adventures. I wish you could all ask him about the "Dead Judy" Halloween in Provincetown. It's just one of too many memories that are forever in my mind. Knowing that he met my husband and that the last time I saw him was at our wedding is a memory that will carry me forward. I hope he knew his worth, that he knew how much he touched my life. That my life in Boston would not have been the same or my time in Los Angeles would have been far different had he never moved to Long Beach. I hope he knows that him calling me Jimmy was something I treasured. He and I often talked about how fleeting this life is, especially after the loss of my mom and our memorable vacation in Mexico that taught us more about how quickly life can change in a second. Life changed for me with one phone call again this past weekend. And, I would like to tell the universe that I do not need any more reminders that life is precious. Having a friend like Michael in your life is one of the greatest joys imaginable. I want to tell him how happy he made me, how much joy he brought to my life in seeing the introduction of Limontella to our circle of friends. I also reminded him, after that text, that unlike Rhoda, I didn't have to take the subway to my wedding and there won't be any contract talks that cause a divorce to ruin a perfect storyline.

I hope in the end that I made him laugh, that he was happy to be my friend and I helped him see life's adventures were something to be treasured.  No matter what though, I will forever be grateful that he was my friend. I will miss our stories. I will miss our texts. I will miss our nights out over cocktails. But most of all, I will miss hearing him call me Jimmy.