Dear Gavin

I think about you so often and I miss you.
My fiancé‘s brother is suffering from the same illness. He has to go through the unforeseen, unpredictable ups and down of mania and depression — just like you had to. And we‘re standing here as the ones who care and love and would love to help in some way but we fail — just like we did with you.

But maybe that‘s too dark a way of putting it.
I remember vividly how you and I sat on my balcony one day in my flat in Munich and talked about life and happiness. It hurt me so much to hear that you couldn’t remember when you last felt truly happy. This statement really stuck with me. And it helps me now when I miss you so dearly.
Your illness cast a veil upon your loving wife and children, your friends, your love to music and buddhism — it prevented you from seeing the beauty of life and from finding lasting happiness here on earth. It is so sad, but we have to accept this. You chose this way because it set you free from the chains of your illness, and I want to be happy for you.

You were such a great friend. Thank you for all the time we spent together, the many lunch breaks at school, the many philosophical talks about life and existence.
Making music with you was a joy and it shaped my playing. Thank you for believing in my musical abilities, even though I doubted them so many times.

I‘m so glad that we stayed in touch even in difficult times. You allowed me to be a good friend to you — one to stand by you and listen, but also one to speak up and tell you if I was of another opinion.
We did not always stick to the heavy topics, though. It makes me happy to remember that our light-hearted chats on our long walks through hospital grounds cheered you up. They made you smile and forget your suffering for a minute. They made me smile, too, and I miss these chats with you dearly.
But I know that you are in a better place now.
I‘m sending out a big hug for you and I look forward to seeing you again.
Your friend Lena.

Aus Georg Büchners Dantons Tod:

„Sterben – Sterben –! – Es darf ja alles leben, alles, die kleine Mücke da, der Vogel. Warum denn er nicht? Der Strom des Lebens müßte stocken, wenn nur der eine Tropfen verschüttet würde. Die Erde müßte eine Wunde bekommen von dem Streich.
Es regt sich alles, die Uhren gehen, die Glocken schlagen, die Leute laufen, das Wasser rinnt, und so alles weiter bis da, dahin – nein, es darf nicht geschehen, nein, ich will mich auf den Boden setzen und schreien, daß erschrocken alles stehn bleibt, alles stockt, sich nichts mehr regt.„

I kle with one another.new Gavin for 20 years. He was a grown man when i arrived in his life. I have 3 sons of my own, 4 with Gavin. I am as sure as anyone can be that Gavin and I were comfortable with one another.
I was and still am impressed with his dedication to school,family, artistic pursuits, I admired his knowledge of his Disease and ability to cope with outbreaks. Early on; to me, he managed to fight the ups and downs. Later it was a battle to stay in the "Good place".
He was such a gentle soul I think we were robbed of his existence but we will always remember"he did exist and left an impression on many" I'm glad I had a chance to know him. I miss him too.

Gavin was such a talented writer. He wrote so many poems and early on he had a few of them published. His blog was his last effort to be recognized for his works. He writes about his experiences with Bi-polar, mental illness, his Buddhist faith, describes some of his darkest episodes and different events of his life in poem form. He was disappointed and discouraged that he didn’t have more of a following.
It can be googled as; Gavin M Hicks - Bipolar and the Buddha
My heart broke with his struggles with Bipolar and even more now that he's left us. Pray that you are at peace this Birthday. Love!

Gavin loved books. He once worked at Hastings in the book department. He was told to rip the covers off of books that didn't sell. The covers were sent back to the publisher for a rebate and the book was then thrown away. Gavin couldn't accept this! Eventually, he started marking the trash bags he was forced to put the books in. Gavin, Mark Chavez, and myself would then go to the dumpster behind Hastings late at night. We "rescued" many books that way. Sadly, the last of those cover-less books I had was donated to charity 3 years ago....

Memento

Vor meinem eignen Tod ist mir nicht bang,
Nur vor dem Tode derer, die mir nah sind.
Wie soll ich leben, wenn sie nicht mehr da sind?

Allein im Nebel tast ich todentlang
Und laß mich willig in das Dunkel treiben.
Das Gehen schmerzt nicht halb so wie das Bleiben.

Der weiß es wohl, dem gleiches widerfuhr;
– Und die es trugen, mögen mir vergeben.
Bedenkt: den eignen Tod, den stirbt man nur,
Doch mit dem Tod der andern muß man leben.

(Mascha Kaleko)