Gone but not forgotten

On Saturday I woke up to find a message from someone unfamiliar online. "You know that Seger died, right?" asked a girl via Facebook. Evidently she had seen me post on my old friend's profile just days earlier, wondering how "things are going in the land of the Seger." I tried Seger's cell phone and got his mother Barbara, who's been keeping his phone on so that she can let anyone who calls looking for him know. She was extremely sweet and kind, and told me that Seger had died of an overdose several months ago. It took his family by surprise, as he had been doing much better and was working two jobs at the time. But on February 19, just a few days after Valentine's Day, Seger was dead. The two of us hadn't been inordinately close, but we had been friendly and had taken classes together back at Emerson College in Boston. Seger was interested in poetry and creative writing, and was also a dance fanatic; one night in the dead of winter we went to Avalon on Landsdowne Street, and I remember the look on his face after a particularly intense track. He was happy and overwhelmed, and clearly in his element. When I mentioned this to his mother she told me, "I picture him up there now, dancing away." It was sweet and not a little sad. A few months ago Seger and I became friends online and messaged back and forth; then I gave him a call to see how he was doing. He sounded bored, but good. He was back in his hometown, having completed a stint in jail and rehab. I knew that he had a lot of demons, psychological and otherwise, but he seemed to be on the right track again. He wanted to move back to Boston, which he'd always loved. I hoped that I'd see him again somewhere down the line. Unfortunately, I never will. That call would be the last time we ever spoke. I'm sorry that he's gone, and my heart goes out to his family. You can read Seger's obituary here.
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
--Sarah McLachlan