I think this has been one of the saddest days of my life.

I came home from work late last night, feeling not a little hung-over from my birthday party of the night before. T was in the studio finishing a mix, so I crawled in to bed with my book and fell asleep about 11pm.

At midnight, the phone rang. T was calling me from the studio saying Joel had collapsed and the paramedics were there and he needed Joel's home phone number from his rolladex to call his wife. I didn't really understand what was going on except that I asked him was Joel okay and he said he didn't think so.

Joel has been T's friend for about 8 years. He's the owner of the record label Shanny works for, and a business partner in many ways to T. They've been finishing this third album project, with plans laid for at least the next 3 to come.

I went back to bed, praying that Joel was going to be okay as I drifted back to a worried sleep. T arrived home about 2:30 and came into the darkened bedroom and I asked how Joel was and T just stood there and said "He's dead."

Dead.

Just like that. He hadn't been feeling well all evening, sick to his stomach, maybe the flu he said. He was 45 years old for God's sake (although that shocked me, I would have said he was more like 55). As they were leaving the studio he just collapsed. Later the Medical Examiner said he was most likely dead by the time he hit the floor. T didn't really know what was happening and just tried to talk to him and make sure he had an airway and massage his chest as they waited for the paramedics. And then the cops. And the ME. They didn't even take him to the hospital.

T couldn't get a hold of his wife. She and his son were sleeping and didn't hear the phone. The cops had to go to her door to notify her. Imagine that. I can think of very few things worse.

We just laid in bed most of the night, not sleeping. In shock. How could it happen?

His wife phoned about 7:30 in the morning. She needed T to tell her what had happened. It turns out he'd had a previous heart attack in his 30s, and angioplasty, or whatever that's called. He never said anything about it. His wife said he was in denial. He was a lawyer, he worked 18 hours a day, with his law practice and the record lable and his fingers in several other pies, like a little theatre company he was financing and part owner in a music club. His wife doesn't even know most of the arts people he was working with, and was at a loss as to even comprehend what to do about the record company. T has suggested to her that nothing really be decided until we're back from holidays and he can start helping her try to sort it all out and make some decisions. The poor woman.

And Joel lived the hard life. Poor physical shape. Smoking 2 packs a day. Coffee and booze like it was going out of style. High stress. A secret disaster waiting to happen.

And my poor sweety. He spent all day today making phone calls and telling people what had happened. By the time I got home from work, he was just done in. Still in shock and over whelmed by it all.

It's selfish, but I'm glad we're going to Mexico in 24 hours. He needs it.

I've spoken to Shanny twice today and she's a wreck. Sad and shocked and angry and worried. I feel so sad for her too. I'm sorry I won't be here for her when she gets back to town.

What a fucking shit show. Why do things like this happen. How can someone be standing there one moment, and not the next. I had just spoken to him on the phone that morning.

I walked around in a daze most of the day, phoning a few of the people I know to take some of the load off T. I was okay until I walked in to the drug store for something and just stood there staring at the paper with the headline that the death toll in Asia is reaching 100,000. I just wanted to lie down on the floor in the drug store and sob.

Life sucks.