An open letter to Benedict Cumberbatch

Dear Mr. Cumberbatch,

I am writing to say thank you.

I had a dream last night I was zipping through space in a derelict house. Icona Pop’s ‘I love it’ was playing from God knows where, and I was throwing closet doors open with enthusiasm. You were propped, arms crossed mummy style, inside one.

“Hey!” I exclaimed. “I found a dead guy!”

You fell, stiff as a board from the tiny space. Turns out, you weren’t dead, but there to deliver a message. I didn't get a chance to hear it, because I woke up, but the message was received nonetheless. I do have dead men in my closet, but they care for fresh air.

It was 403 am.

The time is significant, as the hour of four in traditional Chinese medicine is lung time. The lungs are famous for holding grief. And boy oh boy, it is the season.

You see, you remind me of my good friend, Dave. Dave took his own life quite a few years ago. This has been a difficult life experience for me, especially adding in the survivor’s guilt I carry. I was not able to physically near him as his emotional health declined, but I was lucky to spend not a small amount of time speaking with him over the phone.

I was camping in Northern Minnesota (a ridiculously beautiful place, if you’ve never been) when I was informed of his death. Cell reception is never reliable in those parts of the world and the possibility has haunted me to this day that Dave may have tried to call me- an agreement of his safety plan when he chose to seek care- but was unable to get through.

I’ll never know for sure, but I somehow doubt he did. He was an incredibly smart, sensitive man, and I think his intentions came through clearly. However painful for those of us remaining, I believe Dave wanted to die. I struggled with this for a long time, but can say now that it has truly begun to metabolize that there seems to be an important piece of information here, something to be learned about myself in all of this… I support any human being’s right to die- at the time of their choosing, regardless of a terminal diagnosis, just as much as I support their right to live.

I can’t say that I’m thrilled at being cracked open for that particular insight- but what is life, if not a series of events designed specifically to do just that? We may, on occasion (some more or less often than others) take a stroll through the fires of Hell, but the inferno does a lovely job of incinerating what is useless, leaving the purity of what matters behind. If we let it, that is.

Mr. Cumberbatch, I’ve truly enjoyed what I've seen of your work, and sincerely thank you for it- particularly your role as Sherlock, which is most reminiscent of my late friend. He was also a tall, deep voiced beauty with a distinct hardness to him and a quick witted tongue, perhaps somewhere on the spectrum. He was complicated, passionate, intelligent, and sometimes a complete asshole. I would have preferred he was still around, so we could drink too much port and eat cheese instead of having a real meal- his ideal celebration. I think of him often. I had known him since high school, and love him deeply.

I am profoundly grateful that the last conversation we shared, we said as much to each other.

I wish you all the best in your continued career, if only selfishly to see echoes of my friend. In the meantime, feel free to steer clear of my dream closets- but if you’d care to represent Dave again, I suggest a change in music. Metallica was more his style.