Remembrances of Alex
Marc Solomon

Alex was a lot of things to so many of us.  He was a brilliant scholar and a fearless, courageous leader.  He had what it took, I believe, to become a prolific thinker, writer and activist, a queer Howard Zinn if you will.

But what I want to talk about is the Alex who was my best friend…and about why he was such an amazing friend.

For three-plus years, Alex and I were inseparable.  He’s the person I’d speak to before I went to sleep, and the first person I’d touch base with in the morning.  We cried with each other in moments of joy and pain, and we laughed for blocks walking arm in arm.  We’d read each other’s essays and speeches, strategize about important and difficult conversations, and think together about relationships, our families, our futures…everything.  Together, we plotted out futures for us both.  And that future always included a Marc and Alex in it.  We were committed to looking out for one another wherever we ended up and no matter what.

We were planning to buy a vacation home together on a beautiful piece of land—our place, where we would bring family, friends, loved ones.  Alex would spend his summers and breaks there, and I would get away as often as I could.  It was a vision that we both were committed to making a reality.

When things get difficult in a relationship, too often we turn away, avoid what is hard, and have a peaceful but not quite whole or fulfilling relationship.  That was not Alex.  Alex lived intentionally and honestly, and with those he was close to, he was always ready to do the work to embrace conflict, talk through it, not avoid it.  And as a result, our relationship was always alive, vibrant, never stale or filled with things left unsaid or with distractions to avoid the truth.

Alex was honest.  If he didn’t want to do something, didn’t like the way something was handled, or thought I was doing something that was bad for me, he would let me know.  He gave honest feedback, without sugar-coating it to make me feel better, never afraid or unwilling to take a stand and put himself out there.  That is rare, and I trusted him so much because of it.

Alex was extremely generous.  And because he was acting out of honesty and integrity, you knew that he gave because he meant it and wanted to, not out of some sense of obligation.  And that was the best, most beautiful gift one could offer.

In the end, Alex the friend, the community builder, was what was most at his core—more than queer theology, more than “making a difference” or becoming important.  In this day and age, among ambitious, smart people, that is far too rare, to put the primacy of relationships above all.  It’s counter-cultural.  Alex knew that life required choices and he lived intentionally enough that he was prepared to make choices to the detriment of his life’s work if he needed to look out for the people he was closest to.  He knew that that was what mattered most.  His personal beliefs—his own theology—was centered not around an abstract other, but around the primacy of community and relationships.

We had talked about what would happen if one of us were to get sick and needed care.  Had I gotten sick, Alex would have adjusted his life radically to care for me.  And I would have done the same for him.  That is who Alex was, and it is what he taught me and so many others.

I miss you, dear and sweet friend.  I love you.  Thank you for giving me the gift of your care and generosity.  I am a transformed man because of it.