I got the news the only way I could have: a stream of condolences and memories flooding my friend's Facebook wall. My friendship with Marchan began in October two years ago. At the time, I was interviewing musicians for my blog, "Out of the Woodwork," and among the ho-hum submission emails I found hers -- a cheery greeting coupled with a few great songs for me to listen to. What set Marchan apart from the very beginning was her interest in me as a person. Before I knew it, I had gone from interviewer to interviewee as I opened up to her about some of the struggles I was having with the blog. From that point forward, Marchan was one of the most reliable, supportive people I knew. She checked up on me often to make sure things were going well, and that I knew my writing was valuable.
It's a strange world we live in these days. Strange because you can be friends with people you've never met in person. The distance between Los Angeles, California and Charleston, South Carolina hardly seemed to matter, though. For two years, my days were brightened by Marchan. I played her music on my phone several times a week last summer, and we'd joke about it. In fact, the Marchan I knew was always joking, always posting the most hilarious pictures and videos of her travels, leaving a stream of hilarious Tweets that I couldn't help but look forward to whenever I got on Twitter. And Marchan was generous. Earlier this year my blog hit a milestone -- 500 likes on Facebook. I'm sure it didn't seem like a big deal to most people, but for me it was huge. Marchan was there celebrating with me. I sent out an email asking a bunch of my past guests if they would help me put together a giveaway, and she was one of the only people to respond. She set aside a good portion of her Vlog on March 11th to not only promote "Out of the Woodwork," but even went the extra mile and wrote a song for our giveaway winner.
When I heard that Marchan was gone, I didn't know what to do. I don't think I believed it could be true. After reading through everything that I could find, the news hit me hard. I bawled for a woman I had never even met, for the encouraging voice that greeted me when I sat down at my computer. But Marchan was more than that. I knew that even if she was far away, she was as real as I was -- a person struggling to make the best of the life she had been given. I will never have the words to describe the loss that I feel with Marchan's passing. Her music and videos can hardly encompass the kind, warm, person that she was to me, but I'm glad that a tiny glimpse of her lives on in them. Rest in peace, friend. You haven't lost your voice.
