Remembering Brian Fey

Write about Brian. I’ve been wanting to do it for weeks, but every day, I cut and paste the item to another, later date. I don’t know where to begin. Later, however, is never out of mind. I think of Brian daily, and it’s been that way since well before I heard the news. Goddammit, why aren’t you here? 

When I first started the Dying In Mexico project, I posted in nearly all the expats-in-Mexico-type Facebook groups, asking around for someone, anyone, who would be willing to talk to me about death. I had a few responses from those looking forward to learning from these conversations, but little response from anyone willing to share. Brian was the first to say yes. It was whole-hearted.

Our nearly 2-hour Zoom conversation (only one of which was recorded) lit me up. On the one hand, Brian was measured. After nearly 20 years of highs and lows with his ambitious Bosque Village project, he was unsure of sharing his location or even his full name. He was also refreshingly open and willing to be vulnerable. He was intelligent and had clearly spent time contemplating dying, death. He was a true joy to speak with. Ninety minutes into our conversation I remember thinking to myself, ‘I could be here all day.’ Brian was charming and had a skill for making a person feel seen, listened to. It’s rare to meet people you feel an instant connection with. I looked forward to meeting him in person one day.

As I continued working on the Dying in Mexico project over the following six months, Brian was ever-present as a great supporter of the work. A frequent participant in many of the online expat forums, Brian would share our interview, comment on my posts and encourage others to speak with me. I have a deep conviction about how valuable this work is, but Brian’s consistent encouragement gave me energy. It was much appreciated.

In August, when I had the opportunity to visit Michoacán for the first time, I didn’t tell Brian I was going. The focus of the trip was to spend time with an elderly uncle in Morelia, and it was important to me to honor that. On August 9th, my husband, his aunt and uncle and I all loaded up into a taxi for a quick trip to Pátzcuaro. As we drove along the highway, I sat in the middle of the back seat, my eyes following the railroad tracks that paralleled the road. I wondered which tracks were Brian’s, the ones made famous the 9-kilometer ‘walk and talks’ that he would record for his 4,000+ YouTube followers on his way into town. His presence was with me all day.

On our way in to town, flashes of silver mylar, the backsides of synthetic grave decorations, caught my attention as we passed a small cemetery just before the turn off to Quiroga. I thought of Brian and his plans to build a cemetery and sculpture garden of his own. He dreamt of creating a place in which the living would enjoy walking among the dead.

In Pátzcuaro, I looked up to the hills, marveled at how gorgeously green the place was and wondered where Brian lived. As we strolled through town for a total of just one hour that day, it was clear to me why someone would want to make their home here. I vowed to come back.

On the road back to Morelia, we passed another cemetery, across the street from the first. It was Saturday. There was a funeral. Cars parked on the street out front, several people gathered around a grave site, burying someone they cared for. I thought of Brian. My husband and I looked at each other. We love cemeteries. Here we were though, in the back seat of a small taxi with my aunt and uncle, all of us tired and ready to get home.

If it had been just the two of us, would we have stopped? Probably not. A burial is not a tourist attraction. Brian knew this. He spoke eloquently of his admiration for rural Mexico’s approach to death and grief, Día de Muertos in Pátzcuaro and the joy and humor that exists alongside deep sadness at a Mexican funeral. His respect for death and Mexican culture was authentic.

We drove on. I drove on. Full of mixed feelings about the attractive yet unnaturally bright colors of the plastic flowers, the mylar balloons, the white-washed crosses and the small group of men gathered there that day.

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When I got back to Baja California Sur, I excitedly sent a message to Brian. The podcast has launched! Pátzcuaro is beautiful! I hope to visit again, but next time, see you!

It was strange when I didn’t immediately hear back. Unless his solar was malfunctioning, unless the generator had run out of gas, unless the weather was particularly poor, Brian was online.

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Two days later, I received the news from Brian’s mother. I wondered if just maybe, the funeral I had passed on August 9th was his. Brian’s celebration had taken place on that same day, in a nearby cemetery, with flowers, music, family and friends.

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In the days and weeks since his funeral, I’ve learned so much more about Brian Fey, the positive and profound impact he had on so many others, the community he left behind. I’ve gotten to know him better via the many tributes written by those whose lives he touched. This blog by Red Shoes Are Better Than Bacon. This Facebook post by a close friend. This latest comment on his last Bosque Village post. 

It feels important not to bypass the truth that Brian spoke openly of what he called ‘assisted suicide.’ While others might call it physician assisted death or death with dignity, Brian liked the blunt nature of that particular term. We discussed this topic a bit when I interviewed him in March, and he has shared about it openly on his YouTube page. He had accompanied beloved pets through euthanasia and questioned why we struggle with offering that choice to humans. According to those who were close to him, there are no indications he died by suicide. Rather, from possible complications due to asthma and a lung infection. Brian wanted to choose when and how he would die, but death came for him on it’s own time. Is it always too soon?

In our interview, Brian had also shared a perspective I had not heard before about the Day of the Dead: that knowing we will be remembered can make death a little less scary. For Brian, legacy mattered. He was frank about having hurt people, we all have. He also left behind a lot of good, and there was so much more he wanted to do. There are always things left undone. 

Brian lived and died in Mexico, but it’s worth emphasizing that he really, truly lived. Not everyone has the courage to do that. He will be remembered, fondly, by thousands of people worldwide, for his courage to create the world he wanted to be part of, and for doing his best to share that world with others. I’m grateful we were/are part of each other’s worlds, if only in this intangible online/energetic space.

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Listen to Episode 3 of How to Die in Mexico with Brian Fey:
Living and Dying Off-Grid in Central Mexico

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You can support Brian Fey’s friends and family with final legal expenses by donating here.