It was raining when I got to the cemetery. I shoved my car door shut and threw my hood up over my bed-headed hair. I was looking for someone interesting to write about for a research assignment called “Interrogating the Dead.” I decided to take photos first and look up the names later. Thankfully, the cemetery had lots of trees with thick, low-hanging branches that shielded me from the mist above. I stayed close to their trunks and scanned the ground beneath me. The graveyard was a shopping mall.
After a while, I came across a large rock that was engraved with two dates that seemed too close together. Centered in the middle was a drum set. Brendan Olsen was born 1984 as the youngest of four boys. He grew up during the heart of the grunge-rock infused 90s and loved playing the drumlines of songs like “3’s and 7’s” and “Slither”. I imagine that Brendan lived his life the same way he played the drums; loud, fast, and passionately.
A quick Google search of his name brought me to Brendan’s old Facebook profile. I looked through the pictures of himself and the things he loved to do. It is amazing how much you can get to know someone just from their selfies and memes.
The main feature of Brendan’s profile picture was his colorful tattoo sleeve. He’s got his tongue stuck-out and is rocking some shades. The photo is genuine and it exemplifies his character. A comment below reads, “One of the cool kids for life.”
In his other photos, he showed off his newest tattoos or his car, a Lexus RX 300, but his true passion was obvious. Seeping through his entire profile, there were were photos of his custom “DW” 8-drum set, videos of him playing the drums, and updates about his. The videos were awesome. In each one, he walked around to his stool, placed his headphones over his ears, and proceeded to absolutely tear apart his poor drum set as he beat seamlessly with the rhythmic flow of each song. I imagined Brendan’s basement, the scene for most of these videos, to be littered with broken drumsticks and blown-out amps. This was undoubtedly his happy place.
I began to message Brendan’s family and friends who had commented on his old posts, hoping to learn more about who Brendan was and, maybe, what happened in the summer of 2015. Luckily, I got one response. I clicked the little green light notifying me of a new chat message. The person that messaged me said that Brendan used to be in a band with a guy that he knew, and that, in the time he knew Brendan, he was always “very generous” and “fun to be around”. The next message read, “He struggled with substance abuse.”
I did more research and was able to find Brendan’s most recent address somewhere online. With nothing better to do during the onset of the pandemic, I drove there at dusk.
The neighborhood that Brendan grew up in was nice. Around the time he was six, the Olsen family picked up and moved to a neighborhood with big homes, white picket fences, and cul-de-sacs. However, it was not the size of the homes that immediately stuck me when I turned down his street—my eyes fixated on the black car that was parked outside the first house on the right. It was Brendan’s Lexus. The car he posted to his profile on April 28th, 2015, with the caption, “New ride!” sat in the same spot on the same driveway over five years later.
I spotted a woman sitting in the garage of Brendan’s house. I did a double-take and, after a brief pep-talk to myself, I got out to talk to her. She sat on a lawn chair, in her garage, with a burning cigarette pressed to her lips. She was older, but not frail and achy, a mother for sure.
As I reached the top of the driveway, I asked, “Hello ma’am, have you lived here awhile?”
She replied, “Yes, how can I help you?”
As soon as she looked up, her face told me her name. Brendan’s mother, Marie Olsen, was a spitting image of the pictures I had seen on her son’s profile. As politely as I could, I asked, “Ma’am, did you know Brendan Olsen?”
“Yes, that was my son.”
My body got tense as I thought to myself, This woman must really be wondering just who the hell I am right about now! I explained to her how I had an assignment for school, noticed the drum-set at the cemetery, and how I had become so intrigued with her son’s life.
The first words that Mrs. Olsen used to describe Brendan were, “He was the sweetest, most genuine person you’d ever met.” She began telling me stories about how Brendan was the kind of kid who did not have to be asked to do things like play with his younger cousins, share his toys, or even help around the house. He was caring and thoughtful, even from a young age. She told me he deeply-loved music and, no matter what, always made time for it. We related to each other by talking about the importance of having something constant in your life; a happy place.
Mrs. Olsen explained how Brendan had ADD, grew up in a world much different than the one we live in today, and struggled as a student. He likely did not get the extra time and attention he would have needed in school, and Mrs. Olsen said it frustrated him when he could not succeed. I imagined Brendan swinging his front door open after a long day of school, hurling his backpack across the living room, and rushing downstairs to his happy place. His parents did not mind either; his father, Randy, is a musician himself and joined our conversation about halfway through. Mrs. Olsen mentioned that the best birthday gift she had ever received was a mixtape that was co-produced by Brendan and his father.
When Mrs. Olsen told me that Brendan developed a severe neck problem after graduation, I thought to myself, well that wasn’t evident in the videos I saw of his headbanging drum solos. Then I thought to myself, well, actually, maybe it was caused by all that headbanging in his drum solos! Regardless, Mrs. Olsen began explaining that they took him to see doctors all over, but no one could give him a specific diagnosis. So, like doctors did many times in the late 90s and early 2000s, they prescribed Brendan vicodin. And then more vicodin. And then more vicodin. And then no vicodin.
Mrs. Olsen described the symptoms of withdrawal she saw in her son. He became irrational, violent, and short-tempered. “You never knew the Brendan you were going to get when he was off of painkillers,” she said. Mrs. Olsen was aware of her son’s drug use. She explained that the withdrawal was so bad that it got to the point where Brendan was forced to find an alternative solution. In northeast Ohio, heroine was (and still is) a solution that is much easier to get.
In the months leading up to Brendan’s death, there were multiple times when Brendan did not come home or was not where he said he was going to be. Each time Mrs. Olsen went out looking for him, she found him just in time. “Motherly instinct” was how she recalled it. I heard the pain in her voice that came with reliving those experiences. She explained that Brendan went through rehab for short stints, but the insurance money ran out quickly. She expressed her disgust at insurance companies and their lack of responsibility in Brendan’s situation and stories like his. Rather than being treated as a person with an illness, Brendan was seen as a liability.
Sharing the life of a late son with a stranger is not easy, but Mrs. Olsen shared that she appreciated telling me about her son, and thanked me. She said it is weird remembering loved ones who have passed; that at the beginning, it is all that you think about, but over time, it fades. Not a day goes by where she does not think of her son. She told me how she felt Brendan hang around the house for a while after his passing, sending messages to her via flickering lights or faint sounds that she heard throughout the house when talking or thinking of him. But that too, she said, eventually fades. Randy ended our conversation by saying that Brendan had an impactful life and brought joy and smiling faces wherever he went. I imagine that Brendan’s funeral was full of tears and kind words. If he were here today, Brendan would have undoubtedly continued to positively impact the lives of those around him. Even still, he was able to positively impact mine.
Really enjoyed reading this man, thanks for sharing