Farewell to a friend.
(This isn’t a food post. If you’re here for those Click Here.)
Today, December 23rd, 2015 is my good friend Sarah’s Birthday.
I’ve known Sarah for around 23 years, and we’ve been friends for all of them. She, another friend, and I hung out on the night of what would have been my senior prom, just because that’s the way she is. She was one of the friends that showed up at the hotel before I got on the bus that would take me away from civilian life and to the airport on my way to basic training. She asked me to be an usher in her wedding.
She married Eric Schmit.
Eric’s a great guy. Immediately likable, always memorable. We had a fair amount in common, liking and riding motorcycles, fans of great Irish and English beers, both programmers that liked to hack around more than plan things out, and we both thought the world of Sarah.
Eric’s voice was unmistakeable and a pleasure to hear in conversation. Deeper than expected with some tics that would bump it up a key when inflecting certain syllables keeping you engaged in whatever subject you were talking about that night. Music, movies, food, wine, whatever it was, the conversations always went longer than expected and it was never an issue, you were just sad they would come to an end.
As many adult friendships tend to go, long stretches seem to go by without active participation, but every six months to a year, the stretching would break, you’d get together and, after some debriefing about the intermission, it was like no time had passed. Like you were resuming a conversation from yesterday. That’s the kind of friendship I’m fond of; let the world interrupt, but don’t let it deviate. That’s the kind of friendship we had.
This time every year is hectic for everyone. All of the holidays, all of the culminating best of, worst of, and outraged about lists. But, no matter how hectic, because of Sarah’s birthday’s proximity to Christmas, my thoughts always return to her and Eric, because after a decade of marriage and nearly twice that together - always defying the odds and seeming more in love every time I saw them, thinking of them separate doesn’t happen.
That’s why this is hard.
Mid-Monday morning, while checking Facebook before getting ready to go out and volunteer I saw a few minutes old post from Sarah. Eric died on Saturday. It was sudden. Nothing could be done. I’m personally having a hard time processing it still.
To give you a small glimpse into how good a guy Eric was I can leave only a little anecdote. I did my first 5K on Thanksgiving, and while I don’t think it was a big deal, a lot of people on social media congratulated me, and I appreciated all of it. One “like” on my tweet stood out though. Eric had a Twitter account for 6 and a half years and only sent out a couple dozen tweets and had no activity in three years; no likes, no retweets, replies, anything. He doesn’t have a Facebook account that I’m aware of, but he had Twitter, and he wanted to show his support. So after three and a half years of no activity, and never liking any other tweets, he liked my tweet.
That’s the kind of guy he was, and the world seems a little less without him.
If there’s anything that gives me solace it’s the tendency in my reading of late, wherein I encountered the following quote by C. S. Lewis, from The Weight of Glory:
There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.
Eric wasn’t ordinary, I hope and pray, that he’s an, and in, everlasting splendor.
Farewell friend.