Today makes a week and I still can’t process the reality that you’re gone. As I sit here trying to express what a giant hole your absence leaves in my life, I can’t do it. It’s not real. Every time a text comes in on my phone, I expect it to be one of your silly jokes. Every time I see something funny or interesting, I get the urge to tell you. I find myself holding conversations with you in my mind. I still hear you. I probably always will. Today, as I write this, wandering through 28 years worth of memories when I should be doing other things, I know exactly what you’d say, the words you’d use and the tone: “Newp. You got to stop. Handle yo’ bid’ness.” But I can’t. Everywhere I look, there you are. How do I say goodbye when you live on in my heart?

Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.

From the time you showed up on my doorstep when I was 14 years old with your bleached yellow-blond hair with that black stripe, looking a little Pepé le Pew-esque, we were instant friends. I had on overalls. You had on a tee-shirt. We had matching vans, which in the nineties wasn’t unusual. What was odd, we both had bow-biters on those vans. Which aren’t cool now, but weren’t cool then either. Yours were Smokey the Bear, mine were pink cats. We marched to a different drum, and it turned out we heard the same beat. You were at my house nearly everyday after that. You found all the 4-leaf clovers in my yard and I never found any at all. You would tell me to “just look for the squares among the triangles.” I’m not sure you ever understood why that was so funny. On the days you couldn’t make it to my house, you made sure and call, just to check in, say hello, even if you had to walk through the cold and rain to a pay phone to do it. (Which you were still bringing up nearly 30 years later.) We became inseparable. I took you to the beach. You took me to the mountains. I took you to The Nutcracker, the Candle Tea, and A Christmas Carol. You took me to the fair, Carowinds, and Busch Gardens. You developed a severe hatred for Apollo’s Chariot. I’ve never known another man to have an honest vendetta against a roller coaster, but here we are. We spent many Halloweens together getting in costumes, getting into mischief, and generally having fun, because we both agreed, Halloween is the best holiday, obviously. You took me to my first Renaissance Festival and introduced me to the Tortuga Twins, who aren’t twins at all, but sure are funny. I’ve now done the same for my kid. They have some different shows these days, but they’re still just as funny. We saw the Festival of Lights at Tanglewood every year, and tried for the 4th of July fireworks too. Except for the one year we got rained out. We got an entirely different kind of light show then. Storms are so beautiful. That memory is one of the many reasons I firmly believe everything good happens in the rain.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness

Don’t misunderstand, I am under no illusions, life wasn’t always rosy. We had our times of anger, sadness, fear. Times we grew apart and went our separate ways, sometimes for years. But there was always compassion, forgiveness, solace, support, and a deep friendship that never left us. Most of all, there was laughter. We were always there for each other with a listening ear, a word or two of “sage” advice (and not so sage), and usually we dissolved into jokes halfway through the conversation. On our worst days, when it was either laugh or cry, we chose to laugh until we cried, and then we soldiered on.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.

I like to think we brought out the best in each other. Your competitive spirit drove me to greater heights, and I hope I taught you something as well. You showed me how to play Magic the Gathering. Even broke apart your perfect black and white deck so I could make my own. We played. Once. With friends. To say that you guys were, ah, “slightly miffed”, when I won could perhaps be an understatement. Perhaps. We played chess at Mr. Waffle more times than I can count. You always won. I am fairly certain, if you added up all the time spent bowling, it would be months if not years. I never won. The only games I ever won were Disney Scene It and Tetris, which you eventually refused to play. But at my graduation, you cheered for me. Whenever you moved on to bigger and better things in your career, I cheered for you. Each and every move towards happiness and success brought nothing but encouragement and support from the other. No arguments. No envy. Nothing but well wishes and genuine joy for each other. Even when that move was blatantly wrong. For instance, when I “desperately from the bottom of my heart needed a dog, preferably a German Shepard or Siberian Husky, in order to be happy and fulfilled in my life.” Knowing full well neither one of us could take care of a dog, you went out and found a beautiful Shepard-Husky mix to adopt. She was perfect, and wonderful, and I adored her. And she ate my bathroom wall. Then she went and lived a long and happy life with my father. So, you found me a tiny little black kitten to adopt. Turns out, as adorable as she was, she was the only cat I have ever met that refused to tolerate me, ever. She lived a long and pampered housecat life with my mother. Pets have brought us both a great deal of joy and companionship over the years. And while you’ve been known to throw a cheeseburger at my cat when she stole it fair and square out of your hand, you always had a soft heart when it came to our furry friends.

Happiness is a gift and the trick is not to expect it, but to delight in it when it comes.

However, it was clear nothing brought you more joy and fulfillment in this life than your children. It is because of them that you became the man I always knew you could be. I doubt if they remember, years ago, but I met them briefly once. I brought McDonald’s. You and I sat on the porch, drank coffee, and talked like we always promised we would. It’s the only time we ever actually did. Your children were napping but said hello before I left. Back then they looked a little different than they do today, more like this:

Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.

Watching them grow, learning about them as people through your eyes has been both an honor and a privilege. I see so much of you in each of them: an altruistic spirit and generous nature, a truly creative soul I can only admire, a quick wit always ready with a joke, and a cunning mind far beyond their years. You were so proud of each of them. I am going to miss the updates, the pictures, and the jokes (thank you, Kai, for the whole “work is an easy side quest” thing. I will never forget that.) I know you cherished every moment. Whether you all were sitting around playing video games, going out to eat, watching Duke basketball, or out exploring every park around, those little everyday moments kept you motivated. You talked about so many things you wanted to do with them: share your favorite books (Steven King, Lovecraft, Asimov, Terry Brooks, Ravenloft, Jane Austen (that one was surprising and new, so sorry for outing you,) the list is never ending!;) take them to New York and catch a Broadway Show; go to Paris and see the Louvre; or go explore the entire US. You wanted to give them the entire world, the good experiences you had and the ones you never got the opportunity to have. But you managed to do better than that. You gave them love, affection, and time. You gave them your heart. As long as they live on this earth, you can’t truly be gone. You live in each of them.

Reflect upon your present blessings of which every man has many – not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.

You frequently said you were lucky, and so thankful. You got to go to work everyday and get paid for doing what you loved. And man, you were great at your job. I realize most people would not find that to be a ringing endorsement, but you found a way to make a living essentially doing art, where so many others fail. You produced at least 10 GB of designs in the past year, most of which will live on as furniture in people’s homes. One of which is a tribute to my family. The Moore Chaise may not be entirely complete, but it has the arm covers. Which, as you were told, “are for the sofa, not for you.” Needless to say, we were all touched. Sometimes, just for fun, you would go home and design entire rooms or buildings inspired by your favorite fantasy stories. It’s true what they say, if you do what you love, you never work a day in your life. Well, you found a way to never work again. I was so proud of all you accomplished, of how far you’d come. And now, with your designs on file and on display, your creativity isn’t gone. All we have to do is look, and there you are.

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

Family not only need to consist of merely those whom we share blood, but also for those whom we’d give blood

Our wills and fates do so contrary run, that our devices still are overthrown; our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.

Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.

‘Till I See You Again, Sleep Sweet.
You’ll Never be Forgotten.