Saturdays and Silence
Remembering a friend, and naming a pause.
I’ve written about this via notes a couple of times already. I keep stopping short of saying what I actually feel.
I found out on January 19 that I lost a close friend. I understand that intellectually. I am still struggling to accept it at a heart level.
I was asked more than once to share this out loud, and I just couldn’t. Writing is the only way I know how to put words to it right now.
He was older than me. He was sharp and brash and not always easy to be around. I often had to be careful with my words around him. He was also extremely intelligent and deeply generous with his time, his mind, and his care for other people. A retired Air Force mechanic, he could talk in detail about jet aircraft, electrical systems, chess, astronomy, philosophy, and God.
For almost four years, we spent most Saturdays at the same coffee shop. Sometimes we talked for hours. Sometimes we sat in silence. Losing him also meant losing a rhythm I did not know how much I relied on.
We disagreed on plenty of things. I learned early that keeping the relationship mattered more than ensuring my opinion was heard.
He loved 90s grunge music. Not casually. He knew it, felt it, and returned to it often. It fit him. The honesty, the roughness, the refusal to pretend things were cleaner than they were. It was music that didn’t smooth the edges, and neither did he. I think that’s part of why it stuck with him. It named things without trying to fix them.
He loved photography and astronomy and would drive out to dark places just to photograph the night sky. He was goofy in his own way. He had rough edges. He could be immature and hard at times. He also cared deeply for people in ways many never saw.
When I met him, he was not a believer. I never pushed the subject, but I never hid my faith either. Over time, we talked about God. Last year, he asked me where I went to church. Weeks later, he showed up. He eventually gave his life to Christ.
That did not turn him into a different person. He still had the same edges and the same temperament. But something did change. His care for people deepened. His generosity became more deliberate. His love had more weight to it. He was still himself, and he loved more than he had before.
His absence still feels unreal. I know what happened, but it hasn’t settled in me yet.
This is another post because I am still carrying it. I am grateful for the time we had. I am learning how to live with the rest.
I need time to process this without the weight of having to resolve it. Some rhythms may pause for a bit, including writing, while I sit with this. I may still post intermittently.
If you are willing, please pray for his family, and for mine as well.
Rest well, my friend.
