If it were not for my son, our family would not have many of our friends.
I am honored to be the mother of my son. I had him with me, present in the flesh, on earth, for almost twenty-four years. I gave birth to him when I was twenty-nine. I am thankful that I was a bit older, so I have less time to live without his physical presence.
If it were not for my son, our family would not have many of our friends. He had a way of connecting with adults. He was always mature for his age, and his fun, high-spirited, respectful, and just darn-cute personality. Even though our son was an introvert, he would introduce himself and always strike up a conversation. When he got older, he became self-conscious about not attaining a college degree, so he shied away from events where he had to answer questions like, “So, what are you doing now?”
His dark brown eyes truly conveyed his spirit. His looks resembled his personality. Such a genuine and respectful person, going out of his way to being inclusive and inviting.
My son was good-looking. As his mother, I always thought so. He was such a cute kid, and he became more handsome as he aged. His friends shared, when they went out, that young women would stare at him. His Tinder account had many “swipe rights.” [On touchscreens, a quick way of indicating acceptance or interest is to “swipe right”; “swipe left” means dismiss.] The co-camp counselor friends loving called him, “Hot Will.” The young girls he chaperoned in a ski program, would vie for his attention on the bus. His sister’s friends would talk about how good-looking he was.
His dark hair was thick and wavy. He varied the cut according to the side he chose to part his hair. I never noticed this before, but my daughter told me this; being an artist, she pays attention to visual details. My son and I went to the same hairstylist. She shared that it is rare for someone to be able to style the part on either side of the face. He kept it long enough to accentuate the waves by styling them up and off to the side, using a styling gel or clay [A new class of hairstyling product made from volcanic ash.] Later he wore a beard and mustache trimmed close to his face. Sometimes he would surprise us, coming into the house having shaved them off. He would wait to see how long it took for us to notice. His sister usually was the first, laughing with him about the tease.
His dark brown eyes truly conveyed his spirit. His looks resembled his personality. Such a genuine and respectful person, going out of his way to being inclusive and inviting. I once asked him if he wanted to be a model. He was not interested, in the least bit, so I did not pursue it. I think he did not like attention.
He was always the best-looking guy in the room.
He loved clothes and being stylish. I enjoyed taking him shopping because he looked good in anything, and he let me participate in the selection. He preferred khaki pants over blue jeans. He liked shoes and wore a variety of styles: suede boots and shoes, including navy blue. Being a sailor, he had several pairs of Sperry Topsiders. He liked the look of sweaters, filled several drawers with them. Sometimes we would browse the Tommie Bahama shop, which was his style. I enjoyed watching him select clothes, trying on a few for fun, but never buying as this store was over what he would allow me to spend on his clothes. He loved sunglasses, and, boy, did he look good in them. He wore accent scarves with his winter pea coat and stylish socks with his dress pants.
My son was frugal; both of our children are. He did not like us buying him things. His computer and phone were old and out of warranty, but he did not want new ones. He never asked for much and was appreciative of the expenses we covered.
He worked for Eddie Bauer while in high school and the first summer back from college. He did his laundry; I watched him fold his clothes. His folding was an art form. He would fold each piece in a way that would display them in their storage place, with the creases in the right places. When his dad and I moved his things back home from the apartment in which he was living, I found his clothes perfectly organized in his closets and drawers.
He gave everything his all. At each of his jobs, in his adventures, building friendships, playing organized sports, being a scholar.
He gave everything his all. At each of his jobs, in his adventures, building friendships, playing organized sports, being a scholar.
While in college, he made lots of friends, took advantage of outdoor adventures, and tried new sports. He alpine skied ever since he was eight- or nine years old. He took his race skis out with him to the mountains of Montana when he went to college but quickly realized he needed snow skis and bought a used pair while out there. He wrote about the time he went ice climbing during his second year in college. He said it was the scariest thing he had ever done, having not done any rock climbing before. He loved the outdoors and took advantage of this in Montana, hiking in and around Bozeman and Yellowstone.
He later took his Minnesota friends on a road trip back to visit. It was such a memorable experience for him and his friends. I went through all of his pictures and videos on his computer, and from friends, from his time in Montana. He and his friends did polar plunges in the rivers flowing through the Montana mountains, taking long treks through the snow, then undressing in the cold to enjoy the hot springs more fully.
In his second year, he lived on the same floor as some international students. They took a road trip to Vancouver for spring break on a shoestring budget. We did not even know about the trip until I got a text from the phone company that they disconnected his cell phone because they thought it was stolen. He only used it one time when they were lost to get directions. We had to work with the phone company to get service reinstated (with international), so he could use it, if necessary. I remember him saying something like, “Oh Mom, I would have been fine.” He usually was.
He demonstrated to the rest of his teammates that even the smallest kid could tackle the bigger guys.
My son liked to stay active. While in high school, he raced on the alpine ski team. His senior year, he joined the lacrosse team. He played intramural baseball in the summer and football in the fall. When he was young, he was always one of the smaller kids in his class, but mentally, he was just as big. His dad, and his father’s dear friend (mine too), coached their sons in football together until high school. My son could make the perfect tackle, even against the largest kids.
Once when the coach asked for a volunteer to demonstrate how to tackle a larger opponent, our son volunteered, walked out on the field, despite both the coaches’ reluctance and obvious size difference. He successfully showed the strength of his power (mostly mental, but augmented by some physical maneuvering): the lineman went down. He demonstrated to the rest of his teammates that even the smallest kid could tackle the bigger guys. He got up from the drill with a huge smile. At our son’s funeral, his coach, our friend, shared this story. He said, “I think his performance that day at practice allowed us to be undefeated that year.”
His first year of high school lacrosse was his only year, but he made it count. He joined the team because his friends played. You would have never known it was his first year, scoring two points in the first game, showing up his friends who had yet to score in any season. He went on to score in other games. (I hope I remember this correctly, so friends, please send me a revised version if I have it wrong).
I realized he listened to the music I shared with him growing up, when he was at our house, at our parties, during dinners, and so on.
My son loved music. He purposefully crafted his playlists to fit each occasion: boat rides, road trips, parties at his apartment with friends, or just having them over to play video games. He had a playlist for cleaning and one for working out, one for singing along. Some were by genres: rap, electric, country, rock, Latino, Oldies, and Disney (I am not for sure if the latter two are official genre designations, but they were to my son). There was one for staying up late, and then there was jazz.
We figured out how to follow him on Spotify (a music streaming service). Shortly after he let us, I went through his playlists. That is when I realized he listened to the music I shared with him growing up, when he was at our house, at our parties, dinners, and so on. He incorporated my music into his playlists. The jazz playlist is what got me. What I mean is crying. Crying and crying. I never knew he liked it too, that I influenced him. I want to hug him and say, “I love you, too.”
A friend shared, "He was truly unattainable.”
He loved to dance. We would see him dance at home and at weddings. One of my aunts said he was the best dance partner she ever had. His friends talk about his dancing. They wrote stories about it, and there were videos. Several of his friends spoke at his funeral. His friend, speaking directly to him, said,
“Man, did you love to dance. No matter where we were, at your apartment, in a bar, on a boat, at the beach, in the car, or just walking around; if there was music playing, you were dancing. You were always the first to start and the last to stop. On top of that, you were a good dancer too. I will proudly admit that from knowing you, my dancing has improved tremendously and no longer embarrasses those around me.”
Another friend said, “He put us all to shame when he danced, being weirdly good at it.” There were good dancers in my family, aunts, and uncles who glided across the floor at my cousins’ weddings and anniversary celebrations. Once he said he would be willing to take ballroom dance lessons with me. That is how much he loved dancing; to take lessons with his mom. Please, if you have a video of my son dancing, send it to me.
His dancing drew attention to him, but so did his looks. A friend shared a conversation he had with him, “While we were out, I would always notice girls looking over at you. But you were oblivious, even when it was pointed out.” His friend went on to tell us, “You should have seen this kid’s Tinder [an online dating site]. He matched with so many attractive girls, and what’s more, is that you could scroll through his messages and see that most had even tried to start a conversation with him. He never reciprocated. It never made sense to me, but every time I asked if he were going to message any of them back, he’d respond with ‘Nah man, the match [itself alone] is good enough for me.’ He was truly unattainable.”
He is best known for how great a friend he was. He would want to be known for that; it was so important to him. I remember him saying he would do anything to spend more time with them.
I will share what others wrote about him, as he is best known for how great a friend he was. He would want to be known for that; it was so important to him. I remember him saying he would do anything to spend more time with them. He was very conscientious about being a good friend and wrote about being a better listener, communicator, and compassionate friend. Some friends have shared descriptions and stories about my son. I need to figure out how to share them with you, but for now, these are a few:
I learned many things from my friend. If you spent any time talking to him about his plans you would recognize his wanderer’s heart. He was a journeyman. His vision was filled with travel plans. Plans to teach skiing in France, plans to join a sailing crew on the Mediterranean, plans to find something greater than himself. Maybe on the slopes or at the whim of the winds he would find that indelible certainty that would make him wise. Although he didn’t think it and although I wish I would have called him every day to tell him, he already was.
Wise because it was from him that I learned to understand the irony. That the worst and greatest creation of man was simply the question, a student truth, he spent hours listening to podcasts and watching videos on philosophy endeavoring to be equipped with the tools of a good life. Our conversations were filled with what answers he had discovered, what truth he had crystallized.
To know my friend was to know commitment. Without question and for any need he would be available. It’s easy to show up for others in the warm breeze and the painless times. But what about in the bitter chill of circumstance or the shredding winds? It was in those times that he stepped up. Always at the tear of our seams, my friend was there, a reinforcing thread. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow we will remember him. Remember him not for all the things he could have done, but for all that he was, companion, adventurer, and philosopher.
Around my friend, it didn’t matter what you were doing; you were enjoying yourself. He was generous, kind, and adventurous, always preferring to be out on the water with his friends or skiing in Montana than doing nearly anything else. He seemed to find a way to bond with everyone. He was always more interested in hearing about you than talking about himself, but at the same time, he also loved to share his interests with others – a podcast he was listening to, new music he had heard, or even a dance move he’d learned.
It’s still hard for me to accept that he’s gone, but looking back on all of the memories that we made, I feel so fortunate to have had a friend as genuine as him. He was incredible, and his spirit of adventure, kindness, and generosity will be deep, deeply missed.
You may be gone now, but you will never be forgotten. I will cherish the time we spent together, and you will live on in my memories. I will continue to strive to be like you, always willing to learn and to show kindness to others, even surprising people with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of the blue just as you did. You ARE one of my best friends, and I will always think of you as such. To paraphrase Winnie the Pooh, “How lucky I am to have had something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
I wonder, does he know how much his friends love him and what a great person they think he is.
I have filled picture albums with every picture I have of him, all of those posted on Facebook and forwarded to me. Those from growing up, vacations, and holidays
We moved all his things back into his room. It looks like he had just washed the bathroom towels; they were still fresh and fluffy, neatly hanging on the towel racks. Dishes were done, laid out on a drying towel. His laundry basket was full, and I brought it back into our house, in his bedroom, and left it unwashed. I laid out his pillows and blankets on top of his bed at home, unwashed too, so when I walked into his room, it still smelled like him.
I have filled picture albums with every picture I have of him; all of those posted on Facebook and forwarded to me. Those from growing up, vacations, and holidays. I still cannot comprehend that this is it. That he is no longer here. Oh God, he is no longer here. Tears, many tears falling down my face and on to this keyboard. A normal day in my new life.
I want to hear from you.
I purposefully kept the identity of the friends whose writing I included in this blog post anonymous, but I will share that they came from three of his close friends. He has many more friends and stories of his life. Some of you I have heard from, but there are more; surely, there are more remembrances, stories, thoughts, and conversations you had with him. Would you please share them with me?
I mainly write for myself, as my relief valve for all the pent-up thoughts and emotions trapped inside me, but I think there are readers beyond my daughter, who sometimes contributes, and me and my editor, who is my aunt. I want to hear from you too. Please post your thoughts below or contact me through the Contact page of my blog.
