I am not unfamiliar with death and grief but the passing of a wonderful friend last weekend brought me face to face with the reality of grieving through social media. Friends from past and present all came out of the woodwork to post remembrance and condolence messages on his profile. There were poignant sentiments expressed by friends he made from different stages in life. He touched the lives of many of us as mentor and friend. It was unanimous that his smile and upbeat attitude changed us for the better and he will be sorely missed.
I posted a message as well. I read every message on his wall and was deeply touched by how my friend made the world a better place. Just learning the positive impact he made upon all of us lessened the sadness of his passing a tiny bit. I knew my friend as colleague, softball teammate, fellow food lover, travel buddy, and gingerbread house architect extraordinaire. But he was so much more. He was mentor to countless fresh graduates breaking into the corporate world. He was father to two very young daughters. He was devoted husband to loving wife.
I cannot begin to list all the great memories of good times we shared. Back in 2005, a few of us embarked on a trip to Japan that took us from Tokyo to Kyoto to Osaka to Fukuoka to Beppu. It was my friend who introduced me to Kobe beef, took me to an ancient bathhouse for sand bath, went on a late-night adventure to search out a cocktail bar yatai, ate okonomiyaki while a local gang member made a scene next to our table, scared the waitress with our Canadian appetite at an all-you-eat-and-drink robatayaki joint, and breathlessly raced me from the train station to our hostel at a local stadium so we would not miss the curfew. Oh we all made the curfew but then subsequently stayed up all night playing cards while my clothes spun round and round in the coin laundry next door.
It was also my friend who took me to my first mushroom foraging field trip, picking fruit at one of the few u-pick cherry orchards in Ontario, and enjoyed an extravagant night of kaiseki fine dining. He taught me how to swing a bat so I would not feel totally left out in our softball team. In return, I brought in homemade dessert to share after every game. Weeks before Christmas, we spent late nights at the office not because of work, but to build the most elaborate gingerbread dioramas involving gummi bear ninjas, pirate ships, aquariums, fully-functional merry-go-round, and tree houses. My friend taught me the magical power of dremel on gingerbread cookies.
However, it was what my friend wrote me after the passing of my mother that made the deepest impression.
I know what it's like to lose a parent. They're kinda like life's anchors in many ways.
Sometimes they can be annoying, nag you, tell you what to do.
But in the end, you know it's because they care. When you lose one, life seems kinda grey for a long while. For me, it made me realize you gotta take one day at a time and enjoy yourself to the max sometimes. And once in a while...
Indulge your parents, since they, like us only live once.
These are words which his daughters are much too young to understand. Perhaps one day, they will come across this note from their father and learn what a wonderful person he was. Stuart, you will be missed by all of us.
