When I remember Eric, which I often do, I usually think of the night he died. It’s more that I feel it than I think of it, the feelings taking over my body, thrusting me back in time. It was thirty years ago, I was sixteen, and our senior year was going to start in a few days. That tragic evening changed me forever in an instant, exposing me to a much darker side of life than I’d ever experienced and shaking me to the core.
That’s a much different story than what I want to share with you now though. Because if I think of all the days and the moments before that night he passed, it was beautiful. We were young and excited to be together. We made each other happy. We were friends, great friends.
Those moments, of friendship, of laughter, of exploring the world together with newfound independence, are what I’m thinking of (and feeling) now. To be honest, my memory of the specific happenings has faded. It’s been a long time and new memories and thoughts have been pushing out the old ones for decades now. There are still a few stories I remember well and can tell with confidence, but not many. What’s stuck with me are the feelings, which are still as present and fresh as if it all happened yesterday.
Above all, I can still see (and feel) Eric’s smile so clearly. It was gigantic, almost cartoonish, his lips and cheeks filling to the brim with delight, straining to contain his immense energy, on the verge of exploding with joy. His smile drew me in and warmed me. It was contagious like that. It was so handsome too.
Eric was a really good looking guy. He was strong and tall. He was smart. He was a great athlete, a tremendous soccer player.
Eric was also extremely confident and I loved that about him. He knew what he wanted and he went for it. He didn’t hold back sharing what he thought or felt. I’d never seen such self assurance before in my life. I met Eric at this amazing private school I started going to in seventh grade. All the kids were really smart and well spoken, but Eric stood out because he believed in himself deep down. He was super honest and direct. I looked up to him and the way he expressed himself. There was no shame at all. He was proud of who he was and almost relentless about it.
Eric looked up to me too but for different reasons. I loved to laugh back then (I still do, but life is heavier now). I was creative and athletic and hard working. I was the captain of the basketball team and the student body president. I was also (and always will be) an introvert, an exceedingly sensitive introvert, fascinated by deep conversations exploring who we were as human beings. Eric and I could talk for hours, shifting back and forth between hilarious inside jokes and the meaning of life. We were a good match for each other. So similar but so different.
Eric had a mischievous side that still makes me chuckle. He played a lot of pranks and caused quite a bit of trouble. But looking back it was all in good fun. Eric loved his friends. He wanted to laugh with you and not at you.
Eric always had a beautiful girlfriend. Girls terrified me at that age, but not Eric. How did he do it? Where did that confidence come from? I still marvel at it.
And now my mind is racing through memories of Eric. I see quick visions, dreamlike snippets, very specific moments with no connection to what happened just before or just after.
I remember sleeping over Eric’s house in 8th grade. He lived in Lewiston, a 30-minute drive outside the city. Eric was the first person to host me overnight from my new school. I went out to a late dinner with his family at a dark Italian restaurant. I learned years later that this was the favorite restaurant of my future wife’s family, who was also from Lewiston.
I remember hanging out in Eric’s white minivan, which he had use of much of our junior year. We’d drive around endlessly on Friday and Saturday nights feeling free. We controlled that space, it was ours, there were no parents, no judgment. I remember laughing all the time. I also remember listening to Jimi Hendrix, Led Zepplin and Pearl Jam, our minds expanded and oftentimes fully blown.
I remember being inseparable the second half of our junior year. Eric and I were always together then. It made me feel good to know I had such a close friend.
I remember calling Eric over the summer, just a few weeks before he died. We hadn’t been in touch for a little while as we’d both been busy, and I’d just gotten back from Vermont where I was working as a counselor at a summer camp. This was before cell phones of course. When you called someone back then and they were on the phone you’d get a special ring to let you know they were talking to someone else. Eric clicked over to me and I said “Hey Eric” and he screamed “Chris!!!!!” He’d been talking to his new girlfriend but then said he’d be right back. He clicked over to her and told her he needed to talk to me and then he clicked back and we talked for a long time, at least an hour, which was also common back then amongst friends.
I remember driving up to the party we all went to the night Eric died. Eric and I drove together in his car. We talked and talked. I felt so good, so free. We were seniors now, we ruled the school. We were also good kids with our hearts in the right place. We made mistakes like everyone does, but up until then there were no disastrous repercussions. No one knew or even suspected in our wildest dreams that it would all come crashing down in a few hours.
I remember rowing together in the varsity four in the spring of our junior year. We were strong and fast. We didn’t love the sport, but we did it, together. Eric was appreciative that I talked him into rowing that year. I loved hanging with him that season, he made it worthwhile and fun.
No one wants a close friend to die so young. But it happens sometimes. It’s relatively rare, but it happens. Kids make mistakes and that will always be the case. But most of the time those mistakes don’t lead to tragedy. Most of the time you make it out alive and learn from the experience.
I still mourn for Eric, for his family, for all of his friends. And I still mourn for myself, although for years I didn’t.
After Eric died I started burying my feelings more. I never talked about it. I felt ashamed too, like I somehow deserved it.
I don’t think that way anymore. Now I think we were all unlucky, especially Eric. Now I know that life isn’t fair and sometimes you are the one that experiences the unlikely and heartbreaking consequence. My heart goes out to all of us. My heart goes out to Eric and his family. To our friend who was driving the car and who has also suffered so much. To all of my friends who were with me that night in the hospital, and to everyone who knew and loved Eric at school and in all other areas of his life. My heart also goes out to me, especially my sixteen year old self, who had no idea how to process these feelings and ended up burying them because of shame.
And now thirty years later I feel like I can (and need to) look beyond that night. I want to (and need to) remember the good times, the beautiful times, which were a gift, a truly blessed gift, regardless of the fact that it all ended so terribly.
My feelings remain raw and complex. Anger and sadness still visit me. I wonder how different my life would be if he was still here.
But he is still here, in my thoughts, in my heart. I see him when I remember him.
I remember Eric’s face, his smiling face, his mischievous glances, his ferocious enthusiasm. I’m lucky to have had Eric in my life. I know that now too.
I’m not religious and have no clue what happens after we die, but I hope to meet Eric again someday, high up above, and laugh about old times.
I love you and miss you Eric and I always will. Thank you for all the memories!