Farewell, my friend

These days it’s hard to allocate the term “friend” to people that we only interact with online.

When I was growing up, friends were the kids that we shared games of soccer, hide and seek, or board games with. They were those that we shared a common school, were punished together for making fun of the teacher, or bled our knees from climbing the rocks behind the school building on an autumn afternoon.

Growing up, one made friends through other friends, at parties, at gatherings in smoky cafes, or in college. Some friendships would break and some would remain intact for years to come. Friendships were made in the army, while wishing that boot camp training was over, while guarding remote posts – missing loved ones a thousand miles away.

Eventually, as adults, we forged friendships with co-workers and with them we fought asshole bosses, shared lunch breaks and talked about sports and our personal relationships. We had BBQ’s and summer vacations together, taking silly or embarrassing pictures.

Somehow, some friendships evolved into long distance observations through Facebook, Twitter or via emails. We considered friends to “always be there” and to never ever grow older, or sicker.

We believed friends never die.

Finding out that a good friend, Adam H., passed away eight months ago in a motorcycle accident was a big shock for me and an even bigger awakening. Everyone involved seemingly assumed that everyone else knew about it; yet, no-one told several people about this extremely unfair human loss.

Being left with nothing but designs of websites and other digital traces of what used to be a lively man, reminded me how short and fleeting life is. Our footprints in the sand, our effect on others, our human legacy – they all depend on who we really are on the “inside”. There is no way to etch one’s soul onto silicon, no method to recreate life. Once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.

This is a small, impossibly miniscule dedication to Adam, who tutored clients and shared fun moments with so many of us. It’s a reminder that only the good die young.

Farewell, my friend.