ah, as the heart grows older, it will come to such sights colder

On Tuesday afternoon, I got a call from Ratul (henceforth referred to as Rat), asking if I had time to swing by campus after work. When I arrived, they told me that Errol had been struck by a car and killed while crossing a street in New York on Saturday night. Obviously, as with any accidental death, this came as a complete shock. I hadn't seen Errol for a couple of years, since he had stopped out of Stanford during his sophomore year, but I loved him while he was at Stanford and I had always hoped that he would come back at some point. He was one of the frosh in Loro when I was an RA there, and he was a unique and vital part of what made Loro as insane and awesome as it was. While I made tons of friends in Loro, and remain close with many of them to this day, there was something about Errol that made me love him despite the fact that he was, in many ways, not exactly a model resident.

I think a lot of people who didn't know him just thought he was kind of a joke; he didn't fit the traditional Stanford mold because he didn't study or seem to care about classes, and he spent most of his time drinking, playing video games, and hanging out with his friends. There were times when I wanted to wring his neck over something he'd done (such as burning a hole in the front seat of my new car with a cigarette that he had refused to put out)...but there were more times when I was impressed with his generosity and his caring nature. He just made life around him more fun, and I'll miss that about him.

Several of us flew out to New York for the funeral; I left Wednesday morning and met Julie, Greg, Rat, Sara, and Shari, who had left California late Tuesday night. Consequently, I missed the afternoon wake, but I got there in time for dinner with the kids and for the evening visitation. We picked up Walter on Wednesday night, and then all of us (except Julie, who had to leave New York early Thursday morning) went to the funeral and the pre-cremation service this morning.

Having been gone from California a grand total of 37 hours, twelve of which were spent on cross-country flights, I can say that this was the most condensed, intense 37 hours in recent memory. His death was absolutely tragic, in the 'it doesn't make any sense' kind of way that early deaths always are. He had been dealing with some major issues for the past year or two, but it looked like he was getting back on track, and he had been tossing around the idea of coming back to Stanford. Instead, just as the light was appearing at the end of the tunnel, the more final light appeared and swept him away forever.

I think the hardest part of this was that he was a twin; his brother Travis (who had also stopped out from Stanford and was planning to come back this fall) appeared to be holding up well, but it's clear that his life has been drastically changed. He delivered the only words from the family at the funeral, in the form of a letter from Travis to Errol, as well as a poem that Errol had written. For me personally, I was able to hold it together pretty well in most respects, but thinking about Travis makes me cry. I think I feel more empathy about the twin issue because my grandfather was a twin. At least in Granddad's case, he had lived a long and full life before passing away, but it still left an unfillable void in his brother's heart. The priest at Errol's funeral summed it up perfectly; he said that he had expected to officiate at Errol's wedding, not his funeral. Now, there are so many steps in life that Travis will have to navigate alone for the first time.

For some strange reason, the past couple of days have restored my faith in humanity even though they have broken my heart. We stayed with Rat's cousins in Brooklyn, who were extremely generous--they loaned us a car, they let seven of us sleep over with almost no warning, and perhaps most importantly they helped us to relax after the emotionally-taxing visitation. Errol's mother, despite her obvious grief, was so kind to all of us; I think it meant a lot to her that so many people from Stanford came. All of Errol's family were nice too, and it definitely helped to see people coming together through this loss.

Still, despite the positives, it will take a long time to get over seeing Errol in a casket, hearing the poem he wrote about maturity and impending life experiences, and looking at pictures of him as a child with an apparently-long life ahead of him. He was the first friend my age who has died; and I think for all of us who went, this was the first funeral we've attended where our families weren't present. Friends aren't supposed to die at 21. Friends get older with you, and it doesn't feel like people my age should be able to die like this. I know that it's logically ridiculous to think that people in their twenties are impervious to death, but until it happens, it's easier to pretend. I can't pretend anymore.

That's perhaps the hardest lesson of adulthood--every 'maturing' experience is a time when you have to stop pretending. Whether it's that you stop pretending that you're going to go back to school, or you stop pretending that you have no responsibilities, or you stop pretending that you will never die, there are key checkpoints where reality sets in. You never see them coming, either, until they blindside you and force you to open your eyes. It's still possible to live in a world full of imagination and vibrancy and creativity--but the nature of that vibrancy changes as the possibilities of your world age and become darker. Awakened to the dangers of the world, you discover that every beautiful thing carries with it its own death, a death that you couldn't see when you were a child, a death that is as inevitable as it is irrevocable. Every marriage, every birth, every act of creation will perish; whether that leads to bitterness or to a greater appreciation for the complexities of life is your responsibility.

In this case, Errol's death has made me remember how important friends are, how easy it is to take for granted that they will always be there, how I've been lulled into a false sense of security regarding friendship that I had already lost with my family when Granddad died. Hopefully this will make me a better and more attentive friend, rather than a scared, antisocial loner who can't face the dark side of creation.

I'm going to close with my favorite poem (channeling Walter's dad, who apparently also likes Gerard Manley Hopkins):

'Spring and fall (to a young child)'
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.