Bryan is one of the first people I met in Seattle. We met in a Cognitive Psychology class, the whole reason I was at the University of Washington (UW) in the first place. I needed the class to graduate and my tiny college wasn't offering the course for another year. I found the class at the UW, signed up for it, and others, during Summer Quarter 2001, and well, you know the rest. I'm sure he approached me, in the hallway during one of our breaks. He liked to talk to people, to meet new people, to learn and grow. He was nice, went to a Lutheran church, and we had enough in common to become friends. So we did.
He walked me back to my single dorm room, invited me to church, introduced me to people, showed me his favorite places on University Avenue, and made the summer seem to stretch on forever. We watched the fireworks at Gas Works park on the 4th of July, walked along the Burke-Gilman trail, went to a worship service every Tuesday night at "The Inn," and of course, studied Cognitive Psychology. He humored my family when they were in town, riding the "Spirit of Washington" dinner train with us. I hung out with his parents when they visited, taking in my first Mariner's game.
He taught me about compassion, sharing his granola bars and fruit with the homeless. He didn't flinch when they turned down one thing or tried to be picky. (I, of course, was appalled. "Really? That guy didn't want your granola bar? He had the nerve to toss it back to you?") Bryan was a few years older than me and had been through a lot. His father was in two serious accidents resulting in paralysis. His mother was morbidly obese. He was the baby of the family, grew up in Idaho, and found trouble with the law. He spent some time in juvey before finally pulling himself together, moving to Seattle, and going to college. He was a marathon runner, a triathele. He was kind. He had a twinkle in his eye that held humor and mystery. He had a smile you couldn't help but return. He volunteered to build houses and lead church groups. He gave and gave and gave.
In all fairness, sometimes he was a pain in my ass. We often clashed and disagreed. He was nice and polite; I was young and rude. I think we taught each other a lot over the years. I like to think I inspired him as he applied for graduate school and moved across the country to Pennsylvania to pursue his doctorate in Physical Therapy.
He moved east, I moved west, and our paths stopped crossing. I thought about him sometimes and found myself looking at pictures of him one day in March of 2009. That night I had a dream about him. It was dark, he was working with a group of youth, I saw him, avoided him, and started to run away. He chased me down, hugged me, and told me he loved me. Closure to that friendship in the form of a dream. Weird. Must have been the pictures combined with whatever I ate that night.
The next day, I Googled him. How else do you find people these days? What I found was not him, rather his obituary, complete with photo. There was no mistaking it, he was dead. My heart skipped a beat, then another when I realized the date. He had died exactly one year ago to the day yesterday - the day I had the dream. Whoa. Was he saying goodbye? Did he know I was about to find his obituary? Did he want me to have closure before I knew? Is that kind of thing possible or am I crazy? Was that just a coincidence by definition and nothing more? I'll never know.
Dead. March 2008. "As a result of injuries sustained in a tragic fire." I'll never forget that line. He was 31. As if that wasn't tragic enough, he also had a son who will grow up without a father.
My best memories of Bryan are from our trip across the country. After the end of Summer Quarter we drove from Seattle to his parent's house in Lewiston in separate cars, with the intent that he would return to Seattle and I would venture on to my parent's then house in Georgia. Before we even got out of the city his car broke down, needed a new clutch, and left him with a rental. That rental car quite possibly never made it back to Seattle. He left it in Lewiston after making the spontaneous decision to accompany me across the country. We got stuck in traffic near Boise, drank Starbucks in Salt Lake City, slept in a field just east of Denver (though that sleep was short because I was afraid of being eaten by a coyote.) He drove through Kansas with the emergency brake on at 70mph for a good 15 minutes. We surprised his brother, who was stationed at Ft. Leavenworth. I left him there and drove the rest of the way without him. Good thing too because it turned out during the whole trip his driver's license was sitting on the counter of his parent's house.
I can say with complete certainty that my life in Seattle would have been markedly different if he and I had never met. When I moved back that fall (yes, just a mere 6 weeks after I left, a few weeks after September 11th,) he was the only person I knew in Seattle. I chose a place to live based on his location because it was familiar. Most of the friends I have here now stem from the roommates I had in that townhouse near him.
Bryan, I'm sad you died so young. You were on your way. Thanks for the memories, welcoming me to Seattle, being my co-pilot, and showing me a little compassion goes a long way. Most importantly, thanks for the goodbye.
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