Hey Man

Twenty years ago, on the Fourth of July, one of my best friends departed suddenly and unexpectedly. It was, of course, unbelievably sad. But this quick story isn’t.

I met David and his wife Aleve (an amazing person in her own right) the first year I lived in Louisville. We were just coming out of the 1990s and their lack of cynicism and sarcasm threw me off at first. I wasn’t used to people just openly showing that they cared about…well, anything. They were both kind, thoughtful, and genuinely interested in things and people. They were smart, seemingly self-assured, and both very funny.

One of the things that probably helped us become fast friends was that—to borrow a term from my husband--David was a chucklehead. He cared about serious things, but he didn’t take himself too seriously. Some of the hardest laughs I’ve ever had were in his company.

The last time I saw David was the week before he passed. We’d been friends for six years at that point, but it feels like longer. Aleve was at work that day and David was playing music with some friends. He asked if I could babysit their two-year-old son Otis while they rehearsed in the living room. Not an unusual day for any of us.

While Otis and I were playing in his room, he insisted on giving me a little plastic yellow dog. He said it was for me to take home. I put it in my purse, planning to put it back before I left. When I was leaving later that day, David walked me to my car, like he did anytime we hung out. I remembered the plastic dog in my bag and got it out and handed it to him. I told him Otis had wanted me to take it, but I figured he’d be missing it later and get upset. He handed it back to me and said I should keep it. I asked if he was sure and he said that Otis wanted me to have it and that it was really special because they had been trying to teach Otis about sharing. He gave me a big hug and I left.

The little yellow dog sits on a shelf in my living room. I had no idea when Otis handed it to me that I would be thinking about that day twenty years later. But often the things that stick aren’t giant Hallmark-esque moments. It’s all the little times. Like bike riding, board gaming, thrift shopping, movie nighting, band watching, couch hanging, and porch sitting. That’s what I think of now. And how a Hey Man and hug from David always made things better and that doesn’t go away.