“I don’t need a friend who changes when I change and who nods when I nod; my shadow does that much better.”
― Plutarch

December 29, 2024

He was your friend. When he died, he took a piece of you with him and left behind a bit of himself — permanent snippets of his life for you alone to own. That’s what comes of friendship. You take the pieces with you. They stay with you always, a gift. You see clearly his expressions, the mannerisms. The blush of his redhead pigment, piqued by emotion. Prideful eyes directed at his loved ones. His energy as host chef in a garage made for the Smith oyster and shrimp feast. His distinctive gait, trudging down a fairway, carrying the redoubtable 7 wood that knew no fear. The camaraderie he brought to new found friends on the golf trail. You hear his voice across a large room, elevated following a soothing visit with Jack D.; or when sober as a judge, goaded into coaxing his Lexus down a straight country road at 101 mph. As you grieve, you hear him say “get on with it; don’t be sappy.” Pragmatic to a fault, self made, all business, competitive, private. You remember serious discussions. When he listened to your recommendations and acted. The shared joy of mutual success. Later, the shared sorrow of unimaginable loss. You remember the recovery, the resurgence, the grit to risk giving life another chance. Yes, you will hold on to your piece of him, remembering your very last  conversation  — his admonition to you  —  get out and live your life.  He led by example.. It’s a lesson.

Note: These personal remarks truly are self serving, however much devoted to honoring Carl. For those who didn’t know him, they will nod, perceptive. For family, you want them to be okay with this reflection in a public place. Carl would never approve. But, then, that’s an issue for another time and place. Ed.