The Man Who Changed My Life

Today would have been your thirty-second birthday.

Five and a half years later I still think about you almost every day. I reflect on how grateful I am that I get another day. I contemplate how much I’ve grown, the distance I’ve traveled, and I grieve all the things you’ll never experience. The gap between September 25, 2015 and today is something I take very seriously.

Our Story

“Losses are personal and comparisons never apply. No loss counts more than another. It is your loss that counts for you. It is your loss that affects you. You are the only one who can survey the magnitude of your loss. No one else will ever know the meaning of what was shared and the depth of what was lost.”

We grew up riding mountain bikes together. We spent an insane amount of time outside. When we weren’t riding, we were building trails, dirt jumps, or generally getting up to something silly.

This past year I’ve taken a lot of time to reflect on my life, including a deep dive into the most important and influential people of my lifetime. You were at the very core: one of my three major relationships that form the foundation of how I relate to everyone else. You shaped my childhood and deeply influenced my understanding of compassion and empathy. 

When you died I had no concept of how deeply it would affect me. It’s taken five years to fully understand how many times you were there for me when I needed you. All the times you stood up for me — and those around you — when nobody else did. When everyone else was too busy pretending to be cool, you stuck to your morals. You were wise beyond your years, and I’ve come to appreciate that more as each year passes. I sometimes wonder how much I could learn from you at age thirty-two. But I’ve come to grips with the reality of the situation. Instead, I study the time we had together and enjoy it for what it was.

The Moment it Changed

“Everyone experiences many losses throughout life, but the death of a friend is unmatched for its emptiness and profound sadness. Your world stops. You know the exact time they died—or the exact moment you were told. It is marked in your mind.”

I vividly remember the moment I heard the news. It was mid-afternoon in downtown New York and I was having a great time with my studio mates on an architecture school trip. At the time I had stopped at a bank machine to pick up some cash when I felt my phone vibrate. As I removed it from my pocket, I noticed my parent’s number on the screen.

I knew this was an unusual circumstance because I was always the one to initiate a call. As they spoke, I walked outside and stood on a concrete landing, stumbling to find somewhere to sit down as they delivered the news. My chest hurt, my stomach in knots; I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I remember crawling to an awkward set of stairs with only two risers, finding a short stainless handrail to prop myself against. I felt the tears streaming down my face. I kept thinking over and over, fuck this can’t be real.

But this story isn’t about me. As hard as I thought that day was, now I consider all the events that led up to that phone call. I think about who had to circulate this tough message. I think about my childhood neighbour walking to my parent’s house to break the news before they called me. Most of all, I think about how fucking difficult that phone call would have been for my parents to deliver.

When someone dies they leave a complex web of people behind, and only in time are you able to appreciate all the lives they changed.

Everlasting Friendship

You gave me warm wishes when I headed off to architecture school. In fact, while I was writing this letter I came across your comment on my Facebook announcement. You were always genuinely stoked to see your pals doing what they loved.

Once I started University, we lost touch for a while. One of the reasons I took my first architecture work term in Calgary was the opportunity for us to reconnect. It was a wild ride hanging out again in the fall of 2014. We spent some quality time catching up, and we frequently stayed up late into the night talking about what it means to live a great life.

When I broke my arm, you picked me up at the hospital. When we went out to a club with our pals, you made sure we were safe. To this day one of the most memorable moments of my life was going to a Bassjackers show in downtown Calgary and raving all night. I remember the limitless feeling, dancing away the night with friends. Totally in the moment, all sense of time collapsed. That’s a right of passage and a memory I’ll never forget.

Renewed Meaning

“We do not get over our loss, we don’t find recovery, but we may find renewed meaning and enrichment for having known them.”

For most of my adult life, I held the belief that we would always be able to return home to Newfoundland. From the moment we moved away, we talked about it all the time. I remember being thrilled you were renovating the house on Craigmillar and setting down roots of your own. I had no idea how devastating it would be when that door closed fifty years early. We all have hopes and dreams; this was a hard lesson that nothing in this life is guaranteed.

I’ve been thinking about writing you this letter for nearly five years: I just didn’t know what I wanted to say to everyone that matters to you. What I’ve realized is the only thing I can do is to share my experience, my serious struggle to make sense of the situation, and my utmost gratitude that I had as much time as I did with you. Of course there are still times when I’m sad I’ll never see you again, and that’s okay too.

These days I channel your energy and excitement into everything I do in my life. On the best days, I feel a goofy smile coming on when I’m out on the bike (only I get to know why). On the toughest days, I think about how you’d make the best of it. Even though it’s been over five years, there’s rarely a day that goes by without you weighing on my mind. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to truly appreciate the relationships that matter.

Justin, you changed my life. I strive to live a remarkably open and empathetic life because of you. If I live with the same integrity, energy, and compassion, I hope someday I’ll change someone’s life too.

Notes

Quotes are from On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief Through the Five Stages of Loss by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler. I highly recommend reading this book if you’ve lost someone important to you. Even if you haven’t, I feel like everyone could benefit from the knowledge and tools presented. It’s an incredible resource and it’s one of my most gifted books.

Photographs provided by Katelyn Rose.