Cindy
Droog
Read Cindy's bio and previous columns
February 18, 2008
Rest in Peace, Chris;
You Fought the Good Fight
Like every parent, I have high hopes for my two sons. I hope they love
learning. I hope they find true love. I hope they treat others – even
when they don’t deserve it – with dignity and respect.
And I hope they are lucky enough to have a friend like Chris.
I
met Chris 16 years ago. He was simply walking down the street, and my
roommate and I were carrying a giant rug from a store to our dorm room.
She was 6’ tall. I was 4’10.” Since we were both journalism majors –
“word people” if you will – I don’t think we even considered that
carrying this rug home downhill was an engineering impossibility.
As
luck would have it, it soon started to rain. Many onlookers glanced at
our moving Leaning Tower of Pisa, but moved on. Finally, one stranger
stopped to help. That was Chris. During the half-mile journey back to
our dorm, we became fast friends.
Chris, a few other close friends and I all had a tendency to stick
around campus when others didn’t. During long holiday weekends. Spring
breaks. We said it was because we had to work. Or because we didn’t have
cars to drive home. That’s what we told ourselves.
In
reality, this small group of friends was our family. And isn’t that who
you spend holidays with? Looking back, I believe that’s the real reason
we stuck around. It was a bonding experience to walk through a
near-empty college campus together. To belly-up to an empty bar for the
evening.
I
look at my young boys, and I know that Chris had many qualities I hope
to instill in them.
He
was nonjudgmental. He didn’t care that I had to work at the student
cafeteria to make ends meet. Instead, he bet me $20 that I wouldn’t wear
my hairnet to econ class, and when I did, he went with me, sat next to
me, and acted like it was normal. He wasn’t taking econ that semester,
so I’m pretty sure he went just to be there in case someone did make fun
of me.
He
was kind and loved helping others. I would have failed astronomy if not
for his valiant efforts. When I signed up for it, I thought I’d be
learning cool things about stars and planets. I didn’t know I’d be
buried alive in mathematical equations with my only hope for survival
being Chris and his shovel of undying patience.
He
was forgiving. As teenage groups of friends are inclined to do, our
group had its share of emotional roller coasters. Some inner-circle
dating, which of course, leads to inner-circle break-ups. With Chris, it
was always as if nothing had ever happened. He welcomed all of us back –
no questions, no regret.
He
was hilarious. At one makeshift Thanksgiving dinner, as we all sat
around the table in his apartment and said what we were thankful for,
his reply was “miniskirts.”
He
was creative. When he needed another player for a Dungeons & Dragons
game, he invited me even though I’d never played. He named my character,
gave her some serious traits like wisdom, and added his own twist, such
as “big boobs” as weapons. He let me – as inexperienced as I was – be in
his party, and we fought some grand battles.
Earlier this week, Chris lost probably the greatest battle of his life,
his ongoing struggle with depression. Just like in Dungeons & Dragons,
he sometimes let us help him fight it, and other times, felt he could
only face this demon alone. Chris took his own life, and with it, a huge
part of me and our small, close-knit group of college friends.
My
sons are too young to have known Chris well, but my oldest, A.J., knows
him by a picture of that group of friends that hangs on my refrigerator.
A.J. loves to look at pictures, and point people out by name. When he
gets older, and asks about all of those people, I can’t wait to tell him
about Chris. Through my tears, I will tell my sons that he was
nonjudgmental. Kind. Helpful. Forgiving. Hilarious. Creative.
He
fought the good fight, and he will be sorely missed.
© 2008 North Star Writers
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