In Memoriam

I struggled to find the words for this. I’m not sure what it was, that made it so difficult to put to paper what I was feeling. I’ve experienced loss before. I’ve experienced more than my fair share of pain. I knew the names of what I was going through: the stages of grief I was beginning to follow. Yet in all of my knowing of what was happening, I couldn’t write it down.

When I first heard the news, I thought it was horrible prank. That someone must have hacked their accounts. It was just a bad joke or maybe a reference to the Friends episode where Ross wants to find out how much he was loved.

And even as I sat in the church, packed from floor to balcony with people that had loved this man so much I still doubted the truth to what happened.

It didn’t feel real. It still doesn’t.

I listened to the words being spoken about someone that I not only knew, but had been friends with, and still I could not fully accept that he was really gone. 

Most young adults in our age group have this weird feeling of invincibility. We all know, rationally, that we are not invincible. That tragedy comes as it likes, and we are all susceptible to it's touch. There is, however, a barrier we hold at double arms length away from ourselves. The barrier that says that we'll all die a natural death; with time to marry, make a family, get our dream job and succeed in our lives before we die.

I spun the length of string around my wrist, the same string that the seniors of the VWS and WSC Class of 2012 had all tied around our wrists in a silly yet symbolic demonstration of our bond before we all left on our separate ways. As I pushed the meager, now five years old piece of yarn around my wrist I thought back to what I will always remember about Adam.

Most of my friends know that I observe more than I speak. Because of this tendency I remember some of the oddest little things from people I knew in high school. I still remember some girl’s nervous habits; how they twirled their hair, bit their nails or clicked their tongue behind their teeth. How their eyes lit up when someone walked into a room, or how their voice changed depending on who they were speaking to. I remember which boys would kick their chairs back to rest on their hind legs or how one would bow his head down when he laughed instead of up.

There was one girl who stretched as if she was making as snow angel in the air. I remember who screamed the loudest and cheered us on the hardest during Theme Week or Webb Day. I remember certain laughs, that odd silent chuckle or common habitual dance moves. I remember the space of a smile, the sound of their voice, someone’s “in deep thought” face and the time it took for someone to finally meet my eyes when I spoke.

Because of my, albeit uncanny, ability to remember little tiny quirks from each member of my graduating class I was able to carry with me a sliver of a memory of each person. I never called upon any of these memories, they simply sat in the back of my brain collecting dust. Occasionally being added to if I saw an alumni again and they reminded me of this little quirk and I’d smile to myself and think “ah, yep they always did that.”

When I think about Adam the same thoughts that come to everyone else’s mind comes to mine. He was a glowing light, a true friend and a constant source of support, love, passion, commitment and gusto.

But the sliver of a memory that I get to remember? It’s a hug.

A very simple, warm, quick hug. I have no idea when, or how many times I ever hugged Adam but I can remember how it felt. It was warm and it was solid. He didn’t fake a hug. He’d stand there with a wide grin on his face, feet planted firmly to the ground and wrap you up into a hug so that for however long that hug lasted, seconds to minutes you’d feel “OK”. He’d become an anchor, and for just that moment you were safe.  I don’t have the memories of late night texts, or weekend parties or free blocks spent along with Adam. I wasn’t in the go to group of Webbies that he would have called upon during weekends or events on campus.

But to say that I wasn’t friends with Adam would be a lie. Adam was friends with everyone, and he was a refreshingly genuine person that became a constant for everyone throughout Webb.

Another ’12 classmate mentioned that we all know that we should be grateful for the time we were given with Adam. That we should be happy with the experiences we got to share. But in the end, this just sucks. He shouldn’t be gone. It isn’t right, it seems cruel and unfair and it’s unbelievable that we’ve lost someone that was important to so many people.

I don’t know when it’ll finally hit me that he’s really and truly gone. All I know is that I miss him. I’ve always missed him.

I miss you Adam. I’ve been missing you since we graduated in June 2012. You were one of the alumni I looked forward to seeing again. I always thought I would.

You are loved.

We miss you.

Rest in peace 

-Eleanor Hastings
Class of 2012