A co-worker died over the weekend.
Now that’s not uncommon at a university, where thousands of people of all ages work – especially one where the title “emeritus” is bandied about with some frequency.
But this one hit closer to home: the co-worker was a person in my department.
While he didn’t work in my exact office, he and I worked closely to achieve our work tasks. More often than not, I’d need his skills for something, and he’d need mine for something else.
Above all that: he was a cool guy. He was a walking encyclopedia of 80s musical knowledge who was stumped by not even the most obtuse, obscure question about a tune that peaked somewhere in the high-100s of the Billboard chart. He had a semi-regular gig spinning “crap 80s” music at The Black Cat, and I’m sorry that I never had the chance to hear his brand of tune selection.
He was hip. He dressed – and lived – the part of the hipster. You’d always be able to tell what was “in” and what wasn’t, which is no small feat in IT, where fashion sense is usually a trait that’s surgically removed upon acceptance of any job that requires the knowledge of umpteen specialty acronyms that have no meaning to the world at large. Yet he somehow managed to be whip-smart in tech knowledge while remaining on the forefront of “teh new hip.”
His life touched many at my workplace. One of his closest friends sits next to me at my office, and I hate to see her grieve – though she’s doing well, thus far. And others who worked more closely with him also tried to put up their best appearances, though grief was apparent beyond the façade of strength and concentration.
The news of his death matched the cool, murky, gloomy weather that greeted me on my ride to work this morning. Similarly, the cold, gray rain that accompanied my ride home was fitting: a sky full of tears, falling for a man whose life ended far too early.
So rest in peace, Trent. I hope the pain is gone.
31/08/2007 | 
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