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 Group. May not be republished without permission.

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