Last Friday, I received the news I had been dreading. My friend Chris passed away at 1:30 in the morning. The message, sent as an email by his eldest son, summed up, I think, the feelings of many.

Chris was earnest in enjoying and appreciating life until his last breath. His self-awareness and conscious efforts to focus on the positive allowed him to survive the cancer that was eating up his bones far longer than the medical experts predicted. Like many other times in his life, in response to any challenge he faced, he led with unexpected, often unobservable, strength and tenacity. He had a rare talent for forming deep and meaningful connections with a surprising range of people. Some of his friendships thrived over decades while others ran their course in short order. He made friends with many Thai nationals he met during his military days and sparked relationships of genuine caring with diner waitresses, all between his first cup of coffee and the arrival of his check. His special way with people, built on a deep-rooted respect for their basic humanity, made him stand alone.

His son Chad’s note referred to this gift. He commented on how Chris’s nurse, Eileen, who was only scheduled to work until 10 PM Thursday night, stayed with Chris and his inner circle until 4:00 Friday morning; after Chris’s breath had changed, after his spirit left his body, after stories were shared and tears rolled down cheeks.

Upon getting the news, thoughts flooded my mind. I need to return to my editing project, working on the memoirs Chris wanted to give his two sons. I know the project will be more difficult without my collaborator, but I want to do my best. I thought about how Chris hired me for a sales job twenty or so years ago despite having more experienced candidates to choose from. I thought about how he tracked me down through the Internet after we had lost touch and how we could talk for hours about hoops or baseball. He would recount tales of his many motorcycle adventures, and I would talk about writing ideas I had. I marveled at the way we could express ourselves fully to each other, shining our experience-earned wisdom along with our dreams and vulnerabilities.

I felt so grateful that I got to see him twice this past fall and that he got to meet my new boyfriend (and yes, fueled by a mutual passion for baseball and photography, they seemed to have embarked on their own relationship). I am grateful that I told him I loved him, a simple declaration that should never go unsaid.

All these thoughts of gratitude washed over me, yet in re-reading Chad’s email, some of my gratitude was re-directed. His eldest son and long-time friends Ron and Frank, along with his nurse Eileen, were with him when he died. I felt so grateful to them knowing that Chris was surrounded by love at this time of transition. I knew that Chris couldn’t help but feel their love.

Even the most independent of people need the support of others to make their lives complete. Being with someone even when you can’t exchange words or affect outcomes is no small thing.