Although there are a few fun things I need to catch my posts up on, I wanted to share something a bit more serious today.
Last Tuesday, a friend of mine from college, Russell Jones passed away. While I was not the closest to him, we shared a lot of close friends, four of whom I got the message from last Wednesday. I spent a large part of the morning and afternoon still in shock, with brief periods of sadness as well as happiness as I looked over old photos and videos of him. As much as social media can make us feel alone, the past week it's been a blessing, a way for his friends and family to share their good memories of Russell and well wishes for his family. It has really helped me in feeling like 3,000 miles aren't so far.
But they are pretty far this week, when so many will be gathering to remember him. A large part of me wishes I could be there, but knows when I go home in a few weeks I will pay my respects. In the mean time, I can pay my respects in other ways.
I accept that all the things I'm about to say may be cliche, but they're also true. I've seen Russell in any emotion, but most of the time, it was happy. He was a person that couldn't keep that to himself - it spread to those around him, whether they joined in willingly or got dragged along for the ride. His laugh made you smile, if not laugh yourself, and he was unashamed to do anything to get that out of you. I truly believe the best moments in his life were those he shared making others happy or being happy with others. He found his match in ridiculousness with one of our mutual friends, and I remember all the shennanigans they got into - I swear they were trying to top one another, and it made for a great show.
Russell was always up for adventures, or anything new. He was one of the most active people I've met, following his feet into a novel experience over anything ordinary. While he could sit and veg out like any college student, it never lasted a whole day - he would have to get up and release some energy or learn something. He could be competetive when he wanted to be, but giving and loyal to those he trusted. He could be insecure, but also seemed to be okay with that, taking things by the moment and savoring it. Russell lived in the present, as his array of activities, hair-styles, and wardrobe were a testament to that. Ultimately, Russell enjoyed life, and particularly enjoyed it with others.
I'm not sure what I believe beyond the life that we live, but I do believe no one leaves without making the impact they were supposed to, or getting what really matters in life "right". Russell won't get to do many things, but he also did a lot of things many people don't - he took many risks, had a variety of experiences, and made many people happy, even if momentarily. For me, it doesn't matter how long Russell's life was because he lived most of it as full as he possibly could, and he challenged others to do that too.
The best way I can remember him is by doing the same. When I reflect on the past year, my "fullest" moments come in so clearly - racing dolphins in a small boat with good friends, watching people dance as if they choreographed it to live bands, driving as fast as I dared while a friend lifted her arms and head out of my sunroof, seeing laughing faces in the light of a bonfire, and even in class, when a discussion was so inthralling I could tell everyone was on the edge of their seats. The feelings I have in such moments are similar to many I shared with Russell - dressing and attending a themed party, or going drifting in the best snow of the winter in a Wal-mart parking lot. The moments aren't always glamorous or everyone's idea of adventure, but they're the ones that make us feel connected to one another and maybe something bigger, the ones in which we are absolutely sure we are not alone.
Will that be a bit harder to remember in the wake of this? Maybe, and probably for some. I can't say what he would or would not want now, but from here on out who Russell is is how we choose to remember him. I want to remember his best self, and do my best to someday find mine.
Thanks for the laughs and adventures, Cupcake. I'll be seeing you.
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