A Friend Remembered

This Saturday will mark the one-year anniversary of the death of my dear friend, Rex Patrick. Over the last year, I have learned a lot, not only about a new culture, new people, but I have learned about coping with the loss of someone I’d never imagined that I would lose. How important it has been to have my friends and family supporting me, yet I have come to understand that mourning is ultimately a journey that must be undertaken alone.

A product of a very hard upbringing, somehow Rex had transformed his experience to become one of the most gentle and kind people I have ever known. Once at a store, we were buying brie and fruit for a spontaneous picnic. Rex was “sampling” the grapes when one woman snarkily asked him if he shouldn’t buy the grapes before eating them. Nonplussed, Rex agreed that he probably should buy them before sampling them. She immediately sensed his sincerity and backed down; I learned something that day about the value of trying to see through people’s defenses and anger in order to hear their real message. That is the way Rex taught; not through advice, but through example. He had a way of disarming everyone he met with his sincere gentle nature.

Rex wasn’t without orneriness, though. During the winter, he would announce his entry into my yard by lobbing a snowball or two at my upstairs window, startling me and sending reverberations through my house. He loved to see me get all riled up and sternly warn him not to do it again, lest he break the window (of course, the more I protested, the more regular his ice missives became). His visits to my house always resulted in brie and/or Ben and Jerry’s ice cream mysteriously disappearing. In addition, my favorite hats would go missing only to reappear weeks later on his head. He loved playing practical jokes; one day we were mountain biking in Fruita. Miles ahead of me on the trail, he hid behind a rock outcropping and patiently waited. I am not sure how many minutes/hours he had but wait, but it paid off when I finally came pedaling by. Just as I was passing, Rex jumped out from his hiding place; I nearly fell off my bike in fright. Rex could hardly speak for his fit of laughter.

I wish everyone could have a Rex in their lives. Throughout the ten years I knew him, he taught me about friendship, love, gentleness, and honesty. Rex was a two-time one-legged Olympian. But to me, those accomplishments pale in comparison to what he did for human beings. He was always flitting from place to place, counseling this friend, helping that person move, volunteering for a cause. One snowy winter I was caught at home in a blizzard without any sandbags in my truck. It was Rex who somehow managed to find sandbags in Denver during a blizzard (impossible), and made his way to my house where he threw them into my truck. During his memorial two people got up and shared that they wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for Rex, and I know there were more who kept quiet. I can’t sum up everything he meant to me but to say that I wouldn’t be the person I am today without him, and for every moment I had with him, I am thankful.

Some of my favorite pictures of Rex are here. They were taken by me, his friends, and family.