Loss

When my friend, Peter Klett, set Jude and me up for a date three decades ago, I immediately knew she was different.  More intelligent, serious, driven, grounded, and really, deeper than other woman her age that I knew.  An old soul, so to speak.  For me, it wasn't a hard decision to pursue a long-term relationship with Jude, and as part of that process, I was committed to learning what was important to her, getting to know her friends, and weaving myself into the fabric of her life.

What did that look like?  Well, at age 30 or 31, I started playing Ultimate Frisbee.  More importantly, I got to know so many of Jude's friends whom she met through playing Ultimate Frisbee.  I've written about this before, I think, but that motley crew of people became some of my closest friends during my thirties and beyond.  It was such a special time in my life, and in Jude's and my relationship, and I treasure the memories of weekend trips out of town to play in tournaments, Halloween and Christmas parties, summer league, and Sunday afternoon pickup games at Elmington Park.  There was an innocence to it all, for all of us, and I miss that terribly.

Times passed, as it inevitably does, and things changed.  People drifted away, married, divorced, changed jobs, had children.  Jude and I had children.  Our group of players passed the baton to a younger group of players.  As a group, we saw each other less frequently and in other contexts.  Weddings.  Graduation parties.  Celebrations of life (You're never far from my thoughts, Carley).  

When Jude and I began dating, I also got to know Jude's best friend from law school at Vanderbilt, Cyndi Baines, and her husband, Troy.  It's strange to use the phrase, "love at first sight," to describe a relationship with new friends, but that's how I felt about Cyndi and Troy.  They were a matched pair, or so it seemed to me.  Perfect together.  Cyndi's ebullience, humor, and outgoing personality tempered by Troy's easygoing, reserved temperament.  

And, as couples go, they were perfect for Jude and me, too.  Troy and I immediately bonded over college football (Florida State for him and Tennessee for me).  Cyndi and Troy played summer league (Ultimate Frisbee) with us.  The four of us spent a lot of time together, pre-kids, even traveling to Jazz Fest in New Orleans one year.  Troy - one of the most able and agile conversationalists I've ever know - and I had a thousand conversations, and good natured arguments, about politics, people, and college football. 

Strangely, we almost became closer after Cyndi and Troy has Wolf, then Scout, and moved home to Florida.  Jude and I were sad to see them go, but Jude and I traveled to Neptune Beach, FL, to see them (Jude on several occasions).  More importantly, we invented the world famous Leaf Party in late October, which was the highlight of our year in our old house on Elliott Avenue for close to a decade.  

The actual origin story is a blur but the general idea was for our yard man, Duane Pierce, to blow the fallen yellow, orange, and red leaves from my beloved 75 year old maple tree into a pile, so the kids could play in them.  I think, initially, we started the party after JP was born and, soon enough, Troy, Cyndi, and their kids (Wolf, Scout, and later, Finn) were traveling to Nashville to say with us for a long weekend every autumn in late October.  

My gosh, those weekends - the Leaf Party Weekends - were the best times.  The very best times.  

Hurricane Baines, I called them, on the way from Florida to our house, where our growing families shoehorned ourselves in for the weekend.  When I departed for work the morning of their arrival, I left two coolers on our front porch.  One filled with Bud Light for Troy, and one filled with Miller Lite for me.  Our weekends together were filled with family activities and Cyndi catching up with friends and colleagues while all of our kids played together.  

So many traditions arose out of those weekends together.  The Leaf Party, of course.  The "ghost cake" Jude made for the kids.  Troy's Bloody Mary's the morning of the party.  Nobody, and I mean nobody, could make a Bloody Mary like Troy Baines.  Playing in the leaves all Saturday long.  Neighborhood walks with the kids to Bongo Java, where we ate breakfast.  Those were beautiful days.  All of them.

Then, as happens, the kids got older and we moved into our current house a half mile away from Elliott Avenue.  Bigger yard but not maple tree.  In fact - and I've never been able to write about this - the new owner cut my maple tree down three or four years ago.  No more Leaf Parties.  We saw less of Cyndi and Troy, although we often called them when something funny happened to me, or Jude, at work.  Catching up on those calls was always great fun. 

A few months ago, when we called Cyndi to let her know we would be in Jacksonville in late August for JP to run in the Cecil Field Summer Classic, she told us Troy had been diagnosed with a rare sarcoma, was being treated at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, and that things didn't look good for him.  We were devastated.  Not Troy.  Please, not Troy.

We were blessed - so, so blessed - to visit with Cyndi, Troy, and the kids, albeit briefly, when we were in Jacksonville.  Indeed, Troy was very sick, but he was still, well, Troy.  Same intense blue eyes.  Same long and detailed stories that never seemed to have an end.  Same sense of humor.  Same friendly personality.  To me, and it hurts to write this, Troy's essence - his very soul - continued to burn brightly even as his earthly body failed him.  

A few weeks ago, Cyndi, Troy, and the kids traveled to Colorado Springs, CO, to celebrate his brother's 60th birthday.  Shortly after they arrived, Troy took a turn for the worse and was admitted to a hospital there.  Things weren't good, Jude and I learned, and the possibility existed that Troy wouldn't make it back home.  As it turned out, after a couple of weeks, it looked like he might be strong enough for a cross country trip back to the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville.  

God had other plans, however, and Troy died in the hospital one night week before last, as we learned in a tearful telephone call the next evening from Cyndi's mom, Sue.  As she talked to Sue, then after she got off the phone, Jude was in tears.  I was, too.  We lay together on our bed and talked quietly, reliving old memories while we tried to come to terms with a world without Troy Baines in it. 

Jude and I hurt for Cyndi and for Wolf, Scout, and Finn.  There are no words, really.  We just hurt for them so badly.   

It was - and is - incomprehensible - to me that Troy is gone.  As I said, Cyndi and Troy were, to me, a perfectly matched pair.  I rarely referred to one of the, singular.  It was always Cyndi and Troy, almost like they were one name, or one person.  Cyndi and Troy.  Yin and yang.  Soulmates.   

In my life, I don't think I've ever known a more compatible couple, who just seemed to fit together so comfortably and so well.  Perfect balanced.  They competed each other in so many ways.  I thought Cyndi and Troy were forever.  I wanted Cyndi and Troy to be forever, in much the same way I wanted Jon and Carley to be forever.  

And maybe, just maybe, they are.  Somehow.  Through their memories together.  Innumerable memories.  Of laughter.  Of tears.  Of road trips.  Of their children.  Of their families.  Of a life built together from such a young age.  And a life spent together.    

Life, at least life on this earth, is ephemeral, or so I am learning, in my 61st year.