I wish I knew the Simpsons well enough to find an obscure reference for my title. I think Lars would like that, and would be able to come up with the perfect suggestion.
I haven't written here for too long, and regret that in coming back to it now with this heavy heart that my last post was scatalogical. But again, I think Lars would be okay with that. And a place where I celebrate cynicism is certainly the right spot to remember all I got to share with Lars in my short time with him.
Bob overslept this morning, hopping out of bed in a mad dash to the shower. I think now it was a gifted few extra minutes of solace before seeing the early morning message that led to the terrible news.
I first met Lars in Las Vegas, which I'm pretty certain is something that only I can say. Hi, nice to finally meet you, and then into the car en route to the Grand Canyon. I know now with certainty that there is no better way to get to know Lars than in a six-hour car ride to a giant chasm in the earth, with a stop at a massive man-made engineering feat along the way. By the end of that day, sharing a look into the abyss with someone who could speak so eloquently about abysses, I knew we were friends.
Every year since, I would email or Google chat or hop on Facebook to ask Lars "when are you coming home?!" as December neared. I loved watching Lars and Bob together, that comfort that comes from old true friendship and deep knowledge of each other - which of course, with boys, is expressed as "bwwwwuuuuuhhhh" sounds and picking at instruments. I loved the Christmas we got to ask Lars about China and never knew how to tell him that, sharing some of his social discomfort with the unknown, I was in awe of the courage and adventure it took for him to move there.
Lars was one of the first things that led to me loving Bob. If he could spend his life with an over-thinking, over-analyzing, cynical and skeptical, sometimes rambling talker like Lars (all features I remember with celebration and love), than I knew he could handle me. It is no small thing to see the best of someone through who they surround themselves with, and Lars was one of Bob's strongest selling points.
What I loved most about Lars was that he was an observer of the tiniest details of social life, the little moments and behaviors and mores and irritations of society and culture. Few people could see and describe the world at the level which Lars did, and it made conversation with him engaging, humorous, sometimes sad, and always worthwhile. I daresay I got more value out of discussing the world with him than I did in 4 years of Sociology PhD courses. It certainly was far more interesting.
Lars would be the best person to talk to about how I feel today, to discuss how strange it is to still see the online presence of someone who is, shockingly, gone. I only have two friends listed on my Google Talk account, two people who I am always interested to talk to if their little icon turns green, indicating they are online. I am marrying one of them in November. The other is Lars. I stared at that icon today, the little gray x saying so much more than that he was offline. I can't bear to remove his name from the list, but don't know how long I can take the sadness of seeing it there either.
I looked again at his online portfolio today, reminded of his talent, creativity, and soulful artistry. I imagine an employer clicking on the link to his resume and wanting to hire him, giving opportunity for more of his creation, instead of the loss of it we all now have to accept.
I think Lars most of all would be fascinated by us saying good-bye on Facebook, desperate for a way to tell him how much we love him, already miss him, and struggle with how to make sense of his loss. I do know that I will hear his voice again, that the sound of a solo bass guitar will always bring to me feelings of his intricate beauty. And someday I will be able to look again at this picture with a smile instead of just tears, grateful for that day, if nothing else, to discuss the universe with Lars.
