On May 25th, I attended Nate Long’s memorial. I didn’t know Nate very well at all, but I went to show solidarity and support to my friends, his sister and her ex-husband, (who even gave me gas money to be there, which was beyond kind.)
The memorial was being held in a church in my old hometown. I’d driven by it a few times, but as a strictly non-religious person, (and High Counselor of the House of the Last Son of Krypton,) I’d never gone in. By the time I’d arrived, lots of people were already there. As I walked in, I passed stranger after stranger, including Nate’s daughter, Trillian. I occasionally threw out a “how are you doing, um… considering?” because I never know what to say at these things. I’m not great with other people’s feelings, but I try.
Eventually, I saw my friends’ familiar faces, both of whom I haven’t seen in years, greeting people at the door. I joked with them beforehand a bit, and they both looked fantastic. They seemed more like adults than I remembered, or felt myself at the moment. I’d missed them more than I realized. It was bittersweet, given the circumstances that brought us into the same room for the first time in probably a decade or more.
I made a mental note to not monopolize their time. This wasn’t “catch up with Gideon” time, this was a night to remember a loved one who, to reiterate, I honestly barely knew. We went to high school together, we were in the same grade, and I’d seen him around in the halls, sure. My friends always spoke fondly of him.
I stood in the back of the room, and saw a sea of people who I didn’t know, a few who knew me, or of me, and one or two people I remembered from school. There were people there dressed in full Ghostbusters gear, because Nate loved Ghostbusters with a passion few others possessed. His own Ghostbusters uniform was on the stage, with a cardboard cutout of his bearded smiling mug atop it.
His face was everywhere, in fact. That’s how memorials are, after all. But then, I saw a picture of him from back in 1997. His big, grinning baby face towering over everyone shorter than him, and suddenly, I remembered that kid. He was a nice guy.
But then people did what everyone does at a memorial. They get up and tell stories about the person we’re all there to remember. Nate was a sweet, caring, funny person. He was a stalwart friend, and from everything I’d heard that night, if he was your friend, you were a truly lucky person. They all talked about how good and kind he was, and his parents mentioned his multiple heart surgeries over the years, because he had a heart that was “too big,” as everyone kept saying. Both literally and figuratively.
Have you ever had that feeling where you think, “I really don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” when you’re in a room full of people? I rarely do, but tonight I felt that way at first. But, during the proceedings, one person got up and told a story about the class of ’97 prom. She and Nate had gone, and some of their friends didn’t show. Despite them being worried, Nate made a point to keep everyone laughing, and kept their evening as light and fun as possible while they continued to worry.
It was my prom too, and I was there. Suddenly the night came flooding back to me. I didn’t have a date, or a tux, because I was broke, and literally waited until the day before to decide I was going to go. Back then I usually wore a vest over a tee shirt, and a baseball cap pretty much every day like it was my uniform. So, for prom, I got some nice dress slacks, a black and white vest, a tee shirt with a tuxedo printed on it, and a nice black and white baseball hat. I’d made the prom version of my usual outfit. It was quite the success among the people who knew me.
It was as if the night had unfurled in my mind, fresh and new. There was a bad Jamaican cover band, the food was okay, and I fooled around with a girl on the beach for a while, which apparently is not a thing you are supposed to do with someone else’s prom date. I did manage to avoid getting my ass kicked, however.
But among all of those fuzzy, sepia-toned memories, I remembered one group of my classmates laughing over and over throughout the course of the evening, and one of them being Nate. I remember thinking to myself, “those guys seem to be having a good time, maybe I should go over and talk to them.” But I immediately thought, “No, that would be weird. I barely know those guys.”
And yet, here I was, almost 30 years later, standing at one of their memorials, having that same story retold from the other end of that prom room. Suddenly I was more connected to this memorial full of strangers, and it was a very surreal realization to come to. After seeing this outpouring of affection, I felt myself getting a little choked up as well, on their behalf.
After all was said and done, and everyone spoke about this great loss to the world, I’d come to the conclusion that Nate Long’s heart was too big because it was full of so many wonderful people who loved him. And while I’m not normally one for regret, I find myself saying, “I wish I had walked across that room thirty years ago.”
So long, old stranger. I only really met you that night, but I think you and I would have been pretty good friends, too.
As the title says, I’ve been to four memorials in as many years; but this was the first where I missed someone I never knew.