I met up with a friend and former coworker last Friday. Meet Colin!
It had been about two years since we last saw each other. He had left Tucson and went to Colorado to start a whole new career. This was our last picture together before he left: we were celebrating his last day at work. It’s crazy how time flies.
Colin and I met at work as mechanical engineers. We spent a good amount of time in the lab together. He taught me almost everything I know about tools. When I needed help assembling or disassembling something, he was the first person I called. He’s a real handyman.
For dinner, we got some tacos at this really good taco joint called Tacos Apson. They have two locations in Tucson; I always go to the one on 12th Avenue. They are one of the pricier spots in town for tacos, but they do give you a lot of meat.
Jumping straight into the deep conversation
Before asking him about his time in Colorado, I offered my condolences to Colin for the passing of his dog, Cooper. Cooper had been with him for over 8 years. Based on all his dog photos and posts, I knew that Cooper and he were really close. After that, I shared that I had lost my dad just a couple of weeks ago. He kindly offered his condolences in return.
I told him that I wanted to start off the conversation with this because in my head, I wanted to show him that he wasn’t alone with losing a loved one. In retrospect, I realized it was a poor attempt with words to comfort a grieving friend.
I also wanted to get the topic out of the way because it was a heavy topic, and I knew it would come up eventually. I thought that if we got it out of the way first, the rest of our conversation would be lighter.
Ironically, most of our conversation ended up being about the loss.
We opened up about our experiences with grief — him processing the loss of Cooper, the plans he had made for him when he moved back to Tucson, and how losing Cooper also affected his other dog, and me grieving for my dad with the sorrow of lost time and memories I’ll never get to make with him. We both shared the same ache of not having the time to make meaningful memories with our loved ones. It’s ironic how heavy emptiness feels.
As I recall our conversation, I can’t help but smirk at imagining two guys at a taco joint, unpacking some real hard emotions. Real man to man conversation. It was real therapeutic though. His ministry of presence brought comfort to all the thoughts that had been racing through my mind since my dad’s death.
A profound respect to those with quiet strength
My mom told me that she’s met people who completely break down when their loved one dies.
And honestly, you can’t blame them for that. Grief can be paralyzing.
Colin shared about going through some other tragic losses prior to losing his dog. So to see him still get up and go to work really deepened my respect for him and the human spirit. Strength after loss isn’t just about surviving; it’s about finding the will to keep moving forward despite the pain.
To face loneliness, emptiness, and every overwhelming emotion after loss, yet still fulfill life’s responsibilities like working and taking care of others…that’s just something else. And to do so without outwardly expressing their grief? That’s quiet strength.
We both agreed that life wasn’t going to wait for us to get back on our feet. We both had visions of where we wanted to be, and getting there required that quiet strength right now. Although we don’t know how long our valleys of pain and sorrow were going to be, we agreed to take it one day at a time.
Rest in peace, dad.
Rest in peace, Cooper.
