Four days before my road trip west, I drove down to Youngstown, Ohio to attend Glen's funeral. There, I had met friends of his from all walks of Glen's life and if maybe for just that weekend alone, we became immediate friends, bonding over the one constant that we all held among us; Glen. His memory and influence among all of us was infectious, something we drew upon the entire time we spent with one another.
A week after I had moved to Portland, a memorial was held for Glen in Seattle. Many of his friends that were in Youngstown for the funeral were there, and his close friend Chuck had even offered up his place for both Kino and I to crash. After picking up a high school acquaintance and his girlfriend, both of whom also wanted to attend the memorial dinner in support of Glen's younger brother Kevin, who I am also extremely close with, the three of us and Kino made the nearly three hour drive from Portland to Seattle, finally resting at Glen's friend Rebecca's house in Capital Hill. There, we had a lovely dinner with Kevin, his parents, Rebecca, Glen's friend Matt (who just flew in from Denver), and a few other of Glen's friends and family in Seattle. Afterwards, I dropped my stuff off at Chuck's and met the rest of the crew at a dive bar in Ballard, where many toasts were made to Glen's memory.
The next day was made up of a few lengthy hikes around Seattle and Fremont in particular before all meeting downtown at Glen's favorite restaurant for his memorial. Similar to what we did in Youngstown, each of us, including a wide select of people that worked with Glen at Microsoft, stood up and spoke of a few select memories on his behalf. The night was again, emotional. However, in the spirit of Glen's larger-than-life personality, we refused to allow anything bring down our chance to celebrate his time with us. The most important aspect that I was able to take away from the entirety of that evening, and every one with this motley crew that had followed beforehand, was that as much as each of us will miss him desperately, he will never be forgotten, and will always be a part of our lives. We laughed that night. A lot. That in itself will stand the test of time.
Grateful of Chuck's hosting services, I woke up the next morning and decided to cook both him, his girlfriend Janet and our friend Sarah a huge breakfast as my way of thanking them for their hospitality. Full with multi-grain pancakes and about a dozen eggs between us, we leashed up the dogs and hiked north through Chuck's neighborhood to an overlook that offered vista views of Queen Anne, the northern reaches of the Sound and the distant peaks of the northern cascades. These moments together, somber and relaxed, were almost the perfect form of farewell to what we had all experienced that weekend. In a strange way, it offered some closure to what we had all been through. As I packed up my car, I felt a large weight leave my shoulders. I wasn't finished saying good-bye, but the initial phases of shock and mourning had begun to lift.
Before heading back to Portland, everyone who had met in Seattle that weekend got together for a late brunch at Del Rey downtown. Most of it required the ingestion of a large amount of protein fluids and electrolytes to counteract the effects of the underlying hangovers at the table, but between mouthfuls and short, spontaneous moments of quiet reflection, we laughingly recounted the previous nights events, putting together the pieces for the few that couldn't quite remember it all themselves. After we all finished and stepped outside to offer each other our final farewells, I turned to my left and silently watched Kevin turn and walk alone down 1st Avenue, away from friends, away from family...just, alone. That simple action said so much, and I completely understood it. It was a moment that hit me harder than most did that weekend, and I'll never forget it.
Glen was a vivid light in a dark world. There's really not much more to say about it than that. Rest in peace, buddy. We'll all look for you on the Flip Side.
