Damn Fine

One day at work, I was asked to get a workstation set up for the new guy who was coming back to the US after a couple of years in London.  I hadn't heard the name Jonathan Markowitz before, but didn't think anything of it.  I figured he'd be just like all the other Americans who returned after working in the London office: an arrogant, uber-entitled, over-educated nerd with an ego the size of the solar system.  I didn't meet Jon until he'd been in the office for a few days, but I remember it clearly.  Not only did he come up and introduce himself, he thanked me for setting up his work area for him.

OK, I was very wrong.  He was NOT like all the others.  Little by little, we became friends. We hung out after work and sometimes on weekends, playing pool, drinking beers and sharing lots of laughs.  I never lost my awe.  I marveled at his uncanny ability to see what was bothering a person and go right to the heart of it.   With only a few sentences he could soothe the snippy out of a harried waitperson, or calm a building owner who thought his project was off-track.  I loved how he could come to work with the grease from his weekend tinkerings still under his fingernails, shirttail untucked and no necktie, and go into a critical client meeting without one iota of self-consciousness or worry.  But that was Jon.  He knew those trappings had nothing to do with his job or his ability or him.  And he was right.

I was sad when he and his family moved away from the Bay Area.  The opportunity to start the Seattle office was an amazing one, and I knew they would be successful.  But their home was close to mine, we got together often, and I knew would miss them.  And I did.  And I do.

What strikes me most about what everyone says about Jon is that everyone says the same thing.  Even though he knew all kinds of people, he didn't chameleon.  No matter how we came to know him, we all met the same person.  How comfortable he was being him.  How everyone who met him thought he treated them special - only to find out he made us all feel special.  How we all have grown and emotionally prospered from having known him.  How dry but hysterical his wit was.  How he was just a damn fine human, in all his roles: son, brother, husband, father, mentor, boss, friend.  He was always his best Self and he shared that Self fully with all of us blessed enough to have spent time with him.

I know the place in my kitchen where I stood reading the text message telling me Jon was gone.  It wasn't true.  It was a mistake.  I called the person who'd sent the text and as he spoke, I felt sick.  My gut tightened and twisted and all of a sudden, the world felt different.  There was a hole that hadn't been there before.

I miss him.