Dave

Last week, I needed to pick up my oldest son from school after work. To avoid rush hour traffic, I meandered through some back roads of the northern suburbs. As I drove one road in particular, I thought back to the first time I'd ever been on it.

Back in the mid-eighties I moved to Saint Paul and started my first real job after college. The company was located not far from where I work today. The company is long gone, as is the young test engineer I was back then. There were a lot of things I loved about that job, the company was good to its employees, the product was innovative, the employees dedicated. It was here that I first met Dave.

Dave was a manager but I technically never reported to him. I did, however, work with and support his team. After six months of work, Dave pulled me aside one afternoon to tell me that while he was pleased with the work I was doing, I had made one flagrant mistake - I'd accepted too low of a starting salary. He'd already talked to upper management and my base pay had retroactively been raised 15%. At the time I was dumbfounded. Partly because after living off next to nothing during college, I was already making more money than I could comprehend and partly because this man I barely knew had gone out of his way to help me, even when I didn't know I needed it. But then I would soon learn that was just the way Dave was.

Not long after our meeting, my old Monte Carlo finally died and I purchased a spiffy used 1983 Escort. I hadn't had it very long when one afternoon it wouldn't start as I was leaving work. I popped the hood and within about five minutes Dave was there by my side. He spotted the problem quickly - a loose and corroded battery connection. Even though our company likely had plenty of tools, Dave was sure that he had just the right steel wool and wrenches in his garage. Before I knew it, we were climbing into his truck and heading off on a mini road trip.

The route to Dave's house took me down the same road I was driving last week. I still remember riding along in his meticulously clean vehicle. When we got to his house, he had no trouble locating the supplies we needed - his garage was tidy and ordered. We didn't run back to work. Instead, he invited me in and found a couple of beers in the fridge. Eventually we made our way back to my car, where Dave got me up and running again.

We worked together for about five years. During that time I knew Dave always had my best interests at heart. Truthfully, he cared about everyone he knew. He gave me a nickname - the only one I've ever seriously had. Only he used it, but he did so with such ease that it felt like it was mine. Sadly, our company decided to relocate to California. Most of us scattered to new jobs in the metro area. Over the years, I kept in contact with Dave and even flirted with working with him again but the timing was never quite right. In the past few years, our communication had dwindled - not much beyond Christmas cards. Still, I thought of him often - like during my drive last week. In my heart I knew I should make an effort to contact him.

Yesterday, I received an email from another friend from those days letting me know that Dave had passed away unexpectedly. I sat and stared blankly at the screen most of the afternoon - allowing a mix of sadness and regret to wash over me. I know that life is short and precious - I just hate being reminded of it.