Dr. Cameron Grace Estrich

Dear Cameron -

 

My memory of our first meeting floats like a bubble, still iridescent and clear, upon the greater swirl of turmoil and confusion that makes up the autumn of 2001 in my mind.

 

The first thing I knew about you was your joy. Your laugh, a pure and unrestrained cackle, drew me, like a spell, down the hall, and into Raymond House’s common room while I was on a whirlwind campus visit that October. 

 

I entered, and there you were. Crouched like a spring behind the arm of a worn sofa, a pillow firmly grasped in your small hands, all your coiled energy focused into what promised to be a devastating riposte against your assailants.

Our eyes met, and I must have grinned at you because I certainly got yours in return.  

 

I know we were introduced to each other, but I have forgotten by whom. We chatted that evening, got dinner together, and then parted, you back to your freshman year and I back to Scotland. 

 

The following year, back at Vassar, there were more chats and time spent together in the presence of friends and fireflies, but much like all the years since, we mostly walked parallel paths. Both of us would go on to successfully navigate academics and life. As the years passed, we both made brilliant love matches and built upon our overlapping circles of friends.  

 

You did all this so damn well that I never worried about you. 

Due to your quiet competence, I could and did prioritize other people and commitments. I assumed that one day, I would find myself again fixed in your wrapt attention, and we could catch each other up on our busy lives over sweets and tea. I assumed we would have time together tomorrow because I, like many of our mutual friends, also believed this universe would give you more than the three score and ten years promised in scripture. 

None of us expected you to be the first of our number to go, and none of us were ready for you to go so soon. 

 

It has been two months since you slipped beyond this life’s veil, and it has been one month since I sat next to your mother at your memorial service and stared at the back of your sister’s head, suddenly realizing that after all these years, I had never known your natural hair color. 

 

And so, dear friend, you have gone before me. 

 

Farewell, until, mayhap, we meet again, in the clearing at the end of the path.   

 

Michael