I loved Eric. He was my my colleague, my confidant, and my cheerleader. In the early 80’s world of white shirted, black tied, pocket protected IBM he was my best work buddy. Both of us were in our 20s, but he seemed older, wiser and more worldly. Perhaps it was because he smoked with a casual, practiced air, had a bit of a receding hairline, wore tidy pleated twill slacks, white shirts with bowties and had an attractive trimmed beard. He was smart, admired technically despite his youth, and a company man who was always willing to go the extra mile.
In a world of men, men and more men, he dared to strike up a friendship with a female and we took most breaks together, wandering out to the coffee and drink machines in the shady recesses of our large building. Every trip was sure to include some wicked remark on the corporate culture or our coworkers. He had a distinctly slow pattern of speech which hinted at his rural upbringing and flashing eyes that never missed a thing. Once when I had to work overnight to install new software, he insisted that he work those hours too; he didn't want me in an uncomfortable situation with third shift (all male) operators I didn't know.
I introduced him to my husband, Earle, and when we learned Eric was from Stokes County, NC we were quick to tell Earle’s grandmother who was also from Stokes County. Upon telling her that we had met “the Woods boy”, we were amazed to learn that Eric’s father, a barber, had given Earle his first haircut when he visited his grandmother as a baby.
Eric suffered from severe headaches and I would occasionally catch him in the office with his head on his desk. He sought medical care and was told his headaches were from work stress. They got worse, so he sought other specialists. At last, when I was away at a business meeting, a neurologist ran an imagining test that finally got to the heart of the matter: brain tumor. (Eric worked tobacco as a youth and had a tobacco allergy - his family doctor told him to start smoking - did it factor in to this diagnosis?) I returned from my trip on Friday night and was called by my team leader and apprised of the situation. I was shocked and barely slept all night.
The memory of our visit with Eric in the hospital that weekend is as fresh in my mind as if happened yesterday. I even know what I wore: a crisp white blouse with a periwinkle jumper. I took Eric a silly stuffed pink hippo to break the tension in the hospital room, which was as thick and stifling as a heavy wool blanket. The tumor was to be removed. No need to be at the hospital during surgery, he said, go to work, and my family will call when it is over.
Time drug by the day of the surgery and my stomach was tied in one hundred knots. The whole department was on pins and needles. Everyone else loved Eric, too. Finally my desk phone rang - it was a relative telling me the tumor was much larger than the surgeons expected; they did their best, and had stitched him up. He needed a lot of blood and they weren't sure of his prognosis.
I wailed. Joe Shoulders, a friend who was as tall and broad as a barn, heard my cry. He clasped me in a giant bearhug and when at last my sobbing stopped, I pulled away and we looked into each other's face His red rimmed eyes and tear streaked cheeks mirrored my own.
After the storm passed, I thanked Joe for his compassion and cleaned myself up a bit. My boss stopped by and asked if I wanted to go over to the hospital, on behalf of our group. I agreed and Earle and I headed over. There was little to be done while Eric languished in ICU, but we took his nephew and niece out to see “The Never- Ending Story” to offer them a respite from the sad assemblage of relatives.
Eric died shortly thereafter. Earle and I made the pilgrimage to Stoke County for the funeral, up the curving mountain roads to a little primitive Baptist Church. I stepped up to the casket to say goodbye beforethe pastor settled into a sing-songy chant as he was filled with the spirit. Before we knew it, we were at the graveside, and it was done.
Eric’s story was over….except -
Except...I stayed in touch with his mother, who mourned him with a bruised and broken heart. I worried she would never get over her loss until at last she called and told me Eric had visited her that night in a vision and had told her he was all right and not to worry about him any more. It eased her heart and it eased mine too.
Except...every time March 18th, when Eric’s birthday rolls around I think of him, all day.
Except...I pledged to give blood in his memory and still do thirty years later. Today, my youngest son went with me to the UNC Blood Drive and we both gave a pint. As I reclined in the blood donor chaise I remembered Eric’s smile, his laugh and his love of life.. He was one of the good guys and I miss him still.
Except… Eric’s full name was Eric Zachary Woods and he is my Zachary’s namesake. When I am gone and forgotten, Eric will still be remembered. The love Eric gave so freely to his friends and his family is really the ultimate “Never-Ending Story.”
Live on Eric, Live on.
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| Zachary and I after giving blood at the UNC Blood Drive. Yes my eyes are completely closed. Somewhere in heaven, Eric is laughing. |
