Two weeks ago, I got a message from a high school friend, who I occasionally interact with on Facebook: “Hi Erik. Steve Kille passed. I’m not sure when you last talked to him, but I thought I’d let you know.” I was shocked and continue to be saddened whenever I think about my friend. Though we haven’t spoken or seen each other in nearly 30 years, apart from trading a few emails once I managed to hunt down my friend through the band he played for and some interviews in rock magazines, it seems odd that his passing would loom so heavy in my heart given the lifetime that has passed since I last saw him. I’ll confess that I feel out of place even expressing it, given the outpouring of emotion from those who were a part of his life in recent years. Steve and the circle of friends I made then have never left my thoughts. I often find myself reminiscing on that era of my life with nostalgia and genuine gratitude for the impact it had on me.
Though I never told him, I considered Steve to be my best friend in High School. To this day, I remember Steve as one of the closest friends I ever had. He made a bigger impact on my life than anyone else from that time. That is not to diminish any of the other folks I was close to then or since. I have been blessed to know so many great people then and in the time that has passed since, but Steve held a special place.
I grew up a military kid and had moved seven times when I began attending West Springfield High School as a sophomore. I was a misfit who accumulated bullies far more effectively than friendships or even acquaintances. Steve sat in front of me in History class and was always friendly. I didn’t fit in with his circle of friends, but he still talked to me and eventually we started hanging out. He invited me in at a time when it seemed like no one else would. That friendship sent my life on an entirely different trajectory. I was an awkward misfit and was accepted/celebrated as a misfit among other misfits. I found myself in a spot where I wasn’t lonely all the time or painfully self-conscious that I was putting on an act to fit in badly on a day to day basis. It was ok to be weird, which was one of the best gifts I have ever gotten from a group of friends in my lifetime. To this day, that acceptance continues to shape how I deal with nearly everyone I meet. There were so many other ways my friend shaped my view of the world. I find myself writing and rewriting this article just wanting to tell funny stories or explain what an impact it all had on my life. Feel free to ask me about it when you see me if you are curious. Deep down, I expect that all of us had friends and acquaintances that have shaped our lives and continue to be treasured despite the passage of time.
When I left for school in Chicago my sophomore year of college, losing that part of my life seemed like the worst thing that could happen. I struggled to fit in yet again and seriously considered dropping out to return to Virginia. As time passed, I found a new path but never forgot those guys.
As an adult, one of my mentors explained the phenomena I experienced. He did it by quoting a western novel. The novel describes a cowboy on a cattle drive sitting around the campfire at the end of a dusty day of work: “God, he wished he could ride forever with these men…But it could not be. Trails end, and companies of men fall apart.” My mentor explained to me that sometimes those we are close to end up being “friends for the road.” When we part company and head off on our own paths, we thank the Lord for the gift He gave us through those men, and we honor them through the ways they changed us.
The last few weeks, reflecting on my departed friend, I have made it a point to touch base with a few other folks who have been a precious part of my journey. I am awkwardly sharing with them the impact they made on my life, because I’d rather say it and be uncomfortable than not and regret it. I am also paying attention to how I act with folks I know will likely move on to new paths. I want to impact them the way Steve impacted me. I want to be the friend from the trail that people look back on and are grateful to have ridden with. These are the lessons I found in this loss. I encourage you to reflect on and adopt them as well.
