Becker, Fagen, and Lore-Eye

The text hit mean between the eyes:

"I have some sad news..."

My heart sank.

It was Jon from R-Va, and indeed the news was sad. In fact, it was awful.

In short, our friend Lori had gone to dinner with her boyfriend when something went terribly wrong.

By Wednesday, her family had removed her from life support, and she was dead at the age of 45.

Her obituary is here.

Forty-five.

*****
I met Lori in 2009. Jon introduced us (and Sean, as we were there on vacation) at his CarMax office. I was struck with her humor, and the fact that we were both products of damaged marriages didn't hurt.

We hit it off. We'd soon text and chat and, for a brief stretch, would talk a lot.

The truth is that, in a Facebook world filled with remarkable remembrances of a beautiful soul gone too soon, I'm probably the least-qualified person to talk about her. I mean, to those who knew her, who is this clown from New York?

Yet, I knew her. Even without knowing her.

I knew her love of Steely Dan, and we talked about the album Katy Lied. That, she said, led to the her naming her daughter Katie.

Much as my Sean is my everything, Katie was Lori's world.

But back to Steely Dan. For Lori at that time had two cats and, you guessed it, their names were Becker and Fagen, as in Walter and Donald -- the two key members (with Michael McDonald singing background vocals).

Lori loved her cats. She loved to laugh. She loved to quote movies. She loved sarcasm.

She loved to love.

Through it all, as damaged as love can make us, she seemed to have finally found what she needed in her boyfriend Dan. My heart has been as ripped apart for him as it has been for Katie in the past week.

None of this makes sense, and it never will.

Forty-five.

After the summer of '09, Lori and I communicated occasionally. The random "happy birthday" text or Facebook message would suffice.

She surprised me with a phone call one Christmas, while she was away on the Carolina coast with Katie.

I'd try to call once in a while, but I knew it wouldn't be returned, and that was OK. Life isn't easy.

Yet I knew we had this bond. It's hard to explain.

Yet I never mentioned her here on the blog, and we never took a picture together. She was shy in that way. (This post was about driving down to Richmond)

Without talking all of the time, we knew each other. It wasn't hard.

*****
She left us a gift, my friend Lore-Eye did (she said that was something that I could call her).

What she would want is for friends to laugh.

What she gave us was a harsh, awful reminder that life is far too short.

And that brings me back to Jon.

I haven't been back for an extended visit to my beloved Richmond, Virginia since that weekend in 2009. However, I stopped by in 2012 for lunch at CarMax as I was passing through the area. Besides joining Jon, guess who else I sat with?

You bet -- the life of the preppy party.

I was there for 90 minutes in their cafeteria, and it hurt to leave them. For Lori, Jon, Kevin, and the other people who welcomed the stranger off of I-95 (and 64, as they all know my strange fascination with roads) made me want to stay longer.

That's what Lori would want, despite the awful cliche that saying can be. She'd want her friends to get together and forge the bonds that they've had.

In my case with Jon, that's a friend that dates back through over 30 years of marriage, divorce (me), three kids, numerous pets, cars, music, movies, sports, terrible politicians, and life.

She'd want that. She'd wants us to keep an eye on our kids.

And she'd want this world to make sure Katie is OK.

And Dan.

We'll try, Jon and I. I sadly pass through R-Va a few times a year, wishing I could stay longer, and actually shedding a tear each time I hit the city limits (right near Exit 79), reminded of the times I spent with all of these good people.

Lori was Virginia -- despite being born in South Carolina -- from talking football with me about Virginia Tech (I once got her to watch Yankees/Red Sox with me) to Abingdon, Richmond and beyond.

And as I write this, Steely Dan mysteriously plays on the sound system.

Randomly.

Life is so weird.

*****
When I heard she had passed, I thought of what so many did: Mich Ultra.

I stopped and grabbed one on the way home from calling a baseball broadcast. A toast to a friend.

She'd have it no other way.

She had her organs donated. Of course she did. That's the spirit we'll remember.

Rest well, Lori.