Rest easy, friend

As wildfires rage around Colorado, my friend Patrick’s memory is never far away. 

During our years working together, he told about growing up outside Woodland Park, riding his bike through the woods on that high ground, and the house surviving the 2003 Hayman Fire by just a few feet. Outside the fire, he made it sound like a beautiful way to grow up, before such mountain landscapes became exclusive to the wealthy. Endless woods, where a kid could roam and rarely find trouble. 

Patrick left this life in April 2026, far too soon at age 36. I won’t get into the details. Some of them should seem obvious as I talk through this loss. I met six years ago at the corner liquor store, behind a mask during the pandemic. He struck me as strange in a good way. Some nights I was happy to see him working because I knew an interesting conversation awaited me. Other nights the conversation was just odd, but never in a bad way. 

Years later I took on some hours at the same store. Working at a small retail location with another person often leads to good friends – it has in my life, at least. 

On many nights, he made the shift go faster. Patrick was known to put on Christmas music in July or put on a playlist of thunderstorm recordings just to get a rise out of the customers. 

Patrick was on a roll when I met him, headed toward a big life changes. He seemed optimistic and bullish on the change. 

When the change didn’t happen, he changed. He withdrew and grew manic and wild-eyed at times, his even-keel personality vanishing. He just wanted to leave Colorado Springs. 

He moved to Michigan for a fresh start. The fresh start never took hold. Years later, people still asked about him. We heard news about him periodically, none of which boded well for him escaping his rut. 

You think about what could have happened to stop this ending, but there’s a slow motion trainwreck element. I witnessed the turmoil in his personal life take over the good, kind man. He was such a fixture in our part of Colorado Springs that people always asked about him.  

In late June, we found out the man who grew up on Colorado mountainside walked into the Michigan woods one last time. Circumstances demanded the delay in official news. 

The moment I heard, my legs grew weak and buckled. All of us who wanted to seem him rally and saw the good in him were crushed. No more fresh starts.

Not everything in last months in Colorado felt bleak. Despite my concerns, I hoped he would get past the end of the relationship and landed on better footing. 

Endings often hurt, but the wounds become scar tissue. They have for me, and endings have led to beginnings and hopes for better days. I hoped he might get there too. 

There was a good night in Fall 2023, when it seemed as if he might find his path again. We went to see Queens of the Stone Age and acted like a couple of teenagers when we knew which opening riff was coming. After we sounded out the opening to My God is the Sun, we broke out laughing. 

The good feelings of that night did not last. As his demons grew stronger, I lost touch – the man I knew did not appear much anymore before he moved. That he felt this tortured makes me hope some peace reached him in the end, even if his departure brings no peace to those still living. I find it best not to dwell on the sad end. Whether avoidable or not, it happened. 

With Patrick, I’ll remember the quirky but gentle soul playing air guitar on a late summer lawn, the guy who always made a trip to the liquor store better through his unique personality.