SAMSONICO

​We stood together on the sidelines one last time.  His terminal diagnosis -- ampullary cancer -- the month before, made the glow of the stadium lights, blanketing our necks and shoulders, and the roaring chants of “Let’s Go Hokies,” alternating in metronome fashion between the East and West stands of Lane Stadium, even more poignant.  I knew this was a memory-in-ink moment – no rear-view mirror, no aftermath reflection, was necessary.  He didn’t say it, but Derek knew as well. As we walked back to the car, after a 37-16 Virginia Tech victory over the Miami Hurricanes, his extended glance back at the emptying stadium, its lights still glowing in the cool October sky, confirmed it.   

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Nine months later, I leaned back in that green vinyl chair, of room 607, and watched, with transfixed eyes, the metronome drips of his IV, as we talked about family, the bad hospital food, next year’s recruits . . .  and my game idea, sketched out on a pad in my lap.  “It’s a great idea Bryan; you should finish it.”   

 

A week later, Derek stepped away from us into God’s presence.  I was at his side when he did -- not on the 15 yard line where I wanted to be -- but still at his side. 

 

My brother was five years older than me, and I always looked up to him.  Despite the age difference, he always let his little brother tag along and hang out with him and his friends.  I never felt “little” next to him (except when we wrestled or fought – he always won).  One year, he came home from college for Thanksgiving, and I was taller than him.  Five inches eventually separated us, but I was still his little brother.   

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On his wedding day, we rode to the reception together in the passenger van; Kathy’s poofy wedding dress required Captain’s Chair seating, so I got to sit next to Derek on the bench seat in the back.  During the ride, he looked at me, smiled, pointed to his new wedding band, and said “you know – you can’t be my best friend any more?”  Until that moment, I did not know he had considered me his best friend; I just knew he was mine. 

 

Second best is wonderful...