If I am to ever be successful, my greatest challenge will be to prove myself worthy of the faith and friendship of my 32-year old friend, Nils. It has been my honor to be bestowed with his friendship, and I will try very hard, very, very hard, to live my life in a manner that does reverence to his memory.
The loss that this community has suffered is heavy, and it will not be forgotten. But we should all take pride and the unyielding love that Nils had for this community, and this "grab life by the balls" lifestyle. Nils was proud, SO PROUD, to call himself a maggot. He truly loved this community, and cherished each and every friend he had here.
I knew Nils well. He was a loving son and great friend, a passionate biker and skier, and filled with a youthful exuberance. An extraordinary human being. He supported me in my triathlons, silly dreams, and crazy ambitions, and his support now ranks among the greatest honors of my life. I wish I had known him longer. I wish I could have thanked him for it more profusely than time and circumstance allowed. I wish, that when I visited him last weekend, that when I sat next to him for hours, that instead of telling funny stories to make him laugh, and talking about nothing to pass the time, and making his Shane McConkey action figure snowplow and gap jump over items on his lunch tray, that I could have had the strength to say the words that were bubbling up in my throat. That I could have told him how much his friendship meant to me.
But I think he knows it. And I think I will show him with the only means I possess: by trying to honor his memory and to be as good of a person, friend, and daughter, as he was.
Nil's entire life was about making people happy, and having fun. That's not an exaggeration or something that I'm saying now just because it sounds nice. It was something he actually stated to me one night at Columbia Pres while I stayed with him late into the hours of a dark night, over a year ago, when the cancer was not as prevalent but still an ominous presence in his life.
Nothing made him happier than having fun with friends and nurturing others. You could call Nils at any time of the day or night, and ask for help, or just want to talk, and he would be there. After two years of talking to him almost every other day, I don't think I've ever called him and had him NOT pick up. My selfish side thinks, "who is going to be that good of a friend to me now." I should be thinking, "to who can I BE that good of a friend for now."
Whenever you needed a ride, he would be there, in his unstylish- yet trusty- blue Lumina, to drive. He wasn't that good at matters of the heart, but would listen for hours when I would prattle on my boy issues. He tried and often failed to be an amazing chef. We were very alike in that way. We both loved new food and trying new things, but our cooking always seemed to fall short. I remember his "crab dip salsa" he made for Ullrfest, and how gross it was, but how he made SO MUCH OF IT and was so proud of it and enthusiastically pushed it on all the partygoers. I, being silly and polite, "raved" about it yet had to practically pound a beer just to choke it down.
Even though he was a bad chef, every soup he brought me when I was sick was made with love. The cookies he brought up to my parent's house in North Conway were made especially for my family. That was his way of showing love.
Even when Nil's was feeling well, he was an emotional guy. He would cry to me when he was happy and cry when he was sad. Another thing we had in common. Nils was larger than life in so many ways. He had a huge heart, passionate opinions, outsized generosity, and the best smile. He cared SO DEEPLY for his family and friends. This very thread is a testament to the goodness of his life and the love that he shared with all of us.
He has happiest when he was among friends. This very exuberant friendship, sometimes, was easy to get aggravated with. He would ask to crash at my pad in NYC for a night, and stay for a week. Giving him the keys to my apartment was a something I sometimes regretted. I would come home exhausted from a 12-hour work, knowing I faced a mountain of homework, to find him waiting, unannounced, beer in hand, eager to ski movies on my couch and order food. He would come up to New Hampshire to meet me skiing for a daytrip and then suddenly end up staying at our house for an extra three days.
That unwavering enthusiasm and friendship, made him even harder to dislike. I know it's common, after someone you love dies, to only remember the good things, and omit the embarrassing parts. But those very things are all a part of who Nils was, and all reasons why I loved him.
I remember at Straightline camp, on the tram, I was talking about Nils to Joe Joey Shabbado. The line for the tram was long, and I started telling Nils stories when we were all the way in the back, several tram-loads of skiers in front of us. I was still telling Nils stories when we were arrived at the top of Snowbird and were unloading. One of my favorite Nil's stories is how he "ruined" my formal family breakfast by coming downstairs in only his boxers, scandalizing my conservative mother by being half-naked, and in the middle of breakfast, pulled out his laptop and started watching The Big Lebowski on the breakfast table. (For the record, has also done this same Lebowski/laptop maneuver at bars.) At the end of the long weekend, my parent's, initially scandalized by Nils, genuinely liked him and were sad to see him go, stating that he was "quite a character."
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You can't measure a human life with simple facts, simply told. It's been said that you measure it in the truths he learned, or in the times he cried, in the bridges he burned, or by the way he died.
In his 32 years, Nils learned much, often cried, never burned a bridge, and learned many things.
He learned that a cold beer after a long ride is one of life's greatest pleasures. Nils was a beer drinker, and though he never met a beer he didn't like, he preferred fancy foreign brews. He loved a cold beer on a hot day as much as he loved pedaling his road bike through the hills of upstate New York. Truth is, he loved a cold beer, a warm beer, on almost any day or night.
He learned that you should fill your life with music. His favorite director was Cameron Crow, because, he once told me, of the way Crow had mastered the art of when to put a great song in the film at exactly the right time. When I was lost and dejected about a grad school rejection, Nils sent me a mix CD, handwritten on the cover, "One thing I know is the right music has the power to uplift your soul."
He loved the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Marc Andre Bellevue, the New Radicals, Pink Floyd, and a lot of other bands that I am not cool enough to know their names. Some of the happiest times in my life were spent riding along shotgun in that TGR-stickered blue Lumina, listening to Nil's ipod mixes.
He learned to be generous with himself and with his friends. Nils didn't have much, but he shared what he had with just about anyone who needed what little he had. I was stuck in a grad school seminar all day, and Nils was the one who registered me for Ironman Louisville a year ago last summer. When he needed the security code for my CC and didn't have it, he put himself $575 into his own overdraft on his personal account to make sure I got registered for the race.
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He never spoke about these generosities, and never expected anything in return.
He learned to live his life with optimism. Above all, Nils was an optimist. He LOVED to laugh. He loved to please. He was rarely, if ever, critical of people. He truly did not have an unkind bone in his body. He filled his life with hope, even when there was little reason to hope. And for me, the optimism came in the form of encouragement. He was my #1 Ironman training supporter. He encouraged me to build my non-profit. He encouraged me to stop getting hurt by others, and to spend my time with people worthy of my affections.
Oftentimes, we were the only person that could get through to the other, or that could tell the other person something they needed to hear. When I was being a selfish brat, Nils was one of the only people who could get through to me. And I think a lot of times I was the only one who could tell him things he didn't want to hear. We were both stubborn, and I think we both needed each other's friendship.
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