The 2008-2009 Reflector editorial board. Adam is on the left
(in maroon and white) sitting on the angel's arm.
It's getting late, and yet I can't sleep. Exactly one year ago today, I was doing almost the exact same thing — unable to sleep and up late, thinking about one person: my friend Adam Kazery.
Exactly one year ago today, I found out that I — no, the world — had lost Adam. I lost much more than a coworker that day — I lost a dear friend who I knew I could count on for anything.
Though it's been a year since he's been gone, not a day goes by that I don't think about him. Last year as I told everyone at work that he was gone, I vividly remembering looking into the teary eyes of my dear friends, thinking, "This is going to change our lives forever." I've lost people in my life before, but Adam was so unexpected. There are still days when I pick up my phone to text him or think about posting a link to his Facebook wall — it's like my brain still hasn't completely realized that he's not here anymore. I'm not kidding when I say that I still think about him every single day — whether it's an Apple product announcement, a photo of a cat doing something stupid, the new Radiohead album, someone's Facebook status written in binary code, a black Nissan truck — not a single day has gone by where I haven't thought about him. I still expect to see him grinning every time I pass a black Nissan truck. I still expect to get random, hilarious text messages from him. I still expect him to know my order at Zaxby's. (My new friends here haven't caught on that I get the exact same thing every time!) Just last week, I was showered with wonderful Valentine's Day gifts, yet all I could think about was wanting one of Adam's silly yellow Post-It note "valentines," which he stuck to the computer monitors at work with a funny message, signed, "Love, Adam."
To say I miss him would be an understatement:
- For a while when I moved to Murfreesboro, I tried to avoid driving down a certain road to avoid the Nissan dealership — which always has a row of shiny black trucks parked right out front for everyone to see. I couldn't stand looking at those black trucks at the stoplight — it reminded me of all the times Adam took me home after a long night at the office. I remember him being appalled that I would walk 15 minutes to apartment late at night; so especially when it was cold, I'd wait until he finished at the office and gladly climb into that truck. We'd always have good conversations during that five minute drive home, whether it was about music, office politics, or what we could do better at work. Adam didn't give rides to just me — he willingly did it for anyone who didn't drive to campus. He was quick to give, and quick to look for ways to help.
- On his last production night before his death, he volunteered to go get Abner's for everyone. We knew it was going to be a late night, and by the time we realized we were all hungry, everything in the student union was closed (or we were sick of it). Adam quickly announced he would drive to Abner's, and we could pay him back later. (The Monday that he appeared "missing," I actually carried around $6 all day in my pocket for him.) Later that night, Adam danced around the newsroom and kept us laughing with his new "fashionable" plastic ring (he got it off a cupcake — read the full story here on April's blog). That night was one of the longest ones of the semester, yet thanks to Adam and Bob's antics all night, it wasn't miserable.
- I heard about the new Radiohead (one of Adam's favorites) album last week, and I got teary — I wouldn't get to see Adam all excited about it. I still haven't even listened to the album yet.
- The littlest things make me miss him. I'd be here for hours if I kept going ...
Last year, Kyle and I were debating over who should get the editor of the year award. I told him it belonged to Adam because of all his hard work, dedication, and responsibility. Adam was never late, never missed a meeting, and always finished his work — then stuck around to help everyone else. It was never in his job description to read over all the pages, yet he did it willingly — and he caught so many mistakes! There is no telling how many times Adam saved us from some really embarrassing typos and misprints. A few weeks after Adam's death, Kyle announced that he and our adviser had decided to rename the award to the Adam C. Kazery Editor of the Year award. I was so honored to receive the award last year, and it was a blessing to have Adam's family present at our banquet. April (who's editor this year) reminded me that five of the editors this year really didn't know Adam — and what a shame. How do you even begin to explain someone like Adam?
So what has a year without Adam taught me? I've learned (and not just known in my head) that life is hard and painful, and we don't always get answers. After a year, I have finally come to terms with the fact that God may not reveal to me why Adam was taken away — and after a year, I'm finally beginning to accept that. God doesn't have to tell me why it happened, and realizing that has slowly begun to give me peace. I've been reminded this year (and not just through Adam) that trusting that all that God does is right and good brings immeasurable peace and joy.
This year has also taught me how blessed I am with family and friends. One of my resolutions this year was to tell the people in my life how much they mean to me. I felt like Adam knew how much me meant to me, but I never really said it enough. I regret that, and I don't want to have that same regret with others.
So Adam, know that I miss you terribly, and I'll still be thinking of you daily. I miss you riding the Bully bike through the office to make us laugh. I miss you making sure we had good music on our computers to keep us smiling throughout the long days and nights. I miss your random text messages filled with those crazy emoticons. I miss talking about Apple products with you. I miss seeing your face and your silly grin when you were up to something mischievous. I miss your random photos. I miss your yellow Post-It note messages. I miss your crazy computer antics — like turning your entire page into Russian just to make me laugh after a long afternoon. I miss you spontaneously yelling out hilarious photo cutlines and headlines. I miss your laughter as you leaned too far back in that treacherous chair of yours. I miss you friend — and I'm not going to forget you.
Note: I blogged about Adam back in June — that post can be found here. April blogged about him as well back in May (click here for that read), and she beat me to blogging about him today right here. You can view Adam's website, as well as some of his photography, at www.adamkazery.com.
