#and with enough distance from our teenage selves that we can joke about the whole nonces-hanging-around-14-year-olds thing

[heather-in-heels]

Sam

This is a love story, but it is only love in the sense of meeting a person who changes you forever. You meet them at a time in your life when you need their fresh set of eyes the most. As a result, you wind up in love with them. Not a romantic love, but a thoughtful love where you know you left an imprint on their heart and they left one on yours, too.

Sam was a New Yorker, I live in the Los Angeles Valley. East Coast. West Coast. Over 2000 miles in between. That has all the trappings for a romcom waiting to happen, but in reality it doesn’t pan out as meet cute as you imagine. 

We met on Tinder. Another setback. This is the end all, be all, of the apps for hookups. Swiping and uploading your best photos — voila, maybe you find your true love because an algorithm and narcissism said it should be so!

I’ve always liked to read the captions. His read, “If you have a good world view and you enjoy movies, candy, wine, and adventures... I think we would get along just fine.”

Swipe right. Hard right.

So I gotta ask what you do for work cause you clearly have more than the rest of us :-)

Also... hi :-)

That was his first message to me. I had to dig far into the recesses of my Tinder profile to find it. The message made sense if you know me. Most of my online dating photos are me with brand mascots. I write about characters and they’re in 70%, if not more, of my iPhone’s photos.

Hi Sam. Winking emoji.

That was my first message back to him.

Sam was staying in Canoga Park, a part of the San Fernando Valley I knew well(ish). It was a little more foreign to him. Kind of like how I felt about Brooklyn, where he lived and I had never been.

We talked for several days, on and off the app. He asked me out. I said yes and our first date was on March 12th. Sunday. I never go out on Sunday nights. That’s because I am boring. I go to bed early. There was something about him, though. If the conversation in person was half as good as the one through text,  I had to meet him. This could either work for or against me, but that’s the bet you take on any date. 

When Sam walked into the restaurant/bar, my eyes felt like a row of jackpot symbols at a casino. He looked like the actor Patrick Wilson. He dressed well. He was funny and thoughtful and witty. I felt like I won some kind of lottery I didn’t know existed. We all put our best foot forward on the first date, but this wasn’t the best version of him. This was him. I was seeing every bright part right now. The color gold in a world gone gray. 

This was exactly the kind of person I wanted to be with when I saw my future. Previously in this episode of Heather’s Life, I had dated nothing but scrubs as my girlfriends liked to call them. I didn’t know what it was like to date a good guy.

I went to the bathroom at one point and when I came out, he was chatting with the people at the table behind us. He had also hung up my coat, that I had carelessly tossed onto my chair, onto a hook. I stood and watched him speaking with these people for a moment, smiling. It was so him. Charming the whole room and everyone in it.

I’m leaving out my favorite detail. He came bearing a gift. We had been talking about our favorite candy before we met and I said mine were Twizzlers. He brought a pack with him. 

I never ate the Twizzlers. It was such an unspeakably simple, kind act that I wanted to hang on to them.

We talked about our lives and selves and dreams. He told me about how he saw Daft Punk live at their Alive tour. We talked about our mutual love for EDM. He talked about his DJ’ing he had done before. Rick and Morty, and how he identified as Rick. Anne Hathaway, his celebrity crush. His dream of becoming a late night talk show host. How he hated missing the turn exits on the freeway and having to drive further out.

Sam was a man of spontaneity, something I, as a person, have never been able to do. No, wait. I was spontaneous once. I used to take trips, even though I had debt and little money to spend. Then I turned 30 and stopped doing a lot of things. Sam insisted that this was no excuse. No way to live. He had debt too, but it didn’t stop him from showing up or living life. 

Hours later, we got ready to leave. He offered to give me a ride home. I never say yes to these kinds of offers. But, I felt safe with Sam. I knew it would be okay. 

We drove the short distance back to my place, singing along to Taylor Swift on his Apple Music. Full blast to “Style.” We missed an exit on the way, but he laughed it off. 

A good first date. An even better first kiss.

Life went on. He went home and I stayed put. Both of us worked a lot. I should add here that he worked so much. Rivaling myself, and that is not a good thing either.

A few months later, some texts in between, me going on dud dates with other guys, Sam texts me to say he’s coming back to California. “Let’s hang out!”

I jumped at the chance to see him again. 

See, it happened. A second date. We weren’t supposed to get another, but we did and the catching up was even better the second time around. Things were changing for the both of us, on the up and up. I was getting my student loans paid off. He was interviewing for new design clients in San Diego.

Another drive back to my place together, and then we decided to go out again the next night.

Three dates? Inconceivable! He had a surprise for me this time. We were going to a carnival. He was the driver and I was the passenger. But, even though I had no idea where this carnival was, I still directed him to the right place. I had a feeling I knew where it was when he mentioned seeing certain landmarks and it wasn’t in Van Nuys. I won a stuffed otter as a prize. 

Later that night (well, it was more like later that morning), we drove back to my place. I had a thought on the way there. Why go home at all? He had always wanted to go to Malibu and I live close enough. It was a beautiful night and I suggested that we drive down to the ocean. 

Sam was so excited to do it. The drive was a straight shot down one road. The top to the car was down, the wind was blowing, and Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream” was blasting on his Apple Music. It reminded me of that moment in the movie The Perks of Being a Wallflower when the main characters are driving through a tunnel listening to David Bowie and feeling, as the protagonist Charlie called it, infinite. Every time I turned to look at Sam, he was grinning from ear to ear. He was having the time of his life. And even though I was a mess, with my hair everywhere and no makeup on, I was too.

Life and time went on after that night and we went back to our respective worlds. October approached and with it the New York trip I was going on. I had been working myself to the bone every night after work for months and was exhausted and excited for it to finally come together. Sam had mentioned we could hang out when I got to New York. We FaceTimed a few times together and he, somewhat begrudgingly, admitted he would go with me to Katz’s Deli. There were way better food places than Katz’s to go to, he said.

What was our last conversation about? The last conversation I had no idea would be the last one? Bob Ross. He loved Bob Ross and I found a game on some website that you could play and told Sam about it. We admitted that it did look a little challenging to play and maybe it could be played by someone else later on.

That was the last time I talked to him.

I found out about Sam’s death on Friday September 28th. I was packing my suitcase for the New York trip. Then, I saw a Facebook post about him. He had died.

The five stages of grief rolled out fairly quickly. Denial, because it felt like a sick joke. Anger, because I could not understand. Bargaining, because all I could see was this beautiful, living, laughing boy. Why did he die when so many horrible men get to live? Depression. Acceptance.

I haven’t gone through the fifth stage yet. I think I’m still stuck in the fourth.  

I put a black dress in my suitcase first, rolled into a tight ball. The Twizzlers occupied their own side pocket. I gradually packed throughout the night in between taking calls and answering texts from concerned friends and family. Sometimes I would pause while packing and stare off into space. Or I would pack while crying because my brain kept telling me to move forward.

When I arrived to the airport on Saturday, I felt like I was walking through JELL-O. Everything was a dull roar. I stared off aimlessly into space for about an hour before I decided to go sit at a bar. I drank at a rock and roll themed bar and talked to a stranger sitting next to me about what had happened. I don’t know how we stumbled into this conversation. He was a VP for a banking firm in New York. Had 500 employees under him. Knew what it was like to lose someone and shared his own story with me. I felt less alone.

The turning point, which I tell everyone about, happened at 12:30 AM on a Sunday morning. I had arrived to my hotel by then and didn’t know what to do with myself. I was hungry and went to the pizza place next door. In front of me was a couple from Australia. Behind me was a guy from Atlanta. Behind him was a woman from Fort Lauderdale. Everyone was from a different place in the world, all gathered together for pizza.

It changed everything for me, this moment. This was the first time in years where I felt a connection. I haven’t gone out or done much in awhile now. I sleep, I work, I go home, and work some more so I can pay my student loan off. This loan has taken over my life and it totally shows.

I don’t live, and I am trying very hard to get better about that. This is something Sam, in the little time I knew him, told me I needed to do. I used to fight him on this. Everything is too expensive. He would counter that he also had debt. I need to be working during this time. He told me you can work at any age. Finally, I would get to the bottom of it all and admit that everything was so fragile. My life is like a carpet that is always close to getting yanked out from underneath me. I don’t have a husband or children or a house or anything that a lot of people have at my age. I’ve gotten to the point where I am grabbing this carpet and refusing to let go because I am too afraid of what happens when there is no more carpet. 

At the core of myself, this kind of behavior infuriates me. The me that I am and have always been. The me that Sam saw. She sees me doing this and knows it’s actually childish behavior. She is a person who tells me to be kinder, keep doing more, and do not believe one state or city or country can stop you. She keeps the faith that it will all work out even though she doesn’t know how.

That Sunday morning was the first time in awhile I felt connected.

Several hours later, I prepared to say goodbye. I had asked his cousin in advance if I could go to his service, out of concern that it would not be appropriate since I knew so little about him. She graciously said I could go. The outfit I had to wear, the drive into Brooklyn, the absolute feeling that this was concrete and final. He was gone.

The drive to Brooklyn was my first one there. As the car got closer to the building, I saw all of the cop cars blocking off the streets and everyone heading into the building. There were so many people. Every single one impacted by him. Most of them were crying.

I had never been to a funeral for an Orthodox Jewish family before. The actual burial would take place off-site. No cremation. No flowers or wake. A shiva would be held on Wednesday. The men and women sat on opposite sides of the room with folding tables standing in place between us. We may have been separated, but grief held everyone together like a nasty cobweb we were all trapped inside. 

The first moment I heard the fine print details behind Sam’s debt was when his brother delivered his speech. I knew Sam had debt, of course. Knew how much and how he had incurred this debt. 

What I didn’t know that even in debt Sam kept giving to everyone he knew. He continued to financially support his family. He paid for everything he could with the little he had. He gave what a reasonable person would not or what they would try to excuse themselves from doing. When I told him I was coming to New York, he offered to let me stay at his place. I laughed when I heard that. Part of it was because it was funny, since I assured him I already had a hotel room. The other part was that I could not imagine making an offer to a person I barely knew.

In retrospect, I saw that every action, every decision, came from a place where kindness and love were put forth first. Give, and maybe ask questions later. He loved you for who you were and wanted to be there to support you at every turn.

I cried a lot.

When I left, a monarch butterfly flew in front of my Lyft car. That butterfly was completely Sam’s spirit. I just knew it. He would not want me to go back to the hotel and cry. This was a big week for my career and my dreams. Months of hard work went into this week. I could not disappoint the people involved. This meant just as much to me as it did to them.

What followed, in light of a deeply dark day, was a beautiful week. The gala was a hit, I walked up to the NASDAQ stage instead of crawling this year (young me crawled so I could walk... I get it now!), and the panel was amazing. 

“Great minds unthink alike.” It was the company 15th anniversary theme and one I felt throughout the entire week. Connection remained a personal running theme for myself. I felt myself connect in New York City. This was a city that used to scare me during previous visits because I didn’t think I had a place there. It was different this time. I have friends, I have work. I have a network that I did not have years ago. I can walk anywhere. Everything is open 24/7, there’s something new to explore, and new faces just waiting to be met.

I saw a similar monarch butterfly a week ago. It made me smile. I knew it was him. Don’t ask me how I knew something like this. I just do.

Sam came into my life at a time when I needed a new perspective. He taught me that there are men out there that will love me for who I am. He also taught me to go out there and chase adventure. I’m 30. I’ll be 31 soon. It sounds like it’s a little late in life to learn lessons like these, but I don’t think it is. 

I wonder if this is just the beginning.

For the rest of my life, I will be thankful to have known him. A little bit of time is better than no time at all and he was, and will always be, a teenage dream to me.