I don't gush about him much; it's not because I can't. He's been an amazing presence in my life for almost a year now. I met him during an early visit to Chicago, when I was still living in DC and after I had decided to move here. I came to scope out neighborhoods and do some job interviewing. We went to dinner, downed a few margaritas at Cesar's, and I knew we would be friends for a long time.
Over the following weeks, he became the last phone call of my nights and I got to know him little by little from afar. I looked forward to the calls and the time we would eventually get to spend together in person, getting to know each other better.
And then August happened. My whole life changed. Indeed, my whole future seemed in question. I went into the hospital, giving my cell phone to my sister and asking her to keep him updated on my condition. I credit him with having alot to do with my fast recovery - all I could think about was getting better, getting to Chicago, and pursuing things with him. He was my goal, and laying in the hospital bed and thinking of him got me through some very tough moments. He was the first person I called when I returned home.
And then I got better, and 5 weeks later, I moved to Chicago. And since then he has continued to be my strongest supporter. At a time when I felt insecure about the changes in my body, the scars, and my limited abilities, he acted as if nothing had changed at all. He saw me - there was no "old" me or "new" me, there was no then and now. To me, he is my reward for persevering through a difficult situation.
And as loving as he is, he is the best kind of friend to me; he listens, advises, and opines without judgment. I may not speak about him like this again, mostly because that is not really our kind of relationship. But sometimes when life is good to you, you just want to share it.