On Thursday morning I recieved a call at 6:40 AM from Chris Steinwinder, longtime nemesis and arch-rival in the field of GMing. Both Steinwinder and myself are friends of Sterling Dubbert, my roommate. Our longstanding differences were set aside when he told me that my roommate, friend, and partner-in-crime had passed away.

The doctors were able to drain the infections from his brain and identify them as what they were. He was slowly winning the battle against the infections, thanks to loads of antibiotics. However, Sterling has always hated hospitals, and continually fought against the doctors, nurses, and etc. This meant that the majority of his time conscious once he was revived from his coma was spent under heavy sedation.

My friends were able to visit him in Las Vegas, an opportunity I missed when I made a choice. Either get myself a job (I had an interview) or go say goodbye to my friend. I wonder if I made the wrong choice, but given what I had committed to, I think it would be unforgivable for me to both miss out on seeing him in person one final time, and to give up on a job.

Sterling's life is over, but mine is not. It's a struggle, but I can set aside the pain of loss of one of my best friends long enough to try and live. I tell myself it's what he'd have wanted, without knowing if it's true.

I spoke with my mother a lot over the last few days, and we spend time talking about a lot of things, much of it Sterling. He went to the city (San Francisco) a few times with my mother, usually to the Vapor Room, which is where we normally bought our medicine. I wasn't with him, and when he was alone with my parents, he told them things he'd never shared with me. My mom told me that Sterling said he thought I had a lot of potential, and if I could just focus, and stop being so hard on myself, I'd be a much better person.

So I'm trying to be that person, someone a little less self-absorbed, a little more externally aware, and I'm going to try and follow his example.

Born without a pulmonary (sp?) artery, he was supposed to die at the age of five. He made it two and a half weeks past his 24th birthday, showing us all that the best way to stick it to the man is to live well, and much longer than the man thinks you can manage. It was ultimately his heart that failed, but nineteen years on the system is something to be respected.

His girlfriend flew in from Australia to be with him while he was thought to be recovering ... he died shortly after she boarded the plane, so she wasn't aware of the situation until he landed. I'm awkward with his family's requests to manage his things ... but they're his family, so if they want his credit cards and jewelry, who I am to say otherwise?

I spent the majority of the last few days in a daze, trying to get the job I'm working at getting (I start on Monday), and preparing myself for the uncomfortable job of cleaning up Sterling's room. All of his clothes are now packed, and his possesions are sorted out. Keepsakes and momentoes have been picked out for close friends, and everything else is ready to be put away.

Tomorrow, we go to Davenport, and we have a bonfire at sunset to remember him. I need to write a eulogy. Ah ... I always wondered how I would cope with the loss of a dear friend, or a family member. And I suppose I'm surviving. I've only broken down once, though I think I'm close to a second time.

But I have to remember. It's not goodbye. There is no farewell.

Sterling, this one's for you. I won't wish that you'd rest in peace, because I know you'd never rest if you had a choice otherwise.

Even if next time is further away than I can presently concieve.... Good luck, Sterling.