Tim died last year, on May 10, he was 44 years old. Tim was beautiful in body and spirit, he was kind, he was intelligent and he had a laugh that filled your soul. When you entered a room with Tim, people noticed and yet, his attention was on you (ok, except that one time at the Gardener's Market when his attention was really on that guy that he ditched me for...).
I first saw Tim (whose birth certificate reads, "Timmy") when I was 18, fresh to Logan, UT, about to embark on my college adventure. He was a cashier at the local grocery store and I always picked his line. He was gorgeous and happy and made ringing up your groceries seem like his favorite thing to do in the whole world - he did this for everyone. Like many, I had a bit of a crush on Tim - I don't think you could know Tim and not have a bit of a crush on him.
Tim became part of my life in a way that many friends do, weaving in and out during its days and years. He was always there and knowing he was somewhere in this world just made my life a bit easier. I didn't always know exactly what he was up to, but when we reconnected, as it is with good friends, it was like no time had passed.
Just before Tim died, we got together one last time. My daughter was very into the local folklore of a place called The Nunnery. Tim had been a caretaker of The Nunnery for a few years and he agreed to meet with Soph and tell her his stories. We met at Einstein Brothers, over coffee and chocolate milk, and he did for Sophie what he did for so many, he made her feel like she was the most important person in the world at that very moment.
I don't know what Tim died of, I don't know how his last hours were spent and really, I guess those things don't matter. I'll always hear that laugh - it just pulled from you your own laughter and made you feel really glad to be in that moment. At his funeral were people from all walks of life and it reinforced for me that Tim didn't see people in categories, he saw people...saw them, something so many of us fail to do, even with those standing right in front of us. Ah Tim, you were somethin'.