My friends nowadays know that I never Irish Exit — the practice of sneaking out of a party without saying anything to anyone. There’s just something about saying goodbye that matters to me.

Maybe it’s like I’m bringing a micro-closure to every relationship that means something to me … you know, in case something happens, and I never see them again?

I honestly don’t know. I just know that I always feel compelled to say goodbye to the people I care about before parting ways.

This time was definitely no different. When I found out about your cancer, I knew I had to come up to Sequim for a long overdue visit. I knew it would be a bittersweet trip, but I felt like I owed it to our 35-year friendship to see you again, for probably one last time.

Well, Dave, you certainly pulled off the ultimate Irish Exit …

I’m leaving for Sequim in just a few hours, as planned.

But you died last Wednesday.

And so, after months of planning, I missed you by seven days.

I get it. This was for the best. You’re at peace now. Deep down, I know what’s most important is that you’re no longer suffering. And it would’ve been unreasonably self-centered of me to hope that you’d hang on for seven more days just so I could … well, say goodbye to you.

I get it. Your Irish Exit made perfect sense. Because it wasn’t actually an Irish Exit to the people closest to you. Jasmine told me you were trying so hard to make it to your daughter’s graduation. And you did. That must have meant so much to you, but I can’t even imagine how hard it had to be — how hard it must still be — for your family to see you fading away. You always knew how to bring laughter to everyone around you, and I want to believe that you still did so until your very last breath.

I get it. Your Irish Exit was only an Irish Exit from my own narrow, egocentric perspective.

I’m just still a little devastated, though, in my own narrow, egocentric way.

Seven days …

For every human being we ever connect with on any level, there comes a time when we see them for the last time. The sad part is that that when we see someone for the last time, we don’t usually know it. It feels like just another goodbye, and we think, “until next time.” And it’s only way later that we realize that that was actually the last time we would ever see them.

I remember the last time I saw you. October 25th, 2019. My band was playing at Totally 80s Bar in Fullerton, so I invited you out, since I knew you lived like 10 minutes away.

As it turned out, I did not actually know you lived like 10 minutes away, because you actually lived like 45 minutes away. And yet, you made the drive out to Fullerton that night. We sat at a little table at the back of the club and chatted for maybe 20 minutes over the blaring music. It was only the second time my Melissa met your Melissa.

Then I had to go get ready, so we said a quick goodbye. I wasn’t sure if you were going to stay for the whole show, and I didn’t think much about our goodbye. I figured even if you had to leave, we’d see each other again at some point.

It’s so weird now to think that I would never see you again. Sure, we kept in touch. And one point, we even chatted at length about me putting together the music for a show you were directing. But that was it. We never saw each other in person again.

I find myself trying to extract some sort of life lesson out of this. Something about making sure to always stay connected, to never lose sight of your friends.

Well … we did stay in touch. Our friendship extended all the way back to our last year of high school, when we were basically inseparable. I mean, look at us — a couple of little theater geeks straight outta the 90s:

After high school, I went off to UCLA, and you ended up at LMU, so we still got to hang out and party together every now and then. This will forever be my favorite photo of you, from when you attended a party at my fraternity, we spent the night doing a death-defying number of shots, and then I caught you puking your guts out the next morning:

And then, a few years after that infamous night, I was grateful when you took literally two days out of your schedule to help me move to San Diego after graduating.

Haha … uh, yeah. You drove up to LA in my parents’ van, ready to load up and head down to San Diego. You showed up to my place exactly on time, and … I hadn’t started packing yet.

So you spent the rest of the night helping me pack, and we didn’t actually get on the road until the next morning.

I don’t think I ever thanked you enough for how much you helped me those two days.

Once I got settled into San Diego, once I started making a life for myself down here, my trips back home to Orange County became fewer and further in between. And inevitably, we drifted apart. I dug through all my old photo albums, and the sadness hit me when I realized that the last photo I have of us was from 1996 — literally 30 years ago:

I know I know I know we saw each other a handful of times over the next 30 years. I just have a hard time remembering what we did now. I do remember attending your wedding celebration at your house in … Tustin? Anaheim? (Clearly, my sense of where the fuck you actually live has always been off.) That was 2007, right?

Damn, okay. So 19 years ago.

I also remember our 20-year high school reunion in 2012. That was when our Melissas met for the first time.

Beyond that … ?

It wasn’t until we put together the photo album for you last month that I realized how much of your life I had missed — how much of each other’s lives we’d both missed. It’s like I have all these memories of us from 1991 through the early 2000s. And then everything just flashes forward to that night in 2019.

And then to now. The night before I leave on a trip to go see you. Except I won’t actually see you …

I never stopped cherishing our friendship. When we did talk, it was always just like old times. And that does make it all the more devastating that I missed you this time … this last time, by seven days.

I’m grateful you’re at peace now. I really am. I just wish I’d caught you before you made your Irish Exit, you sneaky fucker.

Farewell, Dave. I miss you.