The first time I met Nate I was thirteen and he was a very small child, the younger brother of a friend, his life revolving around action figures and jumping on the trampoline. Later he grew, as children do, stretching up to a considerable height, acquiring a precocious interest in history.
From our earliest acquaintance he was always fascinating – bright, intriguing, the kind of kid who was just as comfortable talking to adults as playing with toddlers. His entire family was without exception sweet – a big, boisterous clan who expected their kids to go to morning religious services but didn’t care all that much if they were clutching cups of coffee en route.
I was mostly friends with Amy, the oldest girl, who insisted that she get home by curfew every night. Her elder brother Eric would ride along to drop her off but always come back out again for the nocturnal and innocent adventures that defined our youth in that small town.
When I had a baby in my teens this family adopted her as their first honorary grandchild: quite a contrast with some of my biological relatives, who disowned me and never established a meaningful relationship with my children.
All the kids growing up in that house in Olalla were genius in their own special way, and supported by parents who truly believed in their potential. Private school or public, dance classes, massive parties when they turned sixteen – they were close, loving, lovable.
Nate was the most classically academic of the children, and the one I was most likely to engage in delightful intellectual debates. Shortly after he left home for university he came down with a sore throat and cough.
Clinics, nurses, doctors all said it was nothing. The symptoms did not disappear.
Eventually, someone came up with a diagnosis: cancer.
He left school to deal with the ensuing treatments, maintain insurance, enjoy a little bit of freedom without knowing what the future would include. Saturday Amy wrote to say I lost my brother last night.
Valiant, beautiful, strong, impossibly young – and now dead. RIP Nathan: son, brother, uncle, husband, friend.