Boundless Soul
by Anders Nelson
I don’t remember the first words Luke Haseloff and I said to each other. I can remember the time and I can remember the place, but the words themselves, however meaningful, are lost to me. I can imagine them, though, with a clarity that pierces and transfigures memory, and gives shape to the relationship that he and I would share. I know that, boundless soul that he was and performative introvert I thought I was until I knew him, he was the one who approached me. I know that, as happened so many times after, he made me smile even when I didn’t want to. I know, with a certainty I normally reserve for the sun coming up in the morning, that he saw possibilities that I didn’t, and that these possibilities could be made real with nothing other than the charm of a man who believed that any two people could be friends if only they gave it a chance.
In a world that deserved him, Luke would still be here with us. He will be remembered by all who knew him for the generosity of his spirit, the warmth of his humor, and the open door of a smile with which he greeted each of us. But his ultimate success can be gauged neither by the endurance of our memories of him or the love that he inspired; more than anyone else I’ve ever met or could hope to meet, Luke was a great conduit of the human spirit to connect. He channeled it, guided it, accelerated it, cultivated it, and supported it in moments when it was unable to sustain itself.
I had a lot of pictures to choose from here, but this, as well as any, suggested the essence of Luke’s appeal. Nicole, with entirely merited skepticism, simply didn’t believe that even he could have talked the four of us into watching a regular season sports game on television. But he did, and we sent her this picture to prove it. There we were, and there he is: framing the people he loved in the best possible light, enjoying themselves in a situation they never thought they’d be in. I like to think there’s an element of pride here; pride at having talked us into this, pride that we were all having fun in spite of ourselves, pride in the group of people he brought together. I hope he was proud of that. He had every right to be.
The pain and senselessness of losing Luke defies ready ability to cordon off into manageable grief, so immense was his presence and so vast was the network he engendered. I know I’m not alone in thinking that the last few days have been some of the worst I’ve ever experienced. But the tragedy of his death is eclipsed in great measure by the enormity of his life, and his life’s great work, the connective energy that runs through each one of us that knew him, has shown itself to be stronger, more durable, and more reactive than I think even he hoped that it would be. Though I can’t say that I’ve been completely without self pity these past 60 hours, I reserve far greater sadness for those I have yet to meet who shall never know the pleasure of his company. I take solace, though, that in the open embrace of the community he did so much to build, they too shall know our friend Luke, and he shall be their friend too.
