I write about stupid stuff. I write about video games, and comic books, and why this phone is better than that phone. I write about which peanut butter to eat. I've never written about anything I'd even remotely classify as "meaningful" to anyone outside of my close friends and family. That's why I've sat in front of this monitor for the past week and have been completely paralyzed by an inability to articulate the loss I've felt over the last seven days. Last week I lost a dear friend. My boss, mentor, co-worker, and dear, dear friend Steve Wilson passed away last week very suddenly after a short illness. To say that I was devastated would be an understatement. To somehow try to put into words what this loss means to me has been impossible to say the least. Better, more eloquent people have spoken and written about him, and their words have only served to highlight, in my mind, just how wonderful he was in ways that I struggle with even now. I worked with him for over the past decade and can very honestly say without even a hint of hyperbole, that I wouldn't be the man I was today if it wasn't for Steve. He taught me so much about advertising, design, art, music, and life. I don't really know what else to add. I've gone over and over it in my mind, and I'm just having a very hard time even processing the fact that, here we are a week later, and he's gone. His was a beautiful soul. I was fortunate to have known him. Andy Lesnik, Steve's business parter of 25 years, and my boss, wrote a moving tribute to Steve that he read at his memorial on Friday. You can read it here. Another close friend, Marty Hardin, wrote an equally eloquent post on his blog. UPDATE: Patrick Evans, who also spoke at Steve's memorial on Friday posted his wonderful tribute to Steve on his blog. It's beautiful. Please take a moment and read his thoughts as well. They're all much better than I am at capturing why this man was so important to me and so loved by everyone who met him. Read their words.
You are here: / / My dear friend, Steve Wilson.