Damn. I forgot the day this year.
Of all the years to forget, and it was this one. I was going to make a show of it, to say that despite how it long it had been that I wouldn’t forget. And yet, here I sit on March 4 reporting on something that came to pass on February 24th of 2004. Forgetting to say it on its true anniversary, yet declaring that I will never forget the events of that day is the height of hypocrisy. But here it is, because it must be said despite being a week after the fact.
Let me tell you about Eric Dickerman.
Eric was an amazing person. Life dealt him a shitty hand from the get go, but he never once let his shortcomings bring him down. When he was around five, he was hospitalized after collapsing on his first day at kindergarten. They discovered that Eric had a rare disease that caused his kidneys to function improperly. They laid out the symptoms and what to expect—which was of little help considering not much was known about it (I can’t even pronounce the damn term, but it had at least 10 syllables). But he did his best, and fought through the times when his disease would flare up. He made two hospital trips a year on average, five at the most one year (1998)… but in 6th grade (2000), he only went once. He liked to mention that as the best year ever.
I first met him when he was in 8th grade, I was in 10th. He went to a different school, but six degrees of separation introduced us. We all hung out together in a group, but Eric quickly became one of my best friends. He was an only child, and I had four sisters. I called him my “little brother”, and we were stuck with it.
We hung out ostensibly whenever we could for living as far away as we did. I would jam with my band in Tim’s garage, and Eric was our number one (and possibly only) fan. And he’d always ask “When are you going to learn some Offspring?!” The Offspring was his favorite band. But we were 16, and hardly had the chops to play SoCal speed-punk.
He looked up to me like a younger brother would his older. I was able to teach him the ways of Monty Python and how to beat Ganondorf on Ocarina of Time. He would ask questions, and I would confidently answer them… even if I didn’t know the answer.
On February 12th, he went to the hospital with a spike in his disease.
On February 19th, doctors announced his kidneys were failing and he needed a transplant. He was put on the list on an urgent need. The doctors were confident they could stabilize him to go home by the end of the week. They. Were. Sure.
On February 24th, 2004, Eric died.
Eric died at the age of 15. It’s now been 15 years since that day. We’ve reached the point where Eric has been gone longer than he was ever here. Something about that is haunting. Something about a memory living on longer than the flesh ever did is beautifully disturbing.
I only knew him for 2 and a half years, but when you’re in school, that may as well be your entire life. Living beyond that time frame was unnoticeable. But to know the void that he left behind has been here longer than he ever was is disheartening. Almost makes it hurt all over again. I feel ashamed sometimes. He’s been gone so long it feels like he was never here to begin with, like he only ever existed in my memory.
But I consider his memory a torch that I carry with me to light my way. His friendship and brotherhood helped create the foundation for the adult that I became today. He didn’t have long with us, and from this day forward, his time elapsed twice over. Eric made me a better person with his limited time on this Earth, and that still stands from the 2 years I knew him, the 15 years of his life, and the next (hopeful) 60+ years of mine.
I will never forget him. But I honestly can’t believe I forgot the day this year.
Remain in peace, little brother.
“You might be gone before you know
So live like there’s no tomorrow
Ain’t gonna waste this time
There’s no tomorrow
You ain’t gonna live this for me
There’s no tomorrow.”
– “Nitro” – The Offspring
A Story About Waffles 