I am saddened more than I can express at the news of my dearest friend’s passing. I know he was, and always will be, at peace with all things. He and I shared a bond that was deeper than that of brothers.
I witnessed perhaps the most significant transition, awakening, spacious opening of his adult life. He had (for lack of a better word) an epiphany one starry night when we were camped miles out on a dry riverbed named Fish Creek Wash in the Anza Borrego desert. It reoriented his life view for the remainder of his life.
I have so many stories I want to share with you. I witnessed the tug-or-war he had with his deep inclinations towards the life of an artist and his undying commitment to science. I sat with him throughout every, heart-wrenching episode of his Russian odyssey. At the time we met I was working as an assistant to Ansel Adams. We connected almost immediately and soon I found myself spending hours in his home darkroom teaching him the many nuances of fine-art photographic printing. He had come to my home and proceeded literally to copy every nail, screw, and feature of my darkroom and incorporate it into his.
Our time together is indescribable—A wandering photography teacher with the heart of a mendicant Zen monk and a celebrated laser scientist working for one of the most prestigious labs on the planet. Who would have thought?
I have so much to share. Stories of laughter, tears, and growth; a poem he wrote for me, music, cooking… I am flooded with memories.
One story and then I’ll close: My wife and I spent many memorable weekends with Neil and Helen at their home in Livermore. On the morning of one of those weekends I had gotten up, made my coffee and was about to shower. As I was de-frocking and heading for the bathroom, in toddled little Laura whom, of course, I had to escort out before I could shower. As I was encouraging you to leave, you resisted, looked up at me and said, “If you love someone, you can watch them take a shower!” What do I do now?!
I have recounted that story more times than would be countable, even by Einstein himself!
I'm so sorry to read about your loss. When my father passed, the best piece of advice I got was that nothing helps as much as time. Even if some days all you can do is put one foot in front of the other, that is enough, and time will take care of the rest. It doesn't get easier, but humans are incredibly resilient and adaptable--you will get stronger. Take care of yourself.
So sorry for your loss, Laura. It's incredibly beautiful and touching to see the things your dad was able to share with you. His sense of wonder definitely comes through in the books, movies, and places that he loved.
Laura,
I am saddened more than I can express at the news of my dearest friend’s passing. I know he was, and always will be, at peace with all things. He and I shared a bond that was deeper than that of brothers.
I witnessed perhaps the most significant transition, awakening, spacious opening of his adult life. He had (for lack of a better word) an epiphany one starry night when we were camped miles out on a dry riverbed named Fish Creek Wash in the Anza Borrego desert. It reoriented his life view for the remainder of his life.
I have so many stories I want to share with you. I witnessed the tug-or-war he had with his deep inclinations towards the life of an artist and his undying commitment to science. I sat with him throughout every, heart-wrenching episode of his Russian odyssey. At the time we met I was working as an assistant to Ansel Adams. We connected almost immediately and soon I found myself spending hours in his home darkroom teaching him the many nuances of fine-art photographic printing. He had come to my home and proceeded literally to copy every nail, screw, and feature of my darkroom and incorporate it into his.
Our time together is indescribable—A wandering photography teacher with the heart of a mendicant Zen monk and a celebrated laser scientist working for one of the most prestigious labs on the planet. Who would have thought?
I have so much to share. Stories of laughter, tears, and growth; a poem he wrote for me, music, cooking… I am flooded with memories.
One story and then I’ll close: My wife and I spent many memorable weekends with Neil and Helen at their home in Livermore. On the morning of one of those weekends I had gotten up, made my coffee and was about to shower. As I was de-frocking and heading for the bathroom, in toddled little Laura whom, of course, I had to escort out before I could shower. As I was encouraging you to leave, you resisted, looked up at me and said, “If you love someone, you can watch them take a shower!” What do I do now?!
I have recounted that story more times than would be countable, even by Einstein himself!
Let’s please get in touch. Thank you for sharing.
King Dexter,
king@kingdexter.com
🙏🙏🙏 condolences
I'm so sorry to read about your loss. When my father passed, the best piece of advice I got was that nothing helps as much as time. Even if some days all you can do is put one foot in front of the other, that is enough, and time will take care of the rest. It doesn't get easier, but humans are incredibly resilient and adaptable--you will get stronger. Take care of yourself.
So sorry for your loss, Laura. It's incredibly beautiful and touching to see the things your dad was able to share with you. His sense of wonder definitely comes through in the books, movies, and places that he loved.
So sorry for your loss, Laura 🙏 Hang in there! Losing parents is incredibly painful.
Thank you for sharing. My deepest heart felt condolences.