Capo

Craig was a such a part of my high school and college years that I have a hard time choosing just one memory. For starters I'd like to share one of my earliest memories of Craig.

I moved into Craig's neighborhood when we were both 13. Our family lived one street over from the Deckers. Every day after school my sister and I would walk home from the junior high together, and without fail Craig would find us, his trumpet case in hand-- either by walking slowly and waiting for us to catch up, or hurrying to catch us when we were ahead.

On Halloween, the class Craig and my sister shared had a party where each student got a fork with a handle shaped like a witch and a spoon with a handle like a ghost. My sister was showing me hers, and in a fit of childhood jealousy I said loudly: I want a ghost spoon too! Almost out of nowhere, Craig appeared at my elbow (he must have been very close behind without us noticing) and said, shyly: Here, you can have mine. He took out his ghost spoon and held it towards me.

Surprised and a little taken aback to have my silly wish granted, I at first refused it. Craig was happy in offering and I was perplexed at his sudden appearance and generosity. At his insistence, I took the spoon and swore on the spot, as a token of my gratitude, to eat all my ice cream with it forever thence. And I did. For two years. Until one day I was a little angry with him over something and threw the ghost spoon in the trash. Two days later after I had a change of heart again I regretted it and tried to dig it out, but it was too late. The ghost spoon was gone forever.

That was Craig from the beginning. Always giving-- eagerly, quickly. His gift of the spoon was only the first of ways that Craig gave to me over the years. He was always selfless and patient and kind. Our prom picture still hangs in my bedroom at home today. To Rayita, he wrote from Argentina during his mission-- from Capo.

His gift of loving me over those changing years is precious in my heart.

--Reija Matheson