When I think of the word heartbreak, it generally conjures up memories of getting dumped, images of a Cinderella basketball team losing by a point to the heavy favorite, or songs by Tom Petty and Elvis. Check that, Elvis first, then Tom Petty.
And while I wouldn't be as dramatic as to say my heart has been broken lately, it's definitely been rattled a couple times. And in a most unusual way.
Just over a year ago my co-worker and friend Bill Corliss was killed in a bike/car accident near his home in Utah. It was very difficult for all of us at work and, yes, truly heartbreaking to comprehend, especially when considering the unfathomable loss suffered by Bill's family, particularly his wife Deb and his newly adopted 12-year-old son Jordan.
A couple weeks ago Bill's brother Greg, who lives locally, called and told me his parents and Jordan would be spending spring break in Santa Cruz. He wondered if I might be able to give them a tour of our facilities so they could see the place Bill was always raving about. There was no hesitation in granting their request.
After introductions and pleasantries, I took the family around the building and showed them what we do and how we do it with an emphasis on the many projects Bill had a hand in. During the tour I was reminded of how utterly cool the people I work with are--everyone I introduced them to dropped whatever they were working on and gave our guests their complete attention and accommodation.
One of our designers took them to the shape shop, the House of the Holy of our company, where outside eyes rarely gaze and even inside eyes are very limited. From there it was all the way through R&D and sports marketing and graphics and to the test lab.
It was there, the test lab, where we intentionally break things that the first shot to my heart struck.
Bill's dad was in deep conversation with our lab technician about impact standards--one that illustrated the shared DNA of Bill and his dad--when I engaged Jordan in a side conversation as he gazed up at a poster of a mountain biker catching huge air.
ME: "Insane photo huh?"
JORDAN: "It's totally cool. I have a lot of freeride DVDs at home with stuff like that."
ME: "Sweet! A lot of those riders wear our helmets. Who's your favorite rider?"
JORDAN: "My favorite rider?" Pause. His voice between matter-of-fact and cheery. "My dad is my favorite rider."
According to government standards a bicycle helmet must limit the impact to less than 300 Gs in our lab tests in order to pass. I'm pretty sure my heart registered well above 10,000 Gs at that moment. How I did not cry, I cannot explain. The only thing I can figure is that Jordan projected some of his immense emotional strength upon me. For even now, it brings a tear to my eye to recall that conversation.
- - -
By the time the family left the building we had loaded them up with t-shirts and stickers and posters and as many choc skis as we could find. After some prodding, Jordan admitted that he'd had his eye on a couple of mountain bike helmets, which I offered to send him.
Last week, I got this thank you card from him:
That was the second shot.
And just for the record, you can break my heart with sweetness any time.
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