Losing Hughie, Losing Hugh

I miss, always miss you, my friend.

Anita and Hugh McAvoy the way I remember him. His obituary tells you almost all you need to know about the man I loved except this…

This weekend is Hugh McAvoy’s memorial gathering and I won’t be there. I wish I could but in a way it’s fitting. I never knew the man that will be memorialized by friends and family. The Hughie I knew had yet to develop into all that, but I’m not surprised at what he became. He demonstrated his potential over 40 years ago.

Almost a year ago I got the heartbreaking news that Hughie passed away. I was devastated. I guess I always thought I’d have a chance to thank him, but I hadn’t talked with him since he and his wife Anita visited the Professor and me in Washington in 1982. And despite reconnecting on Facebook, we really hadn’t communicated since. Our lives had gone in different directions. Life happened. We moved on but I never forgot.

I was in my early twenties and both of us were single when we met. He was Dr. McDreamy before Patrick Dempsey made him up for Gray’s Anatomy. He had a gloriously curly mop of hair and a great mustache and Hughie, as we called him then, was so cool. He had a sexy drawl, the kind of voice that vaulted him in the rankings past eligible (and ineligible) men. So, I was pleased when he singled me out. We never dated. Friendship was our jam.

I don’t remember how we met. I think mutual friends were dating and we found ourselves thrown together at times, but we moved right into the friend zone. We started cooking dinner together on Wednesday nights. We were family when neither of us had one (other than parents and siblings). We talked about everything. Over Mexican Chicken (a recipe I got from him and still make), lasagna, or thick steaks, and wine, we dished about who was doing what to whom. We were a safe zone. In a world where I didn’t trust anyone else, I told him almost everything and like to think he trusted me too.

Hughie had my back. He watched without judging me (or at least without pronouncing sentence) as I engaged in a succession of brief one-sided relationships. He was kind. He let me know in a gentle way that my perpetual quest for approval from guys who were only looking for a good time wasn’t a good idea. He watched me stay out too late, drink too much, and narrowly escape misfortune. But he never preached. He just loved me.

Eventually I found a nice guy, one I married, and Hughie was happy for me. I was happy for him when he met Anita. They were the coolest couple together. My favorite Hughie and Anita story was when they went across country car camping. Every night before they set up camp, they got out folding chairs, a bottle of bourbon (or scotch or something) and sat to enjoy the view, to appreciate the day.

Over the last decade I admit I stalked them a little on Facebook. As I looked through photos of their life together with their children, it was clear to me that he and Anita were living their best lives. I saw them as he had become and through the lens of the Hughie I knew and loved so long ago.

I never told him how much I treasured our friendship, that he kept me afloat during a very hard period and that I’ve thought of him often. I’ll never get to tell him now but in some strange sense that’s ok. Because the Hughie he was knew it anyway.

Hughie, I miss you. I always will. Thank you, my friend.