Live Long and Prosper

It was December 18, 2011.  It was a happy day for me.  I had finished the fall semester, my first semester of college, two days before.  I had done well in the semester and gotten good grades.  I'd made friends, was spending several days with my brother and sister-in-law, and was just overall happy with life.

Then I heard the news.  My dear friend had passed away.  The details as to the cause of death were uncertain, but it didn't matter.  Nearly a month later, I remember it distinctly.  I had just seated myself on the floor and was firing up my computer to have a Halo match with my brothers.  Then my brother told me the news.  I was stunned.  I had fully expected to see my friend again a week later.  I had expected to give him my characteristic grin that I always give someone I share a secret or interest with.  I had expected to raise my hand in the Vulcan gesture and voice the well-known words, "Live long and prosper."  In that instant, all those expectations were gone.

It was only a year ago that he and my younger brother and I sat in his basement laughing our heads off over Tim Hawkins's antics.  The lot of us often discussed our favorite mutual interest, Star Trek.  In spite of nearly everyone else's failure to do so, he never failed to come back to the sound booth on Sunday mornings and greet me.  It was often then that we exchanged our favorite greeting of "Live long and prosper."  He had long since decided that he was Vulcan, and since we began our journey together aboard Starship Enterprise, I too had begun to suspect that my origins were not altogether human.  It was a grand friendship together, and I enjoyed every moment of it.

And although now I miss him here, I know that he is happier than he has ever been before.  His faith was firmly planted in Christ, and now he has joined his Savior.  Our friendship will again be renewed one day in that place beyond the skies, beyond the stars, the place that the Enterprise could never reach.

Live long and prosper, Ray Meyers, as you boldly go where no man has gone before.  I will miss you.

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime
And in parting leave behind us
Footprints in the sands of time


Footprints that perhaps another
Sailing o'er life's solemn main
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother
Seeing will take heart again


So let us then be up and doing
With a heart for any fate
Still achieving, still pursuing
Learn to labor and to wait