Half Classic Six

Two years ago today, Yoav and I were super excited to finally be sitting for our board interview for the purchase of our half classic six. We had been waiting patiently for nearly three months since that first open house when we fell in love with our apartment after having attended about fifty open houses over the previous year. We were quite relieved to finally be at this point in the process after the long arduous process. Our interview took place in one of the board members apartments and was a comfortable affair. Conversation flowed and we were feeling very welcomed.

I also remember in the middle of the interview, my phone vibrating in my back pocket sending out the tone of a Facebook message. I of course ignored it, and in hindsight I am so very glad I did. What I didn’t know was that this night was going to become one of the most bittersweet evenings of my life.

Shortly after returning home from the interview in which we were all but confirmed that the apartment was ours, I received an urgent message on my rarely used Google voice from an officer at the 88th Precinct in Fort Greene, Brooklyn about my best friend, Stefan. After calling the officer back, I learned that he was found dead in his apartment. That vibration in my pocket was a message from his roommate (which I still hadn’t checked), he knew that I was Stefan’s best friend and reached out to me first. As it turned out, I was the first of his friends and family to find out, and I had the contact information for one of his sisters.

After hanging up the phone, I found myself in a suspended state of disbelief. How could this be? How did this happen? So many questions….. Followed by a sudden overwhelming sense of loss. The next few hours became a blur as I opened a bottle of wine…. Then a second bottle of wine was opened….. And finally, well after midnight, I found myself sitting alone on a bench in the middle of the Broadway median, sobbing and smoking cigarettes (I quit smoking long, long ago, but sometimes I just need one). To go from such an ecstatic high that evening to such a gut wrenching low in a matter of minutes was an experience for which I had nothing to reference from my past.

The next day, I wrote “I lost My Best Friend Last Night And It FUCKING Sucks“, a post about my best friend of 20 years, a man who became the younger brother I never had, a man who knew more about me than anyone ever has. I also spent the entire day reaching out to everyone I could think of via Facebook to let them know what happened. It was a very difficult day, but I held it together to get what needed to be done taken care of. A little over a week later, I wrote “Bittersweet Indeed” a follow up post about that night, our board interview and how I learned of his death.

The last time we were together was about ten days earlier when we met up in Hell’s Kitchen where he took me out to dinner for my birthday followed by cocktails at a local lounge. As we parted ways that night, his parting words were “Just like old times babe, just like old times”. It felt like twenty years of history was wrapped up in one evening.

Over this past two years, not a day has passed in which he is not in my head at least once. Telling me his opinion on the architecture of a new building, sharing his thoughts on the latest changes the MTA is making with the subway system, or assuring me that something I am working on is really fantastic. That laugh still rings in my ears and every time I see a guy on the street with a perfect bubble butt (his favorite type), I can’t help but smile and think of him and how he would react. As the months have turned into years, the days have gotten a bit easier, the pain of loss has lessened a bit, but the tears still well up from time to time as my grief proves just how much he meant to me and how much I miss him.

There will never be another Stefan Schack, but I am so very honored and privileged to have been his best friend for nearly half of his life.

Footnote: We didn’t officially own our home until several weeks after his death, but I take comfort in the fact that he did indeed get to experience our apartment. It happened the day after Stefan was my best man at our wedding in early May. We were not yet in contract (although the offer had been accepted) and the realtor held an open house as is customary before going into contract, so Stefan was among a small group of us who came to the open house so he could have a chance to see it before we closed. Little did we know it would be the only time he saw it. I remember him seeing our restored 1910 marble lobby and exclaiming “Oh my God, your’e going to live here?” He loved the apartment and gave his stamp of approval.