I firmly believe that you don’t have to be close with someone to care about them.  I also believe that you rarely realize the impact someone has on you until they’re gone.  Sadly, it took me until Friday afternoon to realize both of these truths – that was when news reached me of the theatre shootings in Aurora, CO.

As I pulled up Firefox, I stared in disbelief; there was Jessica Ghawi’s picture on the homepage.  I didn’t know what to do.  First I denied it.  Then I was filled with a heaviness, starting with my heart, eventually working it’s way through my entire body.  Finally I just sat there and cried.  I don’t know how long it was, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why it hit me so damn hard.

It’s actually pretty funny (and quite frankly, immature), how I first got to know Jess.  During the 2011 Stanley Cup Finals, I followed Vancouver’s native Green Men on Twitter, and was checking out a few of their posts.  As I was about to close my laptop, I happened across a picture they tweeted of Jessica Redfield, twitter handle included.  In all honesty, I followed her because I thought she was cute!  But as I quickly scanned her profile, her wit was obvious. Not only that, but her taste in sports, general likes and dislikes, and writing style and ability were all something I appreciated and thought of as being similar to mine – although I’m pretty sure she had me beat pretty handily in that last category.  After reading a few of her articles and blogs, I gave her feedback and due praise, which she politely accepted. A few days and a few clever responses to her sarcasm-laced tweets later, I earned myself a follow back.  Pretty soon we were commenting on each other’s posts on a regular basis.  After a few weeks of this, I found a pleasant surprise in the form of a Facebook friend request from none other than Jessica Redfield.  And wouldn’t you know it, just days later she started a quick chat with me.

The first thing I noticed when conversing with Jess was the sheer ease of it; she was a sweetheart with a sassy side, living up to her twitter bio that claimed she was in pursuing the perfect trifecta of “sass, class, and crass.”  Lots of times, when you speak with someone new, the conversations feel forced and half-hearted, but not with her.  She had a way of making you feel comfortable when you talk with her, the way you would with someone you’ve trusted for years.  One day she was in a rush and gave me her number and told me she wanted to continue the conversation.  I eventually sent her a slightly reluctant, trying-not-to-be-creepy text, Something along the lines of “hey, this is joe… from twitter? haha.” She immediately responded with a laugh and a “took you long enough.”

It went on like this for the fall and winter months, as we both juggled school and personal priorities while still finding time to talk on a regular basis.  We discovered our mutual love of swing music, and I was treated to the story of how her mom once dated Bobby Darin, whose “Beyond the Sea” I just happened to be listening to at the moment.  We shared our favorite Third Eye Blind songs, and discussed their live performances, as well as Stephan Jenkins’ songwriting capability and his failed relationship with Charlize Theron .  We would argue which alcohol we were drinking at the moment was better, and what casual moves work best when flirting at a bar (I’m pretty sure my “cheek game” move won).  We discussed the responsibility of professional athletes, and the excitement of great NHL goaltending, at which I was glad to hear she was appreciative of.  I got to hear about the blunders and successes she had had interviewing hockey players, including one about a guy that was a little too cocky for his own good, trying to get her to go out with him after the interview (of course she denied him, and try as I might, she stayed professional and refused to divulge a name). She spoke with me about how Mike Commodore took well over an hour to do a quick twenty minute interview because he was just a great guy that enjoyed talking to her.  It become apparent pretty quickly just how committed she was to journalism, sports, and her family, and those were just a few of the many things that come to mind.

These conversations grew in scope to encompass life goals, dreams, and ambition, of which Jess obviously had plenty.  She would tell me about her apprehension and excitement about her move to Colorado and her new job covering the Avalanche, which I was especially envious of with them being the childhood team that I cheered for.  Some nights as she was up finishing an article, we would speak about past relationships and worked our way up to a budding one for her, a Canadian hockey player named Jay, and how she was concerned about his career and health.  One time she was even kind enough to speak with me about a major problem I have in my life, how to appreciate what I have in light of having an autistic brother.  While it’s private, I’ll suffice to say that what she told me made my day and put a smile on my face that I carry to this day.  Hell, sometimes we’d just talk about how much she missed her mom.  And in June, we talked about how she narrowly escaped tragedy in the Eaton Mall shooting in Toronto.  I shot her a text making sure she was okay, and we spoke briefly about how glad she was to be okay but how much she felt for those that weren’t so lucky.

That was the last time I spoke with Jess.

Honestly, I stayed away from watching coverage of the shooting. I guess I just wanted a little time to think, to reflect on what had happened.  I actually just finished reading through the copious quantity of Facebook chats we had back and forth, and one particular conversation made me laugh harder and smile bigger than most.  In it she humorously, if not truthfully, advised me against entering into the field of journalism, which she cautioned was filled with late nights and lots of coffee.  Yet even if I didn’t listen to her warning she told me she’d be more than happy to help me with my writings any time I needed it, as well as stay in touch with her in case she could help with a job search.  Well, one year later my major is journalism and I’m the film critic and a sportswriter for my school newspaper.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but Jessica was arguably the most influential person in my decision to pursue journalism.  And whether I decide to continue down that line of work or not, I’ve absolutely loved my last year of writing, and I have her to thank for that.

Looking back at that I started to tear up again, and then it hit me: she was my friend.  How funny is that?  I cared about someone I’d never met.  But she had an impact on me, both professionally and personally.  She had all the qualities I look for in a friend, it just so happened we’d never met face to face.  The more things I read about her that friends and family posted on her Facebook wall, the more I realize just how lucky I was to be close to her from that far away.  She always said if I found myself in Colorado that I had to look her up, and I said the same for her if she found herself in my neck of the woods.  It’s sad knowing that’s a lunch I’ll never have.

The other day I caught a bit of The Shawshank Redemption, and the part came on where Red describes what he feels now that Andy is gone.  Being several days removed from the tragedy, and the anger and sadness having subsided, I realize that he put it pretty well.  “I guess I just miss my friend.”

I know I’ll miss the bright spot in my week that was reserved for talking with her.  But I’ll be damned if I’m not glad she got to be a part of my life, and I got to be a part of hers, however small.  I can’t imagine how her close friends and family must be feeling, and my heart and prayers go out to them.  They had Jessica in their lives for 24 years, and I know they appreciated every second of it.  I’m just glad I got to know Jessica in the brief year I connected with her.

So goodbye, Jess.  We’re all going to miss you, and I think you’d appreciate this little post.  Thank you again for all you did for me, and for just simply being my friend.  Here’s to hoping that one day we can finally meet in person.