Yes. Yes.

Joe McGee entered my life via the "Sorting Hat." His name was matched with mine — me faculty, him student — at the Vermont College of Fine Arts in January, 2013. Joe was two semesters into his MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults, and from the giddy-up it was clear that he was an emerging writer of exceptional talent, and imagination. Over the course of that semester, he turned in close to 300 pages of outstanding graduate-level work: creative, critical, thought-provoking reflections on what he was reading, where he was in his journey as a writer, as well as a human being. To say he was a hard worker is an understatement. He lived and breathed story. His whimsical flare for life transferred beautifully onto the page.

Joe's creativity was matched by his generosity, and commitment to fun. He loved the unconventional — enthusiastically showing up at dawn to help me rig a rope system in a tree on the VCFA campus so we could haul faculty up into the branches, just for the mischievousness of it. Even when the powers that be put a stop to the limb-walking adventure, Joe rolled with it, smiled, and said, "At least we tried." 

Rather than sit at a desk and write, Joe rigged a treadmill with a piece of plywood and bungie cords, and wrote while walking. He sent me a photo of his adaptation, and suggested that I give it a try. Twelve years later, I'm still plodding along on my treadmill desk. It has a Pavlovian effect: start walking and I salivate words. Thanks, Joe!

In the cover letter of his last packet of our semester together, Joe wrote: "Well, Tom, I truly hope we remain friends and in contact long after this semester and after my time at VCFA comes to an end. I really think we are on the same wavelength. You “got me” and gave me more than you’ll ever know." Our plan was for Joe to come to Oregon and we'd climb to the summit of one of my favorite Cascade peaks — Three-Fingered Jack. To be clear, I don't climb with people unless I trust them. I trusted Joe completely. He got me, and gave me more than he'll ever know.

But the visit was delayed. Illness came barging in. And now Joe is gone, leaving a hole in the world. Apparently as people come closer to death the only two questions that matter are "Did I love well?" and "Am I loved?" The answer to both is an unequivocal and resounding yes, my friend. Yes, you loved well — unconditionally, and with a full heart. And yes, you are loved. Deeply. Always. Yes. Yes.