Remembering Evi Nemeth

Evi gave me the Milky Way.

By day, we gathered at the university for a small technical summit. By night, we gathered high in the Colorado mountains. The skies grew dark and the telescope came out. Having spent virtually all of my life on the crowded east coast, it was a wonderment to see so many stars. Too bad about that thin cloud smeared high across the sky, I thought.

The Milky Way.

Today we came together to remember Evi; a birthday barbecue, with tubs of ice cream but necessarily without the guest of honor. She affected the course of so many lives; the room overflowed with former students, colleagues, family members, neighbors, and fellow sailors—friends, all.

Here, there, and everywhere

Stories were told and tears were stanched. Some colleagues shared the clever not-quite-layover they arranged to be there, saving a few bucks in the process; it was just the sort of deal Evi would have contrived, they laughed. I made some new connections. Evi was our common thread; she would have introduced us if she could.

Knowing that love is to share

Twenty-six years ago, I met Evi when I took a course she taught at a technical conference. The more I learned, the more I realized I needed expert help to design the local area network in our new building on campus. Would she be interested in a contract? She bid not only the design, but the installation as well. We could not begin until construction was complete and we were cleared to occupy the building. Evi flew out with her son and a handful of students; I recruited my brother. We worked furiously through the weekend. When the faculty and graduate students moved in on Monday morning, there was at least one working network connection in every office.

The lifelong connections that resulted were the greatest value.

I wasn’t sure my brother would remember Evi. I was visiting him last June when I got the news. Evi is lost at sea, I told him. “No!” he shouted at me. “I just saw that story! That was Evi?”

Of course he remembered her. She was not a forgettable person.

I had last heard from Evi the year before. A friend of hers had forgotten his email password; she reached out to me to reset it. [sudo vi /etc/passwd … ah, if only it were that simple.] I tracked down the instructions for the process he needed to follow, and they were grateful when it worked.

The skies darkened. A massive bolt of lightning streaked in the distance. Pellets of hail dotted the deck. The sun came out, and as I drove away, an old Beatles song started playing in my head.

I will be there everywhere.