Do you have that one friend who, when you think about him, you can’t help but smile? For me, that friend was Chris Avery and I am heartbroken that he passed away last week after an illness he battled for more than a year.
He was the person who would make you spit out your drink with his witty comments. He looked on the bright side, even when he was sick. When he asked, “How are you?” he really wanted to know, and he really listened when you answered. He was a good friend and a wonderful dad. He was the brother you always wanted. He was just . . . one of the great ones.
Chris, or Moe as he was called among other things, entered my world in third grade. He came in like the whirling dervish he was — a humorous force to be reckoned with whose quick wit was sharp as a tack, even at age 9.
I distinctly remember his laugh and how he would make funny comments, often under his breath when we were supposed to be paying attention in class. Once, that humor got us in trouble with Miss MacKay.
I don’t remember what he said, but the two of us were giggling and got in trouble. We knew it was bad when we were called “Mr. Avery” and “Miss Murray.” I am quite sure we were sent to Principal Sr. Lillian’s office and suffered the shame of sitting on the dreaded Green Bench in the hallway.
I have a lot of great memories with Moe. As we grew older, the laughs continued. Even when he was facing struggles and challenges, he managed to put a smile on his face and everyone else’s.
Me and Chris, circa 1992, at one of our “pool nights.”
He performed in plays in high school, often assuming a comedic role, and after graduation joined the National Guard. I recall one weekend he was home on leave and a group of us pulled an almost-all-nighter playing pool at my house. We all fell asleep and woke up in a panic because Chris had to get on a plane and resume his role as a soldier early that day. I think we set a record for driving from Westfield to Bradley Airport that morning.
As with many friendships, ours ebbed and flowed after high school. I was in college, he was in the military and we had different paths, but they continued to cross. Chris pursued stand-up comedy and I attended one of his shows at a Boston comedy club. He was himself, which meant he had the entire room in stitches. I remember looking around and seeing all these strangers laughing at what my friend was saying and saw the joy he brought to them that night. And that was what it was like to know Chris – he brought joy and laughter everywhere he went.
Chris had many, many friends, but none so close as “the boys,” a group that started in elementary school and added a new member in high school. They were more than friends, they were a true band of brothers. And I am happy to call them my friends, too. I know their lives are forever changed with this great loss.
Over the years I didn’t see Chris as often as when we were in school together every day, but we would see each other at parties, reunions, get-togethers and he occasionally played golf with my husband. The last time I saw him in person was December of 2019 at a wine tasting. We spent time catching up and vowed to have a family game night. Just a few weeks later he was hospitalized, unbeknownst to me. When I found out, I sent him a message I knew he would appreciate — I told him if he didn’t want to lose at game night he could have just canceled instead of getting admitted to the hospital.
Over the next year he was in and out of the hospital and we chatted via messages, always talking about getting together. We last spoke this past December, renewing our vow to get together soon. I am very sorry that we did not, and I am taking this as a lesson to make time for people we love, especially the ones we rarely see. Even if it’s just a text message, I want to connect. I want people to know they matter. I want to spread the joy and laughter that Chris brought to every life he touched, which I believe is his lasting legacy.
