Nothing can prepare you for a sudden loss. You can hope and pray for the safety of all those around you, but sometimes, we lose the people we care about and there’s nothing we can do. I lost my best friend on Oct. 31, 2024.
I met Eric in a photography class we took in June 2024. He was the first person I had met in that class — we were both waiting outside the locked classroom door when he turned to me and extended his hand.
“Hi, I’m Eric Bachman,” he said.
Before thinking I said, “Oh hey, I’ve heard that name before.”
Eric gave me the strangest look. He was convinced I had been stalking him before we met. I pleaded my case — in our small department, everyone knew everyone, but he still insisted. He spent the rest of the summer teasing me about it.
After our first class, I was walking home, about to walk down the steps to my path towards my apartment, when I heard my name. To my surprise, it was Eric.
“Is this where you live? I live here too!”
From that day on, we walked home together after every class. It was through these walks that I learned more about Eric, the general surface-level things. He was fluent in French, rode a motorcycle and studied public relations.
Eric Bachman smiles at the camera in his motorcycle gear at Boulevard Park in Bellingham Wash. on Aug. 5, 2024. Bachman passed away on Oct. 31. // Photo by Julia Hawkins
Eventually, our walks turned into hanging out outside of class, initially to work on homework. One day, toward the end of July, we were at Boulevard Park in Fairhaven, getting photos for our dramatic light assignment.
We walked along the boardwalk, occasionally snapping pictures of the sun setting across Bellingham. When we reached the end, we watched for a moment as people stood on the ledge of the dock and jumped into the bay below.
“I’m gonna jump in the bay,” Eric said, smiling.
I thought he was crazy and honestly, I didn’t think he would go through with it. Instead, he handed me his camera bag, stripped down to his underwear and jumped into the bay… twice. Soon, the people around us thought he was crazy too, but admired his spirit.
After that, I couldn’t tell you why or how, but we connected. The more I talked and spent time with Eric, the more I realized how much I valued his company.
For the rest of that summer, the majority of our free time was spent together. All it took was a text for us to end up doing just about anything together. Whether it was running errands, having game nights, or going to Lake Whatcom, we did it all.
When I hit a rough patch mentally toward the beginning of August, I tried to cope with it on my own. When it became too much, I leaned on Eric.
As soon as he realized I needed support, he told me, “If you ever need anything, anything at all, I will drop whatever it is I’m doing to be there for you.”
And he was. He made sure I wasn’t alone when things got hard; he held me while I cried; he offered distractions and listened.
I’m glad I got to do the same for him in the short time I knew him.
My favorite thing to do with Eric was going on long drives. He would call me at any hour, but typically he liked going in the evening. Driving was his therapy.
“What are you doing right now? Let’s go drive aimlessly.”
It was on these drives that I fully got to know Eric. He was one of the most caring, ambitious, smart and genuine people I knew. Although we hadn’t known each other for long, by the end of that summer and ramping up for the fall quarter, where we shared identical schedules, I began calling him my best friend.
Julia Hawkins, left, and Eric Bachman, right, smile at the camera at Boulevard Park in Bellingham Wash. on Aug. 15, 2024. Bachman passed away on Oct. 31. // Photo by Julia Hawkins
That’s why losing him is so hard.
I received the news of Eric’s passing on Nov. 1, 2024, at 10:10 a.m. when our professor announced his death to our class. I don’t remember much of what happened for the rest of that day, other than sobbing and hugging those around me.
I found myself trying to cheat grief – trying to jump to accepting that he was gone and moving on. But I’ve come to learn that grief is a strange and powerful thing. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you have going on in your life. If you’re supposed to feel, grief will make you feel.
As the news reached more people, I realized what an impact Eric had on the lives of others. Even if they didn’t know him well, they still felt the loss of life and light that he provided. In some ways, it comforted me to know that others held as many fond memories of him as I did.
While I’m still trying to navigate my life without Eric and discover a new normal, I’m beyond grateful that I got to know and call him my best friend in this lifetime.
Resources:
Western’s Counseling Center: In addition to offering crisis support, the Counseling Center’s website offers links to information on loss and grief. The Counseling and Wellness Center generally holds several spots for crisis appointments each day.
Healgrief.org’s Actively Moving Forward: A social support network driven by the core belief that no one should ever grieve alone. HealGrief provides the tools and resources to guide one’s journey with grief into a healthy recovery.
What's Your Grief: You don’t have to grieve alone, and this is a place for sharing, support, resources and more.
Refuge in Grief: It’s OK to not be OK. If your life has exploded into a million little bits, you don’t need platitudes. You don’t need cheerleading. You don’t need to be told this all happened for a reason. Some things cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.
Modern Loss: Candid conversation about grief. Beginners welcome. If the impact on students affects their ability to participate in class, several options may be available to them.
Brian Eric Bachman
March 22nd, 2004 - October 31st, 2024
Julia Hawkins (she/her) is a opinions reporter for The Front this quarter. She is a fourth-year journalism/public relations major. Outside of reporting, Julia enjoys hanging out in The Planet office, baking and asking random people to pet their dogs. You can reach her at juliahawkins.thefront@gmail.com.
