Eulogy
(By Max Weston)
(Waleed's Friend at HBS)
|
I met Waleed ten years ago. We shared 30.3% of our lives – he always loved a little data. I defy any of us to think of Waleed without smiling. I can find no photos of him without a smile, without a happy time, a happy memory. He is of course posing in a lot of them, and some of the fashion choices were substantially ahead of their time, but Waleed was always smiling. Let me tell you why. He slept, he sleeps, the sleep of a good man. Waleed was kind and true. He offered advice with a hug and he listened, really listened, with patience. He knew more, and had tried more than most of us ever do, but could still giggle like a child and always hope for the best. Waleed was smart. Very smart. So smart in fact, he built a spreadsheet to calculate the probability of his making Baker Scholar at Harvard. He worked out the minimum score he needed, figured out that he was way ahead, and concentrated on water-skiing, travelling, growing his hair long and piercing his ear. Waleed worked hard on laughing. He was adventurous. Not just in what he did, but in what he thought. Of course he had travelled throughout the world, of course he had played blackjack on three continents. But the real adventure was in his own head. His business dreams ranged to Chateaus in France, coffee processing plants in Turkey, pizza ventures in Oregon, and Telcos in Africa. All were cash positive. For his family, and for the family he dreamt of starting with Nicolette, he dreamt even harder – where they would live, how they would live. He was adventurous to the point of finding something of interest in everyone. Because he was adventurous, because he was so interested, Waleed was the most tolerant and gentle of men. Among his friends were Christians, Jews, Moslems, Hindus, a few Buddhists, a lot of fin de siecle post-modern ironists. He has friends from America and Australia. From Ireland, Lebanon, Kuwait, England, Greece, Turkey, South Africa, Germany, Malawi and Yorkshire. Waleed tried everything – he didn’t waste a minute. He was naughty – I’ve already tactfully broken the news about smoking and the earring period to Waleed’s mum. Samia took it well, but in truth, nothing Waleed ever did would raise more in his mum than a wry and secret smile. He was never unkind, he was always patient, and I never once saw him anger. The last year or so were Waleed’s best. After his own adventures, his own terrible grief, he’d found a clear and certain future. We touched on the ring, the wedding, the house, the children, the tax implications. We talked for hours about how it felt, the different joys ahead. We always came back to Nicolette. And Waleed would smile. Waleed was happy. Waleed died full of dreams, not bitter, not ill, happy. ******* Later this week, Manda and I will have our first baby. And this is one way Waleed lives on. We’ll share his spirit. He had a lot to go around. Take some yourself. If our child can be a fraction as kind, a smidgeon as smart. If he or she can share some of that adventure, revel a bit in that naughtiness and end up half as happy, then Waleed will not have gone. Not really. ******* I want to end with a poem written 90 years ago. This was the first poem Thomas Hardy wrote after the sudden death of his wife. Waleed would have liked it. I hope for Hardy’s sake that the mechanics of his and our relationship were a bit different, but the quality of the emotion is the same. The poem is called ‘The Going.’ |
|
Close |
| Home |