My Name is Thibaud and Brendan was my Friend

This is a kind of report.

A diary, that I wrote almost every day when I went to Brendan Coveney’s funerals in Carrigaline, Ireland, last week of June 2016, on behalf of Nuxeo and other friends, at 4D. Since Nuxeo sent me there, I wanted to write something about this journey, so people I represent know what I did on behalf of them. Well. Don’t panic: Not everything I did and said was on behalf of Nuxeo.

It mixes things written the day they happened, things written later, and things modified some days later, after re-reading the whole text, so please, don’t be strict with my grammar. You’ll find a mix of different conjugation: Present, simple past, … Whatever you read, it’s about the same event anyway.

Also, I’ll add a quick notice: This is not a mail nor a chat, I’m not adding smileys or explicit notice that something is a joke. Whatever you read, if you feel offended, if you feel it's too much, take it as a joke, it surely is.

So. Let’s group the things I wrote during these last few days. Very hard days.

Yep. Hard days they were. My friend Brendan died on Sunday, June 26, 2016. At 50. Brutal, sudden, unexpected death. “Unexpected” basically means you had no time to prepare. Not like when someone is polite enough to slowly die after several months fighting a bad disease, or just is too old to continue living. In these case, you can start to be ready for the final separation. Somehow.

I went there on behalf of Nuxeo, but also on behalf of just myself, I admit, because Brendan was not a colleague to me, he was my friend. A friend who happened to become a colleague. Actually, when he asked me to join Nuxeo in New York, mid-2012, I was quite happy, of course, but besides concerns about being able to learn a new technology or about moving to another country, my real, real, main concern was about our friendship. I was wondering if having Brendan as my boss, “reporting to Brendan”, I was wondering if this could, you know, crake, brake the friendship. And well. I just thought “Whatever, we’ll see and if things go wrong, I’ll leave”. Things did not go wrong of course. We had some fights, but not more than the one we had before, so all was cool.

So. I was there on behalf of Nuxeo, on behalf of myself, and also on behalf of his friends at 4D, his previous company, because as soon as they learned the terrible news and knew I’ll be going there, they asked me to also share their messages. I did carry all the messages to Emma, his wife, Oisin, his son, Aislinn, his daughter, to Grandpa Jer, his father, to Helen, Teresa and Pauline, his sisters, and, well, to anyone I could find there and who agreed to listen to me.

And I can tell you, it was worth doing it! They were all incredibly sad and overwhelmed by emotions, and they really, really, really, appreciated us being here.

Something quite cool also happened: Seb (also known has Sebastien) travelled from Nuxeo Paris with a card holding personal notes from the sales and presales teams (current and previous people of these teams). This was very, very great help for me, thank you so much! We were the two of us to carry the messages and share the pain with Brendan’s family and friends, and it reduced the burden.

Now, I am going to tell the story of the last week. It is a loooooooong story to read, maybe you should not be reading it at work unless you consider this is work after all.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Brendan is in vacation in Amsterdam with Emma and Aislinn. And all of a sudden, in the morning, he dies.

Allow me to repeat: Brendan passed away suddenly. A “cardiac arrest”. God I hate this explanation! You moron who wrote this, ultimately, everyone dies because the heart stops working, this is not a diagnostic!

Whatever.

Fuck!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

OK, let’s regroup. Let’s try to help Emma and the kids. Brendan’s family helps (sisters flying to Amsterdam), Nuxeo helps (advances money for Oisin ticket - he is at my place in NY when the shit happens), everybody is helping. And the next two days are hard time for anyone knowing Brendan. And I want to go there. I want to be there for my friend. So I’ll go there, carrying messages from Nuxeo.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Brendan's family and friends are just…awesome! Yeah. Let's use marketing jackpot items: Awesome! Amazing! Outstanding!

I mean, I was in touch with the oldest sister, Helen (Brendan had three sisters. He was the youngest of the siblings), and she handled the hotel and any transportation. The best located hotel was full when I tried to book online, but her daughter, Laura, managed to get a room anyway. I was ready to get taxis (from the airport to the hotel, from the hotel to her place, …), but she said it was not needed. And the fact is, Laura picked me up at the airport (she had a picture of me before I cut my hairs, so I could see her watching me and wondering for a second if it was me or not), and then we always had someone taking care of us, never had to handle transportation during these three incredible, out-of-time days. Don’t ask me to show you on a map where Helen lives, where was the church, where was the pub after the church: I have no idea. Not even sure where my hotel is located actually. You know: This happens when you don’t take care of the roads and routes by yourself.

Given the fact Irish drive on the left - told them it was the wrong way but they did not listen - I think it’s better for me they took care of ground transportation.

So. Right after arriving (but after a quick shower. I’m not a barbarian) I went to Helen’s house where a private ceremony was scheduled. Family, close friends and close neighbors (and “Close neighbors” somehow is a pleonasm, when you think about it. Nothing to do with Brendan’s funerals. Just an interesting fact.)

It was hard. You know: Open coffin, with Brendan lying there, hands crossed on his chest. Wife and kids around him (not in the coffin. Around the coffin). Emma continuously crying. I stayed with them in the room about all the time, hugging and, of course, cracking jokes here and there. For example, I found my recurring joke of the day. I stand in the small room, in the middle of the family, and every minute you have someone entering the room, hugging or shaking hands while being “sorry for your loss”. Because I’m in the middle of the little family, they also shake my hand, and then I say “Oh, I’m just a friend”.

Haha.

Hmmmm.

Well.

Ok, writing it down, I don’t find it that funny after all. And it’s likely that if you were telling me this story, I would probably find it not funny at all. But, saying it dozen of times made Emma and kids laugh, so it was good.

And now, I am going to share a secret with you: At some point I was alone in the room with Brendan. Helen forced Emma and the kids to go get something to eat. And suddenly, I have this powerful need to take selfies in ridiculous positions. You know. Me and Brendan shaking hands, arranging his hands so he gave the finger, putting a little flower in his nose. I did laugh a lot while thinking about it and it was good in the middle of all this shit. It was also a good opportunity to test my limits and discover them: I did not do it after all.

But I’m still wondering if maybe I should have.

This was the first ceremony. A priest came and, well, people prayed. It was a rosary. And here is another anecdote.We are in Ireland, and people all have this strong accent. Brendan’s Irish accent used to surface when he was drunk (I assume quite some of you have heard it). The ritual is known: The priest says a little sentence and everyone repeat. And at some point, I swear what I heard was “Holy Mary Motherfucker [something else]”, and everyone repeating.  Probably just another sign of this deep need I had to let some of the pressure go.

After a while, all was done, the coffin put in a car, to the mortuary.

Laura drove me back to the hotel. Next ceremony is at the funeral home tomorrow mid-afternoon. I have all the time I need to work on my speech.

Thursday, June 29, 2016

Today is a ceremony at the funeral home. More prayers. Close the coffin. Bring it to the church for Friday’s Grand Final. Then sandwiches and drinks.

The day is starting very early during the night. It is 4am: Jet lag. Jet lag and sciatica are in the same bed and no one wants to leave.

Ok. Whatever. Let’s work on the speech after all.

I started the speech in the plane. Started with a good 15 mn of blank page, not knowing what to say, how to start. Then, the flow started to, hmm, well, flow (“the flow started to flow”, really?). I literally wrote dozen of pages during the flight. And I ended up with a good 25 minutes of sadness, tears and despair.

When I read it this morning early, very early morning, I am thinking: “No way”.

No-fucking-way.

It was a good therapy probably, but come on! Everyone is already sad and crying! So it will be a 5-6 minutes speech and I’ll let some sadness in it, because it’s here, but I’ll add fun memories and anecdotes, hoping people will laugh at them. So the plan is to start with a bit of sadness, then move to funny stories. Since the very beginning I know how I want to finish it and I know I’ll probably cry at the end of it. But it’s okay. I’ll rehearse and maybe it’ll be enough to avoid sobbing. I don’t want to read the speech, so I’ll have to rehearse, which  - I hope - will help regarding the sobbing. For example, the intro is “Hi, My name is Thibaud and Brendan was my friend”. Every single time I speak this sentence out loud, I cry. Rehearsing it will surely help.

At the end of this article, you’ll find the original text and a link to a video recorded during the speech.

For lunch, I went to the bar-restaurant of the hotel and had a quick salad and coke.

You probably are wondering why I’m describing such an ordinary lunch. It’s even worse than a FaceBook picture of a salad; There is not even a photo.

The point is: This quick lunch was the source of something quite funny that last until I left (and will probably remain for years given the fact that every Irish is as Brendan: Saying the same story again and again and again). It also shows how uneducated, savage and barbarian I can be, but I don’t really care: It’s funny!

You know Brendan was Irish, and the funerals were in Ireland. I flew there via London. Once at Heathrow, I thought I may need some cash during my stay at Carrigaline, so I got some at the airport ATM.  During this small lunch at the hotel, I found the waiter perfect and as I live in the US, I wanted to tip him. I could not add a tip to the ticket, it was just about my room number and a signature. So I got a bill of 10 from my wallet and asked the waiter for some change. But he answered “Oh no, no need for this”.

Waow.

A waiter refusing a tip? Really?

A couple of hours later, I tell this story to my friend Philippe. He was the CFO of 4D and is a good friend of Brendan. Actually, I don’t tell him the story, I play it, because I want to laugh at how cool is a country where waiters don’t want a tip. So I’m here with the banknote in my hand…and Philippe starts to laugh. And laugh. Like “LOL” was invented for this kind of laugh. At some point, I was fearing we’ll have to bury him with our friend. Once he recovered and could, at last, breath, he said, almost literally:

«- You are an asshole! We are in Ireland here! Ireland! This is not UK! They fought against the Brits for their independence! they don’t use Pounds! They don’t use Sterlings! They use euros! You basically insulted the waiter!»

(and yes, I could hear all these exclamation points, that’s why I transcript them)

Philippe is as Brendan: When he finds a story cool, he spreads it to everyone, so at some point, I decided to tell the story myself to everybody, and l’ll be back to this later; below, about Thursday’s party.

Pauline, the youngest sister of Brendan and Mike, her husband, picked us up at the hotel, to the funeral home. At this point, Seb joined us from Paris. Seb works at Nuxeo Paris and since almost two years he used to talk/chat with Brendan every single day. He wanted to be here, today, to personally pay his respect to Brendan. And given the weight of all the emotions, it was very cool Seb joined me on this unforgettable Irish experience.

I can tell he was a bit emotionally shocked to see Brendan in the open coffin. You know, young people are more sensitive than we think after all. For me, some of you may know, I used to be an emergency doctor for 14 years. For french people reading this: SAMU for 3 years, SOS médecins for the rest. Which means I already saw quite a few dead people, including the one I killed with my malpractice (and this is where you seriously regret having said “no smileys”). But seeing the dead body, very well prepared by professional, but still dead, of you friend still is not a comfortable experience. I don’t know what Seb exactly thought when he saw the coffin and we had no time to talk about it actually, but I can tell he looked like he was punched right in the chest. By a baseball bat. With nails. Hold by The Hulk. Same for Philippe when I think about it. I talked with both of them about what they felt with this loss, but not the shock they could feel seeing Brendan for real in his coffin.

For me, let’s share another secret with you (looks like it’s secret-sharing day): I could not refrain myself having this tiny tiny little hope that Brendan will just suddenly stand up and laugh at our faces. Could not refrain the hope. I don’t want my friend dead. I know I’ll have this childish, useless hope until the very end, in two days after the crematorium ceremony.

Emma does not look better than yesterday. She is overwhelmed by grief. I’m sure she also hopes to see Him standing up, but if my hope is tiny-tiny, her is probably stronger. And it looks like everybody from the village is coming. A lot of people are here, in a line, holding Emma, Oisin and Aislinn hands, saying “I’m sorry for your loss”, moving to the next person on the bench. Shaking hands of the ones they don’t know, hugging the ones they know. It gives me a strange feeling. I am sitting right behind the family, so (1) no one shakes my hand and is sorry for my loss, and (2) I can’t reuse the “I’m just a friend” joke. Because Brendan lived in California, very few Irish actually really knew Emma and the kids and I’m wondering how they handle all these condolences…

Then Helen, in front of me, a bit on my right, asks me if I would accept to hold the coffin. Oh. This would be a good way to honor my friend, wouldn’t it! The answer I give is “Oh yes of course”. And I add “But not alone”. Haha. I see Oisin laughing. Cool!

Then it is time for prayers. The priest is quite good: I can understand everything he is saying, and this time, I never heard the same strange things as yesterday. Which made this ceremony less funny.

And ultimately, it is time for an almost-last goodbye, the Funeral Home Awesome Team will close the coffin in a couple of minutes. Tears again. Hey man! Brendan! They’re going to close it, you’ll be locked inside! Unless you are the Black Mamba, “suddenly standing” once it’s closed is going to be quite hard. Come on! Come on man! It’s not good time for ignoring me as you did sometime on Slack!

Well.

Looks like he really is dead after all…

Now we follow the hearse. I thought we would go directly to the little church, the oratory, in Ringaskiddy (village right near to Calligarine) and deliver the package and go have food and drinks. But we did not do that. Well. We did bring the coffin to the church, but certainly not directly. We made a journey to different places of Brendan: The house he used to lived in, his school, …. And when we reached such place, the hearse stopped and the coffin is carried by people. Including me.

And this was something. I mean, the week before he passed away, he told Philippe he had lost 12 pounds. If this is the truth, then I think he forgot to say that before losing these 12 pounds, he probably gained a hundred. God this is heavy! And let me thank Seb here. Yes, thank again. To carry the coffin, basically, you put it on your shoulder, and the arm of this side goes on the same shoulder of your co-carrier. Seb was the co-carrier. So first, I think it looked strange from behind and I hope someone took a picture, because I don’t want to say Seb is small: I’ll say I’m tall. And we were the last one in the line. I’m sure it looked pretty strange from behind. But I don’t thank Seb because he is smaller than me. I thank him because with his right arm (I was using my left arm/shoulder), he also helped me a lot carrying it!  My pain in the back was not good, but having Seb helping, I think it was not worst, thanks Seb!

During the Journey of the Coffin, as I called it, we stopped at a well on the side of this very small road. A little well, a circle of stones, about one meter depth, with water inside. With some candles and objects and pictures of Brendan. It is a place Brendan loved to go to, and went quite often with his friends, when he was a kid, then a teen, then an adult. And we had a Whisky there. Yes! A whisky! It is 4-5pm; I am fasting. No way I drink this or I’m gonna drop dead in the well. So I just dip my lips in the glass, wondering if it could upset Brendan that I don’t drink it all. The wondering lasts less than a couple of microseconds actually, because this whole “does it upset him” by itself is nonsense: He is dead and gone, so he basically does not care about anything, does he? Do you, Brendan?

The ultimate part of the journey was lead by a man playing celtic bagpipes, while friends and family were carrying the coffin to the church. Very impressive. We let the coffin there, waiting for us to come back tomorrow for the last ceremony.

We then headed to the hotel where we had sandwiches and drinks. I had to rehearse my speech tomorrow morning, and decided I will not drink, or very little. So I started with a simple, basic, Corona.

I can’t talk about drinking a Corona without thinking of my friends and colleagues (actually almost everyone I know who drinks beer) always joking at me because, you know “Corona is not real beer” and blahblahblah and blahblahblah. Guys, let me tell you that: In Ireland, they do drink Corona, I have seen quite some Irish drinking it. Irish people, ok? So starting now, dear people who want to teach me what is good and what is not, screw you! Irish people drink Corona!

Then came another one, and maybe another one. I am not sure about the fourth one, but I am reasonably certain I did not have more than five. I remember two three little things from this evening. Seeing Emma and the kids laugh, which was good, because I detected real laugh you know, not just a smile put on the face. Also, it is when I publicly told the story about the pounds (in Ireland, say Sterlings) and publicly apologize for my ignorance. I also had a good Irish dance with Pauline, but can’t remember if it was before or after removing my shirt.

Friday, July 1, 2016

Today’s menu is: Church, crematorium, party.

Morning basically the same as yesterday. Jet lagged, pain in the back, work on speech. Not that much actually, I think it is ready. I asked a couple of people (thank you Anne, Julie, Josh and Eric) to read it and they said it was good. I also sent it to Helen for censorship, you, know, in case I was saying things that could hurt people. Especially the very last sentence of the speech, which is french. And quite crude: I’m going to say, in a church, “Putain merde fait chier!”. I had an alternative end if Helen and family thought it would be inappropriate, but fortunately, it was ok. I must confess here I was a bit surprised, but happy. These Irish people really are special! Helen said they googled it and it was ok. But the translation is “Fuck! Shit! It sucks!”, so I’m still a bit surprised. But It was ok, she said. A symptom of my emotion she said.

Didn’t want to read it at church, so I started to learn it, but didn’t want to learn it too much so I could have room for impro, just in case. Kind like when we worked together, Brendan and me, preparing the US 4D Developer Conferences, a whole day on stage.

In the morning, I went to the local ATM to get some cash in good euros, so I could pretend, later, I had no Sterlings, I don’t know what a Sterling is, I never heard about Sterlings. And I could give some euros as extra tip to the waiter.

Pauline picked us up from the hotel to the church. It suddenly started to rain right when we were outside, going from the car to the entrance of the church. Irish’s weather would deserve its full, and long, article. “Four seasons in one day” as they say over there. The priest was the same as yesterday. Very good. I am no more a religious man since quite some time, and I used to know the prayers, but in French. Following them in English-Irish was hard, so, at some point, I stopped listening and let my thoughts wandering, rocked by the prayers.

The priest then spoke about Brendan and it was a very good speech. I was very, very happy of something: I forwarded to the family the messages that people at Nuxeo and 4D sent me, and the priest used some of them, short sentences and abstracts in his own speech! It made me feel very good, because I could not add everything to my own speech of course, and even if I was sure these kind messages and testimonies about Brendan had been a relief for the family, it was like if, for real, you guys were here with us. I even went emotional for some seconds while I’m a rock emotionless real man inside (deep inside). The priest quoted things like:

“He led by example both in work and in play. There was plenty of both, of course.”

“He could be tough as a Manager, always pushing you beyond your comfort zone, but always having your back without asking.”

“Brendan was an inspiration to all of us here at 4D.”

“He used to say "We are not healthy as a company if we do not argue”, and he did argue!”

I’m sure there were at least two others, but my memory is serving me wrong…

In a corner of the church, some objects were prepared. Things that could, somehow, define Brendan. A bottle of wine, a camembert (yes. Camembert. He loves cheese). A computer. Each of us (Philippe, me, Pauline, …) were called to bring something from this corner to the coffin. For me it was the computer. Nobody told me I’ll have to do this, but I did it. Without even asking for any retribution.

Then, the priest call me for my speech and I was about to see if people will laugh at it or not. Was quite anxious actually. Stage fright. Always had stage fright during conferences. But it last usually the first 5 minutes and then I’m okay. The problem is: The whole speech is 7 minutes… Whatever: I’ll be brave and will avoid sobbing and crying. Not because I’m ashamed of crying, I’m not. I’m sad. I am deeply sad. With this hole inside, you know. This physical feeling that you are missing something. It’s normal to sob and cry. It’s just that it makes it harder for people to understand what you say and I want them to understand what I’ll be saying.

«Hi.

My name is Thibaud, and Brendan was my friend»

OK. Good. No sobbing. Cool. Let’s move to the next part. And the next. And the next. Show Brendan singing “Sweet Caroline”, dancing in the wildest way. And finish with this “PUTAIN MERDE FAIT CHIER!”, because, well, really, ça fait chier.

People did laugh. I should have made the serious part (I’m here to tell the family etc.) a bit shorter and add more anecdotes maybe, but globally, they liked it and I was relieved when they applauded and when, later, some people told me they could picture him dancing or singing.

So, it’s done. Mission: Accomplished!

Oisin also gave a speech. And god this 18 years old kid is way more adult than me. His speech was incredible and good. Also with laugh (picturing Brendan contesting a referee decision during a soccer game played by Oisin was an experience!), and respect and all. Aislinn sung "Danny Boy" and I can't describe how well she did it. Goose bumps and tears. Oisin and Aislinn are living something quite hard for sure, and I’m confident they’ll figure it out.

The ceremony is not finished though. We are now going to the crematorium. So let’s go. The end is near. I have enough of this. Let’s finish it for good, once for all, it’s painful. Three ceremonies, one per day, really?

The crematorium is a lovely place, beautiful. So the coffin is now in a dedicated space. Flowers are added to it. One more prayer. Then the doors of the space close. I have read the manual and know the burning itself will not occur now, but later. What happens now is symbolic. But suddenly, I heard some noise. And it really looks like gaz singing in a pipe. I am quite surprised. Stuck on my chair. Wondering “but….but…no! Impossible! Are they really going to do this now, like it was some sort of cooking?”.

I was wrong about this sound. Of course I was wrong. Of course. It was not gaz in a pipe. It was the introduction of a song. A weird voice started to sing…

And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

My Way!

Guitars. Hard punch.

The Sex Pistols!

My Way, by the Sex Pistols!

My Brendan! My Brendan is here until the very end!

I let seriously go the tears during the song. It literally freed me. Thank you! Thank you for this choice! Oisin told me later it was Brendan’s choice. I did not ask for details. I supposed he said this some day, you know “hey, at my funerals, I want this song”. Nobody knows if he was serious, but everyone remembers the choice. And actually, it was a pretty good choice.

Once all is done and a hundredth more hugs have been given to Emma, we all go to the FBI. The Ferry Boat Inn. Sandwiches and tea/coffee. Then, I’m back to the hotel for a little rest before the final party. Yes. A party. Sammy, the good old Brendan’s friend (neighbor, did all their kid crap together, their teen crap together, their young adult crap together - Sammy is quite sad too) told me “now, we put our sadness apart and we have fun.”.

We had quite some fun. Irish are incredible. They sing all the time. One after the other, someone sings, people listen and sing the chorus. Half of the songs were sad song I could tell. But Grandpa Jerd sung a funny one. Everybody was laughing at some verse. I did not understand shit to the song itself, but it was a cool moment.

Of course, everybody was hugely drunk and wasted. Philippe and me sung Piaf, “Non, je ne regrette rien”. Seb sung….”La Marseillaise”. Haha! La Marseillaise. Fun! We finished with a pilgrimage to the well. Last and ultimate drink there. Sammy jumps into it. I had a little moment of terror. Almost got un-drunk in a second ready to go help him. But actually, you had only 30 cm of water! Emma joined him. And I joined them. But because I wanted to travel with no problem in a few hours, I first removed shoes and socks...

Here, we raised a final, ultimate glass to Brendan, our friend. I was then put in a taxi with other people. We told each others how we loved each others and all these things you say when it’s 2am in the morning and you are drunk.

Saturday, July 2, 2016

My name is Thibaud and Brendan was my friend and putain merde fait chier.

But thanks to these crazy Irish, I know I’ll move on.

Written between June 28 and July 4, 2016

---

Appendices

• Video of the speech, at the church can be found here.
• The speech:

Hi.

. . .

Hi, my name is Thibaud, and Brendan was my friend.

I'm here to tell his wife, his kids, his sisters, his brothers in law, his family, friends, and anyone who can hear me now, I'm here to tell you how great a man Brendan was and how much loved he was.

And actually, it's more than me. More than just me. Way, way more. I am here on behalf of Nuxeo, the company he was working for, and also on behalf a lot of friends he has in the US.

So as you see me now, in fact I represent dozens and dozens of people, carrying their love and messages.

As for you all, the news of Brendan's...hmm...departure...yes...departure has been an incredible shock for everyone. At Nuxeo and beyond.

An earthquake.

"Oh no!" "Oh no!"

Tears and sadness, spreading like a hurricane all across the world.

So, we gathered their messages and stories about Brendan and here, I want to tell some "Stories of Brendan" you see. Anecdotes. Memories. Pieces of life. Moments. Short moments people remembered and sent me.

While compiling all these messages I came to understand what I call “the 4 pillars of Brendan”...

• The family. Family was the most important thing to him. Way more important than anything else, including football, Which says a lot.
• And this also goes for his employees. He was very protective and if you had a family problem, Brendan helped you handle it, work from home or whatever is required by the situation, even removing work from your shoulders.
• Trust and Protection. Brendan was trustworthy. Many messages were about that. You know you could count on him. And as his employee, you knew he will always watch your back. This is how he built this powerful trust, faith people had in him.

And when he trusted you, he would push you so you gave the best you have. Beyond what you thought were your limits. Out of your comfort zone. Being a pain. Even a big pain if necessary. But then, when you looked behind, you thought: “Waow. I did this. Waow.”

• Also, Brendan clearly was Irish. And we all had to learn that. Quickly. With “Irish” comes things like: Fun, having fun, knowing how to have fun (inside/outside work), having drinks, then having fun and maybe one more drink. Then…
• The last pillar, but maybe the most important is....dancing

Anyone who has seen Brendan dancing knows exactly what I am talking about.

You know.

He is right in front of you on the dance floor. He is singing

....hmmm…

not really singing. He is screaming the song. I am picturing him right now in my head. A few years ago. In front of me. “Sweet Caroline". Pointing his finger at me. And I was terrified. Terrified because it looked like maybe he would suddenly jump in my arms… The wildest and most dangerous dancer on the floor. You always had to be on the lookout for a body-slamming Irish man. Sometime with his shirt off.

So.

Dancing was a big thing.

But singing.

Hmmm.

Singing, as I mentioned, he was, hmmmmm, very special. Very good in his own way. We, Nuxeo, perfectly remember Brendan at some company diner, suddenly standing, raising his glass and singing....La Marseillaise. For no reason at all. No football game, no special event. No, just because Brendan.

I think he did this to make us feel good. And it worked pretty well. I can tell you: As soon as he stopped that, we felt very, very good.

I’ll finish with Brendan speaking French.

He worked almost 20 years for french companies. I’m sure he made some efforts to learn. Actually, we all think he understood french pretty well, but pretended not to understand, you know, to spy a bit. Yeah. That’s our Brendan too. Little rascal!

He sometimes talked french to us. For example, after asking for something at work, and you did it, he would text “VETG” .

VETG

“Vous Êtes Twwès Gentil”

“You Are Very Kind”

It’s a small memory here, that pops up, but I can tell you everyone in his team would picture him, behind his tablet, smiling at this recurrent text - he made it hundred of times - sure it will work and the person receiving it will just feel good.

And now I’ll finish for good. With some french he was saying quite a bit when we were together, laughing. He said it publicly several times too actually.

It is something you say when you have a situation. When everything is a mess. When you have problem. A serious issue.

And actually, thinking about it, I do have a situation. I do have a problem. I do have a serious issue. A very, very serious issue. My great friend Brendan left.

So long my friend, so long Brandy. But really this sudden……….sudden…….absence of you…..

PUTAIN MEWDE FAIT CHIER !