Not Everything Has a Name

I worked with Tripp Zanetis way back in the days of ancient history--the late 1990's and the early 2000's--at Camp Tecumseh. He was one of those children who came up through being a camper, became a Counselor in Leadership Training, a Daycamp Staff member, and then eventually a part of the resident staff. By that time, I was large and in charge of the resident staff as a summer camp administrator.

What was always impressive about him from the time he was a kid was how collected and calm he always seemed to be. By the time I left, he was working as a firefighter in Carmel. All I knew is that I was happy to know someone who worked in Carmel (even though I do not believe I ever saw him) when I first moved here.

Today I found out a few things. He became a fire marshal for the FDNY after the 911 attack. He was then deployed to Afghanistan in 2012. He had to have been about 20 at the time, and had done more substantial stuff with his life than I had at 26.

He graduated from Stanford Law School. At the time of his death, he was a member of the 106th Rescue Wing of the New York National Guard.

Is there a word for the weird feeling of sadness that comes from the loss of something that hadn't affected you for years and years, but in the back of your mind, you must have known that the world was a better place because of someone's presence? That's what's going through my mind today. I know that his family and friends have to be feeling an incredible loss today.

I know that he made Carmel a great place before it was a place I was ever going to work, and I know he made camp a great place as well. As I said, he must have left a gaping hole in the lives of the people who knew him day to day.