My friends and I lost a friend today. Tracey was one of the guys in our lunch group when I worked at Veeco. He worked at TI then, and more recently at Raytheon. I was much newer to the circle of friends, and he always made me feel welcome. He made us all laugh. I enjoyed being around him.
I remember Tracey was saving up to buy a Porsche. No hurry — I’m sure he could’ve financed it, but you see he had this fund. He knew what he wanted, but it wasn’t driving him the way wanting something drives a lot of men. All good things in all good time.
I can still barely believe it. Somebody must have made a mistake. A computer screwup maybe. I kept thinking we would get an e-mail from him — it was all a mistake or a joke. Wasn’t he in my e-mails just yesterday, suggesting lunch to the group? It hasn’t been long since I talked to him on the phone. He called to encourage me with a problem. So it must be a mistake; some misbegotten line of code, unchecked, unproven; some wildly misfiring offspring of Intel, bringing us this news. No, it was his heart. He always seemed to me the kind of guy who made good use of it.
Please take a moment to say a prayer for the good man Tracey Gourlay, for his family and his friends.
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Metaphor 
"The Goldfish Floats to the Top of His Lifeand turns over,a shaving from somebody's hobby.So it is that men die at the whims of great companies,their neckties pulling them speechless into machines,their wives finding them slumped in the shower,their hearts blown open like boiler doors. In the night, again and again these men floatto the tops of their dreams to drift backto their desks in the morning. If you ask them,they all would prefer to have died in their sleep." by Ted Kooser.As we discussed., Kyle,very sorry to hear about your friend.
"The Goldfish Floats to the Top of His Lifeand turns over,a shaving from somebody's hobby.So it is that men die at the whims of great companies,their neckties pulling them speechless into machines,their wives finding them slumped in the shower,their hearts blown open like boiler doors. In the night, again and again these men floatto the tops of their dreams to drift backto their desks in the morning. If you ask them,they all would prefer to have died in their sleep." by Ted Kooser.As we discussed., Kyle,very sorry to hear about your friend.