It was at a cast party for one of the summer productions of the Ogunquit Playhouse where we first met Eric and Lonnie in person. We became instant friends, and they were gracious enough to fold us into their friendship circle with ease and assurance, as if we’d been friends all our lives. That evening we promised to get in touch whenever we found ourselves in Maine, and through the years our friendship deepened.
Eric had been the first to reach out over FaceBook, and in person he was just as gregarious and charming as his online posts had been. Quick to engage and laugh, his smile was a wonder to behold. He could summon it with just his eyes, even before the world went hidden behind our masks, or he could use his whole face to widen it and encompass all the joy of the word in one single look. It could be mischievous and cunning when he was cutting with his wit, or quiet and somber when contemplative with the weight of the world. Above all else it was kind and generous, gathering in his loved ones as if in one constant, continuous embrace.
He and Lonnie made one of those couples who become an entity of themselves. It was always Eric and Lonnie, or Lonnie and Eric – the best kind of love and companionship when two people become gorgeously intertwined for all time. We never knew them apart from each other – there was never a time when they weren’t in love.
We were lucky to meet up with them for dinners and lunches in Ogunquit when we were in town. They added to the charm and magic of our favorite beautiful place by the sea, lending the rich resonance of friendship that makes travel even more enjoyable and enriching. My Mom joined us all for a lunch, and she was instantly smitten with them as well. They took to her immediately, and it was a lesson for me in how being open and welcoming to people is its own form of kindness, something I’d never really considered in my socially-introverted world.
They were sweet enough to invite us to their wedding at their home in Grey, and it remains one of the most touching wedding ceremonies we’ve ever attended. On a glorious summer day they stood in their beautiful backyard beside an abundance of flowering prettiness, exchanged their vows, and brought their friends and family together – all of us meeting new friends and falling under the spell of Eric and Lonnie and their uncanny way of making everyone feel like part of one big family. They cultivated friends like Eric cultivated his magnificent gardens – each of us some special daylily or dahlia in their eyes. It was a testament to their own goodness that everyone we met that day was filled with a kindness and grace that I often find missing in our daily brushes with humanity.
That trip also offered us a chance to stay in nearby Portland for the first time, a place that Lonnie and Eric had found so enchanting, a feeling we would discover on our own. We would return a year or two later, meeting up with them for dinner and drinks, and as another summer burned itself into the past we promised to meet up again in Ogunquit.
We never made it there to see them again. Eric was diagnosed with cancer, and I followed his difficult journey from a distance. He managed to throw it off the first time, but another bout ended up taking him. He and Lonnie were able to make one last trip to Mexico, doing what they loved most, and I was always happy to think of that.
His obituary expresses it best: “Eric Stoddard Baxter completed his life circle.†He did indeed, and what a wonderfully full and rich life it was. Now, my thoughts turn to Lonnie, who keeps Eric’s spirit and memory alive in all that he does. Another friend gone from this earth, but not distant from our hearts.
