Sitting across from my ex-husband, Scott, at a favorite Mexican restaurant, I noticed that our large party had dwindled to three. On this trip back to Omaha, the seats once occupied by friends, our sons, and Scott’s wife were now empty. Three of us remained with a half-full pitcher of margaritas. Stories from our college days kept flowing freely, with Scott and I reminiscing about our old friend to his nephew.

Darek, a replica in both looks and mannerisms of his Uncle B.L., listened attentively to the frequently repeated stories and those new to him. Talking with Darek was a reminder of the vast amount of time since 1989, the summer B.L. died in a car accident. Darek was only a small boy, just old enough to remember his uncle but left with the baggage of understanding his absence.

I had always thought of B.L. as a forever friend who died way too young. The reality is that I only knew him for three short years. But three years feels like a lifetime when you are in your early 20s. The early formations of friendships stay with us forever.

B.L. and I met in the fall of 1986. Our story did not begin with a friendship. It was quite the opposite.

I was beginning my sophomore year at Westmar College in LeMars, Iowa. A fresh set of students came with the beginning of a new school year. A group of new student-athletes enrolled that fall. They were recruited by their high school football coach, who moved on to my college's head football coach and athletic director roles. These boys from Schuyler, Nebraska, participated in various sports at Westmar.

Two of these new students were B.L. Kracl and Scott Lane. As high school wrestlers and friends since junior high, they were together at Westmar, spending their early college days becoming familiar with the campus and the student body.

Part of their self-study orientation included time spent in the girls’ dorms. Scott took an early liking to me and began to frequent my dorm room. But he rarely came alone. B.L. was typically his +1 on these visits. Like group courting, they would stop by together as I unpacked my boxes and set up my room. Scott would enthusiastically start small talk as B.L. scowled, waiting at the door, appearing eager to leave.

B.L. and I had ‘dislike at first sight.’ I thought he was full of himself and his good looks, a mixture I didn’t like. Unapologetic, B.L. proudly accepted his handsomeness and cockiness. He wanted to party, whereas I liked to study. We were oil and water from the get-go.

As Scott continued to spend time with me, B.L. continued to be by his side. Although he never spoke much, B.L. would stare me down in what I thought was an effort to make me uncomfortable. My response was to throw him some arrogance back with my top-of-the-class bookish ways. But as I continued my relationship with Scott, B.L. and I found ourselves stuck with each other.

College life continued into the first semester of 1986. With Scott and I now ‘an item,’ B.L. and I continued to attend many of the same functions. One-on-one Interactions between us only happened when necessary.

Christmas break came and went, with the second semester bringing a new work-study position for me. I became the campus accounting tutor. The second semester also brought Accounting 101 onto B.L.’s class schedule. Although a business major, he found accounting to be challenging. Much later, he confided that he couldn't drum up the courage to show up at the accounting lab room where I tutored.

One day as the three of us hung out at the Student Union, Scott got up to retrieve his food order. With the two of us alone, a typically silent B.L. blurted a request directed only to me.

"Okay, I need help with accounting. Will you help me?"

I was taken aback. Mainly because he spoke to me, but more so because he asked for help. B.L. had confidence in everything he did. But at this moment, he seemed incredibly uncomfortable. It was also evident that he didn't want to discuss his request for help in front of Scott.

"Sure," I answered quickly as we negotiated the terms of my assistance. B.L. didn’t want to meet in the highly visible accounting lab where I tutored. Instead, we arranged a meeting at my Aunt Barbara's house. I was nannying my cousins for a week while my aunt and uncle were out of town. This off-campus location was mutually agreeable to both of us.

B.L. attended his first tutoring session after I put my cousins to bed. Staying up until two in the morning, we went through his homework on my aunt’s kitchen table, returning to the basics of accounting.

Returning the next night, B.L. and I worked through his accounting textbook. He was an attentive student with all cockiness left outside the door. In return, I didn't talk down to him. We were a team, working to get him through this class together.

Soon he felt comfortable asking for accounting help when we were at the Student Union or in Scott’s dorm room. There was no secret in my assistance.

Following his final exam, B.L. raised his overall accounting score from failing to a semester-end B grade.

He was so excited to tell me about earning a B. With excitement not a common emotion for B.L., I couldn’t help but smile when he gave me the news.

Later that night, I found a surprise left by my door. After coming home from a late night of studying, I saw the little white teddy bear with a card lying outside my dorm room. The card included a handwritten note from B.L., simply thanking me for all my accounting help and for my friendship.

Although initially shocked by the gesture, I loved the affirmation and felt the need to give a quick thank-you back the next time I saw him. In typical B.L. fashion, he responded by giving me a grunt and looking away. I then understood that giving a thank-you for a thank-you wasn't necessary. I quietly accepted his gratitude.

Somehow our unlikely combination of attitudes with cocky (him) and stuck-up (me) found friendship. I had misjudged B.L. in all those months I put no effort into getting to know him.

The reality was that this confident guy with burly good looks was a teddy bear himself, sensitive and sweet, not wanting anyone to see his weaknesses. Our friendship blossomed over the next two years, with B.L. agreeing to be the best man in Scott and my upcoming wedding. B.L. died the summer before the ceremony.

Years passed, and my gifts of the teddy bear and card went missing between multiple house moves. My last recollection of seeing the card was years after B.L. died. I decided to put it in a safe place to avoid losing it. I later couldn't remember this safe place and haven't seen it since.

Although three years out of my now fifty-five years doesn’t seem like a long period to know someone, I still think about B.L. often. After 34 years, his death still doesn't feel real to me. I think a big part of this was B.L.'s larger-than-life spirit. He was a guy who always brought energy with him wherever he went.

The value given from a life is not set by the number of years but by how they were lived. B.L. is an excellent example of this, few in years but big in positive presence.

Thinking back, I am thankful that accounting wasn't B.L.'s thing. Although short in time, there is serendipity for me in knowing our friendship was well-earned from a relationship that didn't seem meant to be.