Paul and I met each other as freshmen at Trinity.  He was a magnet, a hub, around which people gravitated.  We were, for one weird summer, roommates.  Our birthdays were one day apart, a fact we never let go of and never stopped celebrating.

And Paul connected me - to you.  To be friends with Paul was to be kept up to date on all of the people in his life who were interesting to him, whether you knew them previously or not.  I'm sure you know what I mean.  Many of you who don't know me from Adam probably heard something about me at some point.  And I recognize many of the names here from stories Paul told me.

I too was a regular recipient of phone calls from the road - I got the feeling that he hated to drive without company. 

I'll see as many of you as I can at the celebration that I know is being planned right now (probably several).

He had a big tent, and he made so many people feel like they were really important to him (and we were!) - I often wondered about his capacity to keep bringing people into a circle where everyone mattered to him and everyone got enough personal attention to feel like maybe you were his best friend too.

I'm bereft, and can't stop crying.  But I also realize that unless we act on it, I'll stop getting regular updates on you all.  Much of that is inevitable.  But anyone who wants a call from me can have one, and I will be hunting down contact info for as many as I can to reach out and not wait.

My heart is broken. 

Our friendship started freshman year at Trinity. We were roommates for the next 3 years and friends for life. 

We were unlikely friends. His disdain for college football was matched by my love for it. He loved good music, but I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket...and my idea of spice was salt. Still, we were both curious and learned from each other. I never quite convinced him about college football, but he did come to appreciate how someone born and raised in Auburn could get excited about it. He, in turn, taught me to appreciate good music (John Prine) and I still have the scars from when some of us thought it would be hilarious to try to play the "Saturday Nite Fever" soundtrack album on his stereo. And he taught me how to make red beans and rice, though he would be disappointed in mine.

Being at school in San Antonio, Paul, the cultural sponge, gained an affinity for the Mexican flavor of the city, and he found it amusing to refer to himself as Pablo, but, ever true to his Hebert roots, he spelled it Pableaux... It stuck.

He made me family, and by that, I mean he, Carmalite and Joe and his sisters and brothers (and even aunts and uncles and cousins) all welcomed me into their home and made me feel loved and welcome. 

He was the best man at my wedding and dropped everything to be there for me when my mother died, when my son got leukemia, and when my father died. I can confirm all that everyone here has written about his warmth, his steadfastness as a friend and his strong moral compass. He was the friend everyone turned to when they needed a friend indeed.

Years, miles, and separate lives have come between us over the years, but, when we talked, it was like no time had passed, and we could be just as close as if we were back in the dorm. 

To write this, I had to choose a category for our relationship. "Friend" only begins to capture it. For a very important part of my life, We knew each other as well as anyone did. I have heard it said that, when you know and love someone, some of your souls are exchanged, and, as long as the people you have met and loved live, a piece of you still lives. Accordingly, Pableaux still has a long, long, and very robust life ahead of him, but the reverse is also true, and a big piece of my heart has gone with him.