My friend Vince

Vincent Lam, my friend and former colleague, passed away from lung cancer on Oct. 2. He was 50. Here is what I shared at his memorial service earlier today.

I'd like to say a few words about my friend Vince.

We met about 18 years ago at Electronic Arts. He was a model team lead—professional, kind, and thoughtful—a sentiment shared by many of his colleagues from Arista as well.

After he left EA, Vince was the one who took the initiative to keep us connected outside of work, organizing lunches with former colleagues: myself, James, and Mike. Over the years, my wife Sheryl, Alven, and Vince shared many good times together—swapping travel stories over meals, taking in concerts and performances, and even playing in the snow. This is the kind of human Vince was: a natural connector, bringing people together.

I’d like to jump ahead now to March 23 of this year, when I encountered Vince at BC Cancer as he was coming out of chemotherapy. I’ve always had anxiety around needles, so I asked him what the IV was like. He replied, calmly, that you only feel the initial poke in the hand, then it's fine. That’s the kind of human Vince was: calm, composed, and reassuring to those around him.

The very next day, March 24, I received the results of my own biopsy and was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. This profound coincidence, where both of us were walking the same dark path, is something I feel will bind Vince and me for eternity.

Our last meeting in person was about three months ago, when we went for a walk on New West Quay. By then, I was struggling deeply with existential distress and death anxiety. Even though his medical condition was far worse than mine, he was the one comforting me—helping me face my fears about decline. “I’m not afraid to die,” he said. This is the kind of human Vince was: truly fearless and selfless, offering comfort even while enduring greater suffering himself.

Vince embodied the idea that Viktor Frankl wrote about in Man's Search for Meaning:
“The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity—even under the most difficult circumstances—to add a deeper meaning to his life. It may remain brave, dignified and unselfish.”

In our last message exchange, I mentioned a side effect of my medication—stomach upset—and told him that dietary changes weren’t helping. I was focused on my minor inconvenience, while he was enduring chemotherapy and radiation. He simply replied: "Ah, I guess so. But a good BM (bowel movement) will make one's day." This is the kind of human Vince was: humble, selfless, and still using humor to make his friend feel better.

Vince lived with quiet courage, grace, and humor to the very end. He brought people together, lifted their spirits, and faced life’s hardest moments with calm and dignity. Those who knew him will remember not only his strength, but the kindness and light he shared so generously with everyone around him.

May 2010. Vince hasn't aged at all