Eric listened to heavy metal soon after he learned our friend Bryan had died. I kept listening to the folk, bluegrass and rock that I usually do. But after returning from Oklahoma last week, I began playing the heavy metal.

For Eric and me, Bryan had been the largest influence for heavy metal. The three of us stayed in touch after serving together in the U.S. Army. We were in 82nd Airborne Division during the Persian Gulf War. The three of us were big friends. For instance, we spent Y2K together, and we climbed Mount St. Helens. Bryan is the reason my CD collection has Black Sabbath, Pantera and Rush, among others.

And now he is gone.

Murdered.

In front of his house.

As his wife watched.

Bryan Christianson died at age 39. It’s a sad story, the saddest one I know.

Bryan and Jeanine had been married for 10 years. They lived in Broken Arrow, Okla. Jeanine was a stay-at-home mother, while Bryan was recently promoted at Fastenal. He leaves behind two adorable daughters, Emily, 9, and Celeste, 4.

Jeanine had a former friend who lived on the same block in Broken Arrow. This former friend has a girl about Emily’s age and this woman was living with a 10-time felon. Yes, that’s right, 10 felonies.

At Rooster Days, a local festival, this woman and Jeanine crossed paths. The woman was upset because Jeanine wouldn’t let Emily play with her daughter. Words flew, and words weren’t enough. The 10-time felon spit tobacco juice on Jeanine and shoved her. He got arrested, and the next day he posted bail.

Ever notice that people prone to committing crimes never take responsibility for their actions? Well, this guy blamed Jeanine for having to go back to jail and made threats (I’m not sure if via telephone or in person). Bryan and Jeanine walked to the house where the crook lived, intending to tell him to just drop it. The coward never came out of the house.

Bryan and Jeanine walked back to their own home, and the 10-time felon came out of his house with a 10-inch knife and chased after them. Jeanine scrambled to go in the house to call 911 but before going in heard Bryan tell the guy to put the knife down and fight like a man. Apparently, Bryan thought he was in a fair fight.

But he wasn’t. The man must have hidden it. He stabbed Bryan twice in his chest, then stood over the injured and helpless Bryan and viciously stabbed him once in the back of the neck. Bryan went limp. Jeanine couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

That was a Monday. Doctors found his spinal cord had been severed. Machines kept him alive. He died Friday. The visitation was last Tuesday. The graveside service was Wednesday, a beautiful morning. Eric and I were pallbearers.

The big question hung in the air as she sobbed. What is Jeanine going to do? Two girls. No job. They definitely aren’t going to live in that house anymore. What do you do when you find yourself alone?

Fortunately, she is not alone. She has a wonderful family, filled with New York accents. Many were Long Islanders who moved to Oklahoma. Her mother and stepfather three months ago bought a 20-acre country spread near Depew. It’s right off Route 66. That is where Jeanine and the girls have been living, and they hope to build another home on the property someday. Eric and I enjoyed riding horses there, and we even more so enjoyed watching the girls ride horses. Appaloosas.

My only advice to Jeanine was to take as long as she needs to figure what to do next. There’s no rush.

I returned to work on Friday, then I was left with a Memorial Day weekend I didn’t really want to celebrate. After burying one of my fathers in April and now burying my dear friend, it’s been a hard spring. I didn’t need cemeteries, rifle salutes or “Taps.”

On Sunday morning, I watched the CBS TV news show “Sunday Morning.” They had a piece about Arlington Cemetery, and they spoke to a widow who was placing stones on her husband’s gravestone. Her husband had died in the Iraq War.

I instantly wept. Finally, I wept. Finally, after trying my best to be strong for others, after trying to be a positive shoulder to cry on, I wept. I tried to keep my tears to myself, but my wife, who was making pancakes in the kitchen, happened to step in the living room. She comforted me.

I kept saying: Bryan’s dead.

There’s nothing that can change that, and it sucks.

Tribune Managing Editor Tim Engstrom’s column appears every Tuesday.