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Eric Lindsay, 41, beloved husband, son, brother, brilliant engineer & colleague, died on January 16, 2021. He was born on February 16, 1979, in Jersey City, NJ, to Robert and Jean Lindsay (Sommers). He is survived by his wife Lynn Platow; mother Jean Sommers, and brother Shawn Lindsay.


Eric Lindsay is remarkable.

He will be remembered as the larger-than-life man he is. His strength, wit, and intelligence always at the forefront. He had a big heart for his family— for me. Oh, I love him, and he loved me. Not in spite of me, but because of me.

The space missions were his life's work.

Eric was 41 when he died on January 16, 2021, but in that short time, we had already lived a lifetime together. Some take decades to learn to be a good person, but Eric was efficient.  

He was never mean. He was honest. This was simply because he unapologetically himself and had nothing to prove. He was cocky and sarcastic. He was gruff. He would throw down when needed. He wasn't afraid to be wrong, but he was very rarely wrong. He had a knack for things and he knew it, and he loved it.

Nothing got in Eric's way and nothing got him down.
He stayed deliberate and stayed the course.

He was scary and intimidating to some, but if you were worth a damn, he'd give you a chance.
He didn't judge, but he could see. He had no time for BS.
He had all the time for the things that were important.

He had patience. Never a pushover or sweet, always solid.

He was a force. The world heard his voice and his laugh - he'd clap so hard when he laughed at his own wit that your ears would ring!

But he never did anything for himself. He lived for the project, and the life we had together.

Eric was cultured. He read libraries of books. He was an incredible cook. We lived around the world. Eric never judged anyone that had a difference of opinion. He loved the intelligent discussion and his circle of friends runs the gamut from NASA to CBGB.

He couldn't tolerate deliberate stupidity.
He had no time for fugazi.

He listened to music he liked, drove what he wanted, shaved sometimes.
Titles and recognition were nice, but they didn't define him.

Eric is positively in the heavens orbiting the earth. He touched every panel that he sent into space and anyone who knows him knows he surely left fingerprints. The shooting stars we see from earth are usually satellites. So the next time we see a shooting star and someone tells you it's so-and-so, we can confidently correct them and tell them that no, that's Eric Lindsay.

I raise a glass to you my love, my heart.
I love you, Baby. You're my Eric.

/ Lynn Platow


A book of Eric Lindsay's legacy will be printed.

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