It’s not easy, this death. Especially when you are the one left behind. Best friends are supposed to last forever. Not fair that he should go and leave me.
Parents are different. As much as you hate to lose them, it is what parents do. They leave. We grieve but really we know and accept it is the order of things. Friends are for life. What the heck happened? Who wrote this script? We had too much fun to share yet.
I’m good until I think of something foolish he wrote. Then I’m no good. I blubber a lot. Then I think of letters passed between us and I will smile at the memory. Then I’ll weep. Damn, I’m old enough to know this happens to friends, especially those friends who are looking at the slippery slope part of life. Still, it’s not easy, this death.
I awoke sometime early this morning from a dream. I was gasping for breath. I couldn’t get it. I struggled. No air. Awake. Heart pounding. Don’t know the time. Back to sleep. Wake again. Three in the morning. Potter around then go back to bed then sleep.
I get up and wonder how my friend is. I don’t think he will make it. I take Spot out to the park and come back to find a message on the phone. My dear friend died at 1:45 a.m. Was that the time of my dream? I like to think it was. If so, I know Don was thinking of me in his last moments. It sounds good but maybe selfish? It’s not easy, this death.
My friend was an Anglican priest. I was to call him Holy Ness. He became the padre of our 10th Field Battery Association. Don was a big man. Raised on Western Hill. Wound up on Permilla St. Years ago I drew a cartoon of Don. I called it The Padre of Permilla. I had him on a plinth in Walkinshaw Park. Don roared with laughter. As only Don could laugh. I’ll add it to this blog. I need to smile.
It’s not easy, this death. Especially when you are the one left behind. Best friends are supposed to last forever. Not fair that he should go and leave me.
Wait at the gates my friend.
Parents are different. As much as you hate to lose them, it is what parents do. They leave. We grieve but really we know and accept it is the order of things. Friends are for life. What the heck happened? Who wrote this script? We had too much fun to share yet.
I’m good until I think of something foolish he wrote. Then I’m no good. I blubber a lot. Then I think of letters passed between us and I will smile at the memory. Then I’ll weep. Damn, I’m old enough to know this happens to friends, especially those friends who are looking at the slippery slope part of life. Still, it’s not easy, this death.
I awoke sometime early this morning from a dream. I was gasping for breath. I couldn’t get it. I struggled. No air. Awake. Heart pounding. Don’t know the time. Back to sleep. Wake again. Three in the morning. Potter around then go back to bed then sleep.
I get up and wonder how my friend is. I don’t think he will make it. I take Spot out to the park and come back to find a message on the phone. My dear friend died at 1:45 a.m. Was that the time of my dream? I like to think it was. If so, I know Don was thinking of me in his last moments. It sounds good but maybe selfish? It’s not easy, this death.
My friend was an Anglican priest. I was to call him Holy Ness. He became the padre of our 10th Field Battery Association. Don was a big man. Raised on Western Hill. Wound up on Permilla St. Years ago I drew a cartoon of Don. I called it The Padre of Permilla. I had him on a plinth in Walkinshaw Park. Don roared with laughter. As only Don could laugh. I’ll add it to this blog. I need to smile.
It’s not easy, this death. Especially when you are the one left behind. Best friends are supposed to last forever. Not fair that he should go and leave me.
Wait at the gates my friend.
I knew Padre Don for only a short while and yet I feel like I knew him for a lifetime, that is the sort of man he was. We wrote each other by email and my pen name was TOG, short for The Old Gunner. He told me, "then you must call me TOP, The Old Padre." We shared stories of his Western Hill days,of his father Joe West who I knew from my days at Thompson Products. Of things military and things Spiritual. I took him to the gun club one morning with several firearms that I own and was amazed at his prowess with a handgun. While not having much luck knocking down old bowling pins, I muttered an expletive and was instantly embarrased! He repeated the expletive in that booming voice of his and promptly shot a pin which fell over knocking down two others with it. Three pins, one bullet. Chastened, I said, "Ah come on TOP, that's not fair, using a Higher Power to take advantage!" He roared! A day or so before he went into the hospital, he wrote me an email saying this would be his last, as breathing was difficult and that his daughter would write for him in the future. I shall miss him as the Honourary Padre of the 10th Battery Association, on the ranges at the gun club and as a friend. Stand Easy TOP.
ReplyDeleteTOG