2001-01-23 - 21:47 MST

January 23, 2001

His Name Was Bill

My friend, my friend is gone. After suffering for some years and being almost house bound, he died the other day. His wife called and cried the news to Heather.

The last time I was with him was in 1972. I got to spend some time with him while my family was touristing down there and visiting our former next door neighbors. Now there is only one of the neighbors left, he died an alcoholic's death a couple of years ago.

I spent as much time with Bill as I could, never knowing it was for the last time.

Bill's wife and Heather kept up a correspondence through all this time and and each of them would pass along greetings, he didn't write and I was working two jobs.

They moved back to their home state, Michigan after he couldn't paint signs anymore. He began to ail, and over time spent a lot of hospital time. Bill's wife took over all the responsibilities and cared for him in every way she could.

Heather and I (a dollar short and a day late) had been talking about trying to get up there via Amtrak and visit, thinking that none of us were getting younger and we should go.

I make a joke out of an old man's life referring to myself, you know -- I crawl out of bed, get the paper, read the obits to see if I am dead, blathering on.

But it is not easy to give up friends without a last handshake and good bye.

Although we were states apart our friendship remained even though the communication was between our wives. Remembered are the times we helped each other, and visited. I had a friend, His Name Was Bill . . . . . .

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