Steve is grieving these days. Even little reminders will set it off. He somehow believes he needs to apologize to me for the tears running down his face and the quaver in his voice, once he can get himself together enough to speak again. I have to remind him that no apologies are ever required for that.
He has a treasured childhood friend named Gene. Unlike what many of us have had, this is a relationship which has lasted through the decades. They might have not spoken for a year or more at times, but they always reconnected as if they'd just spoken, but now had some more news to share.
I got introduced to Gene as a concept, hearing about him and their childhood games. The boys were in elementary school, and Gene's house had that magic prop for all their adventures, a back porch. It was a fort, a house, a wagon, whatever imagination and need turned it into.
There was one favorite game, always starting the same way before branching off exploring new possibilities. The Civil War had just ended, and our two soldiers, after fighting for opposite sides, met again and paired up. Any conflict from the war was buried: there was A PROBLEM which needed to be solved. Somebody needed to be rescued, whether from wild Indians or rogue bandit ex-soldiers or whoever was evil on the western frontier where their imaginations roamed. Before suppertime, of course all was again well, our two heroes triumphing once again just in time for that call to return home. If you think any of this sounds familiar, there was a John Wayne movie back when that may or may not have stolen the plot from one of their adventures.
I got introduced to Gene in person several years ago. He and his partner Vickie were living in Jacksonville, Florida. We flew out to join them to fulfill one last adventure, along with some socializing, a visit to Homosassa Hot Springs to see manatees and feathered wildlife, and the Atlantic coast which neither of the two of us had visited yet. The adventure in question this time involved visiting one of those costumed photo studios, dressing up in their chosen soldier roles, and getting shots to keep. Nevermind that it was two old men in those pictures. In their own eyes they were forever boys on that back porch.
As a reward for my providing transportation, Steve had me dress up as a fancy lady (lady? well, fancy anyway) of the time, and we got a shot together. Turns out the trick to most of those costumes is they have no backs, and if you are on the large side, and posing carefully, they appear to fit. The cameraman and I - as well as Gene - had disagreements about how our heads should be tilted. With attitude? (Our preferences.) Or chins and hats way up so the entire face shows. The results were kind of in-between. Everybody had to compromise.
Fast forward a few years to the present. Gene has been in a nursing home for a couple months now. No diagnosis for him, or at least none shared. He's wasting away, getting weaker, frailer, and barely able to eat, just a shadow of his former self. He's as tall as Steve but down to 115 pounds. By the time he became unable to reach over and pick up his own cell to answer a call, he also announced he was hoping that he didn't have to live much longer. Steve several times contacted the home and asked for his nurse, or one at his station at least. Sometimes that worked, so Gene at least knew his lifelong friend was still caring and trying to connect, even though calls were necessarily short. Other times nobody seemed interested enough in making the connection possible.
Gene was finally given hospice status, though it didn't involve relocating to another section of the home. Reaching him became nearly impossible. But just a few days ago, Steve got a call from Gene's phone. He'd had help making it of course, and it lasted perhaps three tear filled minutes. The messages passed were essentially "I love you" and "Good-bye." For Steve the most important one was Gene telling him that he'd been the closest thing to a brother Gene had ever had.
I doubt either of us believe there will be another call. Well, not except for that very last one telling Steve it's over. He tried to ask Gene if he could put him on the list of people to notify after the end. I'm not sure Gene ever comprehended the message, since Steve broke up several times trying to say it. Hopefully Vickie will call when she's able to so we know. Meanwhile everybody's in a kind of limbo, hanging on to not knowing as if that were actual news, waiting for that final notice that ends any hope.
And Steve grieves.
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