On being memorable!
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
A dear friend of mine died the other day in California. He was a traveling buddy — the cameraman who took the footage for promotional videos that I produced. We had a lot of fun filming events in Venezuela, Mexico, India — anywhere they sent us.
Unofficially retired, this man's mind couldn't possibly retire. He always was coming up with ideas, projects, things to do and would have loved to be traveling, adventuring in some far off place full time.
On our last trip, he wasn't feeling good. "I'm coming down with a cold or something," he said. But the cold symptoms didn't go away and then breathing issues entered the picture and pretty soon they had him under a physician's care, hospitalized even, and on heavy steroids which still didn't seem to be helping.
Here was a man who had everything that most people would want. He'd had a successful career, a pretty normal family, all the money he could use and then some, but at least two things eluded him — his desire to see the world and now his health.
I used to wonder, "If he chose to do what he wanted to do, would his health improve? Is his lack of breath a signal, a metaphor of other issues in his life?" I thought they were, but who was I to make that call? I barely knew the man. We were co-workers with whole lives full of decisions and inherited tendencies that were a mystery.
We had only had a year or two of camaraderie and then we were both on with our separate lives in very separate parts of the country — although we'd call every now and then and compare our country-living experiences. And now he's gone. It is difficult to grieve a fringe-friend long distance. And talking about him now, is one way I process this loss — even though in actuality he was gone before. Gone from shared experiences. Gone from that working collaboration. Gone from the adventure of filming new places and foreign faces. Gone from view.
In another way, my friend Hunter is never gone. I sat the other night and looked at the footage he'd captured of India and I laughed right out loud. He and I created a visual picture of that country that will never fade. Seven years later, it's still lovely to experience. And so it is, the friends who touch our lives, however briefly, become part of the fabric of our current existence.
My old friend Doc used to say, "Those we love are always with us — that's how they achieve immortality." And he'd grin. He was counting on being memorable!
A mutual friend called and told us about Hunter's funeral. It was held outside in Southern California
I've attended quite a few funerals and I must admit I haven't heard any brass bands or the wail of a saxophone at any of them! I'm delighted when the officiating pastor has some firsthand information about the deceased and puts a warm touch on the formalities. There needs to be something unusual at these events to signal the passage of a unique individual. When we lose a loved one it cannot be just another day in the country.
