Old friends

Lost a good friend earlier today. Totally unexpected. Age mate. Actually, just one day younger than I am. She’s the one in the picture on the left. Married one of my oldest and dearest friends -- the guy in the middle -- back when we were all just kids.

We didn’t think we were kids then, of course. We were pushing 21, for pete’s sake. We knew we didn’t know everything, but we had confidence we’d cypher out the puzzles, whether social or personal. Her name was Jana. He is Richard, though most call him Dick. Her death is a mystery.

We were all going to turn 60 in March. God willing, the remaining three of us will. Just not Jana. Oh, and the party we were already planning. You see, Dick’s and my birthday are both 23 March. Jana’s was the 24th. (The other gal pictured here is Mary. Her birthday is 6 March.) Ever since our 40th birthday in 1990, we’ve had a party for friends and family every five years.

Dick and I are particularly good buddies because after our high school days -- we’re both Carroll HS 1968 -- we rented a house along with another high school buddy, John. John and I were attending dear old Wright State U, while Dick finished at ITT and took a real job making real money with real benefits in the lumber/millwork business. Oh, the parties we had! Not too many, but cool. Lots of friends. Ping pong, talk, some guitar music and song amid the smoke in the bedroom. Couldn’t tell you what kind of food we had. I’m sure it wasn’t much, but nobody complained. At one party, a friend of mine lamented the absence of his girl who lived in Ravenna, Ohio, up by Kent State. I was between girlfriends, but had a hot prospect in Cleveland. I looked at him, he looked at me, and then he said, ‘I’ll drive.’ I said, ‘I’ll share the gas.’ And away we went to see the women. Such a visit that was.

Since those days on Samuel Street, John went to work for the state (social work) and I took a job teaching in Huber Heights. Dick carried on with lumber -- and was the first of our triumvirate to move on. He and his girlfriend, Jana, were ready to make the commitment. Indeed they did. They ended up with two lovely daughters and -- so far -- a couple of grandboys.

A couple months before that 40th birthday party, I got a phone call from John’s mother-in-law. She spoke haltingly and I couldn’t quite comprehend what she said. Perhaps it is more accurate to say I didn’t want to understand what she said: John had suffered a brain aneurism and was at death’s door. It wasn’t good. He lasted a few days, but never was able to tell anybody anything. Many of the folks from those good old parties gathered one more time to escort John to his final resting place. Still, the 40th birthday party went on. John’s picture, placed on the mantel, was toasted many times that evening.

And now as we plan our 60th birthday party -- Jana had been in on the details -- we’ll have another picture on the mantel. Such a shame.

Still, we know we’re all headed in that direction. As I say every once in a while, ‘Nobody’s getting out of here alive.’ And it’s true. Cindy and I have been to three or four funerals lately of folks about our age. And every time we get home, we talk about our own demise. And we hug and are grateful for one more day.

I feel great loss. Jana was a sweet spirit. Dick hurts. Their girls hurt. Jana won’t get to watch those little boys grow up. That’s one of the things that gets to me most. I so much love to work and play with my own grandkids. She has been deprived of that joy. Same with John. Shoot, John didn’t even live long enough to meet his daughter-in-law.

And I guess that makes me lucky to still be here. Trust me. I know.

Today’s elder idea: Can you imagine us years from today, sharing a park bench quietly? How terribly strange to be 70.

from ‘Old Friends’/ Simon & Garfunkel’s Bookends (1968)