My Navy Buddy
I was good friends with a man from Cape Cod named Jerry Landry who proudly hailed from Barnstable, Massachusetts -- often proclaiming that it was the leading edge of civilization while everything to the West and beyond (and South, in particular) was comprised of "Indians".
He had a casual aire about him and a flair for understatement which spoke volumes. We were inseparable during our Navy years being home ported in Charleston, South Carolina. We explored every nook and cranny of the Southeast in my little green Vega -- the one without air conditioning in the oppressive white hot August sun ...
Traversing the Blue Ridge Parkway, Smoky Mountains, and piedmont frequenting the rural americana of the area, often returning scant minutes prior to liberty ending; we got around.
As time and distance always seems to do, we grew apart as we both departed the Navy and pursued interests more close to home. My technical endeavors in the computer industry took me hither, thither, and yon to the West coast and back many times.
We had spoken on the phone a lot after I began civilian life. I even had the opportunity to indulge myself in a short visit when work brought me in close proximity.
Jerry had been working for the Post Office in his home town for a long while and upon a chance telephone call I learned that he had found exactly what he was supposed to do, teach at a local area high school.
He said that it would never make him rich, but the satisfaction derived from his duties there eclipsed any remuneration a mere paycheck could provide. He was happy (as usual) and immensely satisfied.
I told him I'd look him up again in a year or two and we would get together for a week or so as his schedule permitted.
At long last the time came when my availability was finally at hand so I Googled him to get that elusive telephone number as I have done so many times before. Instead of the usual phone entry I was shocked and dismayed to encounter his obituary. It seems that he had passed some six months earlier unexpectedly.
So thusly I was there -- "on the edge of a feather expecting to fly" only to plunge like Icarus falling -- into the pit of despair for all that he was had gone from me with an abrupt separation pain and anxiety that only heartstrings may feel.
I suppose the moral of the story concerns remaining in contact with those you care about. It's too easy to let the electronics of our twenty-first century world blur the distances between us and as a learned observer once mused 'we talk of killing time as if, alas; it weren't time that kills us.'