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March 02, 2004Vaya Con Dios, Mi AmigoThe longest of long time readers will remember my discussion of a former boss of mine and the late night incident with his daughter from just over a year ago. This blog had only just began and it was one of the first dating adventures chronicled here. She was KL and he was CL. CL was truly one of the best bosses I had ever had. He gave guidance and direction without dictating or domineering. In the short few months we worked together, he became more like a father to me than a boss. He maintained a warm and measured demeanor; firmness when required, encouragement when needed, praise when earned. His reaction to me after I stayed out with his daughter late into the night and early morning a year ago was a perfect example of the good man he was. In the last mention I made of him on this blog, I noted that he had developed a curious medical condition. I will never forget the day his first symptom struck. He had uncharacteristically not returned from lunch shortly like he normally did when he took the rare lunch away from the office. Having only being with the company a few months, he had not yet taken an apartment in town and his wife maintained their home in Oklahoma. As he sat in his hotel room that fated day, he was suddenly overcome with a seizure that temporarily struck his ability to speak. I will never forget that day. I had come back from usual late lunch and a co-worker told me as I walked in that he had just called and said that he was about to get into an ambulance en route to the hospital. I dropped everything and sped to the emergency room. Within an hour, another co-worker and I were allowed in to see him. He looked a bit pale, but was in remarkably good spirits. Add to this situation that his wife was in the midst of a battle with breast cancer, and one begins to understand just how tough a situation this was for him and his entire family. Over the next few weeks, he suffered a few more of these episodes while the doctors continued to seek to diagnose his ailment. His doctors had counseled him not to drive and in the next week I drove him to the Little Rock airport on a Friday to fly home to Oklahoma City to spend the weekend with his family. When we had meetings with business interests in Little Rock, I drove us. As is familiar to most, when two people spend several hours together driving various places, you get to know each other much better by virtue of the conversations you share to pass the time. In those hours on the road between Monticello and Little Rock, I came to know CL more closely than most bosses I have ever had, certainly in that short of a time. I came to respect and even love him as well. As the aforementioned post described, CL left the company over a stringent disagreement with the CEO. I last saw him a year and a week ago when I went by his apartment to let him know that his wife was looking for him and desperately concerned given his recent spats with seizures. Knocking on his door that fated afternoon, I feared the worst. In my mind, I prepared to knock down the door if he failed to answer; my cell phone had 911 ready to dial by pressing ‘send.’ He answered the door with a warm smile and we visited for a while. Any awkwardness I might have felt given his leaving the company that morning or from the fear of what I thought I might have discovered was erased by his warm smile and friendly manner. I asked if he needed a someone to drive him to the airport or even to Oklahoma and he let me know that KL was already on her way to bring him home. We shook hands and shared smiles and an eye to eye gaze that said we were still friends and that everything would be okay. Reluctantly, I returned to the office to finish the day. That handshake was the last time I saw CL or spoke to him. Approximately a month later, we learned CL had been diagnosed with brain cancer. The doctors did not hold much hope for a recovery or him surviving into the summer. I remember being thunderstruck. CL was my father’s age, his daughter my age. The thought that a man so young, so intelligent, so caring, so gentle, and so much a part of what is right about the world today could be taken from us so soon was inconceivable. It seemed utterly unfair, wrong, and perhaps the most counter intuitive act fate had taken in some time. Over the year, I would hear through our human resources manager how he was doing, how his treatment was going, how his family was, and I always sent my warmest regards through her back to him. Since leaving the company back in December, I have caught myself wondering as to his health more than a few times. I remain in touch with only a few of my closest colleagues from there and there had been no mention of CL in our past several conversations. Until today. This afternoon, my good friend, KB, sent me a text message: “Mom just called. CL died today. I just thought you would like to know.” Gentle readers, I am not exactly sure why this news has struck me as hard as it has. My stomach has been rolling and clinching upon itself. A melancholy cloud has descended around me and a sadness has settled in my soul. I fear it is mostly attributable to the fact that I never took the opportunity to call him again, to visit with him one more time, to tell him how much his friendship had meant to me. It is impossible now, and I can only hope he knew. Vaya Con Dios, Mi Amigo.
Epilogue
KL never emailed me back from the day he left the company. I understood why she might not want to and have respected her silence. Today, I want to email her with my condolences. I’m not sure if it would be welcome. Gentle readers, your counsel is needed here. Comments
I am very sorry to read of your friend's death. While I don't know the history between you and his daughter, I do know one thing: when my mother died, I appreciated each and every condolence I received. It was good to know that other people respected and missed her as much as I did. Every ex-boyfriend I had could have expressed their condolences, and I would have accepted them graciously. Posted by: Kerry at March 2, 2004 06:33 PMDear Adam, I am so sorry that you lost a friend. Having recently lost someone very close to me, I know how it can strike you. My condolences, and my prayers are with you. With regard to the matter of your condolences to the young lady, I would by all means send them. I am sure that, in the light of the respect in which you held her father, they would be welcome. When someone you love dies, every little bit of extra warmth counts for something. I say, go for it. Best of luck with it. Posted by: kelley at March 2, 2004 06:33 PMI am absolutely certain that the young lady would very much welcome an expression of your regret and sorrow at her father's passing. Some life events just seem to pull our lives into clear detail, separating the wheat from the chaff. Such will, no doubt, be the case of your interesting evening together. Posted by: Denise at March 2, 2004 07:43 PMI am sorry to hear of your friends death. You missed one opportunity to reach out and share your feelings with someone I think it would be a mistake to let it happen twice. Posted by: Kenneth at March 3, 2004 08:40 AMYou clearly loved her dad. I'm sure she'd love to see your post. This isn't about her feelings for you. It's about acknowledging what a wonderful person her dad was. Go for it. Posted by: Omnibus Driver at March 3, 2004 10:43 AMSend her a card, not an email. Posted by: sugarmama at March 3, 2004 02:26 PMI'm with Sugar. Send a card. Posted by: kara at March 3, 2004 03:20 PMI waited over 2 years before I wrote to a close friend of mine about the death of her grandmother, who was very close to me and to my family. I couldnt bring myself to go to the funeral; it just shook me up so bad. and to this day, I have regretted not going. However, I finally did write to my friend. and I simply told her how I felt, and the memories that I had of her grandmother. I told her that I missed her grandma, who gave me alot of advice and guidance during a rough part of my life. Well my friend wrote back, said she had tears in her eyes reading the letter. and at last, she understood. There is no time deadline for expressing your condolences, do it when it strikes you, but do it. you'll feel better once you send that letter out. and I am sure her father, if he were here, would understand. and you are very lucky to have had him in your life, for however brief the time was. :) good luck :) Posted by: Laura at March 3, 2004 04:56 PMI am sorry for the loss of such a good friend. I think you do need to offer your condolences to your friend's family. I am sure they would be happy to know that he meant so much to you. Although I don't think it should be via e-mail, that's too impersonal. Good luck and I know you will make the right decision! Posted by: Beth at March 3, 2004 08:23 PMYou did the right thing. I found a quote last night that reminded me of you: "Young people tend to regard mourning as a sham; purists, as pagan ritual. Do not fall into this trap, my son. Every word of condolence, every recollection, every compassionate gesture, nourishes the seed of memory. For in the nature of things, memory fills the gap left by loss. Which makes mourning one of the few genuinely humane acts we are given to perform. Heed me. Do as the Torah commands. Never neglect the obligations of mourning." (from, "The Secret Book of Grazia Rossi" by Jacqueline Park) I'd say you done good. Posted by: Omnibus Driver at March 4, 2004 10:36 AMPost a comment
 
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