Unforgettable

There’s a beautiful love song called Unforgettable. The opening lyrics are “Unforgettable, that’s what you are/ Unforgettable, though near or far …” Despite the fact that it’s a romantic love song, I think at least those few lines apply to many people I have known.

Unforgettable.

Today, March 23rd, happens to be a good friend’s birthday. Sadly he’s not here to celebrate because he died of cancer a few years ago. Because I am one of those people who remembers such occasions, I have his birthday and death day both marked on my calendar each year and note both days with fond memories. Sometimes I’ll break out a photo album and thumb through old pictures; other times I’ll just write a few notes or a remembered story about him in my journal. I had known him for years, but we became close friends after my father passed away. He was one of a few friends who helped me sift through the treasures and detritus that remained of my father’s life. Death has an interesting way of turning acquaintances into friends – and, sadly, family into strangers.

My friend could fix just about anything. One time he noticed I was having trouble locking the tailgate of my truck. When I returned from some project that had called me away, I discovered the tailgate was fixed, and remains so to this day. I never asked. He just took it upon himself to fix it. Every time I use that tailgate I think of him.

He was greatly fond of garage sales and rescuing things left on the side of the road. He could find a use for lots of things people just threw away, and was always picking through things to salvage and fix. When he died he left a lot of stuff behind, a lot of projects unfinished and ideas unrealized. But one of the things he salvaged for me was an old Pepsi clock. It wasn’t really broken – someone just got tired of it and threw it away. He remembered I had a thing for Pepsi and so I was presented with this clock – just because. It keeps great time and I see it every day and so my friend, too, is part of my everyday life through just this simple act of giving.

Another treasure he found was a T-shirt with a wolf on it. Something else I have a thing for. Maybe it cost him a buck, but I still treasure that shirt and the thought that went into it, and when it finally turns to threads I’ll have to figure out a way to salvage the remains.

What do I remember about him besides his thoughtfulness? We were great conspiracy theory buffs together and used to exchange heated midnight emails about all the worrying political machinations we saw unfolding in the world. Most, he would be sad to know, were not conspiracies after all. He had a much greater faith in human nature than I could ever conjure and would be disappointed to know that, about many things, we were unfortunately right.

I remember his taste in humor and music, and he introduced me to the off the wall humor of The Congress of Wonders (yes, this cut has been censored: “Hi, I'm Buster Crabb, I live in your shoe. That's my dog Fagg, He lives in there too. *Meow!* Do your own thing dog.”), and Firesign Theater , and the music of John Mayall among others. I think the Mayall was on 8 track. I can still recite The Congress of Wonders’ “Radio Phil” and “Star Trip” word for word. Those were on vinyl. We wore those records out!

He enlisted in the Navy during the Vietnam war. He was a medic and would keep that interest throughout his life. He never did much with it after his tour of duty was over, but he read a lot and knew much more than the average person about holistic medicines and nutrition.

I remember one scorching hot summer he and I painted my cottage on the lake. The neighbors were thrilled! It had been a while since the cottage had had a new coat of paint and I picked a nice forest green with bright white trim. The neighbors were delirious with anticipation. At last the tiny cottage was no longer to be their idea of an eye sore. The first day we painted it rained buckets and all our hard work was literally washed off the walls in long, sad streaks that made the cottage look like it was weeping. I know the neighbors were. We left it that way for a couple of days just to annoy them. It worked. But in the end, it looked great.

My friend loved cats more than dogs, although I think he may have had a soft spot for my dog Boris. But he was always befriending stray cats and bringing them home. When they’d die or turn up missing, his heart would break. But that never stopped him from bringing home another stray and loving again.

He never married, although I do remember he had a love interest at one time. There were probably more before her, but after she ended up with a friend of his, the betrayal he felt was too much. I don’t think he put much stock in women again.

He dedicated much of his adult life to his parents. There are mixed stories about why he returned home after his stint in the Navy. None of the stories matter now, but I like to think he did the best for his parents that he knew how. He watched over them, and they him, for many years.

Life did not end well for my friend. I’ll leave it there. I was in Tennessee when I heard the news that he was dying, and the news came so suddenly I couldn’t get home in time to say good bye. He had no phone in his hospital room, and was too far gone to talk anyway, although the nurses assured me he got my messages and understood.

We’d sure in hell have a lot to talk about these days. I miss those midnight email and the summer visits.

Happy Birthday, Craig. I miss you, my friend.

I will remember you

Will you remember me?

Don’t let your life pass you by

Weep not for the memories.