I am texting with a friend. We used to live together in Boston many moons ago. She is one of my closest friends. Something she says reminds me of our former neighbor. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time. On a whim, I google his name and I find his obituary.
Ours was a funny friendship. I was in my early 20s. He was almost forty years my senior. I was trying to figure out who the hell I was and was knee-deep in uncertainty. Also, I lived in a city where I knew very few people. While I learned to love that city, when I first met Dick, I was new, lonely and felt very much alone.
Dick was sociable. Almost everyone in the area knew him, because he talked to everyone. He drank too much; he smoked too much. He had a gazillion stories about everything under the sun. He liked to sit out on his back deck. He enjoyed being out and about. Looking back, he was probably grieving the life he had left behind (or at least put on hold), but I didn’t realize it then.
He had separated from his wife of twenty-five + years. His children were grown and had moved out of the house. He moved out too, and became my neighbor – living in an equivalent of a group house. I suppose in some ways he was trying to find himself too – or at least the new version of himself – the one without a wife or kids in the home.
Initially, he was just the friendly neighbor. We’d say hi passing on the street. Or, I’d be sitting on my front porch smoking cigarettes (I know, I know – see rebellious teen years) and he’d come over to chat. Eventually it got to be him coming over for a beer. He was a regular at a local bar. I began to have a slight obsession with the bartender at said bar and so, we started heading to the bar rather than staying on the porch. Initially it was always Dick and me and my roommate. But, my roommate started dating and didn’t always want to go out; and thus, it often turned in to me and Dick heading out on our own.
It makes me laugh to think about it – because several well-meaning men who also were regulars at that bar tried to warn me about Dick. “You can’t trust him. He’ll try to take advantage of you.” Now, I might have mentioned before, but I don’t like people telling me what to do (well-meaning or not). Generally, when people do this, it makes me want to do the opposite. This was no different. Their insistence that I should not talk with Dick made me want to talk with him more. So, there was little else to do but become friends.
Now, don’t get it twisted – this relationship had nothing sexual about it. But, Dick was happy to go out any time I wanted, staying until closing. We could go for a walk, a restaurant or to a bar (which is where we usually went). Say what you will, but Dick was hilarious. We would laugh and tell stories and occasionally dance. I remember one night spending about twenty minutes talking about gerunds and dangling participles, laughing all the while. He came over one night for a barbeque we were having at our house. We were all playing taboo (i.e. – a game where you try to get people to guess a word, without using a series of other words). His word was “pillow.” He gave the clue, “I’m a willow and I’m tired.” Picturing it, still makes me laugh. He’d tell me stories about his kids, and his grandchildren. On walks, he’d tell me about his grandson as an infant, looking at the moon, pointing and saying “moon!” Dick’s face always lit up when he told that story.
He didn’t talk too much about his past, except occasional stories about his kids or some random thing he did (like selling scalped tickets to a concert). When I read his obituary, I was not surprised to learn that he was a graduate of Boston College and had worked for a period at MIT. I also wasn’t shocked to learn that he had cancer and survived with it for twenty years. Dick lived pretty hard in those days.
As I read through his obituary, I felt a twinge of sadness. But, more than that, I felt grateful for our friendship. He was an amazingly kind man. He was smart and funny. He did not care a bit about what anyone said about him (or at least he didn’t seem to). He was exactly the friend I needed at the time. I like to think I was the friend he needed too.
So what does any of this have to do with diving or mental health? I don’t know. I guess not much. Except, the lessons I took from my friendship with Dick: a). don’t be afraid to connect with people outside of your normal circle. They can bring unique qualities and perspectives to your life; b). don’t judge other people. You never know where they have been or what they are going through; c). make your own judgments about people. Others may believe they have your best intention at heart, but only you can know what you need; d). another person’s trash can be your treasures. (Dick gave me a toaster that he had gotten out of the trash, and fixed. I had it for about 10 years. He loved to collect and fix things). e). be kind. Beautiful friendships are possible, even in the most unlikely of circumstances. f). sometimes it’s okay to drink too much, sit in a bar and laugh about grammar. g). check on your friends. Reach out. You may not always have tomorrow.
I have shamelessly stolen all of these pictures from the internet. Somewhere I have pictures from my time in Boston - but, it would take far too long to find them. Plus, these are likely better than the ones I took.
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