I said goodbye to my friend last week.
Like other memorial services I have been to (there have been far too many), it was somber with the occasional outburst of laughter as good times are recalled, only to be replaced by the reality of the moment.
His wife and children were there; keeping a stoic front, but of course on the inside the pain of his loss was marching through their hearts.
It is sad when anyone you care about dies. But it is even harder when that person is young. My friend was only 51 years old.
Far too young to be taken from this earth. Far too valuable a person to be swept away by the merciless scourge of cancer.
My great-grandmother had a saying, “Old people die when they are old, but young people can die any time.”
She was in advanced stages of dementia when I knew her and would, on occasion, talk to the closet, but during her lucid moments she expressed the wisdom only nine decades of living can provide.
I was a kid back then (and to tell you the truth she used to scare the hell out of me), so her words made little sense at the time, but as I aged I came to understand and appreciate what she meant.
Young people are not supposed to die. A friend of mine from 'back in the day' was not supposed to die of a brain tumour at 28 years old.
Wesley was not supposed to die in an ice fishing accident when we were in Grade 11. That is simply too darn young no matter how you look at it.
I had known him since Grade 1 and he was the first friend I had ever lost. Too many names are etched on the solemn wall of memories in my mind.
Friends, relatives, school mates have all had their names put on that dark, cold reminder they are no longer here.
Death is so final, so complete. When someone moves away, you can still stay in touch with them. You can call them, email them, look them up on FaceBook, or even send them an old-fashioned letter.
They are physically gone, but they are still there, still within reach.
Death steals that from you. Death does not allow any further contact. In its greed, Death wants tto take everything for itself, there is no sharing with the living, no hope of seeing them on this earth again. That greed takes away all future memories you may have had with a loved one.
All that is left are memories of the past. Those recordings of the heart and mind that allows you to relive those relationships. You can lose yourself in those wonderful memories. If only for a little while, you can be reunited with a loved one.
But even then, deep down you know eventually, you will have to return to reality and again feel the sting of loss.
There is nothing special about my mourning. Millions of people mourn the loss of a loved one every second of every day.
Accidents, disease, war and the most horrific of all – suicide – claim loved ones constantly.
Some of us are on this earth longer than others. Even if they do not seem worthy of a long life, death will come for them only when the time is right – no sooner, no later.
But before death, there is life and that is where the magic lies. Life is where you create those memories for, and with your loved ones.
Life is where you can share a laugh with a long-time friend; where you can go camping with your family in the rain, but still have fun; life is the simple things like going for a hike, or helping your son work on his car.
Memories can be created every day. They don't all have to be grand adventures like a tropical vacation or trip to the Alps. Simple things can create memories that last a lifetime.
Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh
Showing posts with label friend. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friend. Show all posts
Friday, March 13, 2015
Friday, February 27, 2015
Goodbye my friend, I miss you
A good friend of mine died last week.
He was taken at age 51 by the scourge of cancer. He went from a powerful, bull of a man to a thin shadow of his former self.
It was heartbreaking to watch.
I met Bryon 17 years ago and he quickly became one of my best friends. He was a good man, with a good heart.
Whenever I needed a hand with something, Bryon was there. He was always willing to pop over and help me out, or loan me a tool I did not have.
All I had to do what ask.
I jokingly said once, “You must dread seeing my number on caller ID.”
ﾒOf course not, it is always good to hear from you,” was his reply and I could feel he really meant it.
I have not met many people in the world with as positive an attitude as Bryon. He was always smiling, always looking on the bright side and always ready with a funny quip.
He is barely gone from the earth and I miss him fiercely. True friends are hard to come by, and he really was a true friend.
I wish I could go over to his place this weekend and throw some darts, or shoot his BB guns in his workshop.
I enjoyed those times more than I realized - just a couple guys hanging out, sharing the bond of friendship.
It is not fair that he should be taken from this world so early.
Why Bryon? Why such a good man? There are so many unworthy people out there, why claim a genuinely nice guy and let the others live and carry on their selfish, uncaring lives?
It makes no sense, but so often life does not make sense.
Why did my friend Greg die at 50, also from the scourge of cancer. I had known Greg since I was four years old. It has been more than three years since he left this earth and I still miss him. I doubt I will ever stop missing him. I doubt I will ever stop missing Bryon.
So many things remind me of Bryon: seeing a truck that looks like his, or a person with the same build, and driving past places where we spent time together remind me we never will again.
You can't replace a long-term friendship. There are new friends to be made, but only time can forge the bond of a long-time friendship.
Even if you have gone several months without seeing each other, when you meet it is like not a moment has passed.
You speak with an ease only a real friendship can provide. There is a comfort in each other's presence only time can build.
But now, he is gone and with him a friendship years in the making.
It is heart wrenching to lose someone so close. The grief and pain his wife and children are experiencing makes the coals of anguish and loss in my own heart burn even hotter.
And I know the pain I feel in his loss pales in comparison to what they have lost.
But life carries on. We do our best to live with the loss. We will do our jobs, we will play and we will live our own lives.
But in the deep reaches of my mind there will always be the shadow of sadness. A vapour roaming the edge of my conciousness, always present and if allowed it would easily fill my heart with sorrow. There are several shadows dwelling in that dark place.
Those black memories of loss are banished to the part of my mind I rarely visit, I do not want to visit. They are always there, and like a cool breeze, I can always feel their presence.
But even the smallest light can pierce the darkest night and like the sun on a spring day, the memories of friendship warm my heart and make it little easier to carry on.
Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh
He was taken at age 51 by the scourge of cancer. He went from a powerful, bull of a man to a thin shadow of his former self.
It was heartbreaking to watch.
I met Bryon 17 years ago and he quickly became one of my best friends. He was a good man, with a good heart.
Whenever I needed a hand with something, Bryon was there. He was always willing to pop over and help me out, or loan me a tool I did not have.
All I had to do what ask.
I jokingly said once, “You must dread seeing my number on caller ID.”
ﾒOf course not, it is always good to hear from you,” was his reply and I could feel he really meant it.
I have not met many people in the world with as positive an attitude as Bryon. He was always smiling, always looking on the bright side and always ready with a funny quip.
He is barely gone from the earth and I miss him fiercely. True friends are hard to come by, and he really was a true friend.
I wish I could go over to his place this weekend and throw some darts, or shoot his BB guns in his workshop.
I enjoyed those times more than I realized - just a couple guys hanging out, sharing the bond of friendship.
It is not fair that he should be taken from this world so early.
Why Bryon? Why such a good man? There are so many unworthy people out there, why claim a genuinely nice guy and let the others live and carry on their selfish, uncaring lives?
It makes no sense, but so often life does not make sense.
Why did my friend Greg die at 50, also from the scourge of cancer. I had known Greg since I was four years old. It has been more than three years since he left this earth and I still miss him. I doubt I will ever stop missing him. I doubt I will ever stop missing Bryon.
So many things remind me of Bryon: seeing a truck that looks like his, or a person with the same build, and driving past places where we spent time together remind me we never will again.
You can't replace a long-term friendship. There are new friends to be made, but only time can forge the bond of a long-time friendship.
Even if you have gone several months without seeing each other, when you meet it is like not a moment has passed.
You speak with an ease only a real friendship can provide. There is a comfort in each other's presence only time can build.
But now, he is gone and with him a friendship years in the making.
It is heart wrenching to lose someone so close. The grief and pain his wife and children are experiencing makes the coals of anguish and loss in my own heart burn even hotter.
And I know the pain I feel in his loss pales in comparison to what they have lost.
But life carries on. We do our best to live with the loss. We will do our jobs, we will play and we will live our own lives.
But in the deep reaches of my mind there will always be the shadow of sadness. A vapour roaming the edge of my conciousness, always present and if allowed it would easily fill my heart with sorrow. There are several shadows dwelling in that dark place.
Those black memories of loss are banished to the part of my mind I rarely visit, I do not want to visit. They are always there, and like a cool breeze, I can always feel their presence.
But even the smallest light can pierce the darkest night and like the sun on a spring day, the memories of friendship warm my heart and make it little easier to carry on.
Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Honour our soldiers 365 days a year
A good friend of mine spent more than 20 years in the Canadian Armed Forces as a driver and heavy equipment operator.
He has been around the world, was stationed in Europe for six years, was asked to be part of a NATO unit and during the last few years of his career, he was sent to pretty much every major disaster, catastrophe and calamity Canadian troops were needed in.
It was not an easy career with long hours and a demanding schedule. One minute he would be at home, hanging out with his young son and the next, he would get a phone call telling him to be ready to deploy in one hour.
Sixty minutes later he was boarding a Hercules aircraft without any idea of where he was going, why he was going there or how long he would be gone.
But go he would – every time they called.
Not everyone could do a job like that. I know I couldn't. I am more a creature of habit and living under such conditions would be too difficult.
But he took it in stride and his unit of engineers, carpenters, mechanics, plumbers and other specialists would be ready to go the moment the phone rang.
“There was never a problem we couldn't fix,” he said with deserved pride.
He retired recently and after a brief stint of being a stay-at-home, full-time dad, he began to go a little wonky and decided to go back to work – sort of.
He takes the summers off and works a few days a week during the fall and winter months to supplement the family income.
The other day he called me out of the blue, the first time we had actually spoken in several years. We keep in regular contact through FaceBook, but it was good to hear his voice.
During our conversation, he mentioned he was delivering a tractor-trailer load of cups for a coffee chain. He was amused at how stressed out the people at the office were over the cups getting where they had to go.
“No one was shooting at me and there were no land mines to worry about, so it was not a big deal,” he said.
A statement like that makes all the stress I face on a daily basis seem rather pathetic.
Deadlines are a part of the newspaper business, but land mines were part of his business. Which would you rather deal with?
It makes me think about those serving in the armed forces and how much they sacrifice.
My buddy missed out on much of his son's early years because he was deployed to a flood, helping hurricane victims or wheeling his way through a war zone.
The men and women of the Canadian Armed Forces make those sacrifices every day. For those called to run out the door at a moment's notice to help where ever they are asked we owe a special bit of gratitude.
We set aside one day a year where we collectively and conciously thank all our veterans for their service and sacrifice.
It is wonderful to have a special day to honour our veterans and they deserve all the accolades hoisted upon them, but they serve 12 months of the year.
We in turn should honour our soldiers 12 months a year, especially now when they are being attacked and murdered on home soil.
If you see a veteran or soldier in coffee shop, pay for their cup of Joe, let them go ahead of you in the check out line or simply shake their hand and say Thank you.
It is the least we can do.
He has been around the world, was stationed in Europe for six years, was asked to be part of a NATO unit and during the last few years of his career, he was sent to pretty much every major disaster, catastrophe and calamity Canadian troops were needed in.
It was not an easy career with long hours and a demanding schedule. One minute he would be at home, hanging out with his young son and the next, he would get a phone call telling him to be ready to deploy in one hour.
Sixty minutes later he was boarding a Hercules aircraft without any idea of where he was going, why he was going there or how long he would be gone.
But go he would – every time they called.
Not everyone could do a job like that. I know I couldn't. I am more a creature of habit and living under such conditions would be too difficult.
But he took it in stride and his unit of engineers, carpenters, mechanics, plumbers and other specialists would be ready to go the moment the phone rang.
“There was never a problem we couldn't fix,” he said with deserved pride.
He retired recently and after a brief stint of being a stay-at-home, full-time dad, he began to go a little wonky and decided to go back to work – sort of.
He takes the summers off and works a few days a week during the fall and winter months to supplement the family income.
The other day he called me out of the blue, the first time we had actually spoken in several years. We keep in regular contact through FaceBook, but it was good to hear his voice.
During our conversation, he mentioned he was delivering a tractor-trailer load of cups for a coffee chain. He was amused at how stressed out the people at the office were over the cups getting where they had to go.
“No one was shooting at me and there were no land mines to worry about, so it was not a big deal,” he said.
A statement like that makes all the stress I face on a daily basis seem rather pathetic.
Deadlines are a part of the newspaper business, but land mines were part of his business. Which would you rather deal with?
It makes me think about those serving in the armed forces and how much they sacrifice.
My buddy missed out on much of his son's early years because he was deployed to a flood, helping hurricane victims or wheeling his way through a war zone.
The men and women of the Canadian Armed Forces make those sacrifices every day. For those called to run out the door at a moment's notice to help where ever they are asked we owe a special bit of gratitude.
We set aside one day a year where we collectively and conciously thank all our veterans for their service and sacrifice.
It is wonderful to have a special day to honour our veterans and they deserve all the accolades hoisted upon them, but they serve 12 months of the year.
We in turn should honour our soldiers 12 months a year, especially now when they are being attacked and murdered on home soil.
If you see a veteran or soldier in coffee shop, pay for their cup of Joe, let them go ahead of you in the check out line or simply shake their hand and say Thank you.
It is the least we can do.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
If it actually happened, this might have been how
If you play with fire, you're going to get burned.
I would imagine just about everyone has heard that line at some point or another, possibly when they are children and they stumble upon a book of matches that are just begging to be used.
While playing with those matches you definitely could burn yourself, or you could accidentally light half a mountainside on fire.
Or so I have heard anyway.
It's not like me and my best friend found a book of matches and were lighting very small piles of sagebrush on fire and then stomping it out.
And we definitely did not make the fires progressively larger and let them burn a little longer before putting them out.
And we certainly did not do it in the middle of a hot summer on a tinderbox of a hillside covered in dead, dry, highly flammable plant matter.
That would just be stupid.
And because we were not doing that, the flames never got away from us and set a massive pile of tumbleweeds on fire that ignited faster than barrel of gasoline.
It does not matter how much you stomp on a huge pile of burning tumbleweeds, they are extremely hard to put out, or so I have heard anyway.
Yup, it's a good thing we never did any of that or else we would have to run to my friend's house – where his firefighter dad had the day off and was doing yard work – screaming the mountain was on fire.
At least his dad and half the neighbourhood did not have to run up the hill with shovels and buckets of water to put out a fire some stupid kids started because they found a book of matches on the street.
It is a good thing none of that happened or a lot of parents would have been really mad at a pair of eight year olds who smelled like smoke and looked more frightened than Dracula's dinner guest.
Had all of that happened, those two eight year olds would have been in a lot of trouble, except one of the eight year olds took all the blame, sparing the other eight year old a lot of grief.
That eight year old, who just for fun we could call my best friend, technically was the one who found the matches and suggested we light some fires in the first place. I, er, um, I mean the other eight year old was just dumb enough to go along with the plan.
Had all of that actually happened anyway, that might be how it happened.
Those two eight year olds were sure good friends. They met four years earlier and were inseparable for more than a decade before life took them in different directions.
However a childhood friendship like that can never be erased. We would cross paths and it would be like not a day had passed since we last hung out together.
At one point we went almost two years without running in to each other, but when we did, we were still the best of friends.
You only get one chance at having a life-long friend and Greg was mine.
We reconnected in our 20s and began to hang out again on a more regular basis, interacting with the ease of a lifetime bond that only childhood friends share.
We would talk about that stupid fire – had it actually happened I mean – and of the many dumb things we did together over all those years.
My best friend is gone now. Taken from this earth far too soon by the scourge of cancer. It will be three years this month since his passing.
I think of him often. I smile at our past adventures, marvel at our stupidity and bask in the joy of the memories only a friendship like that can create.
I miss you my friend, and I always will.
copywrite 2014 Darren Handschuh
I would imagine just about everyone has heard that line at some point or another, possibly when they are children and they stumble upon a book of matches that are just begging to be used.
While playing with those matches you definitely could burn yourself, or you could accidentally light half a mountainside on fire.
Or so I have heard anyway.
It's not like me and my best friend found a book of matches and were lighting very small piles of sagebrush on fire and then stomping it out.
And we definitely did not make the fires progressively larger and let them burn a little longer before putting them out.
And we certainly did not do it in the middle of a hot summer on a tinderbox of a hillside covered in dead, dry, highly flammable plant matter.
That would just be stupid.
And because we were not doing that, the flames never got away from us and set a massive pile of tumbleweeds on fire that ignited faster than barrel of gasoline.
It does not matter how much you stomp on a huge pile of burning tumbleweeds, they are extremely hard to put out, or so I have heard anyway.
Yup, it's a good thing we never did any of that or else we would have to run to my friend's house – where his firefighter dad had the day off and was doing yard work – screaming the mountain was on fire.
At least his dad and half the neighbourhood did not have to run up the hill with shovels and buckets of water to put out a fire some stupid kids started because they found a book of matches on the street.
It is a good thing none of that happened or a lot of parents would have been really mad at a pair of eight year olds who smelled like smoke and looked more frightened than Dracula's dinner guest.
Had all of that happened, those two eight year olds would have been in a lot of trouble, except one of the eight year olds took all the blame, sparing the other eight year old a lot of grief.
That eight year old, who just for fun we could call my best friend, technically was the one who found the matches and suggested we light some fires in the first place. I, er, um, I mean the other eight year old was just dumb enough to go along with the plan.
Had all of that actually happened anyway, that might be how it happened.
Those two eight year olds were sure good friends. They met four years earlier and were inseparable for more than a decade before life took them in different directions.
However a childhood friendship like that can never be erased. We would cross paths and it would be like not a day had passed since we last hung out together.
At one point we went almost two years without running in to each other, but when we did, we were still the best of friends.
You only get one chance at having a life-long friend and Greg was mine.
We reconnected in our 20s and began to hang out again on a more regular basis, interacting with the ease of a lifetime bond that only childhood friends share.
We would talk about that stupid fire – had it actually happened I mean – and of the many dumb things we did together over all those years.
My best friend is gone now. Taken from this earth far too soon by the scourge of cancer. It will be three years this month since his passing.
I think of him often. I smile at our past adventures, marvel at our stupidity and bask in the joy of the memories only a friendship like that can create.
I miss you my friend, and I always will.
copywrite 2014 Darren Handschuh
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