Mike and I lost a close friend today.  He was like a big brother.  And it hurts. 

His Mom called me just as it started to downpour and hail.  I had just dropped Mike off at work and was driving home.  She told me she had bad news.  A few things ran through my head.  Not death. 

She tried her best to console ME.  His mother.  She is just this idyllic mother.  We went and visited them for a long weekend last summer.  She lives on a lake surrounded by trees, gardens, frogs, a clothesline, and a patio overlooking the beach.  Just calm.  Tranquil.  Beautiful.  She actually walked bowls, spoons, and a 1/2 gallon of icecream down TO THE BEACH because the kids looked like they wanted some.  That's how she is.  And it makes her happy to be that way.  Please pray for her to be able to deal with this loss.  She and his sister both. 

That is why her son was such a conundrum.  One part big, tough Harley guy.  Another part giving, loving, caring and protective of those he loved. 

He lived with us on and off for three years.  He was giong to buy his own house, but just wasn't ready.  (He was divorced, no kids)  He worked with Mike.  My kids all adored him.  He called Emme "Daisy" -- and she wanted to change her name to that.  I think it made her feel special.

He was in his late 40s.  And yes, he's had problems with heart blockages.  He'd had several angioplasty procedures and was scheduled for another.  He also had diabetes and a bone infection that was being treated with IV antibiotics daily.  He was staying with his mom at that lovely, charming home of hers.  But he was tough.  Big, strong, rough, tough.  He never showed weakness. 

He was off work for 6 months last year and stayed with his mom.  And when he came back here again, he tried to eat better, quit smoking, etc.  He still slept a whole lot, didn't go out like he used to -- but he was happy. 

His Mom told me on the phone how much he loved Mike and I, how highly he talked about us. 

He called me last week -- he sounded sad.  He said that he wanted us to have his big screen t.v., surround sound, dvd, vcr, and stereo system.  He said he wanted us to have it because we meant so much to him.  At the time, he thought he'd have to take permanent disability.  But I wonder, did he know?  Maybe even slightly?

The thought of him never walking through the kitchen again or hearing him on the phone or hearing him coming up the stairs -- it's unfathomable. 

And it hurts.

Sherry