"RON...my Friend, my "Family"...

I just found out that a good friend has died of a heart-attack, and my insides are twisted and shaking so badly, that I do not know what else to do...but WRITE.

No one will probably ever read this who even KNEW this man...and it is a shame that he will never be able to read my thoughts and feelings about him...but I have this burning need, simply DRIVING me to "put this out there"...to put what I am feeling at this moment out into the universe...to float up into the stars and dissipate...and maybe it will yet be able to touch the essence of the man that was such a special part of my life.

His name was Ron.

I met Ron at the bar I work at. It is a relatively small "Cheers"-type of bar...where "everyone DOES know your name." Ron was one of the customers who gently morphed into being such a special friend to everyone around him.

Most of the clientele are "regulars" who have been going to that bar for many of the 18 years it has been in business. Over this time, the regulars have gotten to know each other, as well as the staff...and we have developed a special kind of "family unit".

Let's face it...for the most part, people who hang-out in bars tend to do so for their own various, private reasons. However, it all basically boils-down to one thing: we are all simply lonely souls searching for others for human companionship, friendship, and fellowship.

No matter what kinds of problems that we all have, and whatever demons that haunt us (and from which we run)...those few hours each weekend-night brings us all together to enjoy a good band, share a drink or a shot with, and trade yet a few more snippets of our lives with each other.

So, after years spent together, years of sharing a shot or two, and years of sharing those snippets--which we either have to shout into each other's ears while the band is thumping-away, or we quickly trade anecdotes before the band tunes-up for another song--after years of all of this, we have thus all developed a tightly-knit bond of friendship...and of family.

Ron was a very kind, genuine soul. He was in his late 40's-mid 50's...who really know for sure? Exactly HOW old he was never seemed important...although what WAS important was the fact that we ALWAYS exchanged birthday cards every year.

My birthday is Halloween, and he always made it a point to give me a very cute and clever "Halloween Birthday card" each year...this past year he also gave me a bouquet of black silk roses, tipped in PURPLE GLITTER! *SIGH*...He was truly a man after-my-own-heart! He KNEW I thrive on glitter, and that I got such a huge kick out of having my birthday fall on Halloween...that he made sure to draw special attention to the things I loved the most.

For Ron's birthday, I always bought a card and passed it around to make sure that all of his surrogate-family/friends at the bar would sign it and write him a special little funny message.

When I put up my new 2008 calendar, I made sure to write all of my friend's birthdays on it...it is hard to believe that December 21st, when Ron's birthday again rolls around, that he will not be with us. :( ...That he will not be at our next Christmas party at the bar...one we hold each year to celebrate the season with our "bar-family"...a mid-week gathering with lots of food, drink and merriment, amid all of the hectic crush of the holiday season.

Ron was divorced, with a grown son and daughter living many states away, in Michigan. His children were slightly estranged from him...yet he was greatly surprised and touched when last Fall, his son called him and asked him to attend his wedding up in Michigan. I remember that Ron showed-up at the bar the weekend prior to that trip, with a brand-new haircut, and was proudly telling us all how his son had asked him to be a part of his special day.

The father in Ron was brimming with joy, and I was very happy to share his joy with him. When you are a lonely soul, moments such as that tend to envelop you...that warmth will carry you for quite some time.

After he returned, he was brimming with quiet happiness, and was eager to show me his photos from that day; pointing-out to me his children and their families.

This is how I learned about Ron...through bits and pieces, sporadically shared here and there.

Ron was not a big drinker...he had diabetes, as well as a heart condition I was unaware of. He usually just drank his customary 2 Diet Cokes (with 3 limes! :) each night...and then maybe he would do 1 shot of Cuervo...salt and lime! :) He would just do a shot once in a while, in order to be social...he or I would always make sure that a few of us would gather together, make a toast, and all do a shot together. That was our "thing"...our little "family ritual".

Ron was also struck-down earlier in life while working in D.C. He worked for the government, and one day when he was walking to his car in a government parking lot, he fell into an open man-hole/storm-drain-thing (I was never quite clear on all of that. The story was so utterly gruesome, I did not ask for a lot of details. I just let him share what he wanted, and listened...awe-struck and stunned.)

Apparently, he was stuck in that hole for hours...re-bar steel-piping had practically sliced his ENTIRE HEAD OFF. I am not exaggerating here...he had a gruesome scar from ear to ear, and around his neck.

I know that he was close to death at that time. He suffered YEARS of surgeries and rehabilitation...and was never able to work again. He was totally deaf in one ear, and his hands shook uncontrollably at times.

I can still see his hand painfully shaking, as he licked the back of his hand (at the crook of the hand, where the thumb meets the index finger)...then he would sprinkle salt on it in preparation to do his Cuervo shot. He was slightly embarrassed by this, and would sometimes voice a frustrated, "Aw, shit!"...as the salt shaker would topple over onto the marble-top of the bar.

Ron's favorite band was "METROPOLIS"!...my boyfriend's band...(my boyfriend, Boomer, is the drummer, and he is AMAZING!) Ron would follow Metropolis to all of their gigs. He would make sure that he called Boomer or me every week to get directions to their gigs...sometimes he would travel over an hour to get to where they were playing...just to spend time with the "boys in the band", drink his 2 Diet Cokes--with 3 limes...and maybe "smoke" a bit with the boys when they went on break.

After ever Friday and Saturday night, he would head off to either "Taco Bell" or "Del Taco" (24 hours!), and head-on home to the house he has lived in almost his entire life. He had bought his parents home, and he was taking care of his elderly mother there as well.

When I would return his calls--when he wanted directions to a gig--his mom would answer the phone, and she would yell out in her feeble, old-lady voice: "Ronnie! There's a girl on the phone for you!" ;) I would always giggle, because she was acting as if we were high school kids, and I was calling to potentially ask "Ronnie!" to the Prom. ;) I would laugh even harder when "Ronnie!" would come to the phone, I would tease him about that, and he would invariably say, "Aw, shit!" ;) And then, we BOTH would laugh some more. ;)

I last saw Ron on Saturday night...when Metropolis played at "my" bar. I am now eternally thankful that Metropolis was there for the past 2 weekends (Fridays and Saturdays, both.) They were not supposed to be there this past weekend...they were filling-in for another band who had lost their drummer.

So, we were blessed with Ron's presence for 2 extra nights...for that I am thankful. Every night after we closed, Ron, the band , and several other of the tight-knit group which follows Metropolis, would all hang-out at the bar....savoring not only that one last beer (which I would always pass-out for free ;), but we would be savoring that end-of-the-night conversation...

...the conversation that good friends can only have at 2 in the morning...when the residual effects of a great band--playing great music--is still ringing in your ears. Everyone is pumped from a fun night, and we are all reluctant to go our separate ways until the next weekend we are able to get together, and do it all again.

I continue to clean-up behind the bar, and begin to count-down and balance the 2 cash registers (as I pass-out the "freebies" ;)...and I listen to the multiple conversations going-on in clusters throughout the room.

In the midst of this, the parties eventually break apart and good-byes are said. Ron always made a point of addressing each person individually to say "goodbye"...and he would ALWAYS come up to where I was behind the bar, and tell me "goodnight". I would then give him my hand, which he always gallantly kissed the back of. I would then laugh, tell him to enjoy his "Del Taco"-run, and he would be on his way.

This past Saturday night, we went through our "ritual"...to which he said, "Del Taco is not 24-hours anymore...now they close at 11!" :(

He and I immediately said at the exact same time: "BASTARDS!" ;)

We both laughed at our similar train-of-thought, and I said that I would see him later...right after I reminded him to be at our house at 4pm for "Superbowl Sunday"...our annual Superbowl bash, where our entire dysfunctional-bar-family attends...a rare occasion to get everyone together OUTSIDE of that bar.

Ron always brought a little hostess gift to me at all of our parties (summer barbecues and football parties.) I was always so surprised and touched by his thoughtfulness. The thoughtfulness of a quiet, gentle man. A man who was slowly coming out of his self-induced solitude...to become a truly joyous and integral part of our "family".

Ron's presence will forever leave a vacant hole in my heart...in the hearts of all of those he ever touched. I am having a very difficult time wrapping my head around the fact that he will not be there this weekend, at the end of the bar..quietly sipping on his Diet Coke--with 3 limes...and just waiting for a lull in the music, so that he and I can exchange just a bit more of our "story" with each other.

I thought I had DECADES to yet learn his story, and for him to share in mine. It makes my heart weep to know that he is now GONE. That he will not be there. Not next weekend, not for Superbowl, not for any upcoming Summer barbecues...not for any wedding I may have in the future...not for ANYTHING.

I had always danced with Ron on his birthday...and I shall remember him that way. I will remember the joy he shared with all of us. I just hope that we were all able to share that much joy with him...that he was able to take our love with him.

***"REST-IN-PEACE, RON...GOD-SPEED!***

{To go to the Metropolis website and view some photos of Ron and the band:}
http://metropolis-stl.com/

"My Daddy...King of the World!" ;)

My Daddy, the "Protector of the Universe...Emperor of all That is Good and Just...Geniuses Among Geniuses"...is in the hospital. And I am a mess.

Dad had colon cancer in 2006...had to have his prostate removed and part of his large intestine. My dad is like me...he does NOT "do" hospitals well...not the surgery, not the anesthesia, and not the recovery. It is always a "near death experience" every time he or I are in the hospital. It's some baaad stuff.

Dad was in the hospital that time for almost a month. He underwent chemo for a year, and was FINALLY doing so much better. He developed a hernia from the surgery. His sutures burst while he was in the hospital that time, and when the idiot doctors performed emergency surgery, they apparently just "stuffed and wadded" his intestines back into him.

Well, this massive hernia developed at the incision site, and when he went in yesterday morning for what should have been a "simple" 2 hour procedure, it turned into an 8 hour surgery, where they had to remove yet another part of his large intestine, because it was so infected from being all knotted-up inside of him.

He was finally moved into his own room, but still could not shake off the effects of the anesthesia. In the middle of the night, he stopped breathing. His respiration and heart signs completely ceased for 5 minutes, his "chart" said. He was coding, and the "Crash Team" finally managed to resuscitate him, and then intebated him and ran a Central Line. He was moved to the ICU immediately after.

This morning he was taken off of the respirator...yet things are still so scary.

My dad never lets anyone see him while he is in the hospital...except Mom. He is just so afraid for us to see him "weak"...since he has always been the "King of Everything" in our family....

(I was up there yesterday, and went back today to bring my mom food, and to make sure that she ate. She tends to waste away to virtually nothing when he is in the hospital, and she is already a bag of bones as it is.)

...Well, she went and asked him if he wanted me to come in for a few minutes, and he said that would be okay. To say the least, I was SHOCKED.

He was asleep when we peeked-in, and I did not want her to wake him...but, she said, "No, he wants to see you." (Yet ANOTHER shock.)

He could not really talk (the effects from the tube which had been down his throat...now is out.) But, I just told him that he looked good, had plenty of "color", and that I was taking good care of their animals. (They have the litter-mates to my Lhasas, 2 other large-old "farm dogs", and 8 cats--like me!)...I told him the dogs and us all miss him, and that since I did not want to tire him-out, I was going to go ahead and take-off...AND THEN I TOLD HIM THAT "I LOVED HIM".

Well, we do not really say that in our family. I mean, since he had his cancer surgery and treatment in 2006, I have been awkwardly telling him that sometimes, as a "goodbye", right before I skeedaddle out the door! I never really stick around for any kind of a response, 'cause it is just so awkward...and because I know that it is not forthcoming...I do not want to "put him on the spot".

He looked like he was about ready to cry this time, and when I stepped outside the curtain of his ICU room, I motioned Mom around the side, and whispered, "Was he about to cry???", and she said, "My God, I think so!"

And that was that. Too stressful, to be sure.

Mom said that not only did he stop breathing last night, the nurse told her today that he almost died...his respiration and heart signs stopped for 5 minutes! OhmiGod. (I know that the brain can go for 3 minutes without Oxygen before brain-damage starts to occur...one MORE thing to worry about!)

They had to do all kinds of stuff to bring him back. OhmiGod...and to think that I slept right through it! And all the while he was critical...a team of doctors working to keep him alive. AWFUL.

Like I said: Dad and I are sooo alike when it comes to the hospital-thing!

Every time I am in the hospital it is CRITICAL, and I am always in the ICU at death's-door...and that has happened a few times in the last few years. I was in there in October with severe Pancreatitis--WAAAYYYYY BAD!

Also, I was back there in December. That time I never told anyone outside of my family and my work. I had what may have been a mild heart attack--no one really knew for sure. I had to be ambulanced-in, stayed for several days, and it was SOOO not a good thing.

I did not tell anyone, because it was just TOO MUCH, 'ya know? Too much to "go into" at the time. I was too tired of EVERYTHING...I just wanted to "go on" and NOT have to keep talking about it. It scared the hell out of me, and I am scared it will happen again.

Okay, sooo...I know that when I am in the ICU, I am just a bundle of emotions and anxiety...I am afraid, I am weak, tired of being dependent on everyone else to do EVERYTHING for me, from feeding me to wiping my ass!

The bells and whistles are always going-off on my monitors, there are tubes sticking out of every part of my body...I am miserable, desperately missing my animals, not knowing who will take care of them all if something DOES happen to me...afraid I am going to die, and too weak to do anything but pray, and "will" myself to live...I am one shaky breath away from crying hysterically at any given moment.

So, I know how Dad feels...and that sucks...I do not want my Daddy to have to go through that. When I am there, he and Mom visit, and he gives the "Daddy Pep-Talk", etc., etc. That is what parents are supposed to do. But, when HE is there, what is a DAUGHTER supposed to do?...When the parent is the "gruff, doesn't-show-affection"-type?

It's more than I know how to handle sometimes. And what is even more pathetic, is comparing our relationship "now" to what it "used to be" when I was a little girl...I was the EPITOME of "Daddy's Little Girl".

Dad used to carry me everywhere...I would snuggle-up next to him when he was on the couch watching TV when I was a tiny little kid, and we would fall asleep. When I was a little bigger, he would hold my hand whenever we walked anywhere...and I always wanted to hold his left hand (his "watch hand"), because I remembered that he had hurt that hand before, and I wanted to kiss it and make it feel better.

When I would bring my penmanship samples home from school in kindergarten and first grade, he would always say that I had the BEST handwriting, and made the neatest numbers on my math papers.

He is the one who taught me how to ride a bike...my bright sparkly-red Schwinn with the bright-white banana-seat...complete with flowered basket, and pink and white plastic tassels streaming-off the ends of the sissy-bars. I LOVED that bike! ;)

I got that bike for my 6th birthday, and I was SO proud of it...I could not wait to learn to ride it, so that I could ride with my older brother and sister. :) I bundled-up in many layers of clothing, so that I would be well-padded when I "bit the dust".

Well, was I shocked when I was gaily pedaling-away, and discovered that Daddy had already "let go"! I was riding my bike! All on my own! :O Okay, at that point I DID bite the dust...but I got right back up and started-off again! :)

He taught me how to snap my fingers, how to ice-skate, shoot a free-throw/lay-up/jump-shot, as well as how to dribble, and serve a mean volleyball! :)

On my 8th birthday, when I walked home from the bus-stop, he was standing in the driveway. He looked over on the ground, and said, "Hey, what's that over there?" Well, I went where he pointed, and there was a small, square velvet box...and inside it was a 4-leafed clover-shaped ring with 5 little diamonds in it...1 in the middle, and 1 on each leaf! :O

I still have that ring. Over the years I had to have it re-sized several times, but I still wear it...and I always will. My Daddy gave me that ring...and out of all the rings that men have ever given me...that is the only one that counts. :)

In grade school, I used to rush home from school, and set-up the chess board in the living room. Yes...CHESS! ;) He taught me the game, and we would play chess for HOURS, watching "Wheel of Fortune", "60 Minutes" (Where I learned to love "Andy Rooney"! ;), "The Wonderful World of Disney", "Dukes of Hazzard", and every Easter-Special with "Moses" in it! ;)

In the Winter, Dad always built a fire, Mom would make hot and gooey "Pillsbury, Slice-and-Bake Chocolate Chip or Oatmeal-Raisin" cookies, and we would munch on those as we continued with our game. :)

In 7th-grade "Shop" class, I had to make a jigsaw puzzle, a key chain out of plexi-glass, and a small metal box (which I had to spot-weld.) Well, instead of using the hack-saw in class to cut the small wooden, star-shaped puzzle into pieces, I took it home, and Dad used his band-saw to perfectly cut it out for me, and then I sanded it smooth. (Okay, so I "cheated"! ...Whoopee! ;)

He did the same with my flower-shaped key chain...which I used clear nail-polish to seal a real 4-leafed clover onto. He also helped me with the box. I had the BEST projects in the class! ;)

Actually, I STILL have those items...(huh, like I still have EVERYTHING I have acquired since birth! ;) But I do have them...and I was looking at them just the other day. I never used that key chain...I did not want to have it get all scratched-up. Besides that, in 7th grade I didn't have any KEYS! ;)

In High School, he came to all of my volleyball and basketball games...constantly giving me advice on my performance, and practicing with me in the driveway at home...we played basketball all night long sometimes.

My sister, brother, and Mom all tried to teach me how to drive a "clutch" when I was 16, yet I just could not "get it". Well, the first time with Dad in the car SURE made me figure-it-out licketdy-split! Dad does not have a lot of patience, despises ignorance, and expects a lot from his kids. He knew I was smart enough to figure-out the clutch , and I had better figure it out right-quick! ;) Oh, and I DID. :)

When I played "Powder Puff" football my Junior and Senior years, he made Mom leave the game to go home and get the video camera after I made my first interception! All of those videos from my various games are priceless, and I cherish every one of them.

Dad was the first one in our family to fall in-love with a Lhasa Apso..."Bubba"--his pride and joy. When Bubba entered our lives, we officially became a "Lhasa Apso Family". ;) Then came my babies: "Sasha", "Dixie", "Truffle", and Dixie's and Bubba's puppies: "Beuford", "Skittle", "Donut", "Brownie-Boy", "Rex", and "Dolly"...our little furry family! :)

Dad was always the "bad cop", and Mom the "good cop". ..Mom was the one who always covered our ass in times of need. However, if any of us kids are ever in serious trouble, Dad is always our FIRST call...we KNOW that he will be able to "fix" whatever has gone hay-wire, or at least have the advice that we need.

Likewise, when things are really "good", and we are excited to share awesome news, Dad--again--is the one we "run to" to share in our joy, and to make him proud.

I am not really sure exactly WHEN our relationship began to dissolve; when I stopped calling him "Daddy". Maybe when I started dating, and he "lost" his little girl just a bit...or when I veered from the career path which he and I had decided upon. I was supposed to amount to so much "more". Yet, I squandered the opportunities which he afforded me; as well as wasted my education, intelligence, and abilities.

His disappointment in me grew, and so did the rift between us. Then, it became Mom whom I talked with everything about, afraid to "bother" him...or afraid to call his attention to me. I did not want the "spot-light" to shine upon me, since it did not illuminate what he wanted to see...or what I wanted to see about myself. It was easier to stay in the shadows, and run ahead of the light.

With this shift in the pattern, our relationship grew thin. He began to feel excluded...thinking that it was always Mom and I "against" him...that he was the "outsider".

Since then it has been a tenuous and tumultuous path "back"...I just cannot seem to FIND the path. I am gingerly picking my way through all of the brambles which have grown over everything...including his heart.

*SIGH*...One step at a time, I guess. I just hope we finally "make it there".