Gary was an old school kind of guy, marginal education, ground smarts, mechanical smarts, lived on a small street off our main island street, in a smallish house on a canal. He had been married several times. His last wife, Bonnie, a troubled soul, had a long-running battle with cancer and died a couple of years ago. He took care of her despite her constant dis-appreciation of his efforts.

When biking past, if his door was open, I’d often stop for a chat. Usually some of his pals would be there as well. He was the center of his little group.

He had worked at the cemetery laying stone, grading, etc., and did odd jobs on weekends. He helped enclose our lanai some years ago. Came a time when he had a heart problem and couldn’t work as hard, so they pensioned him off. He had a small landscaping business and the local marginally functional guys worked for him cutting lawns, trimming bushes. His own grounds work was very good, very artistic, but he was losing strength so finally he just sent his guys to do the work because he couldn’t any more. He was a good cook and made lots of food and packed it up for his pals to take home. There was always a chicken stew going in his kitchen.

A year ago, Gary developed throat cancer. He was scheduled for chemo but kept putting it off because he always had something to do first. The owner of his little house planned to come live in it, so, he told me, he had to find a new place, pack up and move, and clean up for her. He wasn’t the sort who would leave a mess. He found a small place on 2nd street across Pine Island Road in a secluded neighborhood that is charming. It was barely big enough to turn around in. Ed and I begged him to get the chemo and he kept saying, yeah, I’m gonna do it. Christmas and New Year’s came and went and I biked over to his new place a couple of times, but he wasn’t there. I got a hold of Tom, his semi-alcoholic friend who does odd jobs for us, and Tom said he was staying with one of his ex wives, helping her because she wasn’t well.

The last time Ed talked with Gary on the phone was about a week ago. His voice was just a whisper, a rasp.

Tom called me this morning to say Gary died last night. Just lay down on the floor at his ex-wife’s house and died. I last saw him just before Christmas. I sensed he wouldn’t last very long, but he wouldn’t go for his treatment, and I think he already knew it was too late. But he never complained, nor want us to know that he was in pain.

So goodbye, dear Gary, my sweet flirtatious friend who always laughed at my jokes. How I wish you had saved yourself when you could have.

xx, Teal