Bernie (and I'll call him that because it was his name) was a friend for many years, going back to the 5th grade - 1950 in our case. We became fast friends in high school - both of us entered the ROTC program there and became cadet officers. In the years following high school, we maintained our friendship, and my wife and I socialized often with Bernie and his wife. It was Bernie who first informed me of the death in action of our mutual friend, Ed Cribb, in Vietnam in 1963. Bernie made a special trip to my place of employment at the time to tell me in person - we both took that tragedy pretty hard.
Bernie was a Marine Corps veteran, and being a gentle soul, probably found his best niche in the Corps - he was a Chaplain's assistant!
He continued that interest in helping others in his later years, volunteering to care for older people who could not fend for themselves very well. That was his selfless nature.
In his late 70s, Bernie began to have pretty serious health problems, cardio-pulmonary in nature. He had a heart valve replacement and was recipient of no less than seven stents. And then he had a couple of severe heart attacks that left him unable to walk without assistance (thank God for his son, who looked after his dad and helped him in every way). Pretty soon his mental acuity began to fade, and it was evident that all his health problems were affecting his mind in an ever-increasing way. He eventually wound up in an urgent care ward, on oxygen resuscitation, and unable to communicate except by hand gestures and nodding one way or the other. My friend was fading fast. Three days ago, he was taken off oxygen and transported to a hospice facility.
Shortly after that, I received a call from his wife, and by the tone of her voice, I knew immediately that my friend was facing imminent death. My wife and I raced over to the hospice. We found Bernie in a coma, heavily sedated and gasping valiantly for air.
His wife tasked me in the meantime to call some cremation services to compare charges - and as I was doing this in another room, an attendant summoned me to come to his room quickly.
Bernie lay there, no longer gasping. His skin had turned that telltale grey-yellow tone. My friend of so many years was gone, leaving those who cared about him to pray for his immortal soul.
He was a good man, a good husband and father, and generous with his time in the service of others.
I reached down, touched his hand, and said "Goodby, Bernie. You were a good friend. I'll miss you."
Death will come to all of us, but when it comes to a good friend, it's damn tough to witness.
Here's a pic of Bernie and his wife during better times at one of our high school class reunions. They were a very loving couple, and I know his widow is going through hell after fifty-some years of constant companionship. He's no longer there for her. He was two months shy of his 80th birthday.
My wife and I are counting our blessings. Rest in peace, Bernie. Your pain and suffering are over. It was a privilege to be your friend.
John
Bernie was a Marine Corps veteran, and being a gentle soul, probably found his best niche in the Corps - he was a Chaplain's assistant!
He continued that interest in helping others in his later years, volunteering to care for older people who could not fend for themselves very well. That was his selfless nature.
In his late 70s, Bernie began to have pretty serious health problems, cardio-pulmonary in nature. He had a heart valve replacement and was recipient of no less than seven stents. And then he had a couple of severe heart attacks that left him unable to walk without assistance (thank God for his son, who looked after his dad and helped him in every way). Pretty soon his mental acuity began to fade, and it was evident that all his health problems were affecting his mind in an ever-increasing way. He eventually wound up in an urgent care ward, on oxygen resuscitation, and unable to communicate except by hand gestures and nodding one way or the other. My friend was fading fast. Three days ago, he was taken off oxygen and transported to a hospice facility.
Shortly after that, I received a call from his wife, and by the tone of her voice, I knew immediately that my friend was facing imminent death. My wife and I raced over to the hospice. We found Bernie in a coma, heavily sedated and gasping valiantly for air.
His wife tasked me in the meantime to call some cremation services to compare charges - and as I was doing this in another room, an attendant summoned me to come to his room quickly.
Bernie lay there, no longer gasping. His skin had turned that telltale grey-yellow tone. My friend of so many years was gone, leaving those who cared about him to pray for his immortal soul.
He was a good man, a good husband and father, and generous with his time in the service of others.
I reached down, touched his hand, and said "Goodby, Bernie. You were a good friend. I'll miss you."
Death will come to all of us, but when it comes to a good friend, it's damn tough to witness.
Here's a pic of Bernie and his wife during better times at one of our high school class reunions. They were a very loving couple, and I know his widow is going through hell after fifty-some years of constant companionship. He's no longer there for her. He was two months shy of his 80th birthday.
My wife and I are counting our blessings. Rest in peace, Bernie. Your pain and suffering are over. It was a privilege to be your friend.
John
