Solid impermanence

As you go along in Life you reach a point where some people who were in your life are -- not so much, in your life anymore. Some die.

I was unused to this.
I knew very few dead people.
I'm still trying to figure out how to deal.

A friend I knew in 80s & 90s was a World War II veteran who lived through the Bataan March and three or four years as a POW of the Japanese.

(Yeah!)
He was an adventurer. He liked to see the world, and know its people. He had a billion stories -- and the way he told things made them seem like Adventures. He could keep you riveted like Paul Harvey.

It was this character -- my friend "T" -- who said, "There's no feeling in the world like being shot at and missed!"

T's smart & literate wife wrote the story of his life, the largest portion concerned with his experiences in the war. I typed it. Twice.

Before T passed, in early 2002 in his late 80s, I read his book -- the story of his life -- aloud to him -- once, for sure, maybe twice, after final edit. He couldn't see to read anymore.

He would sit tilted back in the recliner with a blanket. I would sit in a chair next to him, and read the story of his life to him. Sometimes he would be so quiet, and his eyes would be closed, and I would silently wonder if he might have fallen asleep. But then I would mispronounce a Philippine word, or a Japanese word & he would promptly, kindly, correct me. Just letting me know which way was right.

And I darn well knew he was awake.
(There wasn't one foreign word I could verbally butcher without hearing from him!)

And since he's been gone, no one else replaces that presence in my daily experience and existence.

I don't care for that.
I don't like death. I'm opposed to it.

-30-