O O Ø O O O O
Dear Rick,
I got the news while sitting in a Condo Board meeting, arguing about white picket fences, or some such. The voice on the phone told me that you had been taken to the Hospital in the morning; that you couldn't keep any of your food down. By the evening, you were gone.
Fences didn't seem very important anymore. Not much did. I wanted to call Liv and Tom, but I knew they weren't home, and I couldn't think of any words to say that would be of comfort. It seems weird; I'm usually full of words, but nothing I had to say seemed real or right enough.
I didn't quite make it home. I found myself in Shopper's Drug Mart; the one that is open late next to my house. I was standing in the greeting card aisle surrounded by Birthdays, Weddings, and Christmas messages. I stood there a long time. I couldn't remember what the sad cards were called. I eventually found them down in the corner—sympathy cards.
I've never much liked cards. I prefer a person's own words. At times like this though, words are hard to come by. For me, they just wouldn't come out. I needed someone else to speak for me. As I read the messages on the cards and I thought of Tommy and of Rose, I realized no message could ever be right. I thought of brothers, of sons, of family, and of mortality. I thought of the things I don't want to consider, and realized that one day I might have to. I stayed there a long time, holding a card, eyes shut. I stayed until I could open them again; until some of the redness had left them.
I didn't know you that well, Rick. I got out of Okotoks a long time ago—the Big City seemed to suit my 7-second attention span better than small towns—but what I did know I couldn't help but like. You always greeted me with a great booming hello; always smiling, always cheerful. When I went digging for dirt on you for Liv and Tom's wedding, I couldn't find any, because there simply wasn't any. You were a constant in the lives of those who knew you, and you were loved.
Your funeral is in a couple of days. I'll be there, thinking about your big, booming hellos. I'll be thinking about family, and about mortality. I'll be thinking of greeting cards and words. And in case the words fail me again, let me say this now:
Farewell, Rick. You will be missed by all.
Kjell Wooding
Tuesday, December 11,
2001
PD DXXV