A rich life.

Today was the memorial for my friend's husband. He died of pneumonia at age 58. He would have been 59 in a few weeks. I didn't really know him well, and had only interacted with him on a few occasions. He and his wife, my friend, lived a very simple life on a little acreage, a ways out from a small town quite a bit above the snow line.

They lived in a small trailer with no electricity, no phone, no running water. She works and he took care of the animals, he loved his goats, built on the place and the trailer. Scruffy looking fellow, long graying hair usually covered with his trademark hat, beard rarely, if ever, combed and dressed in whatever he happened to feel like that day. The first time I met him he was wearing his hat, his glasses were dark from the sun, he had a cigar jutting out and an ear to ear grin on his face. Baling twine made up his belt. He wasn't what I was expecting, but who is when you first meet them? I always worried about them freezing up there in their tiny trailer. They did fine, of course. Times were always tight but they got by and they truly loved where they lived and each other.

His health began to fail a bit. Not much but some. Then he got sick. He didn't get better right away. She began to talk of taking him in to see a doctor. This was a big deal as he had no insurance. He didn't want to to see a doctor. He began telling her he was feeling better. One night he told her he was feeling better, don't worry and went to bed. She listened to him breathing, woke him up and informed him they were going to the hospital.

She didn't take him to the closest hospital but one she felt was better, had a good reputation. He was diagnosed with pneumonia and taken to the ICU. He would have died that night if he had stayed at home. He probably would have prefered that, knowing him. He spent not quite two weeks in ICU before he was taken off the machines and he peacefully passed.

He and my friend were members of a small local church. He did some work for the church, founded a small group called John's Boys (after John the Baptist) where men would get together and walk in the woods, talking. The church was very important to both of them.

Today was his memorial. The pastor opened the memorial with the comment, "Don't judge a book by it's cover." I listened to the pastor's comments, listened to the songs he had loved, listened to the comments made by those that knew and loved him. These were all friends, he had only his wife for family. I realized that I didn't know him at all. And it was my loss. He was a giving, caring individual. He was intelligent and had a seeking mind, always looking for new things. He shared all he had with those around him. He had led such a rich life. Not rich in money or things. But rich in friends, in faith. I wish I had known him better.