Where to begin.
Yesterday morning, long after Jude, JP, and Joe had left for Bell Buckle, Tennessee, for JP's last two baseball games of the season, Mike and I left Nashville for Louisville, to spend the day with my high school friend, Dave, who was told a week ago that he has less than three months to live. The glioblastoma he has been fighting for the past 18 months is going to win.
And that really, really sucks.
Mike and I met Doug (Altanta) and Neil (Columbus) at the hotel upon our arrival shortly after noon and followed them in my truck over to Dave and Mary's house in Anchorage, Kentucky. They live in a beautiful neighborhood where Mary grew up. Interestingly, Dave and Mary own two homes almost directly across from each other. The home they owned for more than two decades and in which they raised their two children was hit by a freak tornado while they were in Costa Rica after Dave's diagnosis and initial round of chemo and radiation. The damage was extensive. Fortunately, they were able to buy the house across the street, which is where we visited with Dave yesterday.
Although Doug has prepared me ahead of time, seeing David was jarring. His dark brown hair, always combed in a perfect side part and neat, was a mess. Always trim, David has gained a considerable amount of weight because he has been taking a heavy dose of steroids as part of his regimen of medicine and treatment. He was wearing a patch over his left eye because as of the past few days, he can't focus his eyes if they are both uncovered. He's lost much of the use of his entire left side, so he's using a wheelchair and a walker to get around the house.
Last week, Dave walked out of his doctor's office under his own power after being told he was going to die so soon. His physical decline since then has been rapid and precipitous, as he needed a lot of assistance to get in and out of bed, chairs, and to walk by this weekend. Again, I was prepared for it but still, it was so hard to see Dave like this.
What was amazing, though, is that Dave's mind is still so sharp. Always quick-witted, Dave's offbeat, quirky sense of humor was in full force and effect, much to my delight. He was still . . . Dave . . . and I thank God for that gift.
Mike, Neil, Doug, and I sat with Dave all afternoon and in the evening, mostly on his large, covered front porch. We told stories from our high school days and beyond, from our time together as boys and, later, much younger men. We talked about trouble that found us in high school - "the five that got five" - and road trips, weddings, and vacations. We talked about old girlfriends. We talked about practical jokes we played, like climbing on the roof of Brentwood High School the night before school started in August 1982 and anchoring giant wood numbers there that spelled out "1984."
We talked about the unsanctioned spring break trip we took to Daytona Beach, Florida, in March 1984. How I arrived first with Steve Jeroutek, Jeff Jackovich, and Jimmy Klein, and changed out hotel because the one we had booked, somehow, over the telephone, was a dump. We found another hotel, right on the beach, and immediately booked it for our group of 30 + students. How we did that with no credit card, no cellular telephone, etc., I will never know. Still, once our group located us, it ended up as one of the best weeks of our lives together. A legendary week together and a trip that all of us regularly reference to this day.
We listened to and talked about music a lot, old albums and concerts we'd been together. I recalled when Dave and Neil introduced me to R.E.M.'s second album, Murmur, at my 18th surprise birthday party at Neil's house in my old neighborhood. They were on R.E.M. early. We talked about Shakey's Pizza in Green Hills on Thursday nights in spring 1984, our senior year of high school. Rome Bordage (?), ZZ Top, pizza, and beer.
Dave was especially animated when Neil started a discussion about the greatest sports movies of all time. I've always had a connection with Dave when it came to sports. Although his interests, and mine, are many and varied, we share a love of sports, sports trivia, and baseball. I laughed, shaking my head, as Dave and I finished each other's sentences as we quotes lines from our favorite, often obscure, sports movies.
"All the way with a red hot poker, Coach. I can play anywhere I want." Henry Steele (Robbie Benson) in One on One.
We talked about '80's movies, the Rocky movies, DC Cab, Hot Dog, Ice Castles, and so many more. We talked about cartoons and sitcoms.
We told funny jokes, bad jokes, and jokes in poor taste. We laughed and laughed. My God, did we laugh.
We acted like young men again, without a care in a world. No wives. No kids. No jobs. No brain tumor.
Because just for a few hours yesterday afternoon, that's exactly what we were.
David wanted to order wings, so we ordered wings. Mike, Doug, Neil, and I ate them together with Dave's son, Hayden, while Dave napped in his bedroom. I watched him on the baby monitor to make sure he didn't try to get out of bed on his own.
When Dave decided to go to bed after his wife, Mary, got home from dinner at a neighbor's house, we poured whiskey's and settled in to talk some more, with Mary. Our conversation turned more serious, at times, as we struggled to make sense of it all. Our hearts hurt for Mary and the kids, because their lives will be so different without Dave.
Dave has always been larger than life. His own guy. Funny. Smart. An entrepreneur of the highest magnitude, Dave has been financially and professionally successful beyond anyone's imagination, and he has always done it his way. If there ever was a life well lived - a full life - Dave has lived it.
It's so hard, though, to say goodbye to someone we've known for 40 + years. After breakfast this morning at Cracker Barrel of all places - that's where Dave wanted to go - we lingered at our table, talking and laughing.
Together.
I don't think any of us wanted to leave the table because we knew when we see Dave again, if we see Dave again, everything will be different.
Doug wheeled Dave out of the crowded restaurant and into the parking lot, and helped Dave into Neil's car. I reached in, hugged Dave, and kissed his cheek as he thanked me for coming. I told him I loved him, my sunglasses hiding my tears. Mike did the same, as I said goodbye to Doug and Neil, then we got in my truck for the three hour drive back to Nashville.
What I'm left with, today, is this -
How can life be so beautiful and so heartbreakingly sad at the same time?
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