A Kick in the Teeth

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Got my first text of the week at 6:30 on Monday:

“Hey, my last day of work is tomorrow. I have to retire for health reasons. I was just thinking about all the laughs and stories we told each other through the years, and just wanted to let you know.”

I didn’t respond. 

Of course, I went straight to his job. He saw me pull up, and smiled.

Up until November, he was a healthy guy. 62 years old. On a couple of meds for cholesterol. Needed a new med for something else.

In November, he started throwing up and couldn’t stop. Spent a week in the hospital and was told that his meds weren’t compatible. He had damaged his pancreas.

Nearly killed him, but by the new year, he’d regained his strength, and things seemed back to normal.

When I saw him yesterday, I was shocked by how much weight he’d lost in just the last two weeks.

He looked like an old man, and though he was smiling, the news wasn’t good.

“My pancreas is badly damaged, and they can’t fix it.”

I gave him a hug.

We told each other a couple more funny stories.

About 30 years of a work friendship all being boiled down to a half hour walk through the buildings.

Guys don’t hug much.

Neither of us knew quite what to say.

His death isn’t imminent. 

His doctor just believes he’d be better served not working 10-12 hours a day in a high-stressed environment.

“We’ll talk,” I said.

“For sure. I’m gonna’ bug the shit out of you because I’m gonna’ be bored.”

We did hug goodbye.

“Funny how three decades of life scooted by us, huh?” He asked.

“Yeah. Funny. Happy retirement, brother.”

Life comes at you hard.

Hoping he has 30 years to bother the shit out of me because he’s bored.

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