A tall man used to walk around the village I live in all day and night. I do not remember when I started seeing him walking, but I would see him every day after I noticed him.
He was an older man, over sixty-five. His haircut was 1950's style, and it fits with his handsome, rugged face. His face had deep lines etched into it, but not in a wrong way. The lines added character to the very tan man who walked the streets from early morning to late night.
I was at work one uneventful day, and I could hear a man singing from the second floor from where I sat. He sounded like Dean Martin as he "bum bum bum bumm'ed" away to the tune in his head. This would not have been a problem when I worked because he started showing up in the mornings when we were not very busy.
A few of my coworkers had asked him to be quiet. He was in a Library, after all.
He was a polite man and stopped at the Library to read the morning paper. The morning crew assumed he had turrets, and the singing was involuntary. We were wrong.
Every so often, he would come to the front desk to check out a book or magazine. He always had a smile on his face. The first time I checked out his books, I noticed he lived two roads away from me and mentioned it to him. It explained why I saw him walking so many times. He would start his walks and end them by walking by my house.
Over time and gentle questions, I found out his wife had just passed away. They had been married for over 50 years. One day he came home, and she was gone. He was lost. He had retired from his factory job and was ready to spend the rest of his life doing all that husbands and wives dream about when they retire.
He did not know what to do with himself. He wasn't eating, and he had started drinking a lot. The walks were to help with the loneliness he felt. The Library became a place to see other people to know he was still alive.
My friend looked a lot like William Holden.
Over time we got to know each other rather well. We started thinking of things my friend could do to fill his lonely days. He needed to find something other than drinking and watching TV to do. He finally settled on finding out more about his family's genealogy. The Library was the perfect place to start researching that.
Not long after his research started, his singing stopped.
He would get so excited when he would find out new information about his family. Where they were born. Where they were buried and why there was no record of them being buried.
He took a road trip up north to visit old family places. On one of these trips, he met an old friend of his from grade school. This man, too, had lost his wife and was alone, but he spent the Wisconsin winters in Florida, where it was warm. This old friend of his invited him to join him in Florida that coming winter, where he lived for four months of the year.
My friend was a bit worried that first year. He had never gone on vacation with anyone other than his wife. We talked about it, and I told him to go and, if he found the trip uncomfortable in any way, to get on a plane and fly home. There was nothing to lose and so much to gain by trying it out.
That first winter, a postcard came to the Library addressed to me. He was letting us all know he was fine and having a blast with his old school buddy. That made me very happy.
A few more winters came and went with always one postcard or letter sent to the Library letting us know he was okay.
Life was good until throat cancer came to call.
He faced it head-on with a smile on his face. He researched everything he could. He ended up having a tracheostomy tube put in. He did not let a silly tube stop him from learning to talk all over again.
In the beginning, he would always have a small pad of paper and a pencil with him to write out questions and answers. Soon he started to show his progress of learning to talk again with the tube. He learned so fast that he had to be practicing night and day. It didn't matter that the sound of his voice had changed. He still told the same stories and still had the same hopes and dreams.
Winter was once again on its way. My friend asked his cancer Doctor if he could go to Florida for the winter. The Doctor told him that it wouldn't hurt and gave him a name of a cancer Doctor close to where he was staying in Florida to contact if he had problems.
The Letter I found
Not long after he wintered in Florida, he passed away.
He is missed and still loved.
While cleaning my house for my Mom's visit, I found a letter from my friend I had saved.
I found the letter on the day of my 25th wedding anniversary, the 6th anniversary of my Dad's death, and the day my Mom was flying in to spend three weeks with me and be here for her younger sister's 80th birthday.
His story embodies what a real marriage means. What life, after losing your spouse of over 50 years, entails. It shows you no matter how bad life can get, you ARE given what you need to survive in this crazy world another day.
All photos are mine unless otherwise stated.
Photo's 1, 2 and 3 are found here
