Loss

Jules wrote about the loss of a friend yesterday. Her entry made me think about how when we lose someone be it a friend or member of the family that we don't realize how much that someone has touched our lives until they are gone. Her entry also reminded me of a promise I made to myself almost 2 yrs ago. I promised myself that I wouldn't let daily life get in the way of letting people know how much I care and appreciate the people in my life. Its a hard promise to keep. Not because I don't care about the people in my life but that I get so wrapped up in my daily routines and dramas I forget to take the time.
Paul was the person who made me open my eyes and see that I was taking life for granted. I first met Paul 12 years ago when I was bartending at the bowling alley. He and his wife Darla had just moved here from Hawaii. I didn't quite know what to think of Paul when I met him. He had just retired from the Navy and anyone could see he was relishing being his own man once again, but at the same time at a loss of how to do that. He and Darla were avid bowlers and brought to the lanes a passion for bowling like no one else. I was managing the lanes at that time and within a month of meeting Paul I hired him as the head mechanic. Due to personal reasons I quit my job at the lanes 2 months later. I still bowled twice a week however and through the next few years Paul became my unofficial bowling coach. Paul basically lived at the lanes with working there and bowling on several of the leagues. He was an excellent bowler. He had this fluid graceful and powerful shot that he made look effortless. I wanted to be Paul. So under his tutelage I bought my first fingertip ball and learned to throw a hook. I sucked, but Paul was somewhat patient with me. I think the thing I loved most about Paul was he was straight forward and told it like it was, but he knew when and when not to say something. He knew instictivly when to call me out on something be it bowling or the way I thought about subjects. I had several light bulb moments because of Paul. Besides Hubster, Paul was the only man I have ever been able to have meaningful conversations.
Paul had a spot at the bar in the lanes where he would drink from his ever ending coffee cup and smoke his cigarettes. Whenever I would throw a ball I could turn to find his eyes on me. He never had to say a word but I could tell what he was thinking. "Nice ball." "What the hell was that?" "Follow through." "Lucky shot." Just by looking at his face I knew what I needed to do. Paul and Darla eventually divorced and Paul quit at the lanes to get a full time job. He still like me kept bowling a priority. In 2001, I returned to my beloved bowling alley as manager. The previous manager had done alright, but left me a long road ahead. Times were changing at the lanes. Bowlers were getting more serious about the sport and leagues weren't just for going out and getting drunk. I knew what changes needed to be made and some were not popular amoungst the bowlers, but Paul stood by my side and vocally supported me. That first year was a nightmare, all the employees I took over didn't have a passion for their jobs and just came to put in their time for a paycheck. Eventually anger in the bowlers subsided, the employees started to love to come to work and things changed for the better. I cannot tell you how many times Paul had to listen to me rant or cry. But Paul did what he did best he listened and when he could help he did.
On Feb. 26th, 2003, I was busy at work when Paul called me. He told me he had some bad news and forbid me to get upset. Paul told me he had just come from the doctor and he had lung cancer. I of course didn't obey his request and I got extremely upset. For the next few weeks whenever I talked to Paul I would end up crying. On one of those occasions he told me straight out to knock off the crying that by doing so I was believing he was dying and he was not going to die. Paul was determined to live and he needed me to be a support as he had always been for me. Paul had a lung removed in April and spent 6 weeks in the hospital. He and I talked on the phone often during that time. He became stronger and was joyous at the fact that the cancer had been removed from his body. He could breath better with one lung than he had been able to for years. When he returned home, he and I both worked at the golf course for the summer. He talked of his cancer treatments and kept me up to date on his test results. No new signs of cancer were celebrated on the deck of the clubhouse that summer. September came and so did the start of another bowling season. Paul was too weak from his treatments to bowl, but he often came to watch the other bowlers. He once again was sitting at his usual spot at the bar. He was there to smile when I made a good shot and shake his head when I didn't. In October he came in to see me at the bar during my shift. He had news. The cancer was back. In his bones and in his brain. I cried and before he could scold me for crying I told him I wasn't crying because I thought he was dying. I was crying because he was my friend and I cry for people I care for when they hurt and dammit I can cry for you and still be your rock. Slowly Paul got to the point he could no longer stay home by himself. His sister moved in with him. She left her husband and children at home and came to take care of her brother. Right before Thanksgiving the decision was made for Paul to go home with his sister in Arizona so she could return to her family and still take care of Paul. Paul and I talked on the phone often. In December Paul had an appointment with a new doctor. He was ecstatic for this doctor was one of the best cancer doctor's in Arizona and she would help him beat this cancer once and for all. He was going to win. Every Tues Paul had an appointment with his doctor and I would call him after I got home from work to get an update. On Jan. 13th I called Paul. The Paul who was put on the phone was not the Paul I knew. He gasped for every breath. In our short conversation, he told me that the doctor had told Paul that the treatments weren't working and that it was time to give up the fight. Fear spread throughout me because in Paul's voice I could hear defeat. I talked to Paul's sister before I hung up and told her I would call back in a day or so. The next evening while I was bowling on league my bartender came up to me and said. "Jo some lady called and wanted me to tell you that somebody named Paul died an hour ago."
The next day I called his sister and she told me Paul died peacefully. She and the hospice nurse had given Paul a bath and he went to sleep afterwards and died. For the next months I focused my grief through anger at the doctor who took Paul's fight away. I truly felt when she took his hope away she took his life. I now know thats not true. Late spring 2003, Paul's family traveled up here and shared in saying goodbye to Paul with all of us. They scattered Paul's ashes into the river by the #2 tee of the golf course. I live next to the golf course so as when he was living he is still close by when I need him.
It'll be 2 years this January since Paul died. I don't cry as much as I used to when I think of Paul. Now I have more of tendency to smile when I think of him. When I throw a perfect strike I say to myself "How was that Mr. Paul!" And to this day after every ball I throw I still look to the spot at the bar where Paul should be. Physically he may not be there, but he is there.
So Jules, thank you for reminding me of a promise I had forgotten. Today I will smile more warmly at my co workers, I'll hug my family tighter and I'll ask my friends how they are and mean it. Thank you for sharing.