Wolves and Sheep

Yesterday’s spring like temperatures was one of those special wintertime treats that happen every now and then. After I finished checking my e-mails and posting my blog yesterday morning, I treated myself to a brisk walk on the wide and solitary roads in the development behind where I live. There is nothing like a relaxing walk in the fresh air and blue skies to invigorate me for the rest of the day. Most of all my stress and worry melts away. It’s magic. And it’s free.

Not so today. As I type this, snow is tiny white snowflakes are falling from the gray morning sky onto the winter grass outside my window. This retiree won’t be going out today. I don’t have to go out until tomorrow. I’m scheduled to take a test applying for a census taker job. Ironically, I will take the test at my workplace. The owner of the hotel has donated one of his meeting rooms for the prospective census employees to take their test. Very convenient.

Bill continues to shun me. It’s not easy on me (or him I suspect) but he’s painted himself into this corner. He has to get out of it himself. So we continue to live in the same house, leading our separate lives. He has now cut off his family, my Mother, my brother, our friend Ed, his friend Damon, and now me. It is a sad and unfortunate way to live.

It’s ironic, but the original incidents that cause the episodes are often forgotten. One that I still remember clearly is when I didn’t close the basement door all the way. Oh it was closed and locked but it wasn’t AIR LOCKED. I didn’t leave the door open. I didn’t leave the door unlocked. I didn’t AIR LOCK the door. Sometimes I feel like I’m walking on egg shells. One of the reasons I moved from our Pennsylvania house was because Bill had this whole system of which doors were to be closed and which ones were allowed to be left open. I felt like a rat in a maze, trying to figure which room I was allowed to be in to keep warm. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own home. This house has an open floor plan. I no longer had to worry about closing this door, and leaving another door open depending on what the temperature was outside. I could move about freely in my own home. It was wonderful. Of course Bill did want to partition off the open floor plan of the kitchen, sun room and living room. I knocked down that plan right away. No more living like a rat in a cubicle.

The plan today is to hang out inside catching up on my e-mails. A distant relative from the Rhudy side of my family tree discovered me on the Internet and has been sending me family information from her line. Perhaps my favorite pastime at this time of my life is my genealogy research. I have met so many wonderful people through my Tipton Tales and Trails blog and my Find a Grave postings. They are my pleasure and happiness these days. I can depend on their friendship. They help me keep my sanity in these stressful times.

Some years ago when I first got on the Internet I tried to find friends through the personals. That was a disaster. Every person I met, without exception was a fraud and phony. Everyone who I either communicated with by e-mail or met in person was not who they represented themselves to be. I blame myself because I didn’t realize these people were looking for anonymous sexual encounters. I was incredibly stupid to believe the personal ads.

A good friend of mine long ago told me “Ron, your only problem is that you suffer from terminal naiveté.” I’ve always remembered that friendly admonishment. It is true. No matter how old I get, I still believe what I’m told until proven wrong. I have tried to be cynical and suspicious (like most of my friends) but I’m just not hard wired that way. For a long time now I realized that the world is full of two kinds of people. There are those who throw trash out their window on the roadway, knowing someone else will pick it up. Then there are those who pick up the trash. There are those who would return a wallet then found on the beach and there are those who would look for the cash and throw the wallet away. There are those who would help an injured animal on the roadway and there are those who would run over it. I can cite numerous analogies but the point I am making is that the world is full of wolves and sheep. Unfortunately I am one of the sheep. I live my life constantly on guard to protect myself from the wolves. However, I have been fortunate that during my life’s journey, I have met other like me. The older I get the more I can tell the difference between who is a wolf and who is a good, kind, gentle and caring soul. Call me naïve, but that knowledge about who my true friends are and who is a wolf in sheep's clothing keeps me going in this world. I know the difference.

The Line of Beauty

Monday, February 2, 2009. The morning sun steams through my home office window. I like working in this little bedroom that I converted in a home office. The early morning sun is a welcome friend as I begin my day checking my e-mail. That is the one constant in my life; my home, my computer, and light. I thrive on natural light.

I don’t like working on my computer at night, when all is dark. My home office in Pennsylvania was in a basement room. I couldn't work there. Bill took out the lone window when he put up the paneling in that room. The lack of natural light depressed me. I moved my computer to a corner of my 2nd floor bedroom, next to the window. Filtered light came through the trees that surrounded our house. It was better than no light in the basement office but not as good as the early morning sunlight which I have now. I love my home office in this house. It is my retreat.

The past weekend was quiet. Bill is still shunning me. That’s his choice. Apparently that’s the way he wants to live his life. I’ll adjust my life accordingly. I tried to talk to him after “the incident” but he told me to leave him alone. I will honor his request. I'm here if he wants to resume a normal relationship. However, if he want to add me to the list of people he isn't talking too, then that is his choice. I can only live my life. I'm at the point in my life now where I don't want to and probably can't change my life to please someone else. I can only be who I am. If that isn't good enough, then so be it.

Early in the morning yesterday I took more food from my freezer to feed the sea gulls in the Wal-Mart parking lot. They were waiting for me. I quickly threw the food on the ground and tossed my Zip-Lock bags in the dumpster behind Friendly’s and got out of there fast. I didn’t want any more sea gull guacamole on my car. Now I have a new worry. A friend of mine told me that I could be arrested and led away in handcuffs for tossing ANYTHING into a dumpster. This was a crime I wasn’t aware that I was breaking. Pardon me, but I assumed that our law enforcement had more important things to worry about like, oh I don’t know, maybe robberies and murders. We have a couple unsolved murders down here in our own little Peyton Place. The two that come to mind are the Grosso murder and the Gold Gym murder. But I will take the advice of my friend and NOT toss anything in a dumpster. I have been forewarned.

Yesterday afternoon I did my taxes for last year. I was surprised to find out that I owed $638. I also owed money last year, so I increased the taxes taken out of my pay from my part-time job. I was expecting to get a refund this year. That was not to be. It’s not like I make a lot of money. I receive Social Security and have a couple of small pensions and a part time job. I now have a mortgage because of the nightmare of selling my Pennsylvania house in 2006. I’m not one of these rich gay guys, in spite of the myth that the new media likes to perpetuate. Under the law I am considered single even though I’ve been in a relationship for 45 years. In this country, if you’re single, gay or straight, you’re taxed to death. Another year and I missed out on the Bush tax cuts. And I'm not holding by breath for the tax cuts Obama promised during the election. Once these politicians get in office all they seem to care about is the very rich (Republicans) or the very poor (Democrats.) I'm just one of those schlubs who worked their whole life, trying to save for a secure retirement only to see it slowly disappear as a result of the corruption of greedy Wall Street financiers and their hand maidens, the equally corrupt politicians whose only interest is to pay off their political benefactors to stay in power.

Last night I saw a good movie that I rented from Netflix, “The Line of Beauty.” I love these BBC dramas. This one was about a working-class guy (gay) who moves in with a rich family in the 80’s during his sexual awaking and England’s political awakening. The main character was unappealing and much of the acting was uneven, but it was an interesting story nonetheless because it showed the utter depravity that some people can sink to even in surrounds of opulence and luxury. Maybe it’s better being poor. If this movie was anywhere near reality, then the rich don’t have it any better than the rest of us poor blokes.

I am watching more movies these days since I’m living here alone. Movies perform the function for which they were invented. They take me away from my everyday sadness. I hope my next movie is a comedy. I need to laugh.

I go to work today at the Inn. That will take my mind off of things a bit. Wednesday I take my Census worker qualification test. My friend Ed, who was a census worker in 2000 told me “Any idiot can pass that test.” He proved it. He passed it. Coincidentally I take the test at my workplace. That’s convenient.

Saturday and Sunday I took a walk in the development behind me. Watching the snow geese fly above me and hearing the busy chirping of the birds in the brush is very soothing. I’m like a wound up knot. Seeing the Canada geese on the retention pond relaxes me like no pill can. During these bad times I find a walk is the best medicine. I need to take one everyday.

For dinner last night I made Chicken Marabella. The aroma of the dish baking in the oven filled the house with warmth and comfort. I made enough to last me all week. I also made my signature Tarragon Potato Salad with red potatoes, red onions, celery, lime mayonnaise and LOTS of tarragon. This is a recipe I adapted from a Nage potato salad that was leftover from an Inn function. The Chicken Marabella is a recipe I discovered when a friend brought a covered dish to a house party recently. Just goes to show you it is good to get out and experience the world. When you least expect it, something good happens. That’s what keeps me going.

Saturday Morning

A cold, sunny, Saturday morning, this last day of January 2009 was waiting for me one this first day of the last day of my life. For the second consecutive week Bill and I would not have breakfast at Zorba’s restaurant in Rehoboth Beach. Johnnie (our regular waitress) no doubt is wondering what happen to the two old gay geezers who stop in every Saturday morning. The cook won’t be frying scrapple for me or Bill’s egg sandwich with a double order of mayonnaise. No, Week Two continues of this “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” game that Bill likes to play. The first time I saw that Edward Albee play I knew I recognized the plot line. “Something is familiar about this story” I thought to myself. It was only when I found out that Edward Albee “straightened out the play” that I recognized the gay relationship the play was based on and the sometimes twisted and cruel turns it takes which, is in reality two people who care very much for one another. I care very much for Bill and if this is what it takes, so be it.

Even though Bill and I wouldn’t be doing our weekly breakfast at Zorba’s, I thought I would get out anyway. I had some old food in the refrigerator that I had to get rid of. The parking lot of Wal-Mart in Rehoboth always has a contingent of sea gulls hanging around the back of the fast food junk palaces; patiently awaiting any leftovers that Chi-Chi’s, Friendly’s or Wendy’s throw in their dumpsters located behind them. As soon as my red Subaru rolled to a stop behind Wendy’s dumpster, the sea gulls screeched and flocked around my car. Quick! I threw out the food and got out of there fast before one of them left a Thank You deposit on my newly washed and waxed car. No good deed go unpunished in this world.

Then it was off to Giant. Giant is the closest supermarket that Rehoboth Beach has to Wegmans. While it has a long way to go to equal Wegmans, it’s not bad. The store is clean, offers a wide variety of products, and has a high percentage of gay shoppers. Who knows? Maybe I could “accidentally” meet someone who would help me out of my loneliness. Unlikely, but it is possible. At my age, I don’t want to meet someone young because they would only be looking for a sugar daddy. Been there, done that. That’s a dead end street which only causes a lot of angst. I’m not looking for a sexual encounter (are you kidding?) My hormone level left years ago. I’m not interested in any of that activity.

It would be nice to meet someone who has similar interests as I do. All the years I’ve been coming down here and living here for the past two years, I have yet to meet anyone who likes genealogy or taking digital pictures. I’ve given up. It’s sort of like playing the Powerball. I’ve played it for years. The most I’ve ever won is $7.00 (big whoop) While I know it is very unlikely that I will ever win more than $7.00, I keep playing because there is that slight chance that I may win the big prize. I'll even take the $200,000. After taxes I could still pay off my mortgage. However, I’m not pinning all of my hopes on winning but I do like to stay in the game. There is always that chance. You gotta have hope. It’s the same with getting out there and mixing it up. You just never know.

On the way home I stopped at the inn where I work. Last Thursday I was talking to a guest from Australia. She said she wanted to get some black beans to take back home because she couldn’t get black beans in Australia. I had a can of Black Bean Progresso soup. I dropped the can off at the front desk with Blare and asked her to give it to the guest from Australia.

It is not even 10 o'clock yet this morning, but I feel that I have had a worthwhile day. I fed the seagulls and gave Mrs. Stewart her black beans. Mission accomplished. I can have another day on this earth. The beat goes on.

Ted Haggard

Remember the old TV show “That Was the Week That Was?” That’s what this past week felt like. I feel like I’ve been through the wringer. Of course I continue to still have technical problems with my computers and accessories. I won’t even go into all of that. The one thing I will say is that I will NEVER buy another Dell computer for a Microsoft operation system, I don’t care what kind of fancy name they give to it. The last time I got a new Dell it had the Windows ME (Millennium) operating system. I eventually gave that computer away because I couldn’t turn it off and Dell lied about their premium support. I gave the computer to my friend Bob who had to install Windows 95 to get it to operate. I read this morning where Microsoft is going to try and peddle a new operating system called Windows 7. Oh yeah. Hold your breath when I buy that system.

We had the whole range of weather this week. Monday and Tuesday, snow, rain and ice. Pretty. I stayed out of that mess until the rain melted the snow on Wednesday at which time I made a run for the grocery store in the fog. I was out just long enough to cover the sides of my red car with road salt. Yesterday I made another run to Milton to get a laser wash to get rid of the salt. I now have my shiny red car again, albeit with 110,000 miles on it. I felt so good yesterday I took the Grand Tour through the hinterlands. I drove through Milton to Rt. 5, then down Rt. 9, to Rt. 24, then onto Rt. 1 Rehoboth Beach. It was good to get out of the house and drive around the flatlands down here to clear my head.

Yesterday I went to work. The economy is affecting everything, including the number of guests at the hotel where I work in Lewes. We’re offering generous discounts to lure the guests in but there aren’t too many takers. We have some long term guests in the hotel and a few passers through but none of the usual guests who come into town to enjoy the fine restaurants and take advantage of the outlet shopping on Rt. 1 in Rehoboth Beach. Those days are gone, for now anyway. I'm hoping they come back this spring and summer. We're all hoping.

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I saw a good movie from Netflix this week. It was called “Big Eden.” It was about a gay guy and his unrequited love interest but more than that. It was about family, all kinds. What really made this film interesting was the total lack of homophobia in the small town to which he returned. Perhaps that’s why they titled it “Big Eden.” It might just have been a fairytale (no pun intended.)

Bill still isn’t talking. Of course this is very stressful to me as well as it is to him. The heaviness hangs over the house. Not much “family” here this week. However, this too will pass.

Last night on “Larry King Live”, I watched Ted Haggard try to explain away his fall from grace from his church. Mr. Haggard seems like a fine man but he should come to terms with reality. He’s still justifying his actions as a test from God. Perhaps. He says his wife has accepted him as has his children. I say whatever works for you Ted, go for it. One thing he doesn’t have to do is apologize for having normal, natural feelings for members of his own sex. As long as he denies these natural feelings, he will be in misery. I could see the sadness in his eyes as he was listening to clips that Larry King was playing from his accusers. How sad. I’m sure that Mr. Haggard loves his wife and five children but he will always be conflicted his whole life with his sexual conflict. That’s what I liked about the movie “Big Eden.” The townsfolk were not conflicted or repelled by the main characters’ homosexuality. They took it as normal, which it is. To all the arguments about homosexuality; is it normal or is it against God’s will my answer has always been, “God made me this way and God doesn’t make mistakes.” Amen.

From Darkness to Light

Two days ago the snows came through the little edge of Delaware where I live. Usually we miss the big snows. I call my Mother and feel pretty smug when she tells me of the latest snowfall of 3, 4, 5 and more inches of snow, usually topped with a sleeting rain which brings down the power cords and takes out their electricity. That doesn’t happen down here where my house is located, two miles from the Delaware Bay. The coastal air evaporates the half inch of snow that does cover the ground around her from time to time. Tuesday was different. This time we had the sleeting rain to form a icy crust on the snow. No feeling smug this time when talking to Mom. I looked outside and knew I wouldn’t be going anywhere in my car. I hunkered down inside my castle.

Yesterday I awoke to a misty rain. I looked out the window and fog was rising from the ground. The warm temperatures and the rain were causing the half inch of snow to that had covered the ground the day before to melt into smoky fog. Now was the time to make a run for it to the store to get my bananas and my lottery tickets. Driving down Route 1 to Milton was like driving through a cloud, the fog was that heavy. By the time I finished shopping and got into my Subaru Forester, most of the fog had dissipated.

I retuned home to my quiet and sad house. Bill was still holed up in his bedroom. He will come out when he’s ready. I’ve found from past experience I can’t rush him. The rains picked up. All the snow was gone now. The rain heavy clouds interfered with my satellite signal in receiving MSNBC. What would I do without my daily dose of Keith and Rachel?

This was a good time to watch my Netflix rental movie. Usually I watch my movies on the weekend but I needed a respite from the heaviness in this house caused by Bill’s problem. The movie was “Big Eden.” It was a gay love story of unrequited love. Now there’s a new subject. Well, it was a pleasant surprise. At first I was baffled by the actor who played the main character. He wasn’t your typical Hollywood, shaved chest, hunk and a half. No, he was Ayre Gross, a nerdy, physically unattractive New York artist. Oh yes, just my dreamboat without a doubt. He leaves his privileged cocoon in New York for the big sky of Montana to help his grandfather who had a stroke. Returning home he finds that his high school crush now has two children! Oh yes, this looks interesting. But the plot takes an unconventional turn. I won’t give away the story to ruin it for any of the readers of this blog who want to see the movie but I will say I was pleasantly surprised by the ending.

One just never knows where love will turn up. The important message to me is that we are all entitled to love and we all are worthwhile. There may be bumps and detours on our Life’s Journey, but in the end for those of us fortunate enough to love and be loved, it’s worth it. Love is more than a mutual sexual attraction of one person to another, whatever their sex may be. True love is the love of one’s neighbors, friends and family. Many times that love is there for the taking but we don’t see it because of the barriers we have erected around ourselves to protect us from pain.

Gray skies, snow and rain have prevailed the past two days in my little corner of the world. The sun has reappeared today. I’m going out for a ride. I am thankful that I have another day on this earth. Each day is a gift.

Losing a Friend Part II

It was in 2001 when I first noticed that Bob might have a problem. I had given him a new computer and he was having a problem opening e-mails with attachments. Several times during my previous visits I sat with him and showed him the steps to open his e-mail, click on the “Download” button, and then click on the “Open” button. Yet, each time I visited Bob he told me he didn’t know how to download a file attachment (usually a picture.) For about the umpteenth time I sat with him at his computer again and told him to write down the three steps as I would show him again. I went through the steps, looking at Bob each time I went to the next step. It was then I had one of those moments that you see in the TV commercial for Alzheimer’s medicine. I knew. Looking at Bob all I saw was his gaping mouth and his eyes which showed that he wasn’t registering what I was showing him. His face was a blank slate. Nothing I was saying was sinking in. He couldn’t connect the dots.

Over the past few years prior to this moment I had noticed little signs like this. We used to joke about it as one of the “benefits” of getting older. Things that we used to take for granted like remembering where we put our glasses or car keys, we would forget. I know myself that I have to have a set routine or else I will misplace things. But I noticed that Bob’s forgetfulness was soon outpacing even my lapses of memory. Bob became so concerned that he brought the issue of his fear of dementia or Alzheimer’s to the attention of his caregiver at the Veterans Administration. He was told that as long as he was remembering that he was forgetting “not to worry, he didn’t have a problem.” So we both dismissed our forgetfulness as an inevitable consequence of getting old.

However, there was one thing nagging in my mind. I remember reading some years ago a woman’s account of her mother’s descent into Alzheimer’s disease. She said at first she would dismiss her mother’s forgetfulness as signs of her getting older. She and her family would make excuses for her mother’s sometimes bizarre behavior. But, as time went on, her mother’s forgetfulness and sometimes unusual behavior became harder to ignore. Perhaps the telltale sign was her mother’s retreat into silence. Of course there were the usual “good days” and “bad days.” Some days her mother would be her old self. Then on other days her mother would sit on the sidelines with a vacant look on her face, mouth hanging agape. That is what is happening to my friend Bob now. He sits with the vacant look, his mouth hanging agape.

More and more of those telltale “moments” were happening now. Bob has lived in Delaware since 1976. This past summer I called him to ask how long he has lived in Delaware. He said “Three years.” I said “Three years?” He said “Yes.” I said “You’re kidding! Three years?” He said “Yes.” He wasn’t kidding. I hung up the phone. A few minutes later he called back. He said “Did I say I lived here three years?” I said “Yes.” He said “I’ve lived here longer than that.” I asked “How long?” He said “Longer than that.” I asked again, “When did you move here?” He said “It was longer than three years.” End of conversation. This is when I knew he had a problem. He had no idea of how long he has lived in Delaware.

For the last several years I noticed that during our long phone conversations, I was doing most of the talking. That’s not unusual for me (as those who know me will knowingly attest), but our phone conversations were increasingly becoming one sided. At times I would ask Bob if he was still on the line. We used to have animated conversations on the phone. We would get into all kinds of discussions. Not any more. I felt like I was doing a solo reading. I dismissed this as my fault for dominating the conversation. It wasn’t too long though before my partner Bill made a comment about his phone conversations with Bob. Bill didn’t call Bob near as much as I did but he would occasionally call Bob to chat. Bill told me that he sometimes wondered if Bob was even on the line. I said to Bill, “Have you noticed that too? It seems like he isn’t there.” Now I know I can dominate a conversation but this was ridiculous. I was calling my long time friend to basically have a one sided conversation. Gradually, I stopped calling. My long time confidant was fading away.

Another sign of Bob’s failure of memory was his inability to keep a date. For years Bob and his partner Jim, and another friend had what they called the “Old Fart’s Night Out.” This was to get their friend Bart, a grumpy 86 year old closeted gay man out at least one night of the week. Bob and Jim would stop by Bart’s place and pick him up for their weekly outing. They would alternate between three places; Cracker Barrel, Bob Evans Restaurant or the Rehoboth Diner. I enjoyed these outings but wasn’t able to go out with them every Wednesday night until I moved down here. Once I moved to Delaware, I made arrangements to meet them at the designated restaurant for that week. It wasn’t too long before we encountered a problem. I would ask Bob where we were meeting, since Bob was driving Jim and Bart. Bob would say “we will meet at the Rehoboth Diner at 6 PM.” I would go to the Rehoboth Diner at the agreed upon time and wait for them. And I would wait. And wait. Six o’clock. I would wait another 15 minutes. Six fifteen. Still no Bob. Six thirty. No Bob. Where did they go? I thought I got my directions wrong. I would call Bob on his cell phone but he has told me he doesn’t know how to turn it on. The obvious question is why does he have it? He says “Jim knows how to turn it on.” When Bob and the crew didn’t appear at the Rehoboth Diner I decided to check Cracker Barrel. Yep, there they were, sitting at a table in Cracker Barrel. I dismissed this as a misunderstanding on my part on where we were to meet.

Now that I was living in Delaware, I could meet them every week. It quickly became obvious that Bob couldn’t remember where he told me we were going to meet. Sometimes he and the crew would be at the agreed upon place at six, more often than not he wouldn’t be there. After few more times of running up and down Rt. 1 wondering where they were eating, I decided that if they didn’t show up I would just go home. Then something else interesting happened. Bob would never call and ask “Where were you?” I let it go a week then I called the next week and asked “Where are we meeting this week?” I also asked where did they eat the previous week. He told me but never asked where I was. Now I’m thinking maybe they don’t want me along. Both Jim and Bart are none too fond of me for different reasons. Jim is a very insecure person who feels threatened by my friendship with Bob. Bart hates anyone who doesn’t subscribe to his Kool-Aid drinking Far Right views. You disagree with him when he's spouting off, and he will shout you down even if it is in public. He's not a pleasant person to be around. After several months of missed connections, I decided that it was time to discontinue my membership in the “Old Farts Night Out” club.

The accumulation of forgetfulness and unusual behavior from Bob was becoming too much to ignore. The time the three of us (Bill, me and Bob) went to the VA for our flue shots. Bob wanders off. The time the three of us went shopping at the Wal-Mart in Georgetown, Bob wanders off without saying a word. The time I was helping Bob research a missing CD. I gave him the address of the Comptroller of the Currency to write a letter. He couldn’t get the name right, kept saying “Currency Controller, Calculator of the Controller, Controller of the Dollar” and other versions of Comptroller of the Currency. I eventually wrote the letter for him. I asked him to sign it and mail it out. A few weeks later I asked him if he heard anything. He didn’t remember the letter. This particular episode had many more factors involved which I won’t go into here. I went with him to Wachovia Bank to help him recover his CD. I gave him the address of the Unclaimed Funds for the state of Pennsylvania (he had deposited his CD at PNB Bank in Philadelphia.) It was like pushing rope. I explain all this to him and I got the same vacant stare and hanging open mouth when I was showing him how to open an attachment on his e-mail. His brain wasn’t able to connect the dots. The lost, vacant stare. The slack jaw. No more the Bob that I used to know. Animated, joking, smiling, laughing. That Bob was gone.

I feel as if I’m losing a friend. I am losing a friend. The best analogy I can think of is an astronaut who is taking a space walk. He (or she) is tethered to the spaceship with a line. That line gets lose and the astronaut is slowly slipping out into the great void of space. We can see that astronaut but we can’t reach him. We extend our hand but his hand is out of reach, slipping slowly but surely further out of reach. We watch helplessly as the image of the astronaut gets smaller and smaller as he drifts farther out into space. Eventually the astronaut is gone, swallowed by the endless expanse of the universe. I’m losing my friend. He is slowly slipping away.

During the past several years I have lost friends. Some have moved on with their lives and not kept in touch. Others have become ill and died. This is the first friend I am losing to dementia. It is sad and I don’t know what to do. A part of me is hoping Bob will call me one day and say it was all a big practical joke. The Old Bob would do something like that. However, my heart tells me that the Old Bob is gone. He’s been replaced by this person with the vacant stare and slack jaw. The Old Bob that I knew is in there somewhere and I don’t know how to reach him. I fear that I have lost my friend.

To be continued.

Losing a Friend Part I

On this day, forty nine years ago, I joined the United States Army. January 27th, 1960 was also the day my future best friend, Big Bob, was drafted in the Army. We didn’t meet that day. I was on a train from Downingtown, PA to Philadelphia, where I would switch over to a Trailways bus that would deposit me at Ft. Dix, New Jersey to begin basic training. Bob was headed to Ft. Jackson, South Carolina on a troop train for his basic training. We wouldn’t meet until March when we both arrived at Ft. Devens, Massachusetts for Army Security Agency schooling.

I don’t remember the exact moment we met at Ft. Devens, but we became best friends almost immediately. We were both from the same area of Pennsylvania thus sharing weekend rides to our homes in the suburbs of Philadelphia. We probably met the first time on one of those rides.

For the six months that we went to Army Security Agency schooling at Ft. Devens, we spent almost every spare minute together. Ironically, after I left the Army in 1963 I came out about my sexual orientation and discovered that Bob was also gay. He never suspected I was gay nor did I ever give a thought to Bob’s sexual orientation. Our friendship was not based on sexual attraction (contrary to what many straight people think, not all gay men are attracted to all men) but on a commonality of interests and enjoying each other’s company.

After schooling ended Bob and I went out separate ways. I was assigned to Ft. Meade, Maryland and Bob was assigned to Ft. Bragg, North Carolina. We kept in touch the next two years by mail.

A few months after I got out of the service in January 1963, I came out to my family and friends. I made the decision that I didn’t want to live my life as a lie (as I did when I was in the Army working at the National Security Agency with a top secret clearance that I could lose at any time if my sexual orientation became known.) To my great surprise, and to Bob’s, we both became aware of each other’s true sexual identity.

From the years since 1963, Bob and I continued our best friend relationship. When I met Bill in July of 1964 (my life partner since then and the one who isn’t speaking to me now), it was Bob who I confided in. Bob met Bill and the three of us have been close friends over the years.

Ironically, Bob is the reason I’m living in Delaware now. Over the years when Bill has had one of his episodes of not speaking to me, I would take off and visit Bob at his home in the woods outside Georgetown, Delaware. Usually, by the time I got home Bill would be over his funk. I came down to this area of Delaware so many times over the years that I came to look upon it as my second home. When taxes forced me out of my home in Pennsylvania, Delaware was at the top of my list for a new home. Thus it was with great joy that I moved to Delaware in the summer of 2006. Little did I know at that time it was the beginning of the loss of my close friendship with Bob.

To be continued.