passed

It has been a difficult weekend.  My friend Dick passed away Friday evening.  He had been ill for some time and his 85 year old body just couldn't bounce back from it.

His presence is synonymous with the antique shop.  In the good time and his Carol would come in for coffee at 2:30 nearly every afternoon.  They would each have a little coffee - sometimes in separate mugs and occasionally sharing a mug.  We would chat and gossip about what was going on, or weekend plans, or their grandchildren.  In summer he wore old man shorts (you know, the variety popular in Florida) and t-shirts or polo.  He often sat cross-legged in his chair.  On his legs were the long scars from were they took the donor veins for his bypass surgery.  His legs were always golden tan and he rarely wore socks.  I always adored his shoes.  They just weren't the usual variety folks his age wore.  Deck shoes or canvas keds.  I loved those.  In the past few years he had carried a cane with a removable head and secret flask compartment.  Though he never actually used this feature he enjoyed it to be known that it was there.

Dick, on the right, with his Carol and Sue & Eli.

Carol and Dick with his friend Sawyer.  Sawyer and he were besties from grade school and grew up getting into all sorts of trouble together.  They had some stories to tell - like the time they stole the watermelons.  That was a good one.

Dick and his friend Fritz (nickname) up at the American Legion.  He said, "Petunia, come on up and I'll buy you a drink." So I did, and he did.

He was an Air Force Veteran and spent World War II in the Pacific.

He served on the island of Tinian that the Enola Gay took off from when the atomic bomb was dropped on Japan.  When we asked him about that cataclysm event and what it was like on base before that he said that it was pretty normal except things got kind of hush, hush and there were places they were told not to be.  Naturally he tried to check things out and was fortunately stopped by a card playing friend that said there were orders to shoot anyone on site that tried to go near.  When the planes took off he a few days later he didn't know where they were headed but soon found out.

Sometimes he would talk about the serving in the South Pacific.  More than once he mentioned Poulets and street vendors selling these developed yet unhatched eggs that people would crack open, suck out and eat.  He always made a grimacing face with that story.

He always took a place of honor at the annual store Christmas Party.  That was serving his doctored egg nog.  And he was certain to doctor well past necessary when he served my glass (back in my dairy drinking days).

I have spent more time with Mr. Metzler than I did my own grandfathers.  I will sorely miss him.  It is painful to think that I won't get to see him again in this lifetime and that at 2:30 he won't be coming in for coffee.  I am so grateful for the moments I did get to share with him.  I also realize that I only saw a small chapter of his life but I am so glad that he got to be a part in this chapter of my life.