My Best Friend

Most people who have met me in the past five years no little or nothing about my best friend, Bob. This is strange to me. Everyone who knew me before five years ago, knew that we were inseparable - even when we were thousands of miles apart. Bob was 48 years older than me. He went to my church, but I started getting to know him when I had a paper route in middle school: when I collected for the paper, he would talk incessantly.

Soon I started setting aside extra time to allow for his talking. He had incredible stories about his early life in the forties and fifties. Most of them were anecdotes about life in our small, 500-person town and the people who had lived and died there. As a pastor's son who moved a lot these stories of rooted-ness were nostalgic and sad in their small joys. But he also had stories about New York City in the Forties, taking a train across the country to California, and seeing Duke Ellington play in LA.

During my teens, I spent most of my time at Bob's house. It was a retreat from four sisters maybe, or just a peaceful place with a friend who seemed to get me. We played old sheet music on his baby grand piano and watched old movies. I would get him to play capture the flag with my sisters and our friends in the graveyard and invite him to dinner. He would come to my plays, jazz band and chorus concerts. For fun, I would introduce him as my grandpa - he loved the attention.

When I went away to New York State Summer School of the Arts, he supported me and wrote me. He was interested in hearing about my friends and love interests. When I returned, I invited ten friends from Long Island and they all stayed for a weekend at Bob's house. Once, during Christmas season, several friends came to visit and we all went sledding. Bob broke his ankle that night. That experience became his favorite story.

Jerry aged 17, sister Jennifer, Bob (We Three Kings:)

He prayed for me constantly. When my heart was aching, without saying anything, he would go into the kitchen, kneel on a chair and pray for me. He always took me in stride and gave me a broad perspective on trials. Whenever I needed advice, I could call him - if he didn't have advice, he would listen as long as I needed him to. He was present at every major failure and every success. He did old fart things with old farts and I did young guy stuff with young guys. We weren't each others' only friends, but for that season, each others' best friends.

As he entered his seventies I was living a bohemian life of travel and art. Whenever I made it home, we would spend hours catching up. I would cook for him, help him change the salt pellets for his water - the fifty pound bags were too heavy. I would weed his flowers and mow his lawn.

Bob had been on a series of medicines for long enough that they finally deteriorated his kidney functions. He was put into rehab for a fall, but became depressed and stopped eating. He came in and out of lucidity. I had gone back to college at Binghamton University and was in my junior year. During finals week of a particularly heavy semester, he called several times begging me to pick him up so he could live with me. I didn't realize how bad he was getting until his niece called and said I needed to visit him - they were bringing him home and didn't expect him to live more than a day or two - he had complete renal failure.

The last time I saw him, he was skeletal, his eyes were roaming and his breaths were gargley. I sat next to him on the bed they had moved into his dining room and held his hand in silence. For one minute his eyes focused on me. Slowly and deliberately he wrinkled his forehead and said my name. Hours later he was gone.

When I left for Oxford, each of my family members wrote me a letter. My father praised me most for my patience, gentleness and for what I had taught him about loving people of all ages.

I've been told this week that I shouldn't interact with college students any more. The reason is because they could become my greatest source of "community." While I understand what lies behind these concerns - and have experienced some of the sting - I wonder what Bob would say.