I just found out a friend has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It does not look good. He's not famous, or notable. He's just a man, a good man who once worked with me in San Diego. A man I was happy to call "friend" at the time and have thought of from time to time in the many years since we went our separate ways.
He's fairly young, about my age (it just dawned on me that I do not know his age). He's a Vietnam veteran. A man who was born in Mexico, who came to this country when he was about 14. A man who has had his ups and downs, his triumphs and his failures. A man who worked alongside of me, who attended company schools with me. A man with whom I argued, agreed, joked, shared meals, shared joys and heartaches.
He's a man I defended when he was unofficially, and wrongfully, accused. A man who put up with my pettiness and crankiness as I went through the misery of a failing marriage. A man who understood my happiness and my unhappiness.
A friend. One I have no way of helping in this time of his greatest need. And that is the greatest sadness of all.
A Night Unremembered
7 years ago