One, a casual friend named Anselmo Nunez...an older Puerto Rican man who I took back and forth from dialysis for over four years. He was teaching me spanish, a little bit at a time..as quickly as my poor overloaded mind could take it in. He had no legs left, lost to diabetes, yet he walked on his two artificial ones until last year when his illness finally confined him to a power wheelchair. He passed away Thursday last, without my knowing about it until this morning when I got to work.

All the other drivers and escorts always called him "Pancho" which always seemed to me to be a racial slur. I always, ALWAYS addressed him as Mr. Nunez, because I felt he deserved my respect for his quiet courage, and selfless sense of humor, even in his adversity.

I will miss you, Mr. Nunez. You taught me respect and dignity.
rest in peace, mi amigo. Vaya con dios.

then, this evening, I learned of the passing of yet another friend. This one a man I served with in Germany, way back when. He was part of my story, First Kiss, although not by name in the story. His name was Jerry Barnes. A funny little guy with a strange sense of humor, but we became friends, when we found we were from the same area of the states, and went drinking and chasing women together...the first very well, the second, dismally bad.

Sine his discharge from the service, we had stayed in touch, although never again at the same level. We each had our separate lives and the two never seemed to mesh. I used to see Jerry every so often, always walking, he didn't drive, always with a smile on his face, and always glad to see me, as I was glad to see him. We'd talk awhile and then one or the other of us would have to get going and we'd part, always expecting we'd see one another again, and looking forward to it. I'd always say I'd stop over to his house but I never saw him home, and he'd say, "I'm ALWAYS home!", but he never was.

The last time I saw him was almost a year ago, and I wondered where he was and why I hadn't seen him. This evening I found out. Jerry had become a sort of recluse, living some kind of secret life that no one knew about. His house had partially collapsed inside and he'd never bothered to fix it or even clean it up. He had taken an apartment and, last July, I was told tonite, he'd had a heart attack, followed by a stroke and had died in the hospital...I never knew.

Jerry, my friend, you too, taught me humility and humor. We had some helacious times over 'there', and you will always live in my heart. I hope wherever you ended up is better to you than here was. Life gave you some pretty sour lemons, but you seemed to always be able to make some kind of lemonade out of them. I wish I'd known about your decline, but you never gave me a clue...never showed that anything was out of the ordinary. Maybe I could have helped somehow. I guess I'll never know.

Thanks for your friendship, my old drinking pal. I'll miss you.
Requiscat In Pacem.

I hope and pray that it will be a long time before I have to write another one of these. My friends have always been younger than I, and I always hoped I'd never have to write one at all. It seems that I have been blessed, or cursed, name your poison, with better than average genes that won't let me die young. Myself, I subscribe to the cursed part.

Each friend I lose takes a piece of my heart. How many pieces can I lose before I have no heart left? I don't want, or expect, an answer to that question.

Please, all of you. TELL those you care about that you care! Tell them what they mean to you. You never know when you'll never have a chance to do so again.

Thank you all for your indulgence. My apologies for taking this space for such a grim task.

I love you all.

Catherine Linda Michel