Here is where Dwen sat, surrounded by friends. We miss him every day.
It’s a blustery day here in Illinois. Shouldn’t come as a surprise, though, since it’s past mid-January. I’ve been sitting at home trying to decide whether it’s worth it to slip-slide to the cold car and schlep to McDonald’s to read and write a bit.
I’ve been avoiding my favorite fast-food place for a while. Our friend Dwen and I met there lots of times and since he passed away at 11 a.m. Monday, January 4 I haven’t felt much like going there.
Dwen was most often seen sitting with his group on the northeast side of the restaurant, reading a paper and chatting with his friends. Once his buddy Derek left at 11, Dwen would walk over to talk with me about a lot of things, and I’ll tell you this: He was never dull—ever.
He was 94 years old, he collected unused napkins (everyone knew this, and they brought theirs to him whenever they spotted him), and he was sharp. There was nothing wrong with Dwen’s memory, whether you were talking about last night or 70 or more years ago. In fact, he often worried about friends much younger than he was who would show signs of faltering memories.
Dwen was opinionated and he pretty much didn’t care if you agreed with him or not. But unlike some folks with that attribute, Dwen didn’t get all huffy and hold grudges if you didn’t see things his way. I loved him for that, and for so much more.
I loved how he lived life, how he played tennis up until just a few months before he died. I think he finally quit playing sometime in September of last year but that was because, he said, a tendon in his right leg was hurting him. Still, he rode his famous white bicycle all over the place; it was a familiar sight outside of McDonald’s.
I miss seeing that bicycle, and I miss the man who used to ride it. My heart is heavy, still, and whenever I drive past McD’s, I find it impossible to glance to my right to see if Dwen is there. I know he isn’t, I know he’s gone, but I want to turn back Time and talk to him just once more. This time, I want to thank him for a friendship that meant more to me than I ever realized.
And now I must ask myself: Why do we too often wait until it’s too late before we say aloud what’s been in our hearts? I wish I’d told Dwen how much hubby and I loved him, how much we appreciated everything he ever did for his lady friend (hubby’s mom) for the past few years. Mom simply can’t see herself attending church without him; the breakfasts afterwards are not the same without the two of them arguing over whether to order oatmeal or pancakes.
My faith tells me we will see Dwen again someday, and we’ll comfort ourselves in knowing our friend is no longer in pain. We trust that he heard us tell him that we’ll take good care of Mom—he wouldn’t have it any other way.
See you later, Dwen—we all loved you. And though I know you might have scoffed at my tears over losing you, I want to share this quote by Washington Irving:
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief..and unspeakable love.”
And that, Dwen, is why we cry—still.
