AN ACCIDENTAL FRIEND
Posted in Uncategorized on August 28th, 2006
Dedicated to Pat, Kari, and Nick
I remember distinctly the first time I saw Brian. My wife and I had just moved to a small rental house just outside of Flint, Michigan. Brian, in his usual boisterous style, was yelling at his wife or kids about something or another. With sleave tatoos, a long ponytail and strutting manner, Brian was 100% macho. Not the kind of guy I usually liked to be friends with. I decided then and there that I would keep my distance and limit our interaction to neighborly “hellos”. Time went by and slowly it seemed that I was going to have to “tolerate” him more and more. His wife, Pat, probably the nicest person I have ever met, and my wife had struck up a friendship. Our kids were soon playing together and it looked like I was going to have to interact with him more than I really wanted to. I decided I might as well try to be friends and hope for the best. I didn’t have a clue how it would all turn out.
Brian, once you got past the posturing, turned out to be not so bad. He even had some characteristics I found admirable. Despite his yelling, he was committed to his family, honest to a fault, and very loyal to his friends. You never had to wonder how he really felt, and I found that refreshing. We shared a love of hunting and the outdoors and soon we were swapping stories of mystical bucks like old friends. Brian was a great hunter, probably the best I have ever known. It didn’t matter where we were hunting, Brian would always get whatever he was after. He seemed to have a natural instinct for the woods. And best of all, he shared my respect for the outdoors and the animals we hunted. I never once saw him disrespect any of the animals we killed, or the land we were lucky enough to enjoy. As a hunting partner, he was as good as I could have asked for.
Alone in the woods, surrounded by the majesty of crisp October mornings when everything is so quite field mice seem to wear lead boots, you can’t help but reflect on your life. Through high-five successes, missed chances, early morning coffee, and restful sits, Brian and me chased deer and rabbits and shared thoughts. I soon realized we were more alike than I had thought that one morning long ago. Brian more than once remarked to me, “It’s like we were cut from the same cloth.” I started to believe maybe we were.
Between hunting trips, we both worked hard for our families. We shared a dream of getting away from the city life with its drugs and crime and starting a better life for our kids. Soon I had saved enough to buy a piece of land in the country and a little while later, started building my house. Brian helped me all along the way when he could have easily have found excuses not to. Somehow we still found time to enjoy a little fishing or hunting.
When my house was finished, I had to move away from Brian, Pat and their kids, but we stayed in touch. Brian soon bought a house in a piece of whitetail heaven near Montrose, a small town outside of Flint. I made regular trips out to his place every spring and fall and we always kept in touch by phone, telling each other stories of “bullwinkle” deer that we had seen at a distance but could never quite get. Brian hunted a friend’s place down the road and was soon harvesting nice bucks every year. He had a blind that he had built in a big old maple tree on the corner of the property. He spent so much time in it that we jokingly called it his second home. From my stand a few hundred yards away I could see Brian’s silhouette against the evening sky, rattling horns together to simulate two bucks fighting, and then sitting so stone still that I would lose sight of him until he picked his rattling horns up again. I looked forward to those days very much every year.
Things can go so well that we sometimes forget that they’re not made to last. So it was last spring. The first hint I got that something was wrong came from my usual spring turkey hunting call from Brian. There was a hesitant pause in his tone that I wasn’t used to, and his story about getting a nice Tom (male turkey) included a sidebar about his having to stop and rest afterward. “Guess I’m getting old or something.” he said. But again, something felt wrong. I told him it might not be a bad idea to see a doctor, you know, just in case. We moved to lighter conversation, and after a few friendly pokes at each other, he wished me luck and I congratulated him one more time.
Then one morning I got a call from my brother, he had heard that Brian had a heart attack and did I know anything. I told him “no” but I would find out. I hung up the phone and called Brian. The gruff “hello” on the other end had me breathing a sigh of relief. “Man, you scared me half to death” I said, “My brother heard that you had a heart attack.” A long pause followed and then he said uncharacteristically slow and quiet, “Yea, it’s true.” The story that followed was the last thing I expected to hear. He said that he had felt kinda sick at work and left early, and as it got worse he drove himself to the hospital where he collapsed right outside the emergency entrance. He went on to say that his heart had stopped for several minutes and while he was unconscious he had a religious experience. He told me that he was standing next to his body and a light streamed down from the upper corner of the room. Soon he noticed people moving toward him that he felt he knew but couldn’t identify. At about that time, the doctor who was working on him shocked him with paddles and he was back in his body. He told me ” I know it sounds strange, but I now know for sure there is a heaven.” Coming from someone else I would have thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him in a moment of panic. But Brian was never terribly religious and was now completely convinced. It sent shivers down my spine.
I asked him a few more questions about his experience and then told him I was glad that he was still around and to take care of himself. I called Brian a few more times over the next few months and began to feel that the danger had passed. He said his chest still hurt, but maybe the shock to his chest muscles caused it. Brian did, however, seem changed. He was way more reflective and spent most of his time with his family. “I now see what’s important.” was one of the last things I remember him saying to me.
Then one day I got that awful call. Pat, his wife, told me between sobs, that Brian had died. He went just the way he always said that he wanted to go. After killing a nice 7-pointer and dragging it back to the house, he was celebrating with some friends when he started to not feel well. Pat took him back to their house where his condition worsened. Ten minutes later, In the back of an ambulance, with Pat by his side, Brian suffered the heart attack that ended his life.
It’s now late August in Michigan, the nights are slowly getting colder and hunting season is drawing near. But, for me, things will be different this year. There will be no call asking if I saw a “Bullwinkle”, no playful ribbing, no “good lucks.” And worse of all, no hunt with Brian. I know that there will be times that I’ll be sitting in my stand thinking about hunts past, and maybe even laughing about some of the times we had. But in the back of my mind I’ll be thinking of that little chunk of hardwoods in Montrose, where a stand sits vacant in a big old Maple tree, silhouetted against a darkening October sky, built by my accidental friend, Brian, cloth of my cloth. H.C.
Posted in Uncategorized on August 28th, 2006
Dedicated to Pat, Kari, and Nick
I remember distinctly the first time I saw Brian. My wife and I had just moved to a small rental house just outside of Flint, Michigan. Brian, in his usual boisterous style, was yelling at his wife or kids about something or another. With sleave tatoos, a long ponytail and strutting manner, Brian was 100% macho. Not the kind of guy I usually liked to be friends with. I decided then and there that I would keep my distance and limit our interaction to neighborly “hellos”. Time went by and slowly it seemed that I was going to have to “tolerate” him more and more. His wife, Pat, probably the nicest person I have ever met, and my wife had struck up a friendship. Our kids were soon playing together and it looked like I was going to have to interact with him more than I really wanted to. I decided I might as well try to be friends and hope for the best. I didn’t have a clue how it would all turn out.
Brian, once you got past the posturing, turned out to be not so bad. He even had some characteristics I found admirable. Despite his yelling, he was committed to his family, honest to a fault, and very loyal to his friends. You never had to wonder how he really felt, and I found that refreshing. We shared a love of hunting and the outdoors and soon we were swapping stories of mystical bucks like old friends. Brian was a great hunter, probably the best I have ever known. It didn’t matter where we were hunting, Brian would always get whatever he was after. He seemed to have a natural instinct for the woods. And best of all, he shared my respect for the outdoors and the animals we hunted. I never once saw him disrespect any of the animals we killed, or the land we were lucky enough to enjoy. As a hunting partner, he was as good as I could have asked for.
Alone in the woods, surrounded by the majesty of crisp October mornings when everything is so quite field mice seem to wear lead boots, you can’t help but reflect on your life. Through high-five successes, missed chances, early morning coffee, and restful sits, Brian and me chased deer and rabbits and shared thoughts. I soon realized we were more alike than I had thought that one morning long ago. Brian more than once remarked to me, “It’s like we were cut from the same cloth.” I started to believe maybe we were.
Between hunting trips, we both worked hard for our families. We shared a dream of getting away from the city life with its drugs and crime and starting a better life for our kids. Soon I had saved enough to buy a piece of land in the country and a little while later, started building my house. Brian helped me all along the way when he could have easily have found excuses not to. Somehow we still found time to enjoy a little fishing or hunting.
When my house was finished, I had to move away from Brian, Pat and their kids, but we stayed in touch. Brian soon bought a house in a piece of whitetail heaven near Montrose, a small town outside of Flint. I made regular trips out to his place every spring and fall and we always kept in touch by phone, telling each other stories of “bullwinkle” deer that we had seen at a distance but could never quite get. Brian hunted a friend’s place down the road and was soon harvesting nice bucks every year. He had a blind that he had built in a big old maple tree on the corner of the property. He spent so much time in it that we jokingly called it his second home. From my stand a few hundred yards away I could see Brian’s silhouette against the evening sky, rattling horns together to simulate two bucks fighting, and then sitting so stone still that I would lose sight of him until he picked his rattling horns up again. I looked forward to those days very much every year.
Things can go so well that we sometimes forget that they’re not made to last. So it was last spring. The first hint I got that something was wrong came from my usual spring turkey hunting call from Brian. There was a hesitant pause in his tone that I wasn’t used to, and his story about getting a nice Tom (male turkey) included a sidebar about his having to stop and rest afterward. “Guess I’m getting old or something.” he said. But again, something felt wrong. I told him it might not be a bad idea to see a doctor, you know, just in case. We moved to lighter conversation, and after a few friendly pokes at each other, he wished me luck and I congratulated him one more time.
Then one morning I got a call from my brother, he had heard that Brian had a heart attack and did I know anything. I told him “no” but I would find out. I hung up the phone and called Brian. The gruff “hello” on the other end had me breathing a sigh of relief. “Man, you scared me half to death” I said, “My brother heard that you had a heart attack.” A long pause followed and then he said uncharacteristically slow and quiet, “Yea, it’s true.” The story that followed was the last thing I expected to hear. He said that he had felt kinda sick at work and left early, and as it got worse he drove himself to the hospital where he collapsed right outside the emergency entrance. He went on to say that his heart had stopped for several minutes and while he was unconscious he had a religious experience. He told me that he was standing next to his body and a light streamed down from the upper corner of the room. Soon he noticed people moving toward him that he felt he knew but couldn’t identify. At about that time, the doctor who was working on him shocked him with paddles and he was back in his body. He told me ” I know it sounds strange, but I now know for sure there is a heaven.” Coming from someone else I would have thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him in a moment of panic. But Brian was never terribly religious and was now completely convinced. It sent shivers down my spine.
I asked him a few more questions about his experience and then told him I was glad that he was still around and to take care of himself. I called Brian a few more times over the next few months and began to feel that the danger had passed. He said his chest still hurt, but maybe the shock to his chest muscles caused it. Brian did, however, seem changed. He was way more reflective and spent most of his time with his family. “I now see what’s important.” was one of the last things I remember him saying to me.
Then one day I got that awful call. Pat, his wife, told me between sobs, that Brian had died. He went just the way he always said that he wanted to go. After killing a nice 7-pointer and dragging it back to the house, he was celebrating with some friends when he started to not feel well. Pat took him back to their house where his condition worsened. Ten minutes later, In the back of an ambulance, with Pat by his side, Brian suffered the heart attack that ended his life.
It’s now late August in Michigan, the nights are slowly getting colder and hunting season is drawing near. But, for me, things will be different this year. There will be no call asking if I saw a “Bullwinkle”, no playful ribbing, no “good lucks.” And worse of all, no hunt with Brian. I know that there will be times that I’ll be sitting in my stand thinking about hunts past, and maybe even laughing about some of the times we had. But in the back of my mind I’ll be thinking of that little chunk of hardwoods in Montrose, where a stand sits vacant in a big old Maple tree, silhouetted against a darkening October sky, built by my accidental friend, Brian, cloth of my cloth. H.C.
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