Little Pete.

I was thinking about Little Pete this week; I don't know why. 

He was a nice guy. Older, in his retirement. Little, as the nickname would indicate, maybe five five. Big glasses and slightly wild white hair. Loved his motorcycle. I used to see him occasionally down at the church group I sometimes attended, when my schedule permitted and he wasn't off somewhere exploring the roads of America. I didn't and don't even know his last name. Just one of those guys who was glad to see ya, and was glad to be seen. 

He got very involved in that group, as I recall, going from an occasional newbie to one of the leaders. He even chaired it at some point. I can say that I had been working in Manhattan when he was new, only seeing him on days off; when I was no longer in that job and was able to go more often, he was suddenly an important figure. It was like seeing a kid you hadn't seen in a while -- one day a toddler, next day doing long division. We seem to expect people to stay exactly as they are until we see them again, like toys we put away and then take out of the box years later. "My, how you've changed!" Well, of course, they did. So did we. 

Once again my work situation altered, and I didn't get down there much for a couple of years. The next time I saw him, he too had altered, unfortunately.

Little Pete didn't mind talking about the big black binder he was carrying. It was everything he needed to have with him for his cancer treatment. Test results, medications, appointments, insurance forms, Medicare forms, charts of diet and exercise. He was organized and determined. I don't know what he did before he retired, but if he brought that kind of organization and drive to his job, he must have been successful. He still had a smile, but it was a little more guarded, a little less likely to be seen through the glass of his spectacles. We all prayed for him, of course. 

Some months went by before I saw him again -- same place, same group, same black looseleaf binder. But I noticed, coming in late, that there was a pained look on his face, that there seemed to be a distance between himself and everyone else. They didn't want to cross to him, or know how to, and he seemed unable to connect to them, either. It was like he knew he was being ripped away from everyone, and no one knew what to do except to pretend it was not happening. He just clutched his now-thicker book tighter, like a totem that could make all this go away somehow -- a totem that he didn't believe in anymore, but one he grabbed because he had nothing left to grab. That was the last time I saw him.

Honestly, I don't know for sure what happened. I didn't know whom to ask -- so many members of that group moved away or otherwise left. I don't see any of the regulars anymore. I guess it's been ten years or so now. Maybe he had a miraculous bounce back with one of those new biologics, then moved to Florida to ride his bike all day, every day, summer to winter and back again. I hope so. 

Little Pete -- thanks for being a decent guy. I'm sorry I didn't get to become your friend. I'm sorry we're all so weird about sickness and death, like if we shy away from it, it will look us over. God bless you, wherever you are.