ICE - --- (18 years later)

It was a heartbreaking request.

Ice.
"Can you bring me ice?" He was the love of my life. He had terminal cancer. We had met and had a relationship in Oregon; he lived in Oregon, whereas, I had four more months left of my internship in Florida. I was returning home to Oregon, permanently, that December. It was July; I was visiting Oregon and friends, when I called to tell him I had arrived safely and was with family.
He
asked
for
ice.

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A decade prior, we had met.

When we first met, his father had recently been diagnosed with Alzheimers. It was a slow decline and as time went on, and our relationship continued through highs and lows, I promised him, "I will always be here for you and when your dad passes, I WILL BE HERE FOR YOU."

***************************************************************

Who would have predicted that ten years later, I would be interning in Florida, he would be diagnosed with adrenal cancer and be given a short time left. Who would have predicted that my mother was to remarry that February and be widowed that same year, needing me to come to Arizona and help her.
It was an unpredicted flight to Arizona that was followed by a brief trip to Oregon.



Ice.
"Can you bring me ice?"



To comply, I borrowed a friend's car, loaded up ice and headed to Clackamas, OR. He was set up in his living room in a hospital bed. There was a commode nearby and medicines and he was alone. ALONE.
"Where is your family?" I asked.

"They are all at Dad's funeral. Dad's," he said.

The promise. There it was.
"I WILL BE HERE FOR YOU."

On the day they buried his dad, there I was.
Yes, I had brought ice to his non air conditioned home in late July. He looked awful; was rakishly thin, pallid. His arms were the circumference of a broom handle.
This was a strappingly strong man, an ex machinist and welder, farmer, hunter, hiker, biker, fisherman.
Two years before, this man went on his own to Alaska to hunt in bear country. The trip was for hunters that stayed on a ship overnight, and during the day, debarked and hunted deer. Bear were everywhere and when the bear heard the peal of a rifle, they would try and find the hunter. The hunters had to be strong enuf to high-tail-it back to the ship with their deer.

There he lay in a hospital bed in his living room, needing ice. Devastatingly ironic.

The visit was sweet, sentimental, sad; we spoke of good times, the many adventures, mishaps, fishing, camping, biking trips... and the love we still held for each other.
He spoke a lot of regret, regret for what we didn't do and what he meant to say... He asked me to go to his van and bring his fanny pack from the storage spot under the driver's seat.

The van had long been converted to an RV and we had camped in it many times. I sure knew where to find everything in the van.

A benign request, the fanny pack.

***************************************************************

Two weeks later, I was back home in Florida and I got "the call". He had passed. It was his sister letting me know and asking an odd question. "Do you know how he went?"

I was confounded - Um - Terminal Cancer, right? (I was thinking maybe she meant where? Home or Hospital/Hospice...)

Nope.

He used his hand gun.
His hand gun.
Hand.
Gun.

"Did you give him his fanny pack?" she asked. "Yes," I replied, (thinking this is a weird conversation.)

"The gun was in his fanny pack.
You gave him the gun."

The love of my life: the one who made me laugh uncontrollably, made me love myself endlessly, made our lives fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, the man I camped with, fished with, biked with, LOVED with. I gave him the gun.

***************************************************************

I was a bit angry.
...angry at him!
Why me?
As I spent some time thinking of it, (and family didn't blame me or yell at me.)
It made perfect sense.

He and I had talked about this. Oregon even had a law that allowed for a dying person to choose. He told me his family was strongly opposed and I supported his position to decide.
Our conversation two weeks before had included this: "Why can't you decide what to do at the end of your life; you only have weeks left."
I did not know what was in the fanny pack. I did not ask that day.

***************************************************************

It's been twenty-one years; he is still greatly missed.
I think I will never forget how poignant it was that he needed ice and the fanny pack.

And in the end, the very end, I was there, he had asked me to help. We knew each other well and trusted to the end.

We Loved.

WE LOVED.