Before You Go

My Brother,

That was quite the shindig Saturday night. Friends and family from near and far gathering in your honour to hoist a drink with you, share memories and watch you try your hand at dancing. Elaine's little kicks come to mind watching you trip the light fantastic. I say blame it on the Willie Nelson.

The news that your days are numbered has hit like the proverbial ton of bricks. For all of us it is a shock to the system that can't be believed much less comprehended. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How is this even possible? Who ordered this? I want to know who I can lodge a complaint with. Fuck! I know...it's not anyone's fault, it just is. To quote you, I want to shake my fist at something.

I don't know what tomorrow or the next day will look like so I wanted to put some thoughts down as a testament to what our friendship means to me. I wonder if, in your advanced years, you remember when we first met? My cheesy Rub-a-dub-dub reference to you and Dennis chatting away in his butcher shop as I strolled in looking for meat. All that was missing was the candlestick maker. I'm sure you rolled your eyes but had the good grace, for some reason, not to show it. Serendipity at play more than 20 years ago as a starting point of our friendship. Who would have thought this day would have led to our particular brand of tomfoolery and mayhem?

In short time we developed a cordial business relationship; my brilliant and inspired food paired with your unbelievably expensive bread that I bought from you. It was good bread but as you liked to point out, you really ripped me off. And it brought you no small amount of joy at telling me that you were ripping me off. This was when we formed our bonds, we saw in each other kindred souls with a true disdain for the moronic morons and all people named Todd out there.

You always struck me as an enigma of some sort. You and your cursed eidetic memory allowing you to quote Chaucer or Shakespeare while proclaiming the brilliance of The Stooges and having a secret love affair with Lemmy. I had a hard time believing half of your tall tales from your youth because I thought there was no way this nerdy looking guy would ever score in such a way, who the fuck do you think you're kidding anyway? Of course, over time, I came to learn that it was what was behind your fuck face that mattered, and in that you are unique my friend.

Fast forward a few years and you have come to work with me at Chez Go Fuck Yourself. This is when we solidified our particular vortex of stupidity. We worked so well together that a simple grunt or glance was all the communication we would need. My foray into Mahi Mahi and your mistaking pork for salmon not withstanding, we simply got it absolutely right for those years. It was perfect.

Our friendship, born through experiences, food and an unwavering view of the world at large, is a special thing to behold. People, if they weren't afraid of us, would tell us that we were perfect for each other. Like an old married couple. Not sure if that was meant as a compliment but what did we care anyway. A somewhat less gentle version of schadenfreude as we hid from guests who may have tried to enter our business past the time we deemed acceptable. Impromptu marketing meetings out in the yard chucking the baseball around waiting for someone to drive in and the jokes played out on each other as we mused about everything. Rudy Tarquin, you became my brother then.

As you know my friend, I like to quote people that are smarter than I, and since that pretty much encompasses a boat load of people, the sky is the limit. But I know George Carlin is your spirit animal so I will use him liberally I think.

“No matter how you care to define it, I do not identify with the local group. Planet, species, race, nation, state, religion, party, union, club, association, neighbourhood improvement committee; I have no interest in any of it. I love and treasure individuals as I meet them, I loathe and despise the groups they identify with and belong to.”

That seems to be a fair characterization of you buddy. We often preached of hating people but in reality, it was groups of people and not individuals that earned our scorn. Be it the Tilley hat wearing fucks that thought our town was quaint as they walked in the middle of the road looking up at ornate cornices or worse the losers with the $195,000 RV's towing their Yukon's and their backyards behind them as they pulled into town. They deserved no quarter...Flaming RV's forever!!

Our stories will live on my friend. It matters not that some of the salient details may get changed or even forgotten, the essence of them is what I will always remember. Don't tell anybody but I really learned a lot from you. I enjoyed your company to be sure but I also looked up to you in a lot of ways. The older brother I never had. Maybe that is why I drug you around when we closed up shop and I went to work for others. I wanted a playmate at the junk houses I ended up at.

Our cottage forays, guys 'spa' weekends, sushi, Thai, Drambuie, Willie Nelson, Yuk Yuks....too many to mention. Our days and nights filled with laughter, great conversation and a few well placed adjectives describing all manner of stupid. The type of friendship that you could go a month without hearing from each other and still pick up exactly as we left it. As you pointed out, we don't take attendance, we simply appreciate the time we have.

Which brings us to recent memory. Life kicking back hard. The year from hell you and your family had isn't something you would wish on your worst enemy. Your beautiful boy taken too soon from you because of a bad cell. Fuck Cancer and the horse they rode in on. The phrase "I can't imagine" became as ubiquitous as fuck during that horrible time. But through it all you displayed an unbelievable and inspiring way of being. You showed us all that there is another way to respond, through humour and humanity you told cancer to go fuck it self. And then when the worst thing possible came to bear you got mad and you got involved. Driving an RV across country to help with the Kids Cancer ride is nothing short of inspirational. Sending me this grainy picture of what you can do on the plains with a beat up Winnebago is pure you.

"I don't like ass kissers, flag wavers or team players. I like people who buck the system. Individualists. I often warn people: "Somewhere along the way, someone is going to tell you, 'There is no "I" in team.' What you should tell them is, 'Maybe not. But there is an "I" in independence, individuality and integrity.'"

Once again Monsieur Carlin encapsulates a bit of who you are. Your desire to tear down the shit that doesn't work and to question everything is only topped by your fierce belief in what is right and your faith in the individual. Your kids are a testament to that and to the love that you and Fifi showed them. Unique and beautiful souls they are. You guys did well

"People who see life as anything more than pure entertainment are missing the point.”

You have been with me through my own trials, divorce and my own scrape with cancer, and through it all your humour and humanity have been a beacon of sanity and insanity in equal proportions. You were there for me and I will never forget that. Your quasi punk like presence coupled with your quick wit and giving heart will always be a source of comfort for me in the years to come.

You will be missed by many my brother. I will miss our laughs together, our chats and simply being by your side as we did this thing called life. You helped shape the way I view life and I will miss you more than you can possibly know.

So, with a heavy sigh but a full heart I want to say thank you for allowing me to walk with you all these years and to be with you on this last journey - see you on the other side my friend.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas