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drewkittyI should write something about Furp. I really should. It hurts right now.
I can say that the overwhelming flood of positive stories, anecdotes and tales of support in many places, if anything understate the case. In a world full of drudgery and pain, the cynical bastard writing this thought that Furp was an exception that just might disprove the rule.
I can see his smile in my mind's eye. His wicked sense of humor. His uncanny ability not only to make friends but to keep them through thick and thin. He credited a happy childhood; but I think it was something special about him.
Back in the day, how he got off a particular ship and over to a more sane command. "Seven chits." His dealings with the nameless him -- and how he got through it. J-Lube and its many uses. Tess & Rick's. CaliFur. ConJecture. "Gay boys in the pool!" A willingness to put himself in harm's way, but never to be stupid about it. Long distance phone calls from Ky'stan and Iraq.
"C-spine and nasal airways are for obnoxious drunks."
He had good motorcycle gear and a solid helmet. And yes, pyjamas underneath. Was I worried about him on the bike? Yes, because he did long rides. But not for any lack of judgment or riding skill. I never imagined losing him on the 62.
I last saw him at his place in 29 Palms Sunday last. I had driven someone up there for the night and crashed at Furp's place. I had many things to do and many miles to cover, so I gave my regards and headed out circa noon, never dreaming they would be my last.
"Why do good people die young?". [The child asked.]
"God/dess needs them very badly, so badly that s/he has to call them back early."
If he had been asked, Furp would have volunteered to go. He was that kind of guy.
"Fucking Marines." That anecdote is so Furp. But he would have said it sardonically, almost lovingly. Like if he had to go, better that it be by a comrade, than the death of someone else. Don't hate the sinner, hate the sin. Furp would have given the Marine a ration of shit, then scared him a bit, then said "Don't do that, dumbass" and forgave him. The people who feel angry, I understand, but it is y/our anger at our own loss.
I feel certain that it pleased him greatly to save more lives by his posthumous donations.
We hurt for what we have lost. Furp is OK where he is, rolling up his sleeves, putting on his gloves and doing what he feels needs to be done, his way.
I can say that the overwhelming flood of positive stories, anecdotes and tales of support in many places, if anything understate the case. In a world full of drudgery and pain, the cynical bastard writing this thought that Furp was an exception that just might disprove the rule.
I can see his smile in my mind's eye. His wicked sense of humor. His uncanny ability not only to make friends but to keep them through thick and thin. He credited a happy childhood; but I think it was something special about him.
Back in the day, how he got off a particular ship and over to a more sane command. "Seven chits." His dealings with the nameless him -- and how he got through it. J-Lube and its many uses. Tess & Rick's. CaliFur. ConJecture. "Gay boys in the pool!" A willingness to put himself in harm's way, but never to be stupid about it. Long distance phone calls from Ky'stan and Iraq.
"C-spine and nasal airways are for obnoxious drunks."
He had good motorcycle gear and a solid helmet. And yes, pyjamas underneath. Was I worried about him on the bike? Yes, because he did long rides. But not for any lack of judgment or riding skill. I never imagined losing him on the 62.
I last saw him at his place in 29 Palms Sunday last. I had driven someone up there for the night and crashed at Furp's place. I had many things to do and many miles to cover, so I gave my regards and headed out circa noon, never dreaming they would be my last.
"Why do good people die young?". [The child asked.]
"God/dess needs them very badly, so badly that s/he has to call them back early."
If he had been asked, Furp would have volunteered to go. He was that kind of guy.
"Fucking Marines." That anecdote is so Furp. But he would have said it sardonically, almost lovingly. Like if he had to go, better that it be by a comrade, than the death of someone else. Don't hate the sinner, hate the sin. Furp would have given the Marine a ration of shit, then scared him a bit, then said "Don't do that, dumbass" and forgave him. The people who feel angry, I understand, but it is y/our anger at our own loss.
I feel certain that it pleased him greatly to save more lives by his posthumous donations.
We hurt for what we have lost. Furp is OK where he is, rolling up his sleeves, putting on his gloves and doing what he feels needs to be done, his way.
