When I was seven years old, we moved. There had been much anticipation about the new house. Because my dad’s family were plasterers by trade, we were allowed to see it as it was being built. We made frequent trips during construction, which for me was mesmerizing. Watching it transform from a hole in the ground to a completely new house was almost more than my little mind could comprehend. Moving day was filled with excitement until I realized that I had left my little friends from the old neighborhood behind.

On day two of the new house, I sullenly asked my mom who was I going to play with. I didn’t know anyone at this new place. She suggested I go next door and meet the little girl who lived there. Reluctantly I agreed. The girl was playing outside, and I shyly walked over to her yard. We greeted one another with skepticism and mutual disdain. The girl was playing with another girl. All I could imagine was that my new house, the one I had been so excited about, only had girls living nearby. The girls were playing with dolls or baby buggies or some other horrible girl-stuff. Dejected, I started to head back home when the ‘other girl’ said, “Hey, I have a brother; we live across the street.” I raced home and asked Mom if I could go across the street. She said yes, and I ran across the street and found the boy! He was playing with a toy truck in an empty lot. His name was Alan. We were the same age, and we went to the same school, and we became fast friends. My world was changed forever.

Alan and I spent that summer and nearly every day for years after, fishing for crawdads in creeks or running through farmers’ fields or hiking in the “woods” near our homes. We played baseball and kickball and football and camped out in one another’s backyards and rode our bikes daringly beyond our “parental boundaries”. We climbed trees and jumped off cliffs. We had adventures that carried us unto adolescence and beyond. On nice days we would walk the 2 or 3 miles home from school just because we were “big enough” to do it. We imagined an uncertain future with confidence beyond our years. With Alan by my side, I was invincible. He made me braver. He made me stronger. He helped me believe in myself. And my childhood was blessed beyond measure!

When we got to high school, I was worried that I might lose my friend. He was popular; I wasn’t. He was athletic; I wasn’t. But he never left me behind for the ‘cool kids’. We were an unlikely pair: the jock and the nerd. For four years we walked to school together. Unlike our grade school years, our conversations now focused on girls, cars, part-time jobs and grades. Not necessarily in that order. No one made me laugh harder or accept a dare quite like Alan could. We got into some minor trouble, but those details remain hidden to protect the innocent (and our reputations). After high school, we shared a place together for a while, and our shenanigans continued. Sometimes our guardian angels were working overtime.

We both married young, and our wives became friends, too. Through the ensuing years we raised our families, struggled through some tough jobs, and each found successful careers. We endured some tragic times with heartbreaking loss. We enjoyed some carefree days when we could look back and laugh at the good times that we had shared through our many years together. I moved out of state and out of the country and back home again. Our children grew up and had children of their own. Sixty-plus years and through it all we remained friends. Within moments of a phone call or a visit, we were back to being us. No one else had that thing we shared. It didn’t require words. It didn’t need explanation. It was true friendship.

We lost Alan this week. I’m still in shock. It was too soon. Too fast. I was struggling to feel thankful on Thanksgiving, but Alan’s thoughtful, easy manner kept coming back to me. I saw him two days before he passed, and he was so calm, so peaceful. In his characteristic fashion, he calmly accepted what was happening and helped all of us get through it. I wanted to be angry, but his demeanor assured me that God has a plan.

This time he is going on ahead of me. It might be a while before we can share that next laugh or reminisce about times gone by, but I find solace in knowing that I have a friend looking out for me.

A friend indeed.

Peace,

Denis

P.S. Nancy, thanks for letting me know that you had a brother.