Saying Goodbye
Randall Landers
Every once in a while, I find myself staring at the computer, reflecting on the month's events, and trying to compile something witty or scathing or supportive for this editorial. But words don't always come easily to me. It dawned on me that I'm distracted this evening. A customer...no, a friend of mine came into Fast Copy today, looking gaunt, ashen, and shaky. He had an oxygen bottle and a cane. This man is a proud veteran of World War II and the Korean War. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and underwent radiation and chemo for it, but it weakened his defenses against previously undetected colon cancer and what is incorrectly called senile tremors. I took the time out of my job to talk with my friend Nick whom I've admired the decade I've known him. The time is coming for him to say goodbye to this life and take that step into the undiscovered country, and this time, I won't make the mistake I did back in 2003 when we lost Ann Zewen. As I related in December 2003 in the closing editorial for ANTARES 12...
It’s not easy to lose a friend.
And yet that very thing happened to me this fall.
Out of the blue, BEKi called me and told me that Ann was in the hospital, about to undergo some surgery for suspected uterine cancer the next morning. I was surprised to hear from her, and even more surprised I hadn’t heard from Ann herself about her condition. She had been hospitalized, and BEKi said she was uneasy about the surgery, and that I might ought to call her.
I’m not big on calling folks these days. I rarely call anyone other than my parents. It’s not that I’m being anti-social. It’s that I don’t know what to say, especially in cases like Ann’s.
So I passed on it, and assured BEKi that I would call Ann in the morning, and wished her well.
As I lay in the bed, I thought of all the things I had to do for work, all the places I had to go, all the bills I had to pay, all the phone calls I had to make to collect from customers, and I dozed off.
The next morning, I was awakened by a phone call. It was BEKi. It was bad news. Ann had suffered from a blood clot in her lungs which had led to a heart attack in the middle of the night. She died. The call I had promised to make would now never be made. And a friend of mine for nearly two decades was gone, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Oh, I sent flowers. A lot of flowers. Posted obituaries. Spoke with her brother. Informed a lot of people via email. Called a few. Went through the motions of trying not to lose it the whole day, all the while kicking myself about not calling.
To this day, I still don’t know what I would’ve said to her. I don’t know what she’d’ve said to me. But I wish I’d made that phone call.
If you have a friend that you haven’t heard from in some time, do what I didn’t do: make a phone call, and say hello. Don’t wait until it’s too late.
I've learned my lesson, and Nick and I talked at length today. He's in good spirits, and we reflected on some of the things he's shared with me over the years: Of his time in Hawaii, training for the invasion of Japan. Of his time in Japan as part of the occupying forces. Of his time in Korean fighting back the Chinese at the Chosin reservoir. (Yes, it's the same Chosin that I suggested to Doug he name his starship for, in honor of those marines.) I let Nick do most of the talking, and he shared with me the commendation his father had received during World War I for fighting in France. It's a beautiful full-color parchment, with a gorgeous painting of Nike in its center.
My friend was coming to say goodbye, and this time I made the time for that friend. I just wish I'd made that time for Ann.
As Star Trek fandom ages (and Lord knows, we're getting older), we need to remember to take the time to keep in touch with our friends, our family, and our fellow fans. Make time for that today, tomorrow and every day thereafter.
Randy
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