So. Burt died. He died on Tuesday. Driving home tonight, I drove past his house. The driveway and much of the road was piled up with cars and on the front lawn a big bon fire was roaring. People were milling around and I would have been hard pressed to find someone there without a beer in their hand.
They were celebrating his life, I guess. Or maybe just numbing their loss.
To say I knew Burt would be somewhat misleading. I knew 'of' Burt. We'd say 'Hi', I knew where he lived, he knew where I lived. Though, I don't know if he ever got crabs in college, or even if he ever went to college.
I've never heard terrible things about Burt, nor had I heard that Burt had saved anyone from a fire, or devoted his life to a cause like the homeless. Burt, was Burt. Just as I am I. People tonight are missing him.
Selfishly, I hope that when it's my time, people miss me. Though, selflessly, I'd hope that folks don't feel the compulsion to have to numb themselves when, like Burt, I find it's time to go......
This may be the sweetest, most eloquent piece of yours EVER to involve beers. Just sayin.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
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