It's been a busy month. As the month began the neighborhood was saddened with the news of yet another neighbor passing away. I've blogged about how, in the past couple of years, we've lost a dozen people, at least.
Seems the trend is continuing.
Back in the 1970s and 1980s, our neighborhood was relatively young. Families bought undeveloped land and built houses. They set down roots--literally and figuratively--and began new chapters in their lives. The Smiths were just such a family, and Gary was their patriarch.
In high school I became friends with their oldest child, a daughter. We sang in high school choirs together, went to dances, and attended the same congregation on Sundays. And Gary was always at church with a big smile on his face. If you know Gary, you know that smile. Another plus for the man was he was an unapologetic University of Utah man, a fan of their school and their sports teams. Gotta love a Utah Man.
I've lived in the same neighborhood since I was four-years old. I've seem many of my friend's fathers grow old (something I never got to see my own father do...). It's strange--you turn around and the men you remember being just regular dads are now grandfathers and in their eighties. Gary fought the beast known as old age. He put up more of a fight than most. His body kept breaking down, but his spirit kept fighting back. When I heard he was not doing well, I thought we'd see him again greeting us in church like he's done for decades.
It was not to be...the fight was too much to overcome this time.
Another father has graduated, leaving loved ones behind. I'm going to miss Gary, giving fist bumps, and flashing that amazing smile. He put up a hell of a fight, just like I'd expect a true Utah Man to do. He'll be missed.
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