A Long-lost Friend

Last night I received a call from an old friend.  Michele and I first met this couple nearly thirty years ago when he and I served together in the Coast Guard.  We see these friends nearly every year when they come to Florida to escape the Midwest winters. Seeing the name pop up on my phone in June told me it probably wasn’t good news; we usually share info throughout the  year on Facebook or texts.

It wasn’t good news.  Another friend, whom we’d both lost touch with, had died.  Michele visited with him and his wife 8-10 years ago when they passed through Florida.  Then they dropped off the radar for all of us with only occasional news about their lives.  We had heard he was suffering from tremendous back pain and then heard they had divorced.  As life moved on with kids, grandkids, work and church we thought less and less about them.

Then the call came.  The person who shared the news with our friends was someone else we knew from a lifetime ago.  He said our friend, whom I’ll call Joe, was a “lost soul;” lost mentally, lost physically and lost spiritually.  Joe struggled with pain and medication.  Apparently, some of the issues were harsh enough to lead to the divorce.  His death appears to have come from a fall off a ladder, which could have been an accident or induced by something like a heart attack.

At one time we were very close to Joe and his family.  We went to church together.  Their kids were often at our house and ours at theirs.  We did a lot of things together, even traveled together.  It’s not an unusual story to lose touch with those you were once close to, whether from school, college, work, the military, church, kids’ soccer teams, etc., but it still hurts when the phone call comes.

I don’t think Joe was truly “lost” spiritually, but rather struggled with life as so many of us do, but I cannot know for sure.  I feel a measure of guilt – I could have tried harder to stay in touch.  If I had, would he have called when he encountered some of the problems?  Maybe … probably not.  But it bothers me to know that I won’t talk to him again; that we won’t share sea stories or hear what his kids are up to; that I won’t be able to pray for him.  I’ll certainly pray for his family as they struggle with his death.

Joe had a servant’s heart.  He would do anything to help anyone.  I once mentioned something about a steering issue I had encountered in our car.  The next Saturday he was in my driveway with his tools taking apart the steering column and fixing the problem.  He was like that; he could be counted on.  He was a hard and dedicated worker.  To give him a task was to consider it done.

It is beyond coincidence that, last week, I received an email that Joe and a few other people were following my old Instagram account.  The account had been hacked and abandoned and I started a new one over a year ago, however I was touched that he had reached out.  I found Joe on Instagram and sent a request to follow him.  That request will remain unanswered.

I’m not sure what the point of all this is.  Perhaps to say that I miss him … missed him for years without realizing it. Perhaps it’s simply to get my feelings out.  But if you’re reading this pause a moment and think of someone you were once close to; someone you perhaps laughed with, cried with, or simply ate lunch with every day.  Reach out to him or her.  Catch up.  Ask them how they’re doing physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually.  Pray for them.  I’ve thought of several folks I’ll be reaching out to.  It might be awkward.  It might be nothing more than a short conversation.  But it beats the alternative.