Call Me Hank

(Still not dead!)

My friend is dying, in fact may already be dead by the time you read this. It was going to happen, we were not surprised by it, yet is anyone ready to say goodbye even when you can see it coming?

My favorite photo of Hank is one he posted on social media himself almost two months ago: in a local hospital, sitting presumably naked in the bedside chair wearing nothing but his oxygen, that signature wicked smile, and a strategically placed ballcap with “Still Not Dead!” embroidered on the front.

No matter how well you know a person, there’s no unseeing that image!

I went to see Hank today. He is unresponsive, scarcely resembling himself save for those tattoos. They’ve got him tucked in under an enormous purple comforter, oxygen in place. His sister simply texted me, “I know he cared for you a great deal.”

We worked together at the public library for a long time, back before I became a nurse. Eight years ago, we dug our friend’s grave together on a hot Tennessee summer day in a team-building event only Heather could have organized.

Hank told me his given name, which he never (ever!) used, and swore me to secrecy, “except in a legit emergency.” In case you’re wondering, it’s not Hank.

We lost track of each other for a few years, meeting up again at a local poetry open mic night, and picked up as if we had seen each other only yesterday. Hank hugged me like I was a long-lost traveler returned home. I had no idea he was a writer, and I encouraged him to sign up in a “first-timer” slot.

Hank blew me away with the depth of his poetry! I watched my friend’s entire countenance change as he came alive before the mic. He would never be back at the mic with us, but would regularly comment on my essays and send me his writing as well, with the occasional “spicy” or “dark” caveat. He was never wrong about that!

Once after reading my essay “The Beds We Make,” Hank messaged me that he recalled a particularly tumultuous time when, he said, “I was scared for you, girl. I remember that part of your journey. I was watching out for you.” Hank took care of his aging parents. He introduced me to his yellow Labrador Retriever, Stella. She was the first dog with a human name that I ever met!

He was a good guy, that Hank. A truly unique character. A good man, a good son and brother, a good friend. A decent human, perfect in his imperfections. He lived well and loved well. I have no doubt he’ll be watching out for me.

Those of us who loved Hank will never have another friend quite like him.