Paul's Passing

It was 2003, and like so many other grown-up firsts in my life; Finn was my trusty companion, happy to accompany me into a new apartment, just the two of us, finally. Technically, my Lug was a roommate but keeping him company was never work. And, he didn't complain about how grimy I was from from helping hoist boxes into our big kid pad. We both bounded out the door, eager to explore our new neighborhood when I spotted a petite man leaning against the fence, smoking a cigarette. His saucy smile took up most of his face as he said, "Grrrrrrlllllll, are you my new neighbor?" With a little wiggle of his shoulders and a whole lot of sass; I learned his name was Paul, he had a Pit Bull named Harper and we were going to get along just fine as he crouched down, squealed Finn's name repeatedly and let my Lug smooch him forehead to chin.

Because of Paul, and our other neighbor Brett, that beat-up, crappy apartment became my home for seven years and the man who stood standing in his white tank top and faded blue jean uniform will always be on my short list of amazing people who have brought nothing but joy to my life. Being the nice neighbor that he was, Paul agreed that before he came into the yard with Harper, he would yell out "HELLO!" and I would do the same. Finn's unbelievable uneasiness around other dogs was heightened at that time and I didn't want to put my Lug or Harper in a stressful situation. But, as time went on, Paul and I decided that we were both willing to put in the work to make sure our boys were content around each other so we could freely come and go in the yard. Harper was my first Pit Bull love, he was and still is one of the easiest dogs to get along with. He and Finn spent years hanging out together, taking turns lifting their legs on the same spot, over and over again.

Paul used to make dinner every Sunday night for everyone in the building. He absolutely thrived on making
people happy and my Lug's nose used to twinkle with delight every time I came home from taco night, the smell of frying beef never swirled in my kitchen. I used to tease Paul when he ordered tater tots at lunch or when I opened his cabinets to find eight types of marshmallow filled cereals. But I was always a teensy bit jealous he could eat like a teenager and still have a waistline closer to Scarlett O'Hara's than mine. Paul gave me the security and feeling of family that I missed so much when I moved to Chicago; I knew I could call him any hour of the day and did so many times. Paul would show up at the door with a toolbox in hand or a pair of rubber gloves and a package of frankfurters when I had to take my Lug's temperature in a place I never wanted to go, twice, post-surgery. Paul was honest, when I needed to hear the truth and managed to be there for so many people in this world. He was always telling me stories of yet another friend sleeping on his couch or a new foster dog because someone, anyone uttered the word "help". When Finn had a vestibular attack a few years ago, Paul was at my house 20 minutes after I called him to help me make sure my dizzy Lug could get up and down the stairs upon our return from the emergency room.

I hope I was there for Paul as much as he was there for me. A couple years ago, Paul and I were living much further apart; I was dating a guy I really liked and Paul was dating a guy who really liked him. Both our businesses were growing. He cancelled lunch plans one week then I cancelled coffee the next week.Then a year went by and another.

I had thought about calling Paul a hundred times when I passed through his neighborhood but became sidetracked when my phone rang. I kept meaning to tell him that I wrote about he and Harper; mostly as an excuse to say hi and see how they both were doing. Oh, I just know Paul would have loved Lil' Big Head. Now I never can talk to my dear friend, who I lost touch with, because he passed away last week. Shocked, shaken and regretful, I started looking through his Facebook page and learned that Paul went into the hospital the same day Finn passed away. All of this I keep telling myself as I try to find peace in my heart and grasp never being able to see Paul smile, hear his crazy stories or hug my kind, generous, funny, beautiful friend again.

Paul, if you are up there, please know how sorry I am that I didn't know you were sick and that I was not there for you. There will always be a very special place in my heart for you and your friendship. I am so terribly sorry that we lost touch. I am so fortunate to have shared your light and your love for as many years as I did and I truly hope you rest in peace. Finn and Bentley, please show him the ropes.