Living the good life or die trying!

“Chris Cook died this morning”, she told me over the phone.

I was frozen.  I could not believe the words I was hearing.  Similar to the same phone call I had gotten only two short weeks ago, when she told me that he had cancer.  It was like I was floating above my cubicle, looking down at myself on the phone.  Disbelief.  I truly understand what that word means now.

How could this be?  Cancer?  He was my age.  Perfectly healthy.  Worked out fanatically.  Always ate right.  Competed in body building competitions.  He was the healthiest person I’d ever known.  Sure, we sneaked an occasional cigarette here and there and loved our beer.  But cancer?  I just could not comprehend what had happened.

Chris Cook was my friend.  He was a good man.  We met 7 or 8 years ago at Meijer.  I was the Check Investigator for all of Southwest Michigan and he was the Loss Prevention Manager at the Gull Road Store.  After I first met him, he had a mutual friend call me and ask if I would be interested in going out.  I was flattered, then explained that I didn’t think my girlfriend would appreciate that.  Turns out, he was pretty cool with that.  Then again, what guy isn’t!  We used to tease him that one day, we’d give him the green light.  He’d giggle like a little boy and get the biggest smile over that.

The commute from Grand Rapids to Kalamazoo eventually got old, and I ended up transferring to his store as a Store Detective.  He was great to work for.  A natural born leader.  He liked to get the job done, but was never too busy to be plotting his next practical joke.  And very giving, always offering me his high calorie protein shakes.  “Next time”, I’d say with a smile! 

It was Chris Cook who helped me get where I am today.   He was the one who approached me about becoming a manager.  He believed in me.  He had confidence in me.  That is a powerful thing to realize someone else has such faith in you.  It gave me the courage to go even further and pursue my eventual career in law enforcement.  He was so proud of me.  I tried to encourage him to come with me.  To cross the line from private security to public servant.  But he was happy where he was and what he was doing.  I had to admire that.

When I learned that he had cancer and was in the hospital, I’m ashamed to admit I did not go see him.  He had finally married, after years of being a player, and we had started to drift apart.  Straight women don’t often understand their husbands having close female friends.  So our evenings of drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and just listening to the Dave Matthews Band was over.  I understood.  Life goes on after all.  But still, I could not bring myself to go see him.  The strong, great man I had once considered asking for his sperm had now been reduced to a weak, sick, bed-ridden man.  How could I be strong for him?  I couldn’t.  I just didn’t have the courage. 

After he died, I had this dream.  I was upset and crying, no doubt overcome with guilt at the choice I had made to stay away.  He came to me and extended his hand.  I reached out to him and held it and we began to walk.  We didn’t speak, but he just smiled at me.  It was so real and at that point, I knew everything was ok.  He was telling me that he understood and that he was all right.  He was not in pain anymore and that life would go on.  It was one of the most amazing dreams I’ve ever had.