Last night, I went to the viewing for a lovely friend of mine. Tony was 68 years old and my nextdoor neighbour. When I first moved into my house 6.5 years ago, he and Maria were the first to welcome me. They took me under their wings, practically adopting me. They looked after me, making sure I had all I needed to get comfortable in my new home, and for years left fresh garlic and tomatoes, and home smoked Portugese sausage on our adjoining fence for me to find and enjoy.
Truthfully, half the time I couldn't understand Tony because his accent was so thick, but we communicated well and almost every day, usually first thing in the morning and as I came home from work in the evening. Tony would be on the front porch having a cigarette and I would stop for a chat. Every year, starting in spring, we would meet in our back gardens. You couldn't find two more different gardens anywhere. Tony's was all neat rows of vegetables, with grape vines hanging over the patio. He couldn't see any point to a flower garden, you can't eat flowers. Mine is a jumble of wild and cultivated flowers, barely weeded, never fertilized (only composted) or pesticided. We would talk over the fence, sometimes sharing a beer or a cigarette. Laughing as we BBQd.
Every Christmas and Easter, a jug of homemade Portugese wine would appear on my doorstep, along with special Portugese egg bread made fresh by Maria.
I was curious this year when no vegetables appeared on the fence and, unfortunately, found out why. Tony was diagnosed with lung cancer in the Fall. He was given about five months to live. He was so depressed with the whole process. The chemo and other treatments drained him. He lost alot of weight and all his hair. He couldn't bear to see anyone, leaving the room when visitors arrived. But he always had time for me on those rare occasions during the last couple of months when we saw each other. One time, I was waiting on the subway to go back to work after a doctor's appointment, leaning against the wall reading, when this head bearing a mischevious grin appeared under my nose. Tony was on his way to the hospital for a treatment and thought it great fun to surprise me at the subway. I remember that moment with joy. As we talked on the train that morning, he told me that he felt he didn't have much longer. I reminded him that our birthdays are only one day apart and that I fully intended to celebrate my 50th and his 78th birthday together in ten years. I'm not sure who I was trying to convince.
I was deeply saddened when I heard that he'd died on Sunday morning. I will miss him terribly, this warm, generous to a fault, lovely man whom I couldn't understand half the time. Please include Tony's family in your prayers. They have a stunningly large support network, but Maria seemed all alone yesterday at the funeral home. Her youngest daughter wandered about glassy eyed. Tony JR., the only surviving son of three, seemed dazed.
I don't know what else to say. I miss Tony a great deal. Have done since he became ill. I am privileged and honoured to have known him.
Thanks,
Kat
