Making It Up As I Go Along #576

Paddy's Pub
Karl and I had a very specific routine in our friendship.  Most of our times we met to do one specific thing.  We'd go to Paddy's Pub.

Early times in our friendship, Paddy's would be the beginning of the evening.  I'd always meet Karl at his apartment building and we'd walk the ten minutes it would take to reach the pub.  Rain or shine... snowy cold or summer heat... our routine included that walk along Bank Street... over the bridge spanning the Rideau River... and further along Bank past shops and restaurants until we reached our pub.

In those early times, Paddy's would be the pitstop to a movie at the Mayfair.  And, after the film was over, we'd casually stroll back to his place through the still evening.  Chatting about the movie we just saw.  Commenting on the Paddy's waitress who always seems so happy to see you.  Or discussing the things going on in our lives.

It could be a wide range of conversations.  One minute we could be talking about the politics of the office.  The petty squabbles Karl was missing due to his illness which kept him from working during the majority of our friendship.  And the next minute we could be talking about his illness itself.  How during periods of mania, he could be standing on the top level of a parking garage finishing a cigarette and how... in that state... his world seemed flat.  He felt he could step over the barrier and simply walk out into the night.  Only common sense kept him from trying that which his mind told him he could do.  It's a fine line that can keep us from those five story plunges.

As time went on, Karl's mental illness made the movie part of our evenings fade away.  It began with the occasional skipping of the film.  When he didn't feel up to the crowd and simply wanted to return home.  By the end of our time having nights out, the movie was removed from the equation entirely.

Still the nights were pleasant.  We'd make our stroll to the pub catching up on times since our last meeting.  I'd tell him of work... of my planned vacations... or of those trips I had just had.  He'd tell me of his art... of his progressing relationship with the girl he'd eventually marry... and of the voices that only he could hear.

At the pub we'd keep chatting about our lives.  Guinness beer would be sipped and suppers slowly filling our stomachs as the conversations ebbed and flowed from idle chit chat to dark thoughts most of society would want to hide away as secret.

But Karl would want to share his thoughts.  To treat them as normal aspects of daily life.  And I felt pleased to be trusted with such conversations.  And tried to understand this unique point of view of my friend.

As time went on, our visits became less frequent.  Where once we'd gather every week or two, it now reached a point of being once a month.  Sometimes this was due to Karl's life.  When mental illness kept him from society and only medical staff or his family were in his lives.

And other times it was my doing.  I always felt a level of guilt for reducing our visits.  Karl has been one of my favourite people that I've ever known and I have always been thankful for the times we'd share.  But our times together were rarely light and breezy and there was only so much of the heaviness of my friends world that I could be a part of.

One day, Karl shared another aspect of his life to me.  His mental illness was no longer the only issue he had to face.  I was stunned when he told me that cancer was now also a part of his journey.  And I was further shocked when he told me it was terminal and that he was not going to undergo treatment for it.

Suddenly, in a time where we only met once a month or so, my friend tells me he only has a few months to go.

And yet he seemed more peaceful with life at that time than any other time I'd known him.  He admitted to me how those voices he'd been hearing had been speaking to him for decades.  And suicide was always a common idea the voices expressed.  Being a religious man, Karl feared giving in to these thoughts.  For him, cancer was a form a victory.  His life would end as he felt God would want it.

I didn't agree with much of what Karl would share.  I always wanted him to look for medical treatment for his cancer.  And I was always skeptical of what is and isn't God's will.  But Karl was sure of his decision.  And at peace with his thoughts.  So my job was to go on being his friend.  To listen to his thoughts and dreams.  And to go on sharing mine with him... as any friend would do.

Karl's two months of remaining life went on well past that doctor's quote.  He outwardly seemed fine.  We continued our walks to Paddy's.  His appetite had decreased but he continued to eat his meals with me as we chatted about our lives.

With each gathering would come moments of surprise.  Shared conversations I never thought I'd be a part of... especially while still in my thirties.  I remember, one day, as he gently bit into a chicken tender (his favourite meal at Paddy's) he nonchalantly told me that he had picked out his grave site.  He had bought a plot and was pleased it was done now so that his family wouldn't have to deal with it later.

"That's good" was all I could say at first.  And even that came after several seconds of scanning my mind for proper responses.  But still we carried on our conversation about it.  All the while I wondered if the elderly couple at the next table could hear what we were discussing... and, if so, what would they be thinking.

Karl outlived his father.  A man diagnosed with a less serious form of cancer and who was given a good chance of survival with treatment.  Yet his treatment was his downfall and he never lived a month after his diagnoses.

Yet Karl continued on.  His two months became two years and we'd continue our trips to Paddy's spending our times together as if life was normal... at least as far as anyone passing us in the street would know.

My parents met Karl once.  It was on a sunny autumn day when I took them for lunch at Paddy's.  We sat on the patio eating when Karl strolled by on the sidewalk and happened to look in and see us.  He came over to chat for a few minutes.  Smiling with that casual way that someone smiles when life is good.

When he left my parents found it hard to believe he could really be so sick.  And rightfully so.  Nobody would ever expect it to see him at that time.  They may suspect something laying below the surface of him.  Karl never came across as a fluttery, shallow person.  But there'd be no guessing he was living his life on borrowed time.

Six weeks after my parents met Karl, he was gone.  Within a few weeks of that walk, his cancer spread aggressively and he was knocked into bed for most of the rest of his days.  This is where I saw him for the last time.  Visiting for only twenty minutes as he gently ate some peach slices.  Giving him a few written words to try to share my thoughts on our friendship and how thankful I've been to know him.  And parting ways each stating how we'll see each other later.  A week later he was gone.

I didn't go to Karl's funeral.  I wrestled with the idea and still sometimes wonder if I should have.  But our friendship seemed more private than that.  Our times together were quiet and of the one on one variety.  So while many gathered together to celebrate his life... I went for a quiet walk alone in the woods.  Feeling the breeze and thinking about my friend.

This past week I was back at Paddy's.  Gathered with a pair of other friends, catching up on old times... telling each other stories... and laughing as friends do.  I ordered Karl's meal.  Gently eating my chicken tenders and sipping my Guinness as I listened to friends stories.

And I looked down at the table where we sat.  Catching sight of a doodle someone else had etched into the wood of the head of a dog.  I remembered this table from previous visits.  Where Karl and I had commented on the doodle and chuckled.  And, for me, my pair of friends became three that night.

It was a nice night for me.  One where I caught up with good friends.  And fondly remembered another.

WEDNESDAY...

--- Work alone. Not even a supervisor. It goes alright though. Not so busy as I can't handle it. 

--- Stay after work for Thai food with Melissa and Sarah. Good stuff. 

THURSDAY...

--- Day two alone. Much like yesterday. 

--- Get Janice after work and meet Laura for supper and drinks. Good catching up with both of them. 

FRIDAY...

--- Nights and Mona is back. It's a busy night. At it steady until past 1:00 am. Lots to do. 

SATURDAY...

--- Night is much quieter than yesterday. And an hour shorter... As the clocks spring ahead during our shift. 

SUNDAY...

--- Playoff indoor ball and I have a fairly useless game. Literally nothing hit to me at third base all game and I go 0 for 3 at bat. We lose too.  

MONDAY...

--- Off a good nights sleep I spend the morning relaxing.

TUESDAY...
--- Low key times.  Catch up on sleep and a puzzle and just enjoying quiet house time.