I went to the funeral home last evening to attend the visitation for a friend's wife who had died from pancreatic cancer. He is an amateur radio operator, like me. His name is Bill; his radio call sign is KG9QJ; and he is blind.
My friendship with Bill and his wife was solid, back in the day. I took him to amateur radio flea markets/fairs (called "hamfests"), as well as provided transportation for him to and from his job, while his wife appreciated my efforts to help out.
<--amateur 25="" a="" about="" ago="" all="" and="" another="" are="" as="" became="" because="" been="" bill="" blind.="" call="" earrings="" efforts.="" errands="" for="" friends="" gave="" gold="" have="" he="" his="" i="" is="" jobs="" male.="" many="" me="" mine="" my="" nbsp="" needed="" never="" of="" often.="" only="" out.="" p="" probably="" radio="" same="" save="" share="" she="" sign="" so="" still="" stories="" sweetheart="" take="" talented="" thanks="" that="" the="" them="" there="" this="" time.="" to="" transportation="" very="" was="" wear="" wife="" will="" woman.="" years.="" years=""> Over time, I became inactive in amateur radio. (So many reasons--all excuses.) I lost touch with Bill and his family except for occasional posts from his wife, Jennette, on Facebook. And then, mere days ago, I got an email from a local amateur radio dude indicating that Bill's wife wasn't expected to live through the night. She was a friend of mine on Facebook, but I'd had no clue that she was even sick. She passed away that evening. The arrangements were made. I went to the funeral home Thursday afternoon to pay my respects but felt like such a jerk because I hadn't been there to help support him through his private hell.
When it was my turn to approach Bill and his eldest son, Tom, in the line, this is how things went:
Me: N9QT checking in.
Bill: Peggy?
Me: (hugging Bill for all he was worth and crying) Oh my God, Bill! I didn't even know Jennette was sick!
Bill: She didn't want anyone to know that she was sick.
Me: Well, thanks for not telling me, I guess, because I would have worried.
Bill: If you would get on the radio once in awhile, you might know some of these things...
Me: I KNEW you would say that! What will happen with you now?
Bill: I will continue to live in my home. You know where I live!
Me: Alone????
Bill: Who do you think was taking care of Jennette through all of this, with a little help from my right-hand man, here??? (Pointing at his eldest son.)
Me: (Turning to the people behind me in a short line.) Someone needs to remind this man that he's blind. He keeps forgetting!
There was some slight business about his hands being so warm when my own were very cold, and some other business about my rollator because I didn't want him to trip over it. He said, "That's exactly what Jennette had!" I said I would offer to be his caretaker but that I can barely take care of myself these days...blah, blah. I asked about his most recent Leader Dog, Driver. He said, "We call him D because he gets confused." In short, while I feel horrible for Bill for having lost his life's partner who was his love, his life, his breadwinner, his eyes, and his transportation, I came away knowing, once again, that this man is a survivor and will find his way through life as he always has. I feel like such a schmuck by comparison...
When I was still teaching high school, I brought Bill and Sparky (his first service dog) with me one day per year to be my lesson plan, for about three years. I shamelessly couldn't tie his presence into English lessons except to talk about communications. (Bill is a ham operator. I am a ham operator. Ham operators are all about communication, right?) No one ever challenged me. The kids loved talking to a blind dude to ask their adolescent questions. "How do you go to the bathroom?" "How do you know store clerks aren't cheating you when they give you change?" "Are you happy that you got blind later, or do you wish you'd been born blind?" And, of course, they loved having a dog in school. Once per period, we would take Sparky out of harness to show them the difference between a dog at work and a dog who was free. It was great.
My friendship with Bill and his wife was solid, back in the day. I took him to amateur radio flea markets/fairs (called "hamfests"), as well as provided transportation for him to and from his job, while his wife appreciated my efforts to help out.
<--amateur 25="" a="" about="" ago="" all="" and="" another="" are="" as="" became="" because="" been="" bill="" blind.="" call="" earrings="" efforts.="" errands="" for="" friends="" gave="" gold="" have="" he="" his="" i="" is="" jobs="" male.="" many="" me="" mine="" my="" nbsp="" needed="" never="" of="" often.="" only="" out.="" p="" probably="" radio="" same="" save="" share="" she="" sign="" so="" still="" stories="" sweetheart="" take="" talented="" thanks="" that="" the="" them="" there="" this="" time.="" to="" transportation="" very="" was="" wear="" wife="" will="" woman.="" years.="" years=""> Over time, I became inactive in amateur radio. (So many reasons--all excuses.) I lost touch with Bill and his family except for occasional posts from his wife, Jennette, on Facebook. And then, mere days ago, I got an email from a local amateur radio dude indicating that Bill's wife wasn't expected to live through the night. She was a friend of mine on Facebook, but I'd had no clue that she was even sick. She passed away that evening. The arrangements were made. I went to the funeral home Thursday afternoon to pay my respects but felt like such a jerk because I hadn't been there to help support him through his private hell.
When it was my turn to approach Bill and his eldest son, Tom, in the line, this is how things went:
Me: N9QT checking in.
Bill: Peggy?
Me: (hugging Bill for all he was worth and crying) Oh my God, Bill! I didn't even know Jennette was sick!
Bill: She didn't want anyone to know that she was sick.
Me: Well, thanks for not telling me, I guess, because I would have worried.
Bill: If you would get on the radio once in awhile, you might know some of these things...
Me: I KNEW you would say that! What will happen with you now?
Bill: I will continue to live in my home. You know where I live!
Me: Alone????
Bill: Who do you think was taking care of Jennette through all of this, with a little help from my right-hand man, here??? (Pointing at his eldest son.)
Me: (Turning to the people behind me in a short line.) Someone needs to remind this man that he's blind. He keeps forgetting!
There was some slight business about his hands being so warm when my own were very cold, and some other business about my rollator because I didn't want him to trip over it. He said, "That's exactly what Jennette had!" I said I would offer to be his caretaker but that I can barely take care of myself these days...blah, blah. I asked about his most recent Leader Dog, Driver. He said, "We call him D because he gets confused." In short, while I feel horrible for Bill for having lost his life's partner who was his love, his life, his breadwinner, his eyes, and his transportation, I came away knowing, once again, that this man is a survivor and will find his way through life as he always has. I feel like such a schmuck by comparison...
When I was still teaching high school, I brought Bill and Sparky (his first service dog) with me one day per year to be my lesson plan, for about three years. I shamelessly couldn't tie his presence into English lessons except to talk about communications. (Bill is a ham operator. I am a ham operator. Ham operators are all about communication, right?) No one ever challenged me. The kids loved talking to a blind dude to ask their adolescent questions. "How do you go to the bathroom?" "How do you know store clerks aren't cheating you when they give you change?" "Are you happy that you got blind later, or do you wish you'd been born blind?" And, of course, they loved having a dog in school. Once per period, we would take Sparky out of harness to show them the difference between a dog at work and a dog who was free. It was great.
Then, one year, when I was directing the school play, Bill offered to help...so I let him. He wired a bell so that it could be rung by a switch to imitate a telephone ring. He suggested changes, etc...and the kids loved having him at rehearsals. We didn't have an auditorium...just a multi-purpose room. Poor Sparky couldn't get any traction on that floor so mostly gave up on romping with the kids when he wasn't in harness. The kids loved having him there, and I appreciated the help.
I had cast a set of fraternal twins for the play. Jai and Jonah. All went well through rehearsals, but then one of them, Jonah, had a tonsillectomy ten days before opening night. Uh.... Jonah had a big part. The afternoon of dress rehearsal, he started spitting up blood into the trash can. I had to call dress rehearsal off early, send the kids home, and drive Jonah home because his emergency number couldn't be reached. He ended up in the hospital to have his throat cauterized, and I ended up having to find a person who could take his place in the play with less than a day's notice. The story gets longer...but I'll cut to the chase here.
Each year, there were two performances of our plays. Opening night is always full of nerves. The next night, the finale, is the one where the director needs to be on the watch. I never experienced this in my own performances when I was in school, but kids in these small semi-rural schools become short-timers, thinking of pranks to pull. In all of the plays I have directed through the years, I gather the kids together on opening night to tell them that I have done everything I can do for them...that the performance is theirs...and I would be directing activities from the behind the audience via radio to my friend Bill who was backstage.
And then it happened. In one particular scene of the final performance, Bill and service dog Sparky walked to the middle of the stage in full view of the audience, stopped, and said, "Sparky, I don't think this is the restroom"...and walked off. OMG! He had thrown in with the heathens! When I collared him about it later, he said he did it in order to prevent a promised on-stage de-pantsing if he didn't. It was funny. Not sure anyone in the audience understood it because it was an inside joke for the kids, but it got a laugh. Gee, thanks, Bill!
Bill and I go back a long way. We helped each other out whenever we could. He maintained vending machines in rest areas and other places (like the Girls' School, which was a reformatory). And the blind jokes...Oh, the blind jokes!
Me: You were on a ladder to check out your radio antenna? Are you nuts??
Bill: I'm okay if I don't look down!
Each year, there were two performances of our plays. Opening night is always full of nerves. The next night, the finale, is the one where the director needs to be on the watch. I never experienced this in my own performances when I was in school, but kids in these small semi-rural schools become short-timers, thinking of pranks to pull. In all of the plays I have directed through the years, I gather the kids together on opening night to tell them that I have done everything I can do for them...that the performance is theirs...and I would be directing activities from the behind the audience via radio to my friend Bill who was backstage.
And then it happened. In one particular scene of the final performance, Bill and service dog Sparky walked to the middle of the stage in full view of the audience, stopped, and said, "Sparky, I don't think this is the restroom"...and walked off. OMG! He had thrown in with the heathens! When I collared him about it later, he said he did it in order to prevent a promised on-stage de-pantsing if he didn't. It was funny. Not sure anyone in the audience understood it because it was an inside joke for the kids, but it got a laugh. Gee, thanks, Bill!
Bill and I go back a long way. We helped each other out whenever we could. He maintained vending machines in rest areas and other places (like the Girls' School, which was a reformatory). And the blind jokes...Oh, the blind jokes!
Me: You were on a ladder to check out your radio antenna? Are you nuts??
Bill: I'm okay if I don't look down!
At a nightclub with Rickie and the Rowdies performing:
Performer: We might have someone who will be topless!
Crowd: Yay!
Bill: (shouting out) That won't impress me a bit!
Walking into a Subway to order food:
Employee: Well, aren't you cute!
Bill: Thank you!
Employee: I was talking to the dog, but you're cute, too!
At a hamfest (flea market for amateur radio):
Ham friend: (To Bill) There is a guy down there (pointing to a place at the venue) who is selling extension poles for $10.
Me: Bill can't see your directions.
Ham friend: (Leaning down and talking to the service dog.) There is a guy down there who is selling extension poles for $10...
On the road from a hamfest, with Bill and dog in the car:
Bill: You turned the wrong way.
Me: How do you know that?
Bill: The sun is in my eyes. I notice the light.
Me: You are blind and are telling me I'm going the wrong direction??
Ham friend on the radio: Peggy, where are you? We are looking for yooo...
It absolutely killed me that a blind dude corrected me, but I was definitely going the wrong direction!
Once, I wanted to put an electrical outlet on my patio. Bill volunteered. I had my doubts, but it happened. The only thing I had to do was tell him the color of the wires involved. He not only put it together but made it so that the outlet would be "hot" whether the porch light was on or not. I was in awe...
I love Bill, not as a blind man, but as a friend. His blindness only sweetens the pot of his potentiality. You think you've got problems? This man--THIS MAN--is all about being a survivor. He humbles me. My friend Bill is everything we should all hope to be!
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