Over and over we’re told that we should cherish the time we have we people we love because we never know when they will end. I have had many people in my life who have passed away, and I had no regrets. For one person though, the situation is different.

I had been engaged to this person at one time. I broke it off when the laws of Nevada made it difficult for me to join him on the East Coast of the US. But there was another reason, too. He was 17 years older than me and I didn’t relish the idea of raising my children (ages 4 – 12 at the time) then having to take care of an elderly husband. The irony is that I married a man only a year older than myself who had lung cancer, so I’ve spent time in a caretaker role anyway.

Should I have married him? I don’t know. What I’ve learned in my old age is that your choices take you in directions. Not good or bad, in most cases. Just different.

I still kept in contact with him and, when the laws changed, I was finally able to move to the East Coast. Not in the same area where he lived, but close enough that we’d see each other periodically. Not as often as I’d wish, since my new beau was quite a jealous man. But we still shared emails.

The last time I was supposed to see him, I had to cancel. I still regret that. It meant that the last time I saw him was quite awhile ago.

He died of a heart attack during COVID. And I didn’t find out until my daughter was poking around Facebook and found out what had happened. I contacted his son to get more details. HIs memorial was delayed and will be happening next week.

I wrote something for his memorial page that I wanted to share here.

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Before Facebook or Slack or Twitch. Before MySpace. Even before AOL, there was Compuserve. And on Compuserve were group chat rooms. Vic and I met in the early 90’s on one called the Back Porch. Vic was humorous, and kind, and funny, and a pleasure to speak with. Eventually we met in person as well. But that’s another story.

Things I learned about Vic along the way.

Vic loved ‘roots’ American music: blues and old timey. He didn’t care for jazz and hated the sound of the saxophone, and he didn’t like bluegrass. I always wondered if his love for ‘roots’ music was because he grew up outside of the US since my mom, who also grew up outside the US had the same tastes.

Vic’s favorite blues song was ‘Wild About My Lovin’

He loved Mt. Airy. I joined him there one year, camping out and enjoying the whole scene. He hated the ‘big’ festivals. 

I just looked at one of our last email conversations. Apparently he was also doing Clifftop now?

Vic had grown up in India and Italy, after WW II because his dad was in the foreign service. He didn’t care for India, but loved Italy. He learned ‘street Italian’ from the urchins he hung around with when he lived there. He went back for a visit as an adult.

Vic was proud of his beard, and how long he could grow it. He did trim it once when I asked him to because it was getting so scraggly looking.

Vic was not a fan of organized religion. He told a story about hitchhiking around San Francisco and taking advantage of the food offered by the Salvation Army for the homeless. He was grateful for the food, but he didn’t like having to listen to the requisite sermon that accompanied it.

Vic’s American home was in Illinois. He talked about early on how one could find marijuana growing on the sides of the road when he was young. I always think of that story when I hear Jim Stafford’s Wildwood Weed.

I will probably think of a bunch more stories after I send this. But then, if I wait to get them all down, I’ll never send this.

I just looked through a few old emails we’d sent each other. I sent him the following quote: 

The way you make love is the way God will be with you

— Jalai ad-Din Rumi

Vic will be doing just fine in heaven.