Bubba

Not long ago, I was talking with a co-worker about how many people that had worked with us at one point or another had passed away. We started naming them off, and there were a lot of them. Ricky, Rocky, Hank, William, Virgil--and the list goes on. There were a lot of them.

Today, I found out that we have another name to add to that list. Everybody called him Bubba. I've mentioned him before, a few times. He was the one who told me I wasn't giving men enough of a chance. He was the one who told me the story of his mother buying him the wrong brand of underwear. He was the one who said of me, "she doesn't say much, but when she does say something, it's something!" He was the one who came running up to me on that fateful day in September 2001 and told me that we were under attack.

Now, suddenly, unexpectedly, he is gone.

Or maybe not so unexpectedly. He'd had health problems. He had a heart attack. While they were looking for veins to do a bypass, they discovered he had severe circulation problems in his legs. His doctor told him he would end up wheelchair bound before it was all over. Just a few weeks after he'd returned to work, they found something wrong with his lungs, and he was forced to quit work. He physically just couldn't handle it any more.

I was in the grocery store after karate one night buying milk, and this man came running up to me with his arms outstretched. He'd shaved. He'd lost weight. He'd quit smoking and drinking. He looked great. I almost didn't recognize him. It was Bubba. That was the last time I ever saw him.

Then I heard he'd started smoking and drinking again. I heard he'd quit taking all of his medications. He'd just let him self go.

Now he's gone for good.

Goodbye, Bubba. I'll miss you.