A Really Stupid way to die

The weekend just gone marks what would have been the fortieth birthday of an old friend.  One who has passed away.  Dead as dead.

Grover was an unusual man.  He was literally friend to thousands.   So laid back he would often fall over, in his younger days he worked for social security.  And he actually helped people.  He knew the rules inside out and especially how to bend them.   Which he did, in abundance.  This won him a vast reputation and where ever he went he would be welcomed by people he had assisted to live.

Added to this he loved the ladies, and despite being in no way particularly good-looking or fit, they loved him.  I didn’t get the sex part myself, but I certainly always felt happy, safe and well looked after with Grover.

By far his biggest gift was his ability to bring warring factions together  in peace and thus his parties were the place.  You would see people mingling who never would on the street and whilst ecstasy no doubt assisted the general good will it was Grover that got them there in the first place.  On a good E he couldnt ‘t talk, only trill. 

I lost track of Grover for several years as Oscar, my ex husband was insistent on a division of friends and such a grumpy grudge holding bastard that few dared to defy him.  But one day a little bird told me he was living near by and would be happy to catch up. 

The Ice rampage had left its mark all over.  It was hard to respect the hunger it created in others and harder still to see it in yourself.  Here was a man in debt, but able to sell vast amounts as he knew everyone and everyone knew him.  But he didn’t want to.  He was struggling to hold down a ‘normal’ job as part of a road work crew.  And be a part-time dad.  And struggling to like people. 

He would sell people rubbish if they upset him or were trading goods for drugs.  He left drugs and jewellery and toys all over his house to tease and tempt people.  He told me of old friends who had sold him out.  Grover’s heart was still there but his soul had taken a battering.  He didn’t actually know what a friend was any more because all the lines had cracked and broken.

I got another old friend to come and see him, and let them do their mucho get together.  I cooked and took food around.  I put back all the gold he tempted me with and told him he wasn’t being fair.  I refused to buy off him, and looked after myself.  I didn’t beg or borrow from him.  I listened.  I shared.  Slowly we were becoming friends in the dark little world he was living in.

Two days after a visit there was a call.  Grover was on the job after some impossible time without sleep.  Heavy machinery.  With him in it.  This absolutely mad character squashed to death.  It wasn’t instant.  The crew held his hand.  A friend was passing in  a car – when wasn’t a friend passing  Grover – and got to him in time to say good-bye.  No one could help.  No one could do a thing. 

Everyone came to the funeral.  They didn’t talk to each other but they came.  His son tried to crawl in to his coffin.

Someone did try to get everyone together to raise a toast to Grover.  But they wouldn’t come.   Iinstead lots of individuals did remember.  You are not likely to forget him.   But what a stupid way to die.