Saying Goodbye To My Friend Clarke
Donald R Correia

 

There I sat, in the back of the church, in a padded chair probably reserved for the deacons that usually sit there during normal services. I had not dressed in my best Sunday go to meeting clothes as most others had; I was in my work clothes, as I usually was when I was with Clarke. I have come to say goodbye, why should I be any different today than I was any other day when Clarke and I sat in my shop those days past, or when we sat at Gaetano’s a long time ago. Sipping a couple of beers, solving the problems of the town, the state, and most of the entire world.

I had arrived late, at least I thought I had as the place was filled to capacity, all pews filled with those coming to hear what kin and friend might have to say, those who came to say as I did; goodbye dear Clarke. As I sat there before the family arrived, I mused over the years I had known Clarke. I thought about the good times and those times we were at each other like prizefighters. With words, like left jabs, about things that each one of us knew to be fact, and be damned if our facts differed, we were going to burn them into each other because each of us knew we were right. All though in many of those long forgotten debates, the fact was we were neither of us right. The true answers were far right or left of ours. But we would never admit that. Clarke always stuck to his convictions, a trait I admired in him, and a trait, which nurtured him during his long arduous trial with his illness. Oh goodbye Clarke.

As I sat there, the family entered, and took their rightful place down front in those reserved pews. Passing by the framed pictures of Clarke and his family, each looked at them and I saw the pride, I saw the love they had for this man, the family man, this electrical engineer who engineered his life like a fine Swiss watch. He instilled in his children Hoyt and Lois, the meaning of life, to live it to the fullest, to be ready to take on all challenges, to tackle the unknown without fear, sometimes teaching that meaning, with the threat of fear itself. Those traits taught, were the traits he himself lived, especially so these last years. Oh goodbye Clarke.

I look up to the pulpit where son Hoyt, speaking in a confident, vibrant voice, telling of his Dad and what he meant to he and his sister Lois. Those humorous anecdotes were the Clarke I knew, we all knew. Oh goodbye Clarke.

Sister Barbara, looking so much like Clarke, speaking about her brother and the obvious closeness between them was prevalent, sometimes humorous also, but never the less, so much told with few words, the meaning was there for all of us to see. Oh goodbye Clarke.

Brother in Law speaking now, an outsider, but the love was there too, a love that was freely given, not the love of family obligation, but of friendship, just plain and simple friendship. His words will live on with the memories that Clarke gave him. Oh goodbye Clarke.

The good Reverend speaking now, asking us to pray, we do. His words are meaningful in the righteous way, but I hear the words unsaid by the friends and family present. All of us touched by this man Clarke in some way. I hear them all; I hear them saying silently, Oh goodbye Clarke.

I glance over and see the widow Sue. In her silence I hear her and I feel her loss as only one who has lost those close to us can feel. The inspiration for Clarke in the engineered structure of his life, she has not spoken but I hear her. I hear her silently saying; Oh goodbye Clarke.

The service is over, I skip out quickly, the family knows of my love for this man. I don’t have to run the gauntlet of the receiving line. My mind and thoughts are filled with the memory of this man I came to know, this man I called my friend. I will cherish those memories and his friendship forever. As I walk to my car, with misty eyes, I hear myself silently saying, oh goodbye Clarke, Oh goodbye Clarke, I will miss you my friend.

 

Copyright (c) 1999 Donald R Correia
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