Dick died a couple of weeks ago. I didn't know him well - a few chance encounters, but mostly escapades related by others. Mostly by one other. Dick was my father-in-law's best friend for nearly 70 years. They went to school together, went off to war together - although they served in different areas, they kept in touch as much as possible - and after the war, went to college together, then settled in the same small town, where they lived for the next 50 years.There was a small group of men in the town that met for coffee for years, but it was always Bill and Dick, and some others. They built sheds and shops and cabins, and a myriad of smaller projects, some times in competition with each other, sometimes them against the world. And they argued about who had more sense, and went on countless road trips around central Mississippi. Just a day or two before he died, they had been working on another project. Dick was fine. Then a couple of days later, he had a cerebral hemorrhage and died within a few hours.
I don't know what you say to someone who's lost their best friend of 70 years. There aren't that many friendships that last that long. There aren't many marriages that last that long. It's one of those ironies of life, that the things that bring the greatest blessings are the things that hurt the most when they're gone. And I know this - my father-in-law's life was richly, richly blessed by his friendship with Dick. And I know that's what he'll remember most, once the shock has worn off. But part of me is thinking, wow, to have a best friend for that long - is something really, really special. Part of what I feel is jealousy, because I think friendships like that are much rarer now than they were for that earlier generation. We've concentrated so hard on making a living that in many cases we've forgotten to make a life. I just know this - in a small town in central Mississippi, there's a man who has some incredibly rich memories, that I hope will comfort him sooner rather than later.