Steve and I had a friend named Bill Parks. His birthday is December 24 so I always think of him at this time of year. I had known Bill for nearly 15 years before I married Steve. He was intelligent and witty, not unlike Steve. Bill was a computer genius who had moved to the East Coast in the late ‘80’s. He was moving to Florida to start his dream job when he discovered he had throat cancer. Unfortunately, he was between jobs when it happened and his medical expenses were not covered by insurance.
Bill stayed with friends in southern California and received experimental treatment. Then he moved back to the East Coast where he got a job that did not involve his needing to speak with people very much, as his ability to speak was greatly affected. He was included in another experimental program in southern California and would fly in every few weeks for the treatments. We would pick him up on Thursday night; on Friday I would take him to Orange County for his chemotherapy; Saturday he would spend the day in bed resting from the treatment; Sunday we would go to lunch, then take him back to LAX so he could be at work on Monday morning.
The first time we did this, Bill’s comment to Steve regarding the trip to Orange County: You know, Steve, I’ve been shot at in Vietnam, part of the CIA and traveled all over the world, not to mention battling cancer, but nothing is as scary as riding on the LA Freeways with Charlie driving! (Kewt)
Bill was an avid reader, one of the passions we shared. He always wanted to learn new things and one trip we included a visit to the Reagan Library. The last time he was at our home, we planned a trip to the Getty Museum. My good friend, Donna Balkan, joined us for the day. Her son was born deaf and she was very sensitive to the needs of people who could not be understood easily. Besides her patience with his speech impediment, her sense of humor and blonde good looks made him feel very much his old self (he was quite the ladies’ man in his day).
I picked up Donna and we were to meet Steve and Bill at the Getty Museum. The parking lot is at the bottom of a hill and everyone then takes a mechanical shuttle to the top of the hill. Steve called when they arrived and I told him we were already at the top of the hill. His comment was, “What are you wearing so I’ll recognize you when we get there.” My response, “I have on a blue…oh, yeah, very kewt!)
You can hear Steve and Bill both cracking up in the background.
Bill returned to New Jersey and we talked every few weeks. I invited him to live with us to be sure he was cared for but he chose to remain independent as long as possible. Bill was also concerned about what to do with his vast library (mostly first editions) and decided to leave them to a small college near his home town in Kentucky.
One day I received a call from his friend in NJ to say Bill had passed away. He had simply gone to sleep while reading in bed one night. She had failed to call me in time for me to go to his funeral and his only remaining family member, a brother, had not been able to attend either. Ironically, our daughters live only 30 minutes from the military cemetery where he had been laid to rest. Our next trip to NJ to visit them included a trip to the cemetery to take photos of his grave to send to his brother. As usual, Bill had planned and arranged for every detail of his passing.
Oh, and not all of those books went to the college in Kentucky. Shortly after the funeral, we received a package with the first two volumes of the Jewish Talmud. He remembered what was important to us and we will always remember him.