End of watch
They didn't host a funeral, and the obituary was pretty lean on details.
It lists his kids, both grown, one with kids of his own. It lists his current fiance as his "significant other." There's no mention of the wife he brought back from his military service overseas.
Why would it mention her, anyway? She ditched him after running around on him for years with Rangers she'd pick up in any one of several Bay Street bars. Fuck her.
Fuck him, too.
I used to work with him. Two different jobs, actually. The first one, I absolutely hated being his partner. Hated it. We stood shift together on a permanent night watch back in my deputy days. He was the type of guy who liked to stay busy when people were watching. Constant high-energy, constant motion, constant demanding of all the attention and work credit. "HEY LOOK AT ME I'M DOING THESE THINGS WHILE NO ONE ELSE IS!" He'd run down that hill and jump all over that one cow, the whole while, bragging about how he was first down the hill and how he was nailing that cow so good. Meanwhile, the rest of us would still be calmly ease down the hill, watching him burn himself out. Then we'd slowly take our turn at each of the other cows, but we wouldn't talk about it. When he left, all the things he used to run around and do and demand credit for doing, I then walked around and did. And didn't say anything about. And people noticed how much quieter things were, and how things got done meticulously, carefully, and calmly.
Fuck him, too.
We were friends, though. He was a funny guy. Quick witted, quick tempered, whip smart. He was a reader, but never where people would see him. He was typical on the surface; football, red meat, Coors Light. Dig a little deeper, and he was Tolstoy, vindaloo, and hefeweizen.
He drove a brand new Ford f150 that he named Phil. He'd wash and wax Phil at least every other week. He loved that truck. I was surprised when he sold it off.
I was surprised when he did a lot of things. When he quit the department. When he quit his next three jobs, each of which was quite good considering he lucked into them. When he moved back home with his dad after finally leaving that turd he married (the whole while insisting she was beautiful when he married her). Good for him for thinking so, I say, but I've seen the wedding photos. Never let the facts stand in the way of a good story is something I can understand.
Fuck her, anyway. And fuck him, too.
That next job we worked together, he was less annoying than the first. Age and experience seemed to have mellowed him a little. I'm still surprised that he wasn't terribly mellow at the start, really, considering he had done a couple of tours in the Army before I'd ever met him. One would think that'd be enough to calm him, but I think it took some being-fired-from-a-job experiences to tone him down a bit.
He fell on some hard times before he fell out of my life. He got caught stealing from a small business, and that was right about the time things fell apart for him at home. He became distant, started avoiding my calls. Truly, I didn't mind so much, mostly because of the embezzlement. I'm still close to those business owners in a personal and professional sense, so it was hard to really be available and present for troubles he may have had, but I tried. He withdrew and then he disappeared.
The last time I talked to him was 2012.
The last time I saw him was the photograph for his obituary.
He was 46, and his end of watch came at the business end of a 45.
He pulled the trigger.
Fuck him, too, for not hitting River Street with us one more time so we could hear his stupid little laugh and listen to his stupid little jokes at our expense.
We grew apart. I don't regret that. We became different people heading in different directions.
What I do regret is not playing a walk on part in his war, because it seems he was living a lead role in his own cage.
Fuck you, man. I wish you were here.