a day without phil

sitting here, listening to some old u2 -- including the song "a day without me". and it serves as another reminder of phil.

every day has its reminders.

like sunday, when at church we sang the verse "who wast in art" from that great hymn.

took me back 20+ years ago to the nite at the cabin we laughed uncontrollably over dinner as we carefully considered that odd and distinctly un-modern word, "wast". as i recall, we would take turns dramatically enunciating the word through a variety of facial contortions -- all in the hopes the other would discharge their mouthful of mashed potatoes. as you might guess, our antics were much to the head-shaking chagrin of grandma.

of course, the cabin is packed with memories of phil. of going there with lori and mary to kick off summer -- and getting hit with a freak memorial day snowstorm. and while lori, phil and i frolicked like kids on a snow day, mary huddled by the fireplace, burning everything in sight in the hopes of warding off her perpetual chill.

one of my earliest cabin memories with phil was a walk to the water late in the afternoon. we were yakking about nothing in particular as we hopped from one rock to the next along the gently flowing creek. it was a marvelously carefree time. until i heard some urgency in phil's suddenly hushed voice.

"quiet," he said.

"what?"

"quiet," he implored. "bats."

sure enough, some small bats went whizzing by. at least i think they were bats. how should i know? i was a stupid 14 year old who wouldn't know a fruit bat from a fruit basket.

but i knew phil would. he was smart that way. sort of like a cool version of dr. doolittle.
that's why the next words out of his mouth sent a chill up my spine.

"vampire bats."

i froze.

"lie down on the rock," he instructed. "whatever you do, don't move."

i did exactly what he said as i worked a quick equation beneath my thick helmet of hair: vampire = blood sucking = a serious crimp in this summer vacation.

i got lizard-flat on that giant rock.

another few bats whizzed by.

my heart rate quickened.

don't move.
don't move.
not even your lips.

so in my best ventriloquist impression, i whisper-shouted, "now what?" to phil, who was a few rocks away, lying.

through his teeth.

"when i say now, run as fast as you can up the hill to the cabin. don't look back. just run!"
this is it, i thought. the moment of truth. a sprint for survival. how dramatic. how very wild kingdom. as i was deluding myself into thinking how fast a runner i am, i heard him.

"NOW! GO! GO!"

i bolted off that rock and, in one long-legged leap, made it to the creek shore where my legs never stopped churning. up, up, up the path to the cabin i went, occasionally losing traction on the slick dirt trail covered in pine needles. blood pounded in my ears, the combined effect of adrenaline, altitude, and abject fear.

"RUN, DUDE, RUN!" phil shouted as he ran behind me.

until he doubled over laughing at the sight of his gangly cousin in front of him, wildly scrambling up the mild hill to save his life from the terror of the creek-menacing vampire bats.

it was a classic tale that got told every trip up to the cabin.

what a life

i miss phil.

he was a friend, a character, a sage, a "rock star uncle" (or cousin) for kids. and he had the joy of a kid in his heart. playful. inquisitive. curious. simple. again i'm reminded of picasso's observation, "it takes a long time to grow young."

anyway, writing is my form of therapy. a way to deal with the tremendous void that comes from the loss of a dear friend. makes you realize how much our earthly experience is enriched by those around us. especially those like phil, with whom i'd shared some of the most enjoyable times and important milestones of life.

when i returned home from tucson saturday, i wanted so badly to share the amazing experience of friday's memorial service with mary. so i did. (accompanied by the "dark side of the moon" cd i popped into the stereo, as a tribute to phil.) i told her about every part of the powerful 2 1/2 hour celebration. the stories. the songs. the remembrances. the prayers. the overwhelming support of an overflow crowd.

when i shared with her the triumphant climax of the service -- the rising of the hundreds in attendance to the last stanza of "when peace like a river" -- we both broke into tears.

for us, the song -- and our reaction to it -- serves as a powerful testimony to phil's life. a life lived with the purpose and hope of a new body, at home with the Lord.