Saying "Goodbye" to an Old Friend

I'm here in Houston to say "Goodbye" to an old friend ... 92 years old to be exact! His name is Joe. He was born in Mexico, and has lived over 30 years with his wife Rebecca. He's been like a second father to me. He's a friend I enjoy talking with, and telling stories to. He's a good story teller! He was here this morning, after a long restless night in bed, as we just very briefly got to talk. He squeezed my hand tightly. There was no need for words between us. We each knew how we felt, and what the other meant as well. Tonight, after a long afternoon of silent, deep sleep, he's coding ... no pulse, no heartbeat. My friend is gone.

Joe has, for many years now, wanted to go on to be with Jesus. He used to always tell me, "I'm ready to go to El Cajon-Cajon!" Then he would cross his hands over his chest and close his eyes, like he's posing for this casket mugshot! (He's a funny guy!) While he's got his eyes closed he opens them briefly, winks at me with a smile, and then closes his eyes again like he's lying there in a casket!

One thing's for sure ... Joe is ready to leave this world and go on home to check out his heavenly mansion! He "took care of business" long before now. I was there! We prayed the prayer of salvation together! I "know" he's saved! Joe's got his heart set for the promised lands ... where there are no cloudy days ... and where he won't have to have someone to help him when it comes time to go to out house!


In the Old West:
I sometimes think the Indians had it right when their old folks are ready to die. They say "Goodbye" to all of their loved ones. Then they gather all of what they want to take with them, and they head out of camp for their "last hunt".

My friend Joe had a number of things starting to quit working in his body. I don't want to live so long that I get to that stage. I've often wondered what I would do if I were in his shoes. Would I saddle up for one last ride? Maybe head out into mountain lion country on one last hunt? Or would I maybe like some of these old Indian Chiefs, climb up onto the highest mountain and fold my hands, facing with my jaw locked to the West ... to wait for what happens next?

If I remember anything, though it's that you always ... always respect your elders. I have the utmost respect for Joe. So, here's what we do. We saddle up Joe's horse, Mexican style. We throw a sarape (Mexican blanket) over the back of the saddle, like a bed roll. Joe then dons his cowboy hat. He shifts himself to make sure he's got a good seat in the saddle. Then, with a look of sobriety, knowing he's "ready", he takes one last look at us all. This is a one-way trip, and he knows this all too well. He waves one last "adios" to us all ... Then in true cowboy fashion, he turns away, and rides off slowly towards the hill country.

"Vio condios, mi amigo!", I shout out to him in Spanish ...
He turns back my way and looks at me for a moment. He wipes a single tear from his eye. The horse stirs as he clears his throat, as only Joe can do! He tugs on the reins to quiet the horse. After a moment of looking back at us one last time he reaches up, and with the style and finesse of John Wayne himself, he tips his hat like only Joe can do it. Then he smiles that big Joe smile! Then he quickly gets off a brief hand wave and turns again for the mountains.

"Adios Pappa." I repeat again, softly to myself, as my words fall to the quiet of the moment. Again to myself I say, "I'll see you again ... when it's time for them to send 'MY' saddle to the house, podner!"
As he rides on, the horse picks up his gate. A quick turn in through some trees ... and he's gone. Goodbye Joe.

Now let's celebrate Joe's departure ... in true Mexican style!
Make me proud!