A Tribute To Our Friend
It was 1962, and he and his wife were visiting Colorado from their home state of Kansas.
“My brother-in-law and I were fishing from the bank up at Horsetooth Reservoir. I felt the tug on my line and began to reel in. When I saw the shadow in the water, I said, that can’t be my fish!”
That was just like our friend: he was unassuming, humble, and kind. Strong of character but willing to defer. Pretty darn happy with the world. He was happy to hunt and fish and happy when hunting yielded nothing more than a nice walk in the woods. Happy to enjoy the cabin they built after buying, “ten acres of trees” years earlier. They were happy to enjoy winters in Arizona where they could go into Madera Canyon to watch the birds. Happy to be a dad and a husband, a loving family member, an educator and coach, and a valuable part of the fabric of Northern Colorado. He and his wife honeymooned in Colorado in 1950, and said, “Someday we’re going to live here.” In 1965, they moved their young family to Fort Collins.
The shadow in the water that day was indeed his fish. A 19-pound, 12-ounce German Brown trout. He got his fish to shore with the help of his brother-in-law and a large fishing net. When the game warden saw his catch, he told our friend, “The owner of Vern’s Place Restaurant is going to want to see that fish.”
His wife would add, “It was going to cost a dollar an inch to get that fish mounted and we couldn’t afford that. So the owner of Vern’s offered to pay for it to be mounted if we would let it be on display at Vern’s.” Our friend’s fish was on display at Vern’s Place for years.
The story of Esther the fish (they named her Esther because it was Easter time when she was caught) was one of the favorite stories that my team and I had the privilege of memorizing; one of the stories that our friend shared many, many times because that day of fishing was a red-letter day for him.
I would make it a point to have a picture ready on my phone of a recent fishing trip with my son in hopes that it would spur him to tell me the story of his fish again. I knew that telling me this story brought him happiness each time.
You see, it is a misunderstanding of dementia that we “lose our loved ones to dementia,” that “we lose our loved ones twice…once in dementia and once when they die.” We don’t have to lose our loved ones to dementia if we listen to their stories over and over, listening well each time. We memorize those favorite stories, in their own words so that one day we can spur them to tell those stories, and then, finally, we tell those same stories to them. We become the memory keepers, and we become the storytellers.
Last Friday, I sat beside my friend who was resting comfortably in his hospital bed. I told him his stories, in his words. Even though he did not respond, I knew he heard me, and I knew his stories once again brought him happiness.
He died the following Monday, just three days ago. And while he is gone from this life, I will carry his hundreds of stories with me. And I will be happy each time I remember them.