May 13, 2004
Memoriam: Captain Smith
As you grow up, there are some things you take for granted. Like you and Steve really will be friends forever, and you'll never be without your treehouse, and the house you live in and the neighborhood will be there forever. Your parents will always be together, you really will become an astronaut, and someday you'll have it all under control. But mostly, you don't think about losing people. Captain Brian Smith was a lifelong friend of my father and someone I knew would always be around. But on Monday, like so many things I've taken for granted, that stopped being true.
It wasn't a surprise, exactly. It was over 6 months ago that we discovered that Brian had "Cancer of the everything". Lungs, stomach, spine, brain, anywhere you could put it almost. It was plainly amazing that he was alive. And astonishingly enough, he fought it off for a while, after complete courses of radiation and chemo finally coming to a limited remission last January. But like many things, it didn't last, and the doctors had already done everything they could, which left Captain Smith to watch as his body slowly betrayed him, starting with weakness, then seizures until finally he was bedridden. I hadn't seen him since the winter, until last weekend when I went to visit. He was smaller than in his earlier life, unable to get out of bed and barely able to control his movements. Days before, he had required both hands to be strong enough to smoke the cigarettes that even still he had been unable to quit, but by the time I saw him, he could barely lift his head.
He had been a Great Lakes Pilot for large vessels, quite an accomplishment, and had worked for the last several years as Master on a tour boat (the Diamond Jack) in the Detroit River. He had spent much of his life working on the water. You could always count on him for ideas (or especially criticism) for any project you worked on. You could always count on him for a smile, and a jovial mood, and a quiet sarcasm in everything, and recognize his loping stride a mile away.
I've thought about working on the water professionally for quite a while (and still think about it), and knew I could always ask the Captain for information or advice. I loved to hear the stories about working the lakes or just the daily life on the "Jack". I liked explaining my engineering work to him, which he always picked up quickly.
And still, whenever I go to visit my da, to watch a hockey game or go for a boat ride or just sit and watch the fire, I'll still expect him to stop by. I'll wonder why its been so long since I've seen him. I'll think about visiting at the dock for Diamond Jack when I'm at Hart Plaza downtown for the music festival.
I can't stop believing. There are some things I'm not ready to grow up for.
Sail Away, Captain.
Posted by ktismael at May 13, 2004 11:42 PM