Karl

I've been blessed to have lived in neighborhoods where people took care of one another and where friendships were made for life. As a child, I lived in two such neighborhoods; one in Pennsylvania and one in Indiana. I still have friends from both of those hoods, but more than that I've have sets of what we called "second parents". Those are the ones who took the place of our parents when they were missing in action for some reason or another. I've experienced a few firsts with those second parents that I didn't experience with my own. I've gone to them for advice and learned lessons from their knees. More importantly, as an adult who no longer has her own parents, I knew they were there if I ever needed them.

I lost a second father a little over a week ago. Karl came into my life at the age of four when he and his family moved next door to ours in Pennsylvania. Despite a small hiccup in the beginning, our families became fast friends. Their two daughters have been a part of my life since that time no matter how much life has taken us in different directions, and their parents, Karl and Lois have been intertwined with my life for almost fifty years. They know where the skeletons are buried.

As I age, I feel like I write more tributes to those who have died than I do for those still living. Not being at the memorial service is hard because there is no formal closure, a chance to say thanks and good-bye, and so I write instead. Because the people who are important to me have pieces of my heart and when there are holes left by their deaths it helps me to share the good memories.

Since his death, I've thought a lot about Karl. As usual, I have the regrets that death always brings especially in the length of time we see our loved ones. It's been ten years since I've seen Karl in person. He and his wife are the last on my list that I made last year of touching base with my past. I never got back to Pennsylvania in time. I'm thinking I'll start working on a reunion for my neighborhoods. Too many good friendships not to see one another.

Karl was:

• Quiet. That is the first adjective I would use to describe him. He was the person in a crowd that sat back and observed others. Who knew more about everyone than anyone else because of that, and when he listened to you he was really listening. 
• Intelligent. In my mind, the way I remember him, he looked the part of the bookish kid that would have tutored the other kids in school. He was always reading, like my mother, and he was surrounded by books in his corner of the living room. He reminded me of an owl, the wisest in the forest and the one the other animals went to for advice and information.
• Strong. He overcame a lot that as a kid I never saw or understood. He hit rock bottom, pulled himself up, and started his life again. Not many people can do what he did. My parents were always using Karl as the one to emulate when we needed to make changes.
• Emotional. He allowed that to shine through, and for a kid whose own father was stoic, it was eye-opening. I've never forgotten watching him break down while sitting in the chapel at the hospital while his daughter was in surgery. It was heartbreaking and scary for my newly adult self, but through the years as a parent, I've identified with that moment over and over. 
• Mischievous. He was the King of the Fourth of July. He brought the fireworks when we were together for that holiday and invented cannons and crazy things to light on fire. He would wake us on Christmas morning by playing his record of the Messiah at a volume that would have dogs barking in agony. Still to this day, I refer to that composition as the "Karl Song".
• An adventurer. We didn't do much vacationing and exploring unless we were with Karl and his family. I always believed that he pushed my parents to try things we normally wouldn't have done. Karl loved to travel, but mostly he liked to hike. To take his walking stick and set off outdoors to explore, to see, to smell, to study. 
• A writer. He and his wife traveled extensively and he journaled his travels, writing wonderful daily pieces on everything from what he saw to what he learned. He mailed those journals and later emailed, to a select few. I was proud that I was one of those. He would have made a good blogger, and I did try to work with him on that, but in the end he liked to do it the old fashion way.
• A gardener. He built beautiful landscaping and tended to gardens and flowers. He insisted that I had a green thumb and pooh-poohed the artificial flowers that I had in the boxes outside our apartment. He tried to convert me with a two-day project of getting my hands dirty in his own landscaping. It didn't take, but I appreciated his efforts as much as I did the beauty he created.
• A friend. My dad never met someone he didn't instantly like, but he didn't have many people that he spent quality time with as in friendship. Karl was the exception. His yearly fishing trips with Karl was something he would plan ahead for and talk about for weeks. I've always been grateful for the happiness that Karl brought to my dad during those times. 
• Funny. His wit was sly and smart and his laugh was distinctive, sometimes loud, and oh, so contagious.
• A photographer. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have as many pictures of my father as I do. Together those two created slides and movies of our lives to rival anything Hollywood would attempt.
• Loved. By many. He will be missed. Love and hugs to his family.