Endings and Beginnings

My brother-in-law Bill died this week. This world was a better place with Billy walking through it. We were not close in the sense of hours-long, deep conversations, but we had an easy closeness that came from 20+ years familiarity as my brother-in-law, trips together the four of us would take to Santa Fe and Mexico, visits in each other's bi-coastal homes, and freely given doctor's advice when requested. Bill loved the outdoors, flyfishing (where he and my sister met and fell in love), eating out, barbershop quartets (what a beautiful rich voice he had), motorcycling, golfing, flying small planes, and imbibing spirits and slabs of pepperjack cheese. He loved all things women: their beauty, their ability to give life and sustain it, their talents, their intelligence, their sexuality, their creativity. He had a curiousity about people and life that was gigantic. He had a wicked Irish humor and he was a doctor who cared deeply about his patients and would make house calls at the drop of a hat. In his earlier years (the late 60's) he was called by Rolling Stone Magazine the "Love Doctor" (or was it "Hippie Doctor"?) -- there is even a picture of him in that issue -- he's standing in front of a motorcycle, his hair is long and he's wearing a bandana. Bill was instrumental in aiding my healing from a traumatic car accident -- his advice was more folk medicine than traditional and filled with love and concern -- and was exactly what was needed for healing. Bill was also human and always did things his way: wouldn't listen to advice, hated non-traditional medicine, often talked over you, and did not like it when you questioned his dogmatisms. But you had to look the other way on those things -- because he was just -- so wonderful. My favorite memory of Bill is when he would sing the Mexican folk song "The Chicken Hawk" ("El Gavilán Pollero"). My sister or I would request this of him repeatedly during our trips to Mexico, and he would dutifully, but joyfully, fulfill our requests. Like kids, we would be entranced by the sweetness with which he sang in Spanish about a man stealing another's true love. Forget the words -- Billy Boy was just precious delivering the goods.

I see you Bill -- I see you flying your plane, riding your motorcycle, swinging that club, casting that fly. I see you happy, happy, happy -- whistling and singing that little chicken hawk song.