This past weekend, Memorial Weekend here in the United States, Randy and I went to eastern Washington for a weekend of flying, barbecuing, and generally having fun with a group of friends.
I think, all told, there were about fifteen people in attendance, at various points during the weekend.
Saturday afternoon, we got a phone call from Cort, who told us that our friend Hugo was not going to survive the day, and if we wanted to say goodbye we’d better call right now. We hiked out into the wheat field where our phones had the tiniest bit of reception, and called Hugo in his hospital bed in Guadalajara.
Randy talked to him first, and then he handed me the phone. Hugo sounded the same as always, laughing and talking my ear off, telling me that he’s been doing some thinking. I guess finding out that you have just a couple of weeks to live makes you think pretty hard.
He said he spent some time looking out of his window at all of the people hurrying by on the sidewalk below, and thinking about the fact that every one of them will be facing death someday, even if not in the same way he’s facing it. He also said that he was glad to have me in his life, that he was happy to have been part of my life, and that our trip down to Casa Milagros for our wedding was one of the best times he could remember having in that house.
I could tell he was getting tired, and I didn’t want to take any more of his time away from Antonia, so I started to wrap up the conversation.
He said he loved me, I said I loved him back, and then we said goodbye.
I’m not certain at this point if he’s passed away yet, but I do know that I’ve talked to him for the last time. He’ll be missed, by more people than he could ever think would miss him.
