I haven't posted anything on this blog in quite awhile, but I had something I wanted to write about today.
Yesterday I had to say goodbye to someone who was a major part of my life for a very long time. Last Saturday night I lost my stepfather, Duane "Bubba" Aregood.
I never knew my biological father. He just wasn't in the picture. As a little kid I was confused and saddened by the situation, but as I got older I realized, some things are for the best. During the very first years of my life, I was raised by my mom and grandparents. There was also a tremendous amount of love and support from aunts, uncles, and cousins who lived close. Like they say, "It takes a village to raise a Mergs."
When I was four, my mom met, Duane. Right off the bat, he and I got along swimmingly. As a kid I couldn't tell exactly what it was I liked about him so much, other than simply thinking he was just this big, funny dude. Looking back on the way I remember him over the years, he was funny. Hysterical even. But also caring, generous, kind, and full of life. He married my mom when I was five years old.
Once they married, I not only gained a stepfather, but a whole new half of a family. New grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Good, solid, salt of the earth people who never treated me as a a stepson or step-anything really. I was just a part of their family now. Duane never treated me as anything less than his own son either. Even though we had a strong bond from the start, I never quiet came around to calling him Dad and he never pushed the issue. I just always referred to him as, "Bub."
Duane and my mom were together for nearly fourteen years. They divorced during my freshman year of college. Once the divorce happened, Duane and I talked less and less. We were both onto new chapters in our lives. He met a new lady and I was away at Bloomsburg University discovering the boozy joys of a state school education. During my junior year, Duane and I were having a conversation on the phone that turned into an argument. Truth be told, it was an argument about money. That conversation did not end well. We stopped speaking after that...for nearly eight years.
During those eight years I moved to New York and built a life for myself. New York is full of distractions so it makes it too easy sometimes to forget what really matters. It was eating at me that him and I were no longer part of each others lives, but I thought, "Screw it, if he doesn't want to talk to me, I don't want to talk to him." I have a feeling he was probably of the same mindset.
Pride and Stupidity go hand in hand sometimes.
When I was getting ready to come home for Easter last month, my mom called and told me she'd found out that Duane was quiet ill. He was in the hospital and in the late stages of pancreatic cancer. That Sunday after dinner I made a trip to the hospital. He was sitting up in a chair by by his bed. I went right in for a hug and he gave me one right back. Instantly we forgot whatever stupid nonsense was between us and it was all love. I think we probably both had the same question on our minds. Why did we waste so much time? While I was at the hospital we talked, laughed, caught up, and most importantly, said I love you to one another. I thought I'd get to see him a few more times before he left, but that was it. Believe me friends, I am beyond grateful for that opportunity.
Last Saturday night I received a call from my mother around 10PM and she told me he had passed away.
Wednesday was the viewing. I sat there with my family and talked with people that I hadn't see in years. They offered condolences and spoke about what a wonderful person he was. Upon walking into the funeral home, there was a collage of family photos. Looking at pictures of us together from years ago, I was reminded immediately of how great his spirit was and still is. To see a photo of him smiling is to feel his presence still full of joy and happiness.
There are two stories about Duane that I think of often, almost daily to be honest.
The first was when I was fourteen years old. We were on a camping trip with family and friends. It was late one night and everyone was sleeping except for Bub and I. We were sitting by the fire and he let me have a beer. Looking back it was like a scene right out of some hour long family drama on ABC. A father about to drop some knowledge on his kid.
He asked me , "What kind of career do you think you'll want to pursue when you're older?" I told him I didn't know. He said, "Well, whatever you do...DO-IT-THE-BEST-YOU-CAN." For someone who told a joke every ten seconds, I could tell at that moment he was quite serious.
"If you become a doctor, great. So long as it makes you happy. If you become a garbage man, fine. As long as you love doing it. Whatever you do though, do it the best you can...and I'll love and support you all the same."
Then we sat for a moment before he said, "Now, there's something else we should probably talk about." The inspiration inside from the previous moment fell away and I was suddenly filled with dread. I knew what was coming. He was about to give me the classic father and son birds and the bees riff. Before I even completely realized what was happening he looked at me and said, "Ya know bud...It ain't just for peein."
I cracked up.
We sat by the fire and talked about all kinds things that night. Life, love, family, sports. It remains in my heart to be one one of the most important conversations I've had.
The second memory of Duane that I think of often happened during my senior year of high school. I wrestled during my senior year. Why...I don't know. Terrible idea. I'm quiet sure I was the single worst wrestler in the history of Hanover Area Jr. Sr. High School. It's okay. I made my peace with it long ago. (Let's see Lake Lehman's Heavyweight do a dramatic monologue. I'd own his ass.)
Anyway, one Friday night I was coming downstairs and he was sitting in the living room watching TV and enjoying a beer. I was about to get picked up by my buddy to head to a party. Duane was an ironworker and often had to be away for work during the week. Friday's right when he got home was when we'd catch up.
He asked me how wrestling was going and I said, "Okay." I didn't have the heart to tell him how much I hated it. He asked, "What are you learning?" "Um, well-," and before I could finish he stood up and was in the center of the living room. "C'mon show me," he said. Duane wrestled himself at one point, so he wanted to pass on whatever tips he thought would help.
We talked about this move and that move, but before I knew it, we were in a wrestling match in the center of our living room. I held my own for a minute or so, but I had no desire to draw this out. I was freshly showered and ready to go party with my friends. So, once I found an opportunity, I let my shoulders hit the floor and and I quit. I said, "Alright, I gotta go."
Duane was never, ever mean to me. To be honest, he was never mean to anyone. He always smiling and full of good energy, but in that moment I could tell he was upset. Upset in a way I'd never seen. As I went to stand he grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me square in the eyes, and through gritted teeth said, "Don't you dare give up! Don't you ever-ever give up! You understand?"
I was kind of shocked. Rarely had I seen him that aggravated about anything. I got up and left. I didn't say a word. I walked outside and my buddy Josh came driving up. I got in his car and immediately Josh could tell I was upset. I explained what had just happened. At the end of the story I said, "Screw him. He's an asshole." Josh was quiet for a second before he said, "He was trying to teach you something, Mergs." Josh was right. It went beyond wrestling. Even through my horrible season, Duane was nothing but supportive. Not giving up is something that extends far beyond my brief stint in singlet. It's something I have to remind myself of every single day.
I'm carrying great sadness in my heart for the loss of a good man who filled a much needed role in my life for a long time. I try to remind myself that sadness comes from a good place. It means you experienced something great. Something important. Now, for whatever reason, that good thing had to move on. I think the best we can do with sadness, is grow from it. Learn from it. Be a better person because of it.
So, If there's someone out there that you want to talk to, reconnect with, and you're holding off for some bullshit reason...call them. Call them now. Shoot em a text, send an email. Reach out. Maybe they won't reach back, but at least you tried. You worried about your pride? How good you think you feel because of your pride, will be nothing compared to how shitty you'll feel due to regret.
That being said...
It's going to be beautiful outside this weekend. So, I'm going to spend it the way I know Bub would have. I'm gonna head outside and feel the sun hit my face. I'm going to take a moment and give thanks for the air in my lungs. Spend some time with my family and eat some good food. Be with my friends and buy them a drink while I do my best to make them laugh. If you're carrying sadness in you're heart for Duane, if you're carrying sadness in your hear for anything, I suggest you do the same. It's all just good for the soul.
And remember, in the words of great man:
One - Whatever it is you do in life, do it the best you can.
Two - Never, ever give up.
Three - It ain't just for peein.
Thanks and be well friends,
Mergs.
Duane J. Aregood
