I've lost a friend

I got the news tonight that my friend Charles died about 6:45 in the nursing home floor of Trinity Terrace. He was 92. I hardly know where to begin to say how important Charles was to me. In the late '60s, he came to teach radiology at the osteopathic college where my then-husband was faculty. We became friends, and he and his wife invited us to their ranch for a weekend--they had then one guest cabin, though they later built more. We all went, and I remember stopping at Zaby's in Kaufman, a barbecue place that had pictures and sayings about Christ all over the walls, including that picture that looks like a blur of black and white until  you learn the secret and then you can never again look at it without seeing Christ's face in the snow. The barbecue wasn't particularly good, but the kids loved the fried pies. Afterward, they led us down country roads until Charles remarked to his wife, Reva, that we must think they were taking us to the ends of the earth. After that, we spent many happy weekends and a couple of longer vacations at the ranch--the boys fished, even though there were alligators in the waters of the lake. Once I saw an alligator about to get a baby duck, and I screamed for Charles to do something: "It's the law of nature, Judy," he said.
Another time he had a steer named Houdini (because he was so adept at escaping) in a pen between the main house and our cabin. The kids petted and loved on Houdini every time we went by. Sometime later, we were all eating dinner on the porch overlooking the lake, and Charles asked the kids  how they liked the meat. They chorused that it was great, and Charles said, "You're eating Houdini." Nobody ate much after that.
After Joel left us, Charles and Reva remained my firm friends, and as soon as the kids could drive, we went back there often for weekends. Reva was a country girl from Missouri, and she brought with her great cooking skills. We had marvelous times together in the kitchen, and I think some of the happiest moments of my life were spent on that porch at the dinner table. Sometimes we took family friends, who always enjoyed the experience. Reva and Charles welcomed a wide variety of people to their guest ranch, becoming friends with almost every guest. They hosted campouts for bikers' groups, outings for the osteopathic college, and all kinds of groups that fit Charles' interests. Alzheimer's took Reva from us, first as a person and then finally a few years ago. I miss her today, but I was delighted when Charles got her prune bread recipe (always a secret) for my cookbook.
Charles moved back to Fort Worth, and I saw him frequently. We ate at a restaurant that served mussels because he loved them. They came in a variety of sauces, named by colors, and when he was asked which one he wanted, he muttered, "They didn't come in colors when I was a kid."
Charles was one of the brightest intellectuals I've known in my life, a student up until the last few months, reading voraciously but never fiction, always enlarging his knowledge. A marathoner (he used to always win his age group) and a veteran biker, he went annually to a bike camp in West Texas until a couple of years go. Until a year ago, or maybe less, he was still riding his bike and running in the neghborhood. He had the wisdom to do what few elderly do--one day he told me he hung up his car keys. He'd had a near accident and he said it wasn't his skill that averted a disaster.
In recent months I visited him in the nursing home--hard for me, because he was in the same place only rooms away from where my mom died. But his sense of humor and his clear thinking remained intact until maybe the last month. When I visited last Sunday, two other friends were there and we talked. I had the sense that Charles was happy to let us talk around him and participate occasionally. When I said he looked content, he repied, "I am. I don't hurt, and I don't want for anything." I think that's how he died, and that brings me a sense of peace.
I think I was always a little bit in love with Charles Ogilvie.