Some things are meant to be experienced and remembered and shared. No matter how strange and bewildering and mysterious. This is one of them.
Last night after an extremely rare restless sleep, I got out of bed at 1:30. A man I had known as a classmate at the Sacred Heart grade school in the 1960s kept coming into my consciousness. I knew that he had passed on in December, 1997. But I had not a clue why I was thinking of him now.
My last contact with him was a chance meeting at the Turkey Hill gas station in Nesquehoning, Pennsylvania (the town where we had both lived, once upon a time).
While putting gas in my car he walked by, we recognized each other, did some catching up. Then, he told me he was moving to California where his two brothers lived.
He asked me if, upon his return, I would go out to dinner with him. I agreed, we hugged and parted ways. It was late March 1997.
I already knew that my fellow classmate had Hepatitis and that as a Vietnam War veteran he was also battling with other demons.
I knew he would not be returning. Maybe we both knew. But we saw the possibility of a future dinner date as a sign of hope.
So back to the present. I got on the internet and typed in the obituary for my friend, David Hunadi. When it came up, I just sat and stared at the screen.
His birthday was 69 years ago today: March 13th, 1950.
Happy Birthday, dear David ~ you are not forgotten.
Say you’ll remember me ~
Say you’ll see me again
Even if it’s just
In your wildest dreams ~