Dispatch: The Reaper Emerges From the Shadows

Last night my friend Barry called to tell me that he is dying. After repeated recent stays in the hospital to treat the lungs that could no longer sustain him after 30 years of chain smoking, he elected to contact Hospice so that he could die at home. The news devastated Violet and I.

I remember the day that we first met, on October 4, 1993, three days after Polly was kidnapped. Barry was the 38 year old up and coming, well connected publisher of Petaluma’s bi-weekly newspaper the Argus Courier.  He came quietly into our lives, inquiring into our well being as everyone else focused on Polly. He ensured that his newspaper treated us fairly and that local resources were made available to us. He secured a free apartment so that we wouldn’t be burdened by expenses, and then moved us into the spare bedroom of his home. Barry made sure that our spiritual and medical needs were met. He provided sage counsel and never asked for anything in return. He was instrumental in the planning of Polly’s memorial service and eventually we traveled together on vacations and business.

The years were tough on Barry, but he never complained. His wife left him on a hospital bed, after an unsuccessful back operation that left him forever hobbled. About 5-years ago he took refuge in solitude, avoiding contact, making excuses to break dinner dates, or simply refusing to answer his phone or return emails. When we finally did have lunch a couple of years ago he was outfitted with an oxygen tank and breathing apparatus. Embarrassment had driven him into a solitary existence. Afterwards, we spoke occasionally, exchanged Christmas Cards, but ultimately drifted apart.

How do you measure the love and gratitude you feel for another human being? By the tears you shed or the guilt you feel when the grim reaper emerges from the shadows? By the memories you guard, the experiences that you share or the regret that surely invades your consciousness? I think that it is all of these things and more. I know that I shake my head in sadness as I am reminded again that life is not fair, that shit happens, and that you have to deal with it.

Barry Blansett

I have experience with death. In one year I lost my daughter, my younger brother and my beloved grandmother. For a number of years I wanted to die, but that is no longer the case. Death haunts my existence and creeps into my thoughts daily. I wonder about my own death; how I will face my end and whether I can leave this world with dignity and grace. I have great admiration for the way that Barry is facing his own destiny. He does not want his life to be extended through artificial means. He wants to be at home, to be surrounded by those he loves and those who love him.

Barry has a great heart and has been a great and loyal friend. He understands that he is too young to be making these kinds of plans, but he also understands that he has no choice in the matter. He is a man of uncommon courage, of exceptional dignity and poised grace. I only hope that Violet and I get home in time to share these thoughts with Barry before his time runs out.