Fare thee well, my friend...

Since I began my work at IFC, there has been one constant in my life.

Sandy.

He was there, waiting for me every morning. In fact, I got him keys to the centre when it became clear to me that he would wait patiently outside, sometimes for over an hour, even on cold winter days.

It wasn't that I was late to work. It was that he would come so very early.

I have learned this about ex-cons. They often don't sleep very well. And they never sleep in.

But I don't want you to think of Sandy as an ex-con. He was so much more than that.

He made me coffee every morning. It was so strong it took me a while before I could drink a cup down to the bottom. And I'm a good Dutch girl, used to the black stuff.

He called me "Darlin'," and meant it.

He made sure I ate breakfast. He bossed me about working less. He told me who I had to keep an eye on in the neighbourhood and who was okay. He noticed when things were amiss, out of order, suspicious. Every day he went to the back yard to pick up the paper. He remembered garbage day. In good weather, he sat on the bench outside the centre for hours. People would stop by to talk for 5 minutes or for an hour--it was all the same to him. He thought I was silly for wanting to pick up litter in the neighbourhood, but then proudly told everyone about the 'crazy white woman' he worked with. Once in a while he would burst into song--usually a little east coast shanty, maybe a bit of Johnny Cash. He had the sweetest voice.

I depended on him.  More than anyone else, he helped me do my job.

And yesterday, he didn't show up. Something was amiss.

By the time we got into his suite, it was apparent he had passed away sometime the night before. It looked like he was napping on his couch. Peacefully.

Sandy was an orphan. No living relatives that he knew of. He had one son whom he loved to distraction, and one grandson who he loved even more. He was gentle with women and babies. He was always 'safe' in a world where men are often not so safe for women. He had little patience for people who were rude, unkind, hypocritical, or fake in any way.

He loved bacon and eggs, dark chocolate, french fries, jam buster donuts, fish. I always wanted to buy him one of those Costco-sized cans of salmon, because he loved it so much.  Last Christmas, he gave me a kielbassa. It meant so much to me. A $10 sausage is a lot of  money when you are on an old age pension.

He always told me he wasn't much for religion, but he offered me the kind of love that the bible talks about. He showed me the love of Jesus. He made me feel special, cherished, cared for. He reflected the love of a Father-god.

I'm pretty sure there is a bench for him in heaven, where he can sit outside and smoke (because of course it is not bad for you, addictive or smelly in heaven). He will observe the goings-on. He'll know who is supposed to go where, and at what time. He'll dispense his wisdom in folksy sayings. He'll bounce the babies. He'll make people laugh.

And after a difficult, challenging and sometimes lonely life here on earth, he will have peace.