C called me yesterday as I was on my way back from Louisiana. He wanted to let me know that Chuck, a former co-worker of ours, had died. Chuck and I weren't really close, but I considered him a friend, and I'm sorry to hear about his death. Chuck was one of a kind - flamboyant, always the best dressed man in the office, and definitely the one to go to if you wanted to know the latest dirt. But since I'd left for the job I have now, he'd started to have problems with drinking. No one knows yet how he died, if it was an accidental overdose, suicide, or something completely different. But it's so sad to think that he was so desperately unhappy that he felt compelled to turn to drink and drugs. I just can't fathom being in so much pain that that kind of self-medication seems like the best option. His mother had called another former co-worker, asking him to check on Chuck as she hadn't heard from him in a few days. That's how his death was discovered. I don't know yet if there will be any kind of service here, or if everything will be back in Louisiana. I do know that no one I ever meet will be quite like Chuck.
And what really made me want to cry, along with thinking that yes, he really is gone, is wondering about his dog. He loved her more than anything, and it just hurts my heart to think of her alone with her master's body. I wonder who'll take care of her now?
Rest in peace, Chuck. May you find more happiness in the next life than you did in this one.