By Josephine C.

"…As long as you are in our hearts, we'll never say goodbye."

The light on the answering machine was blinking. People were calling at six in the morning. Something was up.

Ginger preferred to sit and listen to us talk. He'd smile once in a while and give his opinion whenever we asked for it. Otherwise, he'd sit there and sip his coffee. Occasionally, he's let out this really gusty laugh at something one of us said and went back to being quiet. He was a man of very few words, he claimed. And besides, he didn't have anything interesting to say, he insisted.

But Ginger had a lot to say. Almost five years later, our chattiness rubbed off on

him. Slowly, he came out of his shell and showed us a side of him we never knew existed. His intelligence and wit were far beyond any of us expected. He had the answer to almost all our questions except the meaning of life. Like us, Ginger wondered and thought a lot about the meaning of his existence, of the afterlife, of injustice. Over coffee and cigarettes, he gamely participated in our endless debates about the existence of a higher being. He was God's staunch defender.

But what we all loved about Ginger was his deep appreciation for the simple thrills in life: food, family, friends, coffee and a good, genuine laugh. His deep, rumbling laugh was infectious, his loyalty unquestionable, his friendship steadfast.

Ginger had a thing for nature and long discussions about life. There was an afternoon we spent on the beach, watching the sun set and talking about our million dollar question: if you could ask God any question, what would you ask him? Right then and there we all jokingly promised to ask God about the meaning of life and share with the rest the answer to our query. We made a pact under a picture perfect sunset to do just that.

The early morning sun was starting, to shine over the horizon but our eyes were fixed on the plane as the cargo was opened and an assortment of boxes and suitcases were unloaded.

The coffin was massive. Trust Ginger, our beloved Winnie the Pooh, to be a standout, we all joked through our tears.

We all watched as they lowered Ginger to his final resting place. We were one in our grief and the presence of each one made us stronger. But the feeling of emptiness was undeniably there.

The crowd dispersed but we remained long enough to watch one of our friends tossed a cigarette after Ginger murmuring, "ONE FOR THE ROAD, GINGE."

Never in our profound talks about life and death did we expect to come together in the first major event in our friendship: the unexpected loss of one great person we all came to love simply as Ginger.

August 23, 1998

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