In search of “The Jer”

I needed to bring closure. I needed to bring all of the wondering and not knowing to an end.  But sadly, in my heart I already knew the answer; it was in my head where I feared the unknown.

 If he had already passed, maybe I could breathe life into my friend’s soul through my stories about growing up together and give him a new beginning.  I dreaded what I knew would be the outcome of my inquiries.

 My mind was a whirlwind of emotions as I prepared to find the fate of my childhood companion. My best friend I hadn’t seen in over 50 years.

“The Jer” taught me everything that a young boy needed to begin his life adventure.
He taught me to spit and cuss by the time I was eight. He taught me to smoke and drink by the age of twelve.

"The Jer"

 He taught me to be fearless as we began each summer, building a raft from fallen trees along the Stillwater River. Our destination was always the same. Navigate to the Miami River, find a way to cross the spillway at Helena Street. Connect to the Ohio River and then on to the ocean, any ocean. We never got further than 100 feet from shore before every raft sank.

 He was my Don Quixote, I was his Sancho Panza. 

 “The Jer” taught me to be an adventurer, to take risks when needed and maybe even sometimes just for the heck of it.

But “The Jer” wasn’t just showing off. He was proving to himself he could challenge any gauntlet thrown before him.
 I had pledged to some
 mutual friends that I would learn the fate of my best friend. I would ask the hard questions that needed to be asked. Was he dead? How did he die? Was he alone when he died?

 I was able to find his older brother, Denny, thru social media and asked if I could call him and talk about “The Jer”. He enthusiastically replied and shared hours of stories and information including the news that made me cry later.. He was gone forever.

I learned “The Jer” was a veteran of the Vietnam War and what he witnessed there as a machine-gunner risking his life each day caused him to become a troubled soul. Periods of off and on abuse brought his demise way too soon.

 He wasn’t alone when he died, he was with people who understood his pain, his fellow soldiers at the VA hospital.

 “My Jer” lives within me now. Our stories will be your stories.

  I’m thankful I made the search.