Goodbye

I’ve been fortunate in many ways in my life, but one of the biggest ways is that death has not touched me too many times or too deeply. The death that has been the hardest on me was losing my dog, Hogan, in October 2007. But if I was asked what human being’s death grieved me the most, I wouldn’t have a long list of candidates to choose from.

I don’t have a large family. My paternal grandparents are both gone now. Like Hogan, they passed in 2007, my grandfather first from heart failure and my grandmother from Alzheimer’s complications. My maternal grandparents may go soon, but their deaths certainly wouldn’t shock me. None of my classmates have died. One of my colleagues at California Pizza Kitchen suddenly died at 19 years old in 2005, but as sad as it was, we were never close. No church colleagues have died and no close friends either.

So a letter came to my house in the mail yesterday. I got the news about someone dying; it was someone I used to spend a lot of time with. Someone I thought I knew well. He had passed away on December 20, 2013, so almost a month after the event. Even though he lived in Illinois most all his life, he died in Hot Springs, AR. It was David Unger, my ex-stepfather. He had suffered from Alzheimer’s, like my grandmother had, for about five years, maybe more.

He came into my life in 1993, around the time my parents were divorcing. He seemed like a decent, mild-mannered guy. He rode his bike a lot, enjoyed good food and travel, and had an engineering background. I didn’t want a step-parent, which is the case with most teenagers, especially when their other biological parent is still alive. I didn’t even attend the wedding; I couldn’t tell you when it was and I only know it was on a small boat somewhere in the Caribbean. But once the three of us moved to Illinois in 1997, we all seemed to get along decently. We had three timeshares and because of that, I was able to enjoy trips in places like Orlando, Cabo San Lucas, and Cancun. We even took a weekend trip to Cleveland, where we saw an Indians-Reds game and watched “Whose Line” in the hotel. I remember the episode vividly, Richard Simmons was the guest. It was one of the funniest things I have ever seen.

But it was around the time we moved that Mom started to discover this guy wasn’t what he claimed. He was a pathological liar. He even lied to her about the number of times he had been married. Call me crazy, but I think that’s kind of an important thing to be truthful about. He lied about serving in the Vietnam War, so we worked to get his VA benefits when he never was eligible for them. When he was diagnosed, Mom would take time off of work, drive to his small apartment in Mt. Morris and drive him a half hour to a hospital in Rockford to get checked out. They divorced in either 2006 or 2007; I know the marriage lasted ten years. Despite the marriage never being good and despite two periods of separation, she wanted to be kind. She would take him on an occasional trip, she would drive him to see his parents’ graves, and she would buy food at Costco and drive it an hour to his apartment. She went so far above and beyond for him, it was amazing to me.

And how was she repaid? Once we got his social security established, his first wife comes back, marries him, and sues us. I have never seen my mother go through so much stress, heartache, and pain. Long story short, we lost a lot of money through a series of very painful court proceedings. Since the decision came down three years ago, I never saw him again. Nor did I care to.

I actually don’t remember the last time I saw him. I don’t know the cause of death, whether it was Alzheimer’s or not. I don’t really care. But it isn’t lost on me now that at church last Sunday, Pastor Bill’s sermon was all about truth-telling. David could have used that message years ago. Even though he’d go to church, he apparently never understood how much God hates lies. Christ claimed he is the way, the truth, and the life. It wasn’t a multiple choice question.

If I could say something to him now, I think I would just ask him was it really worth it to screw my mother and I? Then again, could I really believe his answer? I don’t think I’d trust him even if his tongue was notarized.

Goodbye and to be honest, good riddance.