Finding the Dead

He was an older guy. Jim was his name. He had long curly white hair. The iron in his water caused it to be a slightly yellow color. He would proudly tell you it was his antenna to the gods and them point out that Jesus, Einstein and Yogi Yogananda all had long hair. The yogi was his favorite of the three. He was a blast to talk to, but he was, without a doubt, crazy.

He delivered pizza in a large white cargo van, which often had wood in the back from his day job. When La Cantina closed, I would sometimes see that van around, but I never stopped.

Now, from other side of the state, I suddenly had the urge to locate him. I didn't plan to call him up, or do a visit, but I really wanted to know what happened to this character. His name was too common for many of my best techniques. He wasn't going to be found on Facebook. Eventually, I plugged in his full name into goggle with Mattawan, where his home was. Nothing useful came up. I changed Mattawan to Michigan, thinking maybe he moved. I clicked on images and started to see if I could pick out his face. First picture, third row down. The picture was faded and he looked more aged. The URL was obits.mlive.com. The description said "View Full Obituary & Guest Book"

I read and paused.

Being a finder, this was not my first experience with this. Less than a year ago I found a woman, April, who I worked with at Arby's the same way. Since we parted way, she had gotten married, built quite a circle of friends at church and then passed away. It felt wrong. I wasn't grieving exactly, but my view of the world had to shift with this new information.

I clicked Jim's picture and was taken to the obituary archived onthe Kalamazoo Gazette website. June 10, 2010. His last day had been more then a year ago. I would never have him wander into a restaurant I'm eating in, so I could introduce him to my kids. I would never again hear the wisdom of keeping long hair and meditating in the woods. As crazy as he was, as easily as we parted ways, he had poured some of himself into me and I had poured some of myself into him.

How could he die without me knowing. It doesn't feel like someone you have spent hours with, given some if your energy to, shared a pizza with, should be able pass without you knowing. It's haunting, rather the dark mirror of haunting. This isn't someone I don't know tapping the walls of my house, it's someone I do know leaving me only silence.

He was born in Balimore, Maryland. He had a son and daughter, who are still alive. He had four grandchildren and a brother. He was home when he died. No explanation of why, no mention of health issues, nothing to satisfy that feeling.

I jot down the notes in my finding folder. I give the picture one last look. I wonder when it was taken. I close the web browser.