Bake

When my dad asked if I was sitting down, I knew something had gone wrong. He said it so calmly though. And that's my dad... calm. I've rarely seen him panic. In fact, I've never seen him panic. Lose his temper, definitely - panic, never.

But this time, the news was shocking. Bake has died.

In one instant, the whole trip to the US was worth every dollar and every credit card interest payment I'll make. You just can't buy the incredible experience of the 3 days Douglas and I spent with Bake last month.

I've been meaning to write about it.

Now I am forced to. Forced to say something profound about this man who captured my heart for almost 38 years.

I'll not capture it in this post. It will take several. And I might come up with little things many years from now. But I will tell one story that touched me incredibly.

Holding Hands

Douglas and I had gone out to the Oyster Bar on Daytona Beach Shores. It's a sports bar and this was our second night in a row to sit there and enjoy some time together. The first night we watched the Australian Open (Roddick versus Safin) and the Coyotes game. This night we watched the Indianapolis Colts beat the New England Patriots. Then we walked in the beautiful winter night air of Florida to the Mai Tai - a bar we had been to the night before. We knew that they had a band playing. We watched a set and then left before I could make a fool of myself and ask to sing.

We grabbed a cab and went back to Bake's. We stayed up watching movies until 5:00 in the morning. It was nice to spend time together. Exactly what I had been craving - alone time with my brother.

The next morning, I woke at 9:30. I had heard the phone ringing and finally decided to answer it. Gary was trying to get a message to Bake. We chatted for a few minutes, I took the message, and then I decided to stay up. Sleeping the day away wouldn't give me more time with Bake. Sleep could come later.

Bake was happy to see me and he asked if I wanted to go to Steve's for breakfast. If you know Bake, then you must know that he frequents Steve's frequently. They all know him there. "Hello, Mr Baker." The three of us had already eaten two dinners there, and Bake and I decided to go there for breakfast this morning.

We got into the car. He drove of course. I wasn't scared of him driving at all. I suppose for long distances I might be worried, but he was fine. And as we drove to Steve's, I asked Bake whether he had started going to church regularly. You see, he had mentioned some friends from church the night before. And this is what he said. I'll not get all the words right, but I will capture them as best I can. Let's hope it's an accurate quote. You'll have to imagine his southern drawl. I can hear it.

Ah-hem, I don't attend services every week. I'm good friends with the minister, you see, and if I miss a sermon, he'll put it in the post to me and I can read it. (Long pause.)

You know... Elizabeth... she didn't like any form of public affection. She didn't like to see young people kissing or holding hands in public. She thought people should only do those things in private.

When we would go to church together, during the service, sometimes she would take my hand (Bake took my hand) and put it in her lap (he put my hand onto the center console close to him) and would squeeze it ever so slightly (Bake did this to my hand and the tears started to well up in my eyes). It was the only place she would do that... and I miss it terribly. (Another long pause.)

So, you see... going to church is a pretty difficult thing for me. It makes me think of Elizabeth.

He went on to tell me about a friend of his who had to change churches because of the same sort of feelings. About how amazingly powerful the place was - that it could have such an effect on a person. He was consoled by the fact that it wasn't just him that had that experience.

He pulled into the parking lot at Steve's. And we went inside to have breakfast.

Thanks for waking me up, Gary. This memory is priceless. It has been on my mind for 4 weeks now. And yesterday, when my dad called, it, and a few hundred more moments from last month, and a lifetime of memories, came back to me.

I love you, Bake. Good-bye.