My good friend was dying. Agent Orange had finally taken everything from him: his savings, his home, and even his marriage. But he did not seem upset by everything that thrust itself into his path over the previous several years. He'd been like that since I had known him. We'd met while attending the same funeral for a mutual friend who couldn't take the nightmares anymore. Ever since that meeting I'd been surrounded by tragedies large and little. Family members had passed away due to once cause of another. Close friends had relocated and had offered their promise to stay in touch, but my memory of them disappeared like vapor after they'd gone. As for myself, I was diagnosed with a chronic disease and a brain disorder. I felt as if I was in a tiny little boat without a sail or oars, floating in an infinite ocean. So there I sat, like a stump, visiting my friend on what would be his last day.

My eyes were closed as I grieved my losses when he threw his milk carton at me. "Cut the shit!" He said sharply. "Cut that shit out or get the fuck out of here. Go cry at home."

I was stunned by his outburst. How dare he?

"Shit happens. RIGHT? Life sucks. Right? Yeah it does. It sucks the big wet one. Hand me my wallet." Then he handed back to me a $5 bill. "Go get some beer, and don't come back without it,"

Confused and perplexed, I walked to my car and drove a mile to the state store, where I bought a six-pack of Beck's and a bag of chips. Back in his room he had fallen asleep, and his breathing was labored, loud enough to be heard in the corridor. He woke up when I set the beer on his meal tray.

"Where'd you go, Podunk? Is it at least cold?" I nodded affirmation and popped the caps off of two bottles and handed one to him.

"Been dying for a beer for forever" he said as he sipped. "The only thing that would make this perfect would be sitting on the porch, watching the buzzards out over the valley. I don't think that'll happen today, though." He glanced over at me and must have seen that I had disconnected myself from the moment. He surprised me by pouring beer on my pants. "Go home", he said. "Go home and get your shit together before you come hack. I hate moping."

I put my half finished beer on his tray and had risen to go when he stopped me.

"Here's the thing, see. Your time is coming. You're standing in line, just like everyone else. You'll go too, when it's your turn, so don't sweat it. Everybody dies, one way or another. You're in line and you will be until it's your turn. Worry is a waste. Don't sweat the small stuff, and every bit of everything is small stuff. Now, my brother is due pretty soon and you know he doesn't like you. Come back after you've got yourself cooled out. Go smoke a joint or something".

Instead of lightening up I was angry when I left. I cursed when I got into the car and I swore all the way home. In the kitchen I grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and my baggie and rolling papers from the underside of the kitchen table, then went down to sit on the river bank to get stoned and drunk.

Twilight had already come when I woke up, so I quickly got into the car and drove back to the hospital. As I approached his room they were wheeling him out, covered with a sheet. I stopped the orderly to ask when he had died.

"About 10 minutes ago." The man was smiling as he told me about his last moments of consciousness. "He had a lot of morphine in him, so he wasn't in any pain. He was a funny guy, telling his jokes and stories up until he lost consciousness. He seemed to be chuckling when he finally passed. THAT is they way I want to go, easy, and not scared. You're lucky you had him as a friend".

I AM lucky. He was a good guy. He didn't have much, but he was generous. Generous with the kinds of things that never seemed important until later.