I haven't been able to get in touch with my full-time neighbor / part-time friend, Tom, since Friday just after lunch. His next door neighbor, Linda, and I have been calling him and she's been knocking at his door for 4 days now. We finally called the landlord and he dropped off a master key about 1 hour and 20 minutes ago and Linda and I went in and found him laying across his bed, blue and dead.

I was surprised at how quickly things moved after I called the police. After I gave them the tidbits of information that I knew (and was able to get from his Medicaid case manager) the coroner arrived and said something like "looks like natural causes" and they loaded him on a gurney and put him in a coroner's van. Over and done with in 45 minutes or so.

Tom was 67 years old, had no family, no friends and on the few occasions that we had discussed post-death plans, he had always said "just let the county bury me." Which is what's going to happen, I suppose.

He was so dark blue that the police had to ask if he was a black or white male. He was white. No telling how long he had been there. Longest rime could have been from 12:30 p.m. Friday until we found him at around 4:00 p.m. today (4 days) or 8:30 a.m. Saturday until 4:00 p.m. today (3 ½ days?). He'd been there a bit. He didn't look good. At some point he had defecated.

He was on the top floor. Linda and I came down in the last load, after the gurney. The vultures had congregated by then. Everyone asked if I was okay. I'm not sure if I am or not. Had to stay numb to get things done for the police and stuff but now, I don't know. Not in shock or anything. We'd talked so many times about having to break the door down if one or the other didn't respond after a could of days. We had the same caregiver and she called me Monday morning when she couldn't get him to come to the door or answer his phone. I was on my way to the doctor and, since he had missed a doc appt last Friday, I just guessed that he'd rescheduled for Monday without telling anyone. I was wrong.

He'd spent more than half of his life in prison. He could spin a yarn with the best of them. He had three small tattooed dots on his hand that he said signified that he was some sort of upper eschelon Hell's Angel leader. His repertoire of exciting tales was small so that he often repeated himself but on the first or second telling they were quite thrilling. He had dozens and dozens of stories about Woodstock, many of them about artists who didn't play Woodstock. He had many stories of pro football players who had seen when they played at his college, but he would have gad to have been an 11-year-old sophomore for those stories to be true. When I first met him, I would challenge some of these tales but he deflated so quickly that I just let him continue on – God knows that he wasn't hurting anyone and if it helped him to boost his ego, more power to him.

Tom wasn't in great health but I didn't think of anything that he had that was life threatening. His SSDI allowance was pitifully small but he was good at managing money and he had more cash on hand than any of the rest of us. He was Bipolar, much more manic than depressive and was so very quick to anger yet never made any sort of threatening gesture toward me. Just difficult to understand with the switchbacks.

I'll miss him. We were supposed to sit outside some this weekend, hence my call to him Saturday morning. He was to bring his new glucometer and I was going to show him how to use it.

I guess that there will be an autopsy? As I told the coroner, I only know about these things from old detective shows. They have my phone, address, etc., if they should need them. He had some sort of problems with his eyes, used two different “inhalers” daily, had hypertension and had only been recently been diagnosed with diabetes. He didn’t eat properly and smoked 2-3 packs of cigarettes daily. He never exercised. At 6’2” he weighed right at 385 lbs. Although he had no history of heart disease I can’t think of any other disease with that type of sudden and fatal onset.

It’s taken me over two hours to get this far. There are a lot of different ways of of thinking about death. My preference is not to think of them at all. Seems pointless, doesn't it? My paternal grandfather owned a funeral home. The employees were technicians. Or salespeople. Or a wily combination of both.

Tom and I had discussed the logistics of death many times. Because I had the greatest number of potentially fatal illnesses, we were both of the opinion that I would go first. I had made some small, inexpensive plans but I think that he was very serious about wanting only the county burial.

Now I’m beginning to feel sad. I very seldom saw him but we spoke on the phone 3-4 times per week; usually him egging me on to get out of my apartment, to meet him outside. He had a temper, certainly, but he was kind. I think that acknowledging someone’s kindness is the highest tribute that I can pay someone.

I just realised how much I’ll miss him. He never gave up on me. We were nothing at all alike. We got on one another’s nerves occasionally. But we were friends. At one time we were friends. I had a hope that he would be part of my recovery. He always let me know that I could call at any time.

So much more that will come to me in the next few days. I’m still numb, now. I think that I’ll just forget about the $20 that he owes me.

Does anyone know about county burials? Are there services and flowers?

I have to eat something. I wonder if there will be casseroles at the wake? Or even if there will even be a wake? I’m really sad now. I was the only person who cried earlier.