Fernando

I was cooking lunch today, and the song “Sweet Child o’ Mine” came on. That song has one of the most epic openings of all time; you can’t help but play your air guitar. But it made me think of my friend Fernando.

We weren’t best friends or anything. We spent countless hours at work together, even though we worked for separate companies. Spending a lot of time with “the guys” somehow creates a brotherly feeling.

Fernando loved rock and roll. I remember him always going to concerts and wearing various rock and roll band t-shirts. He had a loud, rich projecting laugh. He loved hummus and celery and would tell me excitedly what flavors of hummus were his favorites. His dream vehicle was a Chevy Silverado. He was so happy the day he drove up after he was able to buy one.

I remember one job. It was my job to completely redo the electrical system of one of the famous “Painted Ladies” houses in San Francisco. The job was near the end. I had taken off my work shoes in the garage, to go inside so I wouldn’t scratch the new floors, to go up to the 4th floor to do some testing.

Fernando thought it would be funny and a good joke to take a roll of blue painters tape and go around and around my shoes with tape, until they were a blob of blue tape.

One of his co-workers called up the stairs in an urgent voice for me to come down.

Unfortunately for Fernando, his boss and the architect made a surprise visit, and they wanted to go over some things with me in the garage.

I got to the bottom of the stairs to see Fernando’s face, stressing out, panicking, and trying to take all the tape off my shoes, worried he was going to get into trouble with his boss. I had a good laugh at his prank backfiring. He wasn’t going to get it off in time, so I just kept walking into the garage in my socks. Fortunately, most people just don’t look at other people’s feet, and his boss and the architect didn’t notice. He had such a face of relief afterward, and we all had a good laugh.

A few months after my cancer diagnosis, about five years ago now, I got a text from a gossipy co-worker. I had gone through radiation and was doing induction chemotherapy (VRD). I was not working and was trying to get my head straight again.

“Did you hear about Fernando?” He asked.

“No, what’s up with Fernando?” I replied.

I was standing out in the backyard, in my garden, and there was no reply. “Well, thanks,” I thought to myself. You can’t just say something like that and ghost a person.

I’m also friends with Fernando’s boss. I called him up.

“What’s going on with Fernando?”

“I was trying to keep this from you” he replied.

“WHAT!?!?!” I said impatiently, getting nervous.

Fernando’s boss is 6 feet tall, gruff, hairy as all get out, an ex-football player, has a good beard as well a gigantic belly, and looks like he should be driving around on a Harley.

He burst out crying.

“Fernando killed himself a few days ago.”

“Oh God,” with tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

I was in shock. I know we kept talking on the phone, but the conversation has been wiped out of my head. I just remember the crying. My work brother was gone…..

We go through our lives creating a network of strings, of connections with people we come across. People who become part of our beings. When people disappear from our strings, there are holes.

You don’t understand what role you hold for other people, but it’s more than you think. It’s something that I think of occasionally, between my pre and cancer life. Sometimes I already feel like just a memory to my pre-cancer relationships. What things will I be remembered for?

For the record, I love hummus and celery as well.

Sweet Friend o’ Mine, Fernando.