GOODBYE ANTONIO
I just found out earlier that Antonio is dead. Antonio is one of the "pseudo-cousins" of my wife's family. According to initial reports, he got a heart attack and a stroke. That's what biologically killed him. But after talking to him the last time, I think I knew what really killed him. Him not being able to do what he loved.
He lost the use of his left arm in a motorcycle accident not too many months ago. He has been undergoing treatment for it thence, and has resorted to acupuncture to bring the arm back to life. Before that, he was, according to what little he was able to talk to me about, a piano man, a tinkerer, a percussionist, an anarchist, an audiophile. And having to live with the pain of an arm gone wrong was what might have done him in. I know that if I was in his shoes, that would kill me.
We shared breakfast the last time I spoke to him, I made him coffee and a sandwich while we talked about the merits of magnetic versus optical music storage. He also told me how his arm got to be what it was. He spoke to me about music, and his eyes lit up from the usual dull depressed look of the deformed that they usually had when I told him about my passions in music. He was even kind enough to tune the kids' guitar, with one hand, by ear.
I remember asking him, guitar in hand that day: "Hey piano man! Can you tune a guitar?" "Of course!" And he proceeded to do what I thought would have had to be a two man operation. He can't make a sandwich for himself, but he tuned that guitar in minutes, all the while giving me pointers about it.
That day, he inspired me in a way that I was not able to really tell him. He became what he wanted to be. He did what he wanted. He lived life. Broken, battered, and bruised; but unbowed. Thank you Antonio. Wherever you may be doing lounge right now, break a leg.
He lost the use of his left arm in a motorcycle accident not too many months ago. He has been undergoing treatment for it thence, and has resorted to acupuncture to bring the arm back to life. Before that, he was, according to what little he was able to talk to me about, a piano man, a tinkerer, a percussionist, an anarchist, an audiophile. And having to live with the pain of an arm gone wrong was what might have done him in. I know that if I was in his shoes, that would kill me.
We shared breakfast the last time I spoke to him, I made him coffee and a sandwich while we talked about the merits of magnetic versus optical music storage. He also told me how his arm got to be what it was. He spoke to me about music, and his eyes lit up from the usual dull depressed look of the deformed that they usually had when I told him about my passions in music. He was even kind enough to tune the kids' guitar, with one hand, by ear.
I remember asking him, guitar in hand that day: "Hey piano man! Can you tune a guitar?" "Of course!" And he proceeded to do what I thought would have had to be a two man operation. He can't make a sandwich for himself, but he tuned that guitar in minutes, all the while giving me pointers about it.
That day, he inspired me in a way that I was not able to really tell him. He became what he wanted to be. He did what he wanted. He lived life. Broken, battered, and bruised; but unbowed. Thank you Antonio. Wherever you may be doing lounge right now, break a leg.
posted by WalasTech at 10/21/2008 06:48:00 PM
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