Russell Remembrance

10 years.

It’s been 10 years since I got that phone call.

It was a Saturday and I was scouting some roads in CT, killing time until a friend of mine finished work and I was going to pick her up for a ride.

I felt my phone ring and pulled off to check the voice message.  I’d assumed the call would be from my friend, but it was from Karmen - and she had the worst news to tell.

 

I called her right back and we spoke for a short time, neither one of us really knowing what to say.  No sooner had I hung up than my friend texted that she was all set.  I replied that I had to cancel, explained why, and headed home.

I kept Karmen’s voice message for years.  I didn’t want to delete it as it was just one more thing that connected to you, even though it was something terrible.  When I finally ditched that phone for an upgrade, my carrier wasn't able to save my messages so it went away, too.

But enough of that.  I said that each year I’ll post a Russell Remembrance.  Something that sticks out in my mind from all the fantastic memories.  This year I think I’ll share a time that showed Russell’s softer side.

I believe it was 1993; it was the year that I fell into the fire.  Russ had taken one look at my hand (despite my protestations that I was fine) and said “You’re going to the hospital.”  There was no arguing, the decision had been made.

We met the EMT’s at the fire hall, finally got to the hospital and the conversation went like this;

            Doc; Have you take anything for the pain?
            Me; Yes.
            Doc; What did you take?
            Me; I don’t know.  (Steph had handed me a white pill and said “Take this!”, so I took it…but I didn’t think to ask what it was.  I found out later it was a simple (useless) 200mg Ibuprofen.)
            Doc; We can’t give you anything without knowing what you’ve already taken.
            Me; Got it.
            Doc; We have to clean the burned skin off of your arm.
            Me; Ya gotta do what ya gotta do.
            Doc; This is going to hurt (as he approached with what looked like a Brillo pad and started 
 scraping away).

Pain.

I can assure you that I’ve had some painful things happen to me in my 50 years, but I assure you that this was the *worst* pain I have ever felt in my life.  Not just what the doc was doing, but the entire burn; the arm, the palm of the hand, the fingers; every screaming inch of it.  And as I’m standing there trying to be a tough guy and not make a sound, my body took over and started shuddering.  Not violently, but I wasn’t able to control it and it was enough to be visible.

And then - Russ reached out, took my good hand in his, and held it.

 

He didn’t say anything, just held it; firmly and comfortingly, letting me know that he was right there with me.

I didn’t need to look at him, and I imagine he wasn’t looking at me.  Hell, he hardly knew me.  It was only my second time up here and here I’d managed to hurt myself so badly that he was dragged out of bed (he’d had company with him, shall we say) and off to the hospital.  Yet here he was, standing beside me and holding my hand in his.  He didn’t care how it looked, or that he was a tough biker, or anything like that.  He was strong enough to show that he cared about me.  I’m sure the act wasn’t lost on the doctors or nurses, either.

I’ll never forget that.

I say it many times, Russ.

Usually in my head, sometimes out loud;

We miss the hell out of you.

Victrola Brother.