When I was a young man — a healthy head of hair and finances were abundant — two of my media mentors, columnist Paul Rimstead and radio morning man Wes Montgomery, invited me to follow them around local establishments.
Sure, I was learning about the media. I was also learning about the value of friendships, and how they do not have any past-due dates.
Both men were in their late 40s. Over a long afternoon in the Westin Hotel lobby bar, we had a long visit about making friends later in life. Montgomery made a comment, while nursing a white rum and orange, which has always stuck with me.
He was surprised — amazed, really — he and Rimstead had become such close, good friends at their age.
I now know exactly what he meant.
The first time I saw Steve Sachaschik was on a February Friday. Late Afternoon.
His good friend and neighbour, James McNiece, walked ahead of Steve with a television set and numerous cords and cables.
Steve was wheeled in on a stretcher by two paramedics into a room — my new home. Two days earlier I had wheeled in, just like Steve, on a stretcher to the southeast side of two-bed room on the third floor of a care home.
I came to my new digs following a six-week stay in the hospital with double pneumonia. I have cerebral palsy, and with new care needs, I needed to be in a care home, after having care in my own home.
Steve was in a similar situation. After living in his home alone and still driving his vehicle, he had a stroke. His good friend James found him on the kitchen floor and called 911.
Steve’s entire left side was paralyzed from the stroke. Using a wheelchair was difficult. He could only sit up for under an hour a day, and spent the rest of the day in bed.
There we were: two retired guys, parachuted into a new way of living — oh-so-different than being in our homes — with sharing now … everything.
And no blueprints, guide books or ABCs to help us navigate through the settling-in process. (Note to self: On a day when looking for a new project …)
Yet, from the first time we said hello, there was a strong connection.
In fact, Steve knew more about me than, frankly, I did: he worked for the Edmonton Public Library for many years.
As someone who had lived in Edmonton for decades, he was well read of Edmonton newspapers. In fact, he still wanted to keep his Edmonton Journal subscription going while he was living with me because it was the right thing to do.
We began a friendship. The highlight of my day was wheeling to Steve’s side of the room and talking about the many things we had in common.
Oilers. Elks. Trump. Government. Health care. Edmonton. Movies. And so much more.
Steve was a tower of support when my wife passed away in May. Nights — they were incredibly lonely for me.
Before he said good night, Steve told me if I needed to talk to someone, no matter what time it was, to wake him.
I noticed right after my wife passed Steve asked the nursing staff to keep a light on in our room.
When I woke up in the middle of the night engulfed in unimaginable grief, there was light. I didn’t ask Steve if he did that on purpose.
Somehow, I knew he just did.
Remarkable.
At the age of 87, bedridden and tube fed, he still was helping. Before Chriistmas, COVID hit Steve. Hard.
Two weeks ago I was part of an honour guard as we said farewell to Steve.
He’s in heaven now, probably having a great visit with Wes and Paul.
That’s what great friends do.
TAIT: Friend's passing a reminder of how quickly, and deeply, we can connect with others
9
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06.02.2024
When I was a young man — a healthy head of hair and finances were abundant — two of my media mentors, columnist Paul Rimstead and radio morning man Wes Montgomery, invited me to follow them around local establishments.
Sure, I was learning about the media. I was also learning about the value of friendships, and how they do not have any past-due dates.
Both men were in their late 40s. Over a long afternoon in the Westin Hotel lobby bar, we had a long visit about making friends later in life. Montgomery made a comment, while nursing a white rum and orange, which has always stuck with me.
He was surprised — amazed, really — he and Rimstead had become such close, good friends at their age.
I now know exactly what he meant.
The first time I saw Steve Sachaschik was on a February Friday. Late Afternoon.
His good friend and neighbour, James McNiece,........
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