My sweet, beautiful friend, Paul, passed away this morning.

by Debbie Shipman

My sweet, beautiful friend, Paul, passed away this morning. I first met Paul when he and his other mother and caregiver, Patty, came into my gift shop almost two years ago. We became fast friends and they would stop by frequently to visit. Paul loved to sit in the rocker next to the wood stove, and he liked to shop when he was in the mood. When it was time to redecorate his bedroom, he chose a "man-cave" theme and made no bones about it when he wasn't interested in an item Patty offered for his consideration. Paul was mostly non-verbal, but when he parked himself up against the ice cream freezer there was no doubt about the message he was trying to communicate.

The first word I ever heard Paul say, and he said it loudly, was "BITCH!" I don't really think he was calling our friend, Michele, a bitch, but sometimes I tell the story of their introduction as if it were true. Because, sometimes, I'm a bitch. All I'm saying is that he walked out of my shop to go meet Michele and 30 seconds later I hear a "non-verbal" man yelling a curse word. Paul ended up loving Michele, too. I think he liked it that she called him her "boyfriend." I know this because Paul communicated happiness by raising his pinkie finger; the happier he was the higher that finger went. Michele got the pinkie a lot.

Paul got sick last winter and they ended up hiring me to stay overnight with him for a couple of weeks to make sure he didn't remove his oxygen during the night. I think Paul just took the oxygen off when he was trying to sleep because it was uncomfortable, but when he was up, that oxygen came off to dramatic effect. Just because Paul wasn't much of a talker didn't mean he didn't want you talking to him; let your mind get occupied with something else and then out of the corner of your eye you'd catch him pull that apparatus over his head and drop it, arm outstretched, away from his body looking right at you to make sure you saw it. We were already friends, but Paul and I really bonded then.

Patty did a great job of documenting Paul's life through photographs. Paul and I would look through his photo albums some nights. He liked talking about pictures of his mom before she passed away leaving him to the loving care of Patty. Paul also enjoyed seeing pictures of Patty and his vacation adventures over the six years since she became Paul's other mother. She was a great mom.
In one picture, Paul is wearing a cowboy hat and looks especially happy. Patty told me the story just yesterday about her dad, who lets nobody mess with his hat, letting Paul wear his cowboy hat that day when he first met his new "grandson." Maybe it took Paul back to the days when he rode horses with his mom, but it's for sure he liked being a cowboy.

A couple of months ago, I took some training so that I could take Paul out in the community for his day program. We would mostly go to the library or the park. Paul loved to swing, and so do I. He also loved going around mountain curves in the car. I came to that realization when I looked over once and saw he was giving the ride two pinkies up. It took a couple of trips to test my theory about the source of his happiness, but it was definitely the curves. Sometimes, when it was time to get in the car, I would say to Paul, "come on Cowboy, load up!" Now I know why he raised his pinkies when I said that.

I think what I loved most about Paul was that Paul loved me. I'm not sure why, but he did. I'll laugh every time I think about when I stopped by for a visit last week. He had been in the hospital and was, we thought, still too weak to take out and about. I asked if he wanted to sit outside on the porch swing with me, so we got his shoes and jacket on and stepped outside. While I was busy rearranging cushions on the swing, Paul slipped past me and headed for my car. I'd NEVER seen him move so fast. What else could I do? I took him for a ride. It's the last time I saw him with his pinkie up.
Paul's death is bittersweet. Everyone who loved him will have an empty place in their lives, but Paul, I believe, is where, if he has a body and a brain, they both work perfectly. His new body will take him without pain wherever he wants to go and his brain will think clearly and allow him say what he wants to say. Rest in peace, Paul. I already miss you, my friend.

Love always,
Debbie