When The Sir's cap went missing, time started passing more urgently as his felt tip was exposed to the elements. The Sir began experiencing everything he could in the world, realizing that our time here is limited. The Sir gained a renewed enthusiasm for fine dining, at such establishments as R.F. O'Sirlivans. He became a professional wrestler, under the alias of Hulk Sirgan. He visited the Grand Canyon; He went on Oprah; He became a daredevil. He even had a bunch of "Live Sir" wristbands made and sold throughout the country to spread the word about Sir living. The Sir decided that there was no time to be wasted, and that life is meant for experiencing, not waiting.
The Sir had never felt more mortal, that is, until He was diagnosed with cancer. Shortly after moving to California to live with me, The Sir's biopsy revealed a malignant tumor in His felt tip. He took the diagnosis about as well as anyone could, but His health began to decline precipitously. He refused pain medication. He refused to have a hospital bed or a traveling nurse to take care of Him. He hung on as long as he could stand it.
You know, in the short time that The Sir and I knew each other, I was certain that he would live forever. Yesterday, December 4, 2009, The Sir and I took our usual walk down the boardwalk - The Sir in a wheelchair, and me walking behind Him. I wheeled Him out to the end of Crystal Pier so he could watch the sun set over the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean. A middle-aged man called me from about 20 yards behind. I walked back to see what he wanted; he just wanted to tell me that a piece of rope was dragging from underneath the wheelchair. I thanked him, and when I turned back towards The Sir, it was too late. With the last of his strength, The Sir used the rope to tie a cinder block to himself and plunge into the ocean. I fell to my knees and wept, but there was nothing I could do. This was how The Sir wanted it.
The Sir saw the light at the end of the tunnel, and knew that it just wasn't worth suffering.
We all have so much to learn from The Sir. About living, about loving, about family, about integrity, about heart, about raging like a champion. When life gives you lemons, think of that little yellow highlighter, fighting on with no cap, living the shit out of his life, parasailing in Australia, mountain climbing in Asia and South America, kayaking in Canada, blowing hombres with Marc Brownstein before giving him bass lessons.
The Sir and I were great friends. No, we were more than friends, we were brothers. I like to think that a little bit of day-glo yellow runs through my veins after all of the time The Sir and I spent together (and the needles we shared).
Truly a Sir among Sirs. Sir, we will miss you.
A memorial service will be held in the comments of this post, pretty much whenever you want.
Sir.
The photos below are meant to be viewed in slo-mo, slideshow format, to the tune of "Don't Cry for me, Sirgentina". Or "Sir in the Wind". Your choice.
