You Can Call Me Al

My lifelong friend died today. We were high school classmates and the ties held for 60+ years. He had Parkinson's, a cruel disease. His death leaves a huge hole in my heart joining the several others from recent months. Al lived most of his adult life in Hawaii so our friendship was for the most part long distance, an iFriendship. He grew up in a small Minnesota farmhouse with 5 siblings, each one brilliant - not a dud in the bunch. He majored in Humanities but the job market for a philosopher was weak so he went into computers. In his fifties, he went to law school in Illinois and took on a lot of pro-bono cases. Closer proximity in those years more easily allowed us to connect face-to-face. When his wife died and his Parkinson's had been diagnosed, he moved back to Hawaii. 

He had a remarkable mind and our regular conversations were wide ranging - family matters; bragging about kids and grandkids; book recommendations and deeper discussions on the latest book to grab us; the disease and its effects; the ridiculousnesses of growing old; remembrances of things past; the state of the world - and occasionally how we wanted to face death. This was (naively) abstract for me but of course Al had no illusions. His brother had died from Parkinson's and he could measure his steady decline. He was realistically seeking a dignified way to die. 

One remarkable conversation near the end centered on the poem Deseo by Claribel Alegria that spoke to us. 

I want to enter death
with my eyes open
my ears open
with no masks
no fears
knowing
and not knowing
serenely facing
other voices

other airs

other paths
forgetting my memories
detaching myself

being reborn intact.

I miss my dear friend.

Copyright © 2026  Dave Hoplin