Louis was the UPS delivery guy on a route that included the medical center where Ann works: an orthodontist office where he was also a patient. And although I only met him a few times, I feel compelled to write about him today for whether he knew it or not, he had an effect my entire family’s life.
You see, Louis died yesterday while making deliveries–I shit you not. He was 35 and word is he suffered a massive heart-attack between deliveries, where he was found lying on the ground unconscious. Sadly, he was already gone by the time help arrived; attempts to revive him would have proven futile.
When Ann was still working full-time, I don’t think I can recall a single day that she didn’t have some sort of humorous anecdote about “Louis the Loser” as she and Anthony jokingly called him while the kid innocently flashed the loser “L” at him. (Ann would occasionally bring Anthony with her when she only worked a few hours and they had no patients.) He was a good guy that had his share of health problems, including survivng a form of cancer, but still continued to plug away for the simple sake living.
And he was quite affable. I often asked Ann if he ever completed his route on time as he seemed to spend a good portion of it chatting with all the girls at her job and the other offices in the center.
But that was Louis.
He once gave Anthony a tour of his UPS truck because, as you may know, little boys and big trucks are a match made in Heaven. And my God, he spoke about that day for months and whenever he saw a UPS truck, he always checked to see if his buddy Louis was driving.
I’m sure he’ll still habitually do it.
So imagine their heartache and the collective tears shed last night when Ann received a call from the co-worker that spoke to Louis last. Anthony was more upset that he wouldn’t be getting anymore toy UPS trucks from him; Ann was in shock at the sudden and unexpected loss of a business associate and friend.
And although he’s not even 5 yet, Anthony is fully aware that when someone passes away, he won’t ever see them again.
“He’s gonna be in the cemetery,” he sadly asked Ann. She nodded and up to this point I was good. But hearing his cries tore me up and then I began to sob over his passing.
Oddly enough, yesterday Anthony was playing in bed with the big die-cast UPS truck that Louis bought for him (see inset). He hadn’t played with it in a while for whatever reason but he chose to yesterday–long before Ann got the tragic news. Call it what you will.
The truck, by the way, was still in his bed when we tucked him in for the night. And once tucked in, Ann and I returned to the living room to talk a little more about the matter.
“Can you imagine what his funeral’s going to be like? Buried in a cardboard box with a tracking label…being carried to his resting place in a big, brown truck…a procession of UPS trucks behind that…lots of guys and gals in brown outfits…”
Then Ann had her say.
“And how would you like to take over that route? ‘Congratulations! You finally got that route you’ve always wanted!'”
Morbid? Perhaps, but that’s how we tend to deal with things such as this, and I would expect nothing less to be said after I fade into nothingness.
But it made her laugh. And I’m sure Louis would have chuckled about it, too.
So vaya con Dios, Louis. There’s a little boy down here that already misses you and will think of you whenever he sees one of those big, noisy, brown delivery trucks. And since you no longer have a schedule to keep, take it easy. Time is finally on your side, man.
Just don’t flirt with the girls. The ramifications may be more than you bargained for.
UPDATE: Last night, Ann shared something with me about Louis: even if he didn’t have a delivery for her office, he would still walk by and yell, “ANNIE!” and she would reply, “LOUIE!” That was it.
When she went to sleep on the night she heard of his passing, Ann had a dream of Louis running by and yelling, “BYE, ANNIE!” and her replying, “BYE, LOUIE!”
I don’t think there’s anything else to say.
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