Celebrating Ed

By Glen Lamont

My friend Ed recently passed away and I will be attending his celebration of life next week and contemplating what I will say about him. It got me thinking a lot about death. Even though I encounter death on a regular basis in my job, I don’t much think about it. Some people overdose, and others take their own lives. I have administered naloxone and performed CPR on countless individuals. Some of them I knew, and others I didn’t. In the moment, it was all about the task at hand and some of them lived and some of them didn’t. I never thought too much about it after the fact. Once in a while my PTSD would act up as a result, but in general I just got on with it.

It completely caught me off guard when I was told that he had cancer and was in the hospital. I mean, Ed always struggled with health issues but he always bounced back. So when people started using words like terminal, I didn’t know how to feel. I kind of tucked it away in the back of my brain and convinced myself that he would bounce back from this as well. He didn’t and that hit me pretty hard.

I first met Ed in the summer of 2009. I had just returned from living in the UK for 10 years and I didn’t really know anyone anymore.. The only people I knew were people I used to drink with and so I started hitting up meetings and that’s where I met Ed. I was at a nooner and I listened to this big jolly guy who was chairing the meeting and I thought, I really need to be more positive about life after alcohol. This guy really ate, slept and breathed the Big Book. When I met him, it was his second time around after achieving 16 years and then picking up a drink. I myself was just coming up on 4 years sober. I was outside having a smoke when he introduced himself and suggested that I attend his home group on Tuesday nights. This was significant as my first meeting back in Scotland was also on a Tuesday night.

The next Tuesday, I stood staring down one of the Downtown Eastside’s busiest back alleys. There were people buying, selling, using and tweeking. Who possibly thought that this was a good place for an A.A. meeting. As I contemplated turning around and going home, I noticed a handful of guys in the midst of all the chaos, standing outside one of the back entrances, chain smoking and drinking coffee out of paper cups. Clearly, this was the place. Ed’s homegroup was held upstairs in a room at the bottle depot. The stench of stale beer hit you like a punch in the face as soon as you walked through the door. One flight up a creaky set of wooden stairs, in a room that could only hold about 10 people, was where the meeting took place.it was listed in the AA directory as a candlelight meeting, not because it was peaceful and serene, but because nobody could bear to look at the place in the light. They also burned incense to prevent people from gagging on the fumes. Our common bond was sobriety and the bottle depot meeting was where our friendship was forged.

Ed was at every cake and chip I took and he was also at my wedding. He came over and idiot proofed my apartment when I came home from the hospital after hip replacement surgery. He was there when my first daughter was born and also my second. If I so much as mentioned that I needed something, he would show up with it the next time I saw him or he would just leave it outside my door without knocking. A lot of the good deeds he did were his way of making amends, but I also believe he was just a kind hearted guy. Ed also embodied the “Live to Ride’’ ideal. He could be seen rain or shine, in his shorts riding his white, police style ST1300 Honda, everywhere he went. I asked him why he preferred Hondas over Harleys and he told me that looking the way he did and then riding a HAWG to boot, he’d be a cop magnet.

The thing I admired most about Ed was his faith. A.A. talks a lot about your higher power and God. I always struggled with my faith and Ed never did. He put himself in the hands of his higher power without giving it a second thought. I, on the other hand, am not that trusting. When I visited him in the hospital, we talked a lot about God and he told me that without his faith, he would have been dead a long time ago. He read his Big Book everyday and prayed every night.

One particular afternoon when I went to visit him in the hospital, two of his brothers were there, one was visiting from Ontario. I honestly cannot remember the last time I laughed that hard. The insults were non stop, nothing was sacred and we were laughing so hard that the nurse had to come down to tell us to keep it down. It was the cancer ward after all. Point taken.

After each visit, when I got home I would make a point of giving my girls a hug and a kiss and telling my wife I loved her. At some point in the evening I would cry. I would cry for my friend and I would cry for me. I would cry for all the people that I never cried for.

It was a Thursday afternoon and I was at work. Ed called me to let me know that he was moving into a hospice the next day. He would have his last radiation treatment and then they were shipping him out. I knew where the place was and I told him that I would see him on the weekend. We talked about doing the Iron Butt challenge together. It was 1000 miles on a bike in less than 24 hours. He said we would “for damn sure” and then he said “I gotta go” and before he hung up, he said “I love you.” I said” I love you too man” and see ya soon.I :got a text on Saturday morning to let me know that Ed passed away at 09:00 hrs. I was getting ready to go somewhere with the girls and so I quietly showed the text to my wife. We hugged and then I finished getting the girls ready.

I know a lot of people who have lost their lives to addiction. Whether they were in active addiction or recovery. Ed had health problems ever since I knew him. Bad ankle, bad hips, he struggled with his weight, he was a heavy smoker (he later quit) but he worked the 12 Steps everyday of his life and he sponsored countless others. I, on the other hand, don’t go to meetings and haven’t picked up the Big Book in ages, needless to say there is a degree of survivor’s guilt that I am currently experiencing.

All I wanted out of recovery was to lead a regular everyday life. I think I have accomplished that. I try my best to be a good father and husband and provider. I have no idea what happens when we die. Rather than speculate, I choose to make the best of everyday and take things as they come. I also choose to believe that a guy like Ed is going to heaven. Because, if anyone deserves it, it’s him.