Joseph David Pelter

An Undelivered Eulogy

Today I received the inevitable call. My friend Joe has arrived at his final days.
Nearly forty years of friendship was coming to an end. Grieving over the death of friends was something for our parents in their 80's or 90's. People my and Joe's age were still too young, too vital, and too invincible to be dying.
In the early 70's it was my privilege to hire Joe for a program at the Community College of Denver, little did I realize that new employee would become a lifelong friend. We began our careers together and remained friends through our varied job and life experiences. Joe was always in Denver, me a bit more nomadic. Joe lived in four houses in all those years. I lived in so many places he often joked he had an address book just for me. One Christmas I sent him a new address book after he said the old one was full and I could move no more. We always knew where the other was and how to get in touch, and we did.
Joe was a great wit, clever, funny and loyal. If there was one thing he did to excess it was work. The really bizarre thing about Joe was he worked long hours, for Verizon in these last years, he loved the work and he loved his employers. That is strange in today's world. Like I said, Joe was loyal.
We shared it all, divorces, re-marriages, good times and bad times. The few bad times were always followed by good, and the good times were blessedly longer lasting. The one thing we did not share was the joy of fatherhood. Joe had no children. With his last wife, Debbie he gained two stepsons of which he was proud. He was proud for their achievements and the men they became.
The final two years of his life Joe was dying and knew it. It took a long time for him to share that fact, and he was scolded for not keeping friends better informed. Joe just did not want you to worry; Joe did not want to be a bother. He underestimated his friends and how much they wanted now more than ever to be his friend, to see him, to talk, reminisce, and just be together. Joe wanted to take this journey by himself. To some degree we did allow him his privacy, and yet, at the same time, intruded as often as he would allow.
During this journey Joe was always making plans for his next trip, his next adventure. During one conversation he discussed a trip he planned to the Canadian Rockies, followed by a rail trip to British Columbia and culminating in a ferry trip up the Canadian coastline toward Alaska. Boy, I was envious, that was a trip that had been long imagined. A few days later I called, he did not answer and, as usual, his answering machine took the call. A message was left, "Joe, when you take that trip I'm going with you".
In future conversations Joe never mentioned that offer nor did I. That trip like most he planned was not taken. The trip he was taking in those final weeks and days was more simple, merely hoping that tomorrow would be better than today. He kept hoping that the pain would somehow be less. In this journey he seemed optimistic and certain of a good outcome. The conversations became harder. Joe never seemed to flag in his hope for a better tomorrow until our final call. Then it was clear that Joe
knew his journey was over. He did not say good-bye. He did not even hint at any finality, but the intent was saddening obvious.
We visited two more times, once at a hospital, and a few days later at a hospice. The words I wished to speak had been written down, but, when the time came my emotions prevented speech, and it was necessary to hurry from his room. What I wished I had said was to remind him how special he was. He had many friends and we all knew we were his best friend because he was ours. He was important to me, to us, and it will be impossible to replace a friend with that much seniority.
The event we have known was coming is now at hand. It took so long to arrive, but was painfully fast at its conclusion. Saying good-bye is always hard, even when you have years to prepare. Good-bye Joe I love you and I will miss you.