I went to camp on a Saturday morning to do some chores and hunt some pheasants, and when I arrived one of my partners told me Kent had died the preceding morning.
The news was like a punch to the gut. Kent had not been around much this hunting season, and I sensed something was wrong with him. That week, I had made a note a couple of times to myself that when I freed up I needed to call him and ensure he'd be at camp this weekend. I also wanted to let him know I was there for him.
I didn't call. I wasn't there for him.
We don't know how he died, nor does it matter to me. All that matters is that we've lost our 4th partner of the camp. Somebody I've hunted with for over 40 years. Somebody with a grin that lit up a room. Somebody that could fix damn near anything.
What happens now with the camp is anyone's guess. We're still not resolved from Bach's death over a year ago, and now this. It's going to be a huge mess.
But, ultimately, that doesn't register, because buddy and partner, Kent, at the duck camp died.
I can't convey enough how much I will miss him.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please feel free to include any thoughts you may have. Know, however, that kiddos might be reading this, so please keep the adult language to yourself. I know, for me to ask that language is clean is a stretch...