It’s been a year since Anthony passed away. I feel like I say this every year on some milestone date but this really has been the quickest year I can remember. It’s weird how your perception of time changes the older you get. It’s also weird how certain images and memories stick with you from particular days. 1 year ago, I remember standing in the front yard of Anthony’s house. It was the 2nd time that week I had stood in that yard, but it was for 2 very different occasions. The first time was for a good friend’s beautiful and bittersweet wedding ceremony; the second time was for his funeral. I remember looking down by my feet and seeing one of the Carolina blue ribbons that had been tied around the programs for his wedding just days before. And I remember the exact words that went through my mind at that moment: Life is so unfair.
The last time I really talked to Anthony was less than a week before he died. I stopped by to visit him, worried that I would be in the way, or encroaching on his time with his family. I wasn’t entirely sure how to be around Anthony with such a horrible and tragic elephant in the room. What do you say to your friend who knows he only has a few weeks left?
It didn’t really matter because as soon as I walked into his room, Anthony broke the ice with a joke. His sense of humor never failed.
“I’m only going to be a single man for a few more days. Are you here to make a pass at me?”
We sat in his living room that is full of family portraits and photographs and talked for about half an hour before the hospice nurse showed up to help Anthony shower. My last conversation with Anthony was basically the same conversation I had been having with him for 10 years. He told me that Dickie was on his way over. I smiled and said, “Good. It will be nice to see Andrew.” And then Anthony made fun of me for always being too proper and never using Andrew’s nickname. Anthony had made fun of me for being too proper, too restrained, and too much of a goody-goody for a decade. That was always my relationship with him. I would get frustrated with him for being reckless, and he would make fun of me for being a stick-in-the-mud. But we always had an mutual understanding. He knew I was always going to be too cautious and I knew that he was never going to be cautious enough, but we were too good of friends to care all that much about those differences. I so wish that I had just shut up and listened to him now, because he was so right.
He took a few phone calls while I was there about wedding plans. We talked about the cake and the rings. Even then, knowing that medically and scientifically he was running out of time, Anthony sat there, making plans for the future. He was doing what he could to turn a truly shit situation into a miracle and a testament of love.
There were a lot of little things that I didn’t know about Anthony. We didn’t always run with the same crowd so there are a lot of memories I didn’t make with him. The memories that I do have and the things that I know about him are so important to me, everyday. One of the best things about Anthony was that he wasn’t complicated. If Anthony was mad at you, you knew it. If you made him happy or proud, you knew it. And no matter what, if Anthony loved you, you knew it. He was lucky enough to marry his best friend. He loved Danielle more than anything and I remember thinking that after the first night I met her when Anthony brought her up to Boone for a visit. His truck was big but not nearly as big as his heart. Parties were always a little bit better once he showed up and a little quieter when he left. He was ridiculously good at the “The Penis Game” and the best round I ever remember was started by him in the middle of our high school graduation practice. Sometimes Anthony would lose his temper and he would put you in your place using this matter of fact tone that could make you so angry. He was stubborn and good at finding the humor in every situation. Anthony had an unmistakable and distinct voice. It was always a bit scratchy and nasal and he started 95% of our conversations with a “Sup girl?” Anthony had one of the best and most infectious smiles I’ve ever seen. He planned weddings when other people would have planned funerals, and he asked you to wear Carolina blue when you should be wearing black. He was the most loyal friend I’ve ever had, a trait he no doubt inherited from his amazing and supportive family that he loved so much. He was always ready to help his friends move, celebrate a birthday, jump a car, change a tire, play a prank. He was there, no questions asked. And if you had time, he’d get a beer with you afterwards.
A lot of people love and miss you down here brother.
"Stay positive. Stay positive. Stay positive." ~Anthony Michael Mohney, February 9, 1984-July 13, 2009.
The last time I really talked to Anthony was less than a week before he died. I stopped by to visit him, worried that I would be in the way, or encroaching on his time with his family. I wasn’t entirely sure how to be around Anthony with such a horrible and tragic elephant in the room. What do you say to your friend who knows he only has a few weeks left?
It didn’t really matter because as soon as I walked into his room, Anthony broke the ice with a joke. His sense of humor never failed.
“I’m only going to be a single man for a few more days. Are you here to make a pass at me?”
We sat in his living room that is full of family portraits and photographs and talked for about half an hour before the hospice nurse showed up to help Anthony shower. My last conversation with Anthony was basically the same conversation I had been having with him for 10 years. He told me that Dickie was on his way over. I smiled and said, “Good. It will be nice to see Andrew.” And then Anthony made fun of me for always being too proper and never using Andrew’s nickname. Anthony had made fun of me for being too proper, too restrained, and too much of a goody-goody for a decade. That was always my relationship with him. I would get frustrated with him for being reckless, and he would make fun of me for being a stick-in-the-mud. But we always had an mutual understanding. He knew I was always going to be too cautious and I knew that he was never going to be cautious enough, but we were too good of friends to care all that much about those differences. I so wish that I had just shut up and listened to him now, because he was so right.
He took a few phone calls while I was there about wedding plans. We talked about the cake and the rings. Even then, knowing that medically and scientifically he was running out of time, Anthony sat there, making plans for the future. He was doing what he could to turn a truly shit situation into a miracle and a testament of love.
There were a lot of little things that I didn’t know about Anthony. We didn’t always run with the same crowd so there are a lot of memories I didn’t make with him. The memories that I do have and the things that I know about him are so important to me, everyday. One of the best things about Anthony was that he wasn’t complicated. If Anthony was mad at you, you knew it. If you made him happy or proud, you knew it. And no matter what, if Anthony loved you, you knew it. He was lucky enough to marry his best friend. He loved Danielle more than anything and I remember thinking that after the first night I met her when Anthony brought her up to Boone for a visit. His truck was big but not nearly as big as his heart. Parties were always a little bit better once he showed up and a little quieter when he left. He was ridiculously good at the “The Penis Game” and the best round I ever remember was started by him in the middle of our high school graduation practice. Sometimes Anthony would lose his temper and he would put you in your place using this matter of fact tone that could make you so angry. He was stubborn and good at finding the humor in every situation. Anthony had an unmistakable and distinct voice. It was always a bit scratchy and nasal and he started 95% of our conversations with a “Sup girl?” Anthony had one of the best and most infectious smiles I’ve ever seen. He planned weddings when other people would have planned funerals, and he asked you to wear Carolina blue when you should be wearing black. He was the most loyal friend I’ve ever had, a trait he no doubt inherited from his amazing and supportive family that he loved so much. He was always ready to help his friends move, celebrate a birthday, jump a car, change a tire, play a prank. He was there, no questions asked. And if you had time, he’d get a beer with you afterwards.
A lot of people love and miss you down here brother.
"Stay positive. Stay positive. Stay positive." ~Anthony Michael Mohney, February 9, 1984-July 13, 2009.
I just read this. As a side note: I'm a "follower" but the dang thing doesn't show up in my inbox. Next task: get this to show up in my inbox. That said... this is a beautiful, beautiful tribute. I would be humbled to think that someone would have so much to say about me in my absence. Please be around when I pass to eulogize me.
ReplyDeleteI just now read this Amy, thank you so much...
ReplyDeleteAmy, I am also just now seeing this and it brought me to tears. I miss him so much every day and these past few weeks have been a struggle for me, for some reason. It means the world to me that our love for one another was apparent to everyone because more than anything, I wanted his friends and family to know how much I cared for him because I knew from the day I met him how important you all were in his life. Thank you for this. It is beautiful and you are an amazing friend!
ReplyDelete