Yesterday my Father lost one of his oldest and best friends. My Dad is one for telling stories and almost all of them involve Gunther. In fact, if you know my Dad, you must know Gunther (even if you’ve never met him).
He seemed too young to die. Always lively. The quickest old Kraut I’ve ever known.
For a short period of my life Gunther lived with us. It was a rough time in my life. At a time when I often felt alone, he was there. His listened without judging. His advice never seemed condescending. He gave me confidence when it seemed the world was trying to take all confidence from me.
Yet he was a hard man. He seemed to always be smiling, but rarely feeling. His affection shown through in his “pain therapy”. It’s what he called wrestling. Only usually it was more like desperately trying to defend myself against a very skilled man. It’s strange to admit, but “pain therapy” is a fond memory of the time I spent with him.
I never saw him have an ill intention towards anyone. He was always trying to help, to lift you up. The man I knew was always trying to give what little he had.
He took a job not far from Dad’s house where he worked for many years. I made it a habit to swing by and visit him there. We would spend the time catching up and discussing life. In retrospect the conversations seemed to always lean towards my life or my parents. He never revealed anything about himself that wasn't directly related to Dad. Many afternoons were spent talking with Gunther.
I’m glad I was able to introduce him to my wife. He seemed to like her.
The last time I saw him was shortly before he moved out of California. I’d talk to him on rare occasions after that, but more often we would IM or talk on Facebook. I always planned on seeing him again, but it seems life had different plans.
Gunther will be missed by many. He never had much of a family of his own, but he lived through the families of his two best friends. He seemed to bless all those he touched. He was blessed himself to find his own family whom he got to spend a few short years with.
I’m thankful that many moons ago a little Kraut (Gunther) stood up to a bully (my Dad) and began a lifelong friendship.
I can’t begin to understand what Klaus and my Dad feel at the loss of their lifelong friend. But if how I’m feeling is any indication, there is a hole inside of them that may never be filled again.
Gunther will live on in our memories and in the ongoing stories of my Dad who can tell Gunther stories like no other.
I will miss you sir. I thank God for making you a part of my life and my family.
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