A few short days after I returned from New York in February, I learned that our former neighbor, and an old friend of George's, had passed away. I had hoped to see Jim when I was in Sarasota in December, but I still had bronchitis and Jim's health was far too fragile. I had hoped to go back but alas, I was too late.
Still, I knew I had to go. My presence was not required. I was not expected even, but that made no difference. I knew I needed to go, if only just for myself, if only to pay honor to a good man, a good man who had been a good friend to George. As George's dementia progressed his contact with friends dropped off. This is not surprising in some ways; it is difficult to know what to say, to know how to relate to someone who can't really maintain a conversation. But Jim took time. When George could no longer drive but could still get around a bit, Jim would stop by and take George with him to the gym. They would work out and go have coffee and doughnuts. These meetings were often the high point of George's week, and they gave him a chance to once again just be "one of the guys". Later, when George wasn't really up for going out anymore, Jim would occasionally come by to have a glass of scotch and talk. They would talk about old times, about the military, about the Korean War.
I needed to go to Florida, perhaps as an act of honoring George's friend, perhaps as an act of closure of sorts on a life that is now gone, but also to share this thoughtful side of Jim with his family. Going to Florida proved to be a good thing.
Tikka and I drove down slowly. I wasn't ready to abandon her again; it is true she is an important part of my family now. We had a day together to explore Sarasota, and then there was another day that revolved around the funeral. Too soon, after two short days, we were heading home.
But I have to admit that I enjoyed Sarasota more in February than I had in December. Perhaps that it was simply that I was not sick. Perhaps the fact that it was cooler helped. Perhaps it was just that we stayed closer in to town, at the Hotel Indigo in the Rosemary District. Tikka and I could walk around town, walk to the old downtown, walk to the harbor. We walked a lot. We looked at the water. I ate a lot of fresh local seafood. Our first afternoon in town we walked around our neighborhood and went to the Arts Center, where we explored the sculpture garden. Tikka wanted to make friends with this gentleman sitting on a bench. She couldn't figure out why he didn't pet her. I wish I could have captured the expression in her eyes when she realized he wasn't a person at all.
We also went out to St. Armand's and had lunch on the circle. Dogs aren't allowed on the beaches in Sarasota, but we stopped at Bird Key Park and wandered. Tikka got her feet wet, but she really isn't that interested in swimming either in salt or fresh water. At one point, as I sat on a rock and she wandered in and out of the edges of the water, sniffing and exploring, Tikka sniffed at what I thought was a shiny rock. As the surf came in, I saw that the sand was gradually washing away and the rock was being uncovered. Then I noticed it breathing. It wasn't a rock, it was a jellyfish. I don't believe I had ever watched a jellyfish breathe before. Truthfully, I probably was always trying to avoid the jellyfish. Tikka came and sat in my lap and we watched the jellyfish, slowly being revealed by the water, slowly being freed from the sand, its breathing steady and strong. Eventually the jellyfish was free, and it floated into the water and began to move away. I never knew I could be so happy for a jellyfish, returned to life, able to swim another day.