Remembering Rex

There are moments that present themselves which send shock-waves to the system. You're going along as you think you should and then the shift occurs, derailing all that was normal. Death is a prime example of this. As I was almost home from running errands this morning I saw Zach was calling but I figured I'd let it go to voicemail since I was driving. We've been friends over 19 years and I know he's not one to call too often so I thought that was strange. I guessed he would be asking if I'd be available to do something today.

When I pulled in the garage, I hit play on my phone and Zach kept it simple saying he would appreciate it if I could give him a call. Again, I thought something was off so I grew more curious.

I went inside to put my things down and then decided to return his phone call. It was short. There were shock-waves.

Keeping his composure the best he could, he let me know that his dad has passed away this morning after a sudden heart attack. I instantly drowned in that sinking feeling, wondering how such a simple day could turn so confusing. But there wasn't time to be selfish, so I tried to offer up my condolences but I kept it short. We talked for a minute and seventeen seconds.

As I hung up I sat there for a minute, trying to comprehend what just happened. I was angry. Confused. Sad. Scared. Worried. As the emotions swirled in the brain blender I felt honored that Zach took time out of what has to be the hardest day of his life to reach out to me to let me know.

I'm glad he did. If you didn't put 2+2 together, I'll let you know that I'm almost 30, so I knew his dad (he went by the nickname 'Rex') for nearly 20 years. Many of those years Rex Hill saw the prime of my adolescence, and I'd like to think that each of Zach and Sean's (Zach's younger brother) friends gave him a full variety of personalities to test his patience. After all, kids know how to be a large pain in the ass. And we were pretty good at it.

Because I was around Mr. Hill so much at an impressionable age, he and his wife Kathy felt like a second set of parents to me. Zach lived right up the block, so it was easy to walk/run/skateboard/bike over often. Mr. Hill drove us around town in several vehicles throughout the years. Whether it was the White Ford Explorer, Red Astro Van or Red Pontiac, I knew I should be prepared to learn something.

As a Vietnam Vet, Rex had his share of opinions regarding politics. But the stuff I dug more was hearing about sports and music. I was always allowed to speak freely, and I never felt like my opinion was irrelevant.

His hamburgers were famous, and I can still taste how juicy and thick he used to make them. So much of him I see today in Zach and Sean. His knowledge. Passion. Philosophies. The tendency to get a little fired up about the game of basketball. All of these things.

I remember vividly calling Zach's house when Rex and Kathy worked from home. He'd answer the phone pleasantly.

"Bannon-Hill"

"Hi Mr. Hill, it's Jason, is Zach there?" I'd say quickly, already rehearsing in my head before I dialed because I knew I didn't have a lot of time and didn't want to disturb their business.

"Zachary!" he would belt from downstairs, his voice no doubt shaking the whole house. "Telephone. It's Jason. And make it quick!"

Then anytime we'd be mischievously playing in their garage where we spent 90% of our time, he'd check in on us, and say "What are you people doing?" It was like he knew we were up to no good.

I also won't forget his positivity. Whenever I talked about where I was in life, he seemed very supportive. Both him and Kathy encouraged my writing endeavors, and that is priceless.

Lastly, he was extremely loyal. I definitely see this in his children. I know no matter what, even if I haven't talked to Zach in days/months/years, we can pick right back up where we left off.

While I know this is an extremely difficult time for the Hill family, I'm confident as time passes they are in good hands because of the legacy Rex leaves behind.

R.I.P. Mr. Hill. And thank you. For everything.

Peace, love, and a little sarcasm, j.d.k.