The perfume of true friendship is savory and sweet. It is inescapable, as if it were dabbed in a hundred places on the human psyche. Its fragrance never becomes stale, nor does it overwhelm the senses. And if circumstances allow, it can be a rich, abiding scent for many, many years.

All five of us lived in the lingering scent of this perfume. After Gus and Emma died, Doc, Jake, and I remained steadfastly intertwined in each other’s lives. It was then that Doc and I began talking almost every Sunday morning, organically creating space to continue our journey begun one early morning before the sun had broken over the Manzano Mountains, many years ago.

Though he never wanted to be, Doc was mostly retired, which made time without interruption for our calls. Shortly after I left Bosque Farms, a vet was finally hired, and most of Doc’s former patients got used to the new doctor that bought his practice. But the farmers and townspeople still loved him, still brought him a basket of fresh zucchini from their garden, or a cord of wood for his pot-belly stove, some fresh, warm tortillas, or trimmed his trees. They may not have been patients anymore, but they still thought of him as their friend. I felt blessed he was my friend too.

What I loved about my friends was that we could talk about anything, and easily share our experiences with each other. For Doc, his life was the world of medicine, of people, and animals. But his time with the strange man, Abel, and what he learned colored it all.

He told me that Abel had taught him to question, to not rush to judgment, to give something he called “true consideration” to ideas. He had encouraged him to check everything out for himself, making no person an authority in how to see Life, or understand the complexities of living on this earth. Doc was thankful for Abel’s gifts. He was also clear that if he had not experimented with these ideas, tried them on for size and challenged them, he would have never understood what he was given. Doc gave no “blind allegiance” to any person, philosopher, doctor, spiritual leader, or institution. And because of this, he built a sturdy place within, which made him feel whole.

We talked about so many things… always with my trusty notebook open and pen in hand.  We could easily discuss the weather, crops, animals, politics, “adaptations” (Doc’s term for sickness and diagnosis), or baseball season. I admit we talked more about how the body reacts to stress, and less about baseball. I filled countless notebooks.

With Doc I experienced true acceptance. He listened carefully and when he didn’t understand, he asked questions in order to understand better. Even though a few of our talks over the years were very long, I never heard him doing something else at the other end of the line… feed his dog, Shelley, or the cats Percy and Bysshe, wipe a counter, or walk down the gravel path to get the mail. He gave me the gift of Presence; he was 100% there. In his understanding of Love, he never chided me, interrupted me, or judged me. He listened, shared when it was time, and always brought the goodness and wisdom of his whole being into each moment.

Three years after Emma died, Doc hired Naomi, a part Navajo, and part bilagáana woman in her 50’s who came in a few times a week to clean, cook, and check on him. She met Doc over twenty years ago when he treated her for depression after the death of her only child. She recovered, was healthy, upbeat, full of energy, and loved him, just as we all did. He introduced us one Sunday morning before we began our talk. She carried a certain peace with her. I liked her right away. Doc told me matter-of-factly that he was slowing down and could use the help. He was 88.

When Doc was 91, Naomi called me one morning to tell me Doc went to sleep the night before and never woke up. She found him in bed, hands crossed over his tummy, a slight smile on his lips. He hadn’t been sick, just very tired. He had given instructions to be cremated and have his ashes planted under a new cottonwood by the river. Jake and Naomi did the honors. He also left money for a huge buffet to be had at his home. There was never an ad in the paper, an obituary, or notice sent out. Naomi told a few people and the word spread. Three days after he left his body behind, the farmers and townspeople came to his home to break bread together and share stories about this one, simple, kind man they loved,

True friendship is a giving thing, but also a taking thing. That makes it work – the balanced dance of give and take done so naturally. Doc gave, and I took. I gave and Doc took. I am thankful every day for the lessons he shared, and the demonstrations he made of what it is to be present in this Life. He gave me, as he gave anyone who asked, the seeds of Wisdom to be planted and carefully tended and nurtured. I am still doing just that. And they have grown and blossomed into one of the greater gifts in my Life.

My friend, Doc. May you ever Walk in Beauty.