Goff and I shared a rather unexpected friendship. Goff was married to my sister for nearly 41 years before he passed away in the early morning hours Thursday. I was seven years old at their wedding on March 11, 1978. One of my earliest memories of Goff are of him sitting in my parents’ living room, having a serious conversation with my parents. I remember wondering where Jeannie was at, and why Goff was here without her. I was six years old, and as you may have guessed, he was asking my parents’ permission to marry their daughter. When I found out they were engaged, I thought it was the weirdest thing ever. Debbie and Paul were dating way longer, and Debbie was older, so shouldn’t they get married first? That may be the first time I realized that life doesn’t follow a straight line. My biggest memory from their wedding was dancing all night and drinking as much soda as I wanted because nobody was paying attention to the little kids. Phil drank a gallon of kiddie cocktails and spun around on the bar stool for a couple hours before he threw up right there at the reception. I was mad because he cut off my previously unlimited supply of soda. That pretty much sums up their wedding for me.

Jeannie and Goff lived in Bolingbrook during their early marriage. Sometime around my high school graduation, they bought the Witort house, right behind my folks’ place. I was full of teenage angst and wanting to get away from home, so I simply couldn’t understand why they would move BACK. Funny how times change. My friendship with Goff really began after I bought my folks’ house and I moved BACK. Lucky for me, Jeannie and Goff were still there occupying the Witort house. The Haldeman family moved into (or back into for me) the main house in May of 2000. That was Goff’s worst year in his struggle with alcohol. That first year, I reestablished a new, closer relationship with Jeannie, Becky, and Kurt. Travis would shoot pool with Goff, but I was largely out of his orbit. It wasn’t until May of 2001 that things turned for Goff and me. Goff was going into liver failure from his drinking. Becky came and asked Travis if her dad was going to die. Travis basically told her that he would if he didn’t stop drinking right away. Becky’s cries for help forced Travis to confront Gottfried. Somehow, hearing about imminent death from a doctor made Goff take notice. He entered rehab the following day, on his terms and of his own free will. Goff chose to live. Goff was sober from May 25, 2001 until his death. It was during those years that I got to know the brother-in-law that had been in my life for so long.

Before I go sugar-coating everything, let me be clear. Gottfried was the male version of the cartoon Maxine mixed with Mr. Wilson from Dennis the Menace. And my kids weren’t nearly as bad as Dennis. Although I had two dogs that always pooped in his yard. I decided it was good for Goff to have some legitimate complaints to mix in with the irrational ones, so I gave him the gift of dog poop. I know, I’m just that generous. During Goff’s sobriety, he worked sporadically due to a myriad of health issues. When he wasn’t working, he was sitting at the island in my kitchen. He was like having an assistant parent. Sometimes I didn’t appreciate his input, but he didn’t care, and I loved the company, so I didn’t kick him out. The old Goff could eat three bowls of my chili on a Friday evening (with all kinds of recommendations for improving my recipe), and return first thing Saturday morning for seven of Travis’ “pancakes as big as your head.” I remember Taryn was upset one day because Gottfried told her to practice her instrument in the back bedroom and she didn’t want to. With Goff sitting right there, I said, “Oh, don’t listen to that old coot. You practice wherever you want to. He’s only good for picking up dog poo.” Goff laughed hard at that, and replied, “You got that about right.”

Goff was my right-hand man during the years that Travis was working long hours with a long commute. If I was busy with something and a kid needed a ride, he was the guy to do it. Of course, he needed the most detailed instructions, including every possible variation that could occur. Which entrance? Can I sit right by the entrance? How many lanes of traffic go through the entrance? What if he/she isn’t there right away? Can I park past the entrance? How will they see me? What if he/she panics? What if I panic? I remember saying, “Jesus Goff, by the time I answer every variation in the realm of possibility, I may as well pick him up myself.” Goff said, “If you can pick him up yourself, why the hell are you asking me to do it?” Sometimes, it’s good to have the Serenity Prayer memorized.

My kids perhaps benefitted most from Goff’s presence. He would read stories to them and attend some of their events. He especially like the veterans’ music performance that the school put on every year. He would also let Trent come over when the girls had ballet lessons (so he didn’t have to go), and Goff would even pretend to like Dragonball Z, the show that Trent was crazy about at the time. My kids learned the difference between good and bad advice, both of which came from Goff. And they were forced to take the lesson from some of the questionable stories he shared. One of his favorite stories involved him and his buddy Keith speeding down Rt. 53 in Keith’s sports car. Somehow they ended up driving right through a gas station, fortunately missing the pumps, and ended up plowing into and up an embankment. After assessing the car, they rolled back down the embankment, and continued on their way, hooting and hollering. There may have been drinking involved. Every time he shared that story, I asked Goff if he really thought it was appropriate for my kids to hear. He always laughed and never once answered my question.

I like to think I offered him something in exchange for his friendship and assistance. I was the person he called to retrieve his thumb when he cut it off in the snow blower. Now that’s nearly the definition of a close friend. When I couldn’t see the snow blower anywhere around (I was wondering why he put it away as his appendage was missing – he didn’t…The neighbor did), I began sifting through the blood in the snow to find his thumb. It wasn’t there, but I didn’t know that until after I took off my gloves to melt the weird congealing bloody snow, since every chunk of blood looked like a potential piece of thumb (still gross after all these years). After that, I had to call my sister Debbie for backup. We met at Goff’s garage and opened it to find the offending snow blower with Goff’s huge glove still in the snow chute. Surely, the thumb was still in the glove. And it was. Debbie and I then drove the thumb, in the glove, on ice, to the hospital and watched the doctor sew it back on. It didn’t take, but it was still cool to watch. I always loved that, as the taker in my relationship with Goff, that one time, I was able to give…even if it didn’t work out. After that, Goff was missing both his thumbs (he lost the other in a work related accident years before), and he constantly complained about the futility of his attempting to wear button-down shirts.

Although I moved away, I always tried to stay in touch with Goff. He would yell at me for texting, because his lack of thumbs made responding very difficult (I am not sure he ever perfected the talk to text thing). I would still occasionally text and later tell him it was for his own good. He’s ask how, and I wouldn’t answer him. I would talk to him on the phone, but at the very end, his throat cancer made that impossible. I feel lucky to have spent time with him the day before he died, even if most the time was spent in companionable silence. Turns out, back in the day we were good enough friends to be able to fight and forget, and in the end we were good enough friends to be content in the company and quiet. I will miss Goff more than I could ever express, because expressing just wasn’t our way. He was one of my best friends. For many years, he was probably the person who knew me best, and accepted me anyway. I’ll always love him for that. So, today, on what would have been your 69^th birthday, I bid you to Rest in Peace Goff. I will never forget you!