don't even know what to say
Today Dr. Lopez died. I've known him all my life. He was our next door neighbor, our dentist, our Little League coach, one of our closest family friends along with his wife Hilda, and pretty much the nicest man anyone could ever meet. I don't think I saw him angry in the entire time I knew him. All I remember are fantastic Christmas eve parties at his house, wonderful summer days swimming in his pool with his son Wade and all the neighborhood kids, kickass wiffle ball games in his front lawn, hilarious conversations in his kitchen with his family and mine.... As kids, we'd rollerskate through his two-way garage, film short horror movies in his backyard, and have sleepovers in his pool house where we'd watch scary movies like "Halloween." He was always fun and he always let us have fun.
On top of all that, every summer he would invite many of the families in the neighborhood to stay with his family at their huge beach house in Crystal Beach, on the Gulf Coast. So we'd go up there and hang out with literally EVERYONE in the neighborhood, with sometimes as many as 20 or 30 people there. We'd body surf in the ocean, catch crabs on the pier, play monopoly and a host of card games, ride motorcycles and go carts all over the beach, and generally have the time of our lives, all courtesy of Johnny and his wife Hilda.
I guess one of my fondest memories of him was from Little League. He was coaching the other team. I was pitching, and the batter hit a line drive which hit me square in the ribs and knocked me to the ground. The breath was knocked out of me, and I was really struggling for air. I was scared shitless, but I looked up and saw Dr. Lopez right there beside me. He had run out of the dugout and come out to the mound to make sure I was ok. His presence and kind words settled me down and I began to breathe normally after a few more seconds. That was typical Johnny Lopez. I think he considered everyone in the neighborhood one of his own kids.
He's been battling cancer for years, and I guess his body couldn't fight it anymore. I hate that any person has to suffer what he's been through the last few years, with one spinal surgery after another, but he didn't ever complain about it or let it affect his positive outlook one bit. He's amazing, and I only hope that I can live my life with the sort of grace that he always did. We all loved him so much, and this may sound like a cliche, but our little neighborhood back home in Beaumont will never be the same.
On top of all that, every summer he would invite many of the families in the neighborhood to stay with his family at their huge beach house in Crystal Beach, on the Gulf Coast. So we'd go up there and hang out with literally EVERYONE in the neighborhood, with sometimes as many as 20 or 30 people there. We'd body surf in the ocean, catch crabs on the pier, play monopoly and a host of card games, ride motorcycles and go carts all over the beach, and generally have the time of our lives, all courtesy of Johnny and his wife Hilda.
I guess one of my fondest memories of him was from Little League. He was coaching the other team. I was pitching, and the batter hit a line drive which hit me square in the ribs and knocked me to the ground. The breath was knocked out of me, and I was really struggling for air. I was scared shitless, but I looked up and saw Dr. Lopez right there beside me. He had run out of the dugout and come out to the mound to make sure I was ok. His presence and kind words settled me down and I began to breathe normally after a few more seconds. That was typical Johnny Lopez. I think he considered everyone in the neighborhood one of his own kids.
He's been battling cancer for years, and I guess his body couldn't fight it anymore. I hate that any person has to suffer what he's been through the last few years, with one spinal surgery after another, but he didn't ever complain about it or let it affect his positive outlook one bit. He's amazing, and I only hope that I can live my life with the sort of grace that he always did. We all loved him so much, and this may sound like a cliche, but our little neighborhood back home in Beaumont will never be the same.