His daughter Rene's tenderly caressing his brow while whispering as he intently listens.
Everything about Pete is intense.
After Vietnam, he and his wife tried taking care of mentally ill children in a group home but, he found it boring.
Moving to Tybee he found work at the Department of Public Works but got his rocks off shark fishing.
These were the glory days of the DPW when they mostly played cards under the supervision of Billy Pye and built crosswalks from scratch on private property only to move them after threat of lawsuit.
Pete ... Roger Doger ... Billy ... were the DPW ... running off anyone the City hired if they didn't like them.
But it was the shark fishing that kept Pete on the island.
It wasn't illegal just a few years ago.
"THIS IS THE GREATEST ADRENALIN RUSH SINCE VIETNAM!" he screams while cutting the head off a 9 foot shark halfway in the boat we're in ... tossing the fresh meat at my bare feet and dropping the chomping mouth into the Back River.
Sharks don't die easily.
The severed head continues to chomp disappearing in the brown green water and the gutted carcass flips around my feet ... scaring the Holy Daylights out of me ... as Pete erupts in laughter.
The man is as intense as any shark I've ever encountered.
Sliding into the quiet of the hotel room I hear his daughter softly say, "It's okay Dad. Remember we're the unlucky people. If it's gonna happen then it's going to happen to us. We'll be alright. I don't know how we'll be alright but we'll be alright."
And I can still feel ... the frog in my throat ... salt water in my eyes ... emptiness in my belly.
Pete's eyes cuts to mine and the slightest of thin smiles crosses his face.
"Hey Micheal," Rene says, hugging me.
"You look like shit," I say to Pete afterwards, leaning over the bed staring at him ... our noses almost touching.
"You fall off a roof and lets see what you look like," he snaps.
"Touche," I answer.
"They teach you that in Seminary?"
"My bedside manner?" I laugh. "Na I picked that up on my own."
"It's awful," he says looking at Rene.
"Yeah," I agree as his wife Trish enters the room and we embrace.
"Sooooo," I begin having no idea how to start because if they taught Introductory "Hospital Bedside Manners for Intense Men with Broken Backs" in Seminary, I apparently skipped that day.
"He broke his back," Trish explains matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, I heard."
"I may miss some work," Pete adds.
"Ya' think?" I ask.
"We need the money," he says.
"Don't we all?" I muse.
"No seriously, we're broke," he continues. "Living paycheck to paycheck."
These were the days when you could actually live on Tybee paycheck to paycheck ... WAIT A MINUTE!!! ... a lot of us still do!!!
But sometimes luck runs out ... money disappears ... moving becomes real ... friends grow scarce ... bill collectors grow like nests of Vultures waiting on prey to die ... hearts break like bones ... and you're left with nothing but questions for God ... who doesn't seem in the mood to talk.
So you lie there ... drink ... cuss ... cry ... repeatedly asking questions God's obviously not interested in answering.
The "How" questions are easy enough.
How did I end up here?
We can back track and figure that out.
In Pete's case, he didn't have the money to fix the roof but knew how ... even though he also knows he's too old ... and it's far easier to climb ladders when you're young but gets harder the older you grow ... and fooling himself to believe he's still young ... he makes his way to the roof ... reaches for something just out of reach and ... falls off his house.
It's the "Why" questions adding to the pain.
Don't get me wrong, Pete's crazy as a loon ... but damn the man's got a great heart ... does things for people other's don't give a shit about ... gives money he doesn't have because it's the right thing to do ... spends hours listening to them bitch about things gone wrong ... and taking them shark fishing on his dime when he can't figure out how else to ease their pain.
And he's rewarded with a broken back trying to save money he doesn't have.
Why?
Why is God so damn silent when the tough questions come?
The honest answer is, "I don't know."
I wish to God I did but I don't.
It pisses me off.
God doesn't seem to care.
And now ... I don't have an answer though there is an end to the story.
I was on the plane Pete and Trish took when they left the country ... Tybee ... the debt ... the house they left to to Rene ... the creditors ... the craziness ... the broken things.
Trish sat in First Class with a dog wearing a yellow "Service Dog" jacket though it's just the little Terrier she's carried with her forever.
Pete's on the last row seated directly in front of the bathrooms.
Both are wearing special badges proclaiming, "American Ambassador Special Needs."
Sitting in the middle of the plane, Trish sends me a Vonka Tonic.
Pete talks loudly from the rear drowning out the instructions on how to buckle a safety belt.
Disembarking in Atlanta, we huddle at the Gate, hugging as I ask, "Where are y'all going?"
"Mexico" they smile.
"How long?" I wonder.
"We're never coming back," Pete says ... "We'd be arrested."
Without knowing ... somehow I know that.
So we hug again ... and kiss ... and when Pete loudly kisses me in the middle of a crowded Atlanta Airport .... it isn't pretty .. and that's the last time I've seen them.
Though it isn't the last time we've talked ... keeping up with each other on Face Book.
I have no idea how they're financing it but ... damn there they are ... in a land with no Winter!
Trish paints.
Pete takes long walks up a mountain to visit a Shaman.
Rene visits often.
They've never returned to the United States.
I've known lots of unlucky people in my life.
Most are dead.
I'm glad I'm not one of them.
I've experienced ... no I am experiencing way too much ... unlucky stuff in my life ... but here I am ... for another day anyway ... telling you a true story about some people I love ... who've gotten through it somehow ... though I'm certain it's not as easy as it seems for them ... it's certainly not for Sarah and me.
I'm sure a fair number of you are feeling pretty unlucky about something or another ... wondering how you're managing to be here ... when reason says there's no way in Hell you can continue.
But you have.
And you do.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not upon your own understanding," the Proverbs counsel (3:5).
Leaning not upon my own understanding is easy enough because I don't understand any of this.
Trusting in the Lord with all my heart would be a lot easier if God wasn't so Goddamned quiet ... but She is ... so it's all about the trusting.
So I trust.
I don't know why I do ... but I do.
And I'm banking on the day when Sarah and I stand there holding our tickets ... and she's in First Class as she should be ... and I'm in the back in front of the rest rooms cause I gotta go all the time anyway ... and the Announcers voice sounds strangely like what we believe God sounds like says, "Boarding Now."
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