A cap and a writeup dedicated to the memory of a now passed Covers member -Apache- Knicks @ Raptors

Question

My titles have been a bit obnoxious as of late and it is time I did something good with one.

If you are not aware, a long time member of this site passed away this week. His name here was ApacheM.

I will say from the outset I did not get along with Apache. Our views about social and political issues did not mesh. We argued continuously about everything from a dog being a man's best friend, a vegan lifestyle, and of course, racism. I cursed and yelled while he mostly kept calm and said what he needed to say.

I don't argue like that anymore and it has served me and the posters here well. I have grown in that regard. I concentrate on NBA capping and won't let myself get in an unwinnable argument (unwinnable from either side of the fence really).

Having said that, I did visit the General Discussion forum this week and saw the thread about Apache.

What struck me the most about his passing was that his son chose to relay this information to this message board. These are people the son never met. It is likely his father never met the thousands of posters here if only a few. Yet Covers was so ubiquitous in his life, he spent so much time there, that the son who survived him felt the need, and thankfully so, to disclose to the posters how Apache lived out his final days and how he succumbed to the disease that took him from this world.

While I may not have gotten along with him, I saw that, through his son's communications, this message board was more than just a gambling site. We meet people here, yet we never shake their hands. We divulge our deepest secrets, yet we never speak face to face. An avatar and a screen name are our only identifiers. In many ways, this is how the deaf and blind communicate through their respective worlds. The blind never see a face and the deaf never hear a voice, but they relate to others nonetheless, as their senses allow, forming relationships that are likely far stronger than those who have the blessing of all their senses.

In the same vein, through digital communication, everyone here is a black box.

But even though we are all black boxes to one another, words transmitted on a screen to our eyes tell us more than we could ever know of a stranger. The distrust ingrained in every one of us since our youngest age prevents such a relationship. But here, our anonymity gives us the freedom to express ourselves.

The expressions in Apache's blog are something he'd almost certainly never share with the common man.

Yet here, we are privy to it.

Someone posted his blog in the thread that communicated his passing. I read it. Here was a a man I thought I couldn't like and didn't want to meet, yet, in his own way, taught me about the life I was destined to live one day.

His descriptions of aging, of the recognition of his mortality, and loss of vitality struck me greatly. We know this is to come, that Father Time is undefeated in the battle of life and death, but our mind's push the aging process to the deepest recesses of our conscious and subconscious.

Aging is too much to bear. We want to 'grow up' not 'grow old'. The fact is, we were all 'growing old' upon our exit from the womb. More so, we were 'growing old' upon conception. But we choose to rephrase this to maintain a positive mindset, one that helps us to survive and thrive. We are not wrong to do this. But it refreshing when someone like Apache helps us hit the reset button from time to time, however brief.

As Apache aged, it became easier for him to discuss it, to come to terms with it, so much so, he wanted to share that experience with others. It is not a pleasant one, but very necessary. It is in old age we become more honest and less fearful of our reality. We have no choice.

His descriptions of the aging process touched me, particularly how he described his wife aging.

Most of us are frank about the way we see ourselves, perhaps even self-deprecating. But most of us defend our families relentlessly and hold them in the highest regard.

Yet, Apache, perhaps sitting across the room pretending to watch a game, but peering out of the corner of his eye to watch his wife struggle to get up from the couch, didn't just see his own wrinkles and gray hairs, he saw his wife's as well.

scalabrine · Answer