I wish I knew more about him. Like I don't know how old he was, but I suspect he was in his early 70s. I have even forgotten the land of his birth, but it was eastern European.
I just know him from sitting in meetings, at coffee, at potlucks, in restaurants, etc. over the years. He lived on the north side of town and I knew him from my old home group. Imagine my surprise when I had moved to the south side of town about 15 years ago and had gotten a new sponsor and was attending a party at her house and saw Ron walk in! They had sobered up together, she, her husband, and Ron, back in California.
He was "something else." He was not everyone's cup of tea. But he was my cup of tea - exactly.
I don't know if he ever composed a sentence without the word "fock" in it. He also used plenty of the kinds of profanities I refuse to use - sprinkled in with the "focks" were the g**damns (I just refuse to say that, sorry). But he was always so grateful to be sober, and that never changed. After his daughter killed herself in his house with his gun, that never changed. After his many divorces, that never changed. After his colossal business failures, that never changed. After his myriad health problems, that never changed. So, if you saw Ron, you knew he would say "I am just so focking grrrrateful to be sober! I luff this g**damn prrrogram!" I wish you could hear his growly voice and hear that thick accent. Oh, it was something to behold.
When I called my sponsor to tell her that he had passed, she cried like a baby. Then she told me to hold my relationships dear. Keep those people I sobered up with close. Those relationships mean more than words could ever express. And I am passing those words on to you.
Lots of Love to you this Saturday morning....