My landlord died.

I saw my landlord on Saturday when he was on his way to the airport to return to Anguilla (where he lives). He looked okay, but tired. Gary had throat cancer several years ago and constantly had 'the sniffles' and the worst snoring on the planet.

I gave him a hard time about his health and selling our apts since he's just had a rush to insure the house. He said he was fine, that he'd developed sleep apnea, and he'd already gone to the doctor. He also had a black eye and busted lip from where he fell out of a chair while he slept. I thought that was an unlikely store, but who am I to judge.

What he didn't tell me was that he was having severe pain all over his body, especially his left arm, and he was having black outs. He went to the hospital on Anguilla for a CT scan, and this is an excellent example of island medicine, but rather than interpret the CT on a patient with neurological issues, they sent him home! He died a little more than 24hrs later.

Apparently, when Des, his wife, woke up she started to make breakfast when she noticed he wasn't snoring like a freight train (really his snoring was that bad), so she shook him, but he wouldn't wake up. The ambulance came around 6:30am and then a doctor to pronounce him dead. Gary's mother, Mom Brooks, called me about 7:15am hysterical. I wasn't sure what the matter was, but I knew it was something with Gary being sick.

I sorted the out the details with housing and the neighbors today, then realized I must have been on the A List in terms of priority of who to call. I had no idea his mother even liked me! She really hates Rudder and Salty... then on Saturday when the guinea pigs ran out of my house and into the garden, I thought she was going to absolutely kill me.

I decided to drive out to Sandy Point (a village) to visit. I brought with me a loaf of banana nut bread and dug up a Tamarind tree with mint planted at its base in the pot. She lived in a modest block home, but poverty of the area was evident in the shacks across the street. She told me about when Gary was growing up, who was the last of eight, a man from the Peace Corps came and adopted one her sons, taking him back to the states. Talking with her was very interesting.

Back to the point, she told me that it would be about a week and a half to two week for the funeral because they were going to do an autopsy and then had to ship him back here. Des will be moving back to St Kitts permanently with her daughter Terese to be close to family. Gary was only 40 years old, and a good landlord, what a shame.