My dad’s best friend, Dale (Skip) Weyer, passed away late last night. He battled cancer for over 2 years, and unfortunately he lost.

I can’t remember a time when Skip wasn’t a part of our lives. As a kid, he was always the reason my dad was in trouble. I lost count of how many times we’d have to pick my dad and Skip up after they drank one too many beers in order to cool down from the 90 degree heat of the factory.

If my dad needed help with a project, Skip was the first to volunteer. I remember happily playing in our upstairs playroom when Skip’s legs and feet suddenly appeared through the ceiling. Thankfully he was alright, but the roofing job’s budget was instantly increased. He helped with the daunting, 5 year task of renovating my grandparent’s victorian monster. He did countless fix-it jobs around our house. He helped with all our major family parties and events…usually at the bar, but it was still help. He had a heart of gold and would do anything and everything he could to offer a hand.

Skip never married. He lived in the country, on a farm with chickens and goats and hay and all things foreign to a kid who grew up in the city. I absolutely loved going out there.

On a visit with my dad, I asked for a drink (I was about 8 at the time). Skip gave me a glass of milk, but the cup was in the shape of a boob. He didn’t have any other clean cups. My dad got a laugh and I got a quick lesson on the female anatomy. Total bachelor.

Our area was hit with tornadoes in the early 90’s. We heard on the radio that the area that Skip lived in was in shambles. My dad couldn’t get through to find out if he was ok. They lifted the warnings and my dad and I jumped in the car to get to him. The police wouldn’t even let us near his street, let alone house because the damage was so extensive. I can remember the fear in my dad’s eyes when he thought Skip had been hurt.

When Skip was diagnosed with lung cancer 2 years ago, he vowed to fight it with all he had. Both of my parents took time off of work to drive him to Cleveland for radiation and chemo. My dad would have been with him at every session if he could. He knew how much Skip had been there for him over the years, and I know he wanted to repay him. The cancer spread. It attacked his brain and it stole his life. He refused to give up even when he knew the end was near. He would fight the pain, nausea, extreme exhaustion and weakness in order to continue to work. He was independent and refused to move in with anyone until he could no longer be safely left alone. He was surrounded by his family when he took his final breath and was released from the pain.

Thank you, Skip for being a part of our lives, for being the brother that my dad never had, for allowing us to hold on to hope and to believe that death is not the end, but the beginning. You will be missed.