We've all lost.. parents, siblings, loved ones of all kinds, friends, coworkers, classmates, yada.
They pass. Never. Never see em again. Sucks. So much to say, no ears available to listen.
July 3rd, 1985, I was a probationary employee (new hire, "ya can't miss work") for Eastern Airlines.
A phone call had been made, my 'Lead' drives up, somewhat frantically, "Jump in Vic, you gotta go, I'll take you to the employee lot."
"Her water broke."
I knew that one. 19 miles from the employee parking lot to 924 South Main in 11 minutes, or thereabouts.
I landed at home, jumped from my almost new Luv truck, as if I'd had a 5 hour energy drink, a Red Bull and six cups of Java.
But. But, she was seated comfortably in the living room with neighbor Ellen.
"For Godsakes, LET'S GO!" Said I, the one with absolutely no Phillips screwdriver, lefty loosy, righty tightie handy skills. I DID NOT, want to have to stop on the sidea I-35 and attempt to be a midwife.
"Calm down Victor, we'll be ok."
Were.
Until, we checked into NKC Hospital, it was ascertained the umbilical cord was wrapped around our son's neck, Emergency C-Section, and I felt so sorry for HER. ...she shook as if she'd gone out in the sub zero yard with no coat on. Couldn't blame her.
Victor. This is getting pretty long.. Hey, it's OK and I understand if you wanna go, but I could write for a solid year and this blog wouldn't be as long as it should be. (today, anyways)
"Mr Schultze? Would you like to observe the surgery?" I'm skeemish. By now, we thankfully had a fun, fantastic anesthesiologist who'd comforted mom, reduced the gale force tremors to baby shivers. "No thanks, I'm not sure I could stand seeing my wife cut into like that."
40 minutes, maybe an hour fifteen, I dunno.. a nurse sneaks up behind me... has this little handsome, bundled like a burrito infant (handsome as, One, he's my damn kid, I'm biased, and Two, 'C-babies' don't face (literally) the trauma of going thru the birth Canal only to come out resembling a traffic cone. She says "Would you like to carry your son to the nursery,"
MOMENTS IN LIFE YOU WILL NEVER FORGET, that, was a huge one, and I never will forget.
Because I obviously enjoy writing, I started a journal that day on my son's life. Spiral notebook.
The days of "lay him on the blanket there" were cinchy, but there are only so many 'coos' one can write before mundane happens.
As the first couple three years happened, I penned, twas going ok until I realized the "please don't do that's" outnumbered the "Atta boys."
I stopped the journal.
Age 7, I think it was...MASSIVE snowstorm in Liberty, MO. 10? 12? Inches?
"Mom? Dad?. Can you take me to Jesse's?" (His cousin, 5 blocks to 291, cross the highway, another 4 blocks to Jesse's. "NO, of course we can't.
Question, request was asked it's normal 7, 12 times, each met with No.
"I'm going out to play then." We eyeballing 4 others on sleds, building snowmen, yada, "OK."
Checked a bit later. All good.
Not even 20 minutes later, phone rang.. a mostly frantic sister inlaw on the other end (the one that lives 5 blocks to 291, cross the highway, another 4 blocks) "DRU JUST SHOWED UP AT OUR DOOR!" It's a wonder we weren't hauled in for child endangerment.
That, is kinda a microcosm of my, our son's life.
We are ALL human, he too. He admittedly pushed the envelope upon occasion, he could be a hardhead, that (hang on a sec...'knock-knock-knock'), yup, could possibly be due to heredity.
Summer, age 9. Third day after the school year ended, broke his right wrist. For a sports crazy baseball loving right hander, devastation. By week two, he was shooting free throws lefthanded WAY BETTER than his naturally lefthanded father ever did.
The next year. I was a teacher/coach ("Oh the games people play now", specifically PE teachers), anyways, I'd come home after 8 hours of jump-the-brook, hill dill and 2 hours of football or basketball practice, only to be met at the door of 305 Lee Drive by a cute little blond shit, ball bat and glove in hand.
My son was a foot or so shorter, at that age, than his buddies. I blame his mom, petite as could be and pretty as hell as could be.
We went. Bucket after bucket of fly balls, ground balls, batting practice. I'm talking SMTWTFS.
I could hit the ball damn high, not far, but damn high. Due to his size, and the height of the fly, sometimes folks would stop and watch in amazement, as time after time the little shit measured the depth, height, right or left, and it would fall gracefully in his glove.
One of my favorite memories is of us, our little travel league 7th grade basketball team, had FINALLY made it to the championship game of a tournament. Eleven of us, nine kids all sizes and color, another dad, and I, right before the game, jumped in whatever the clunker it was I was driving at the time - and drove around and around and around the middle school parking lot with Queen's "We Are the Champions" totally cranked. Happy. It was happy, FUN.
Victor, you guys win? No, we got our butt's kicked (we were maybe not even the 4th best team there) but I can tell ya 11 people who will never forget that.
Our son Dru would go on to work many years for the Downtown Community Improvement District, providing security, maintenance and beautification to his sector of town. It was similar to the USPS "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night" with a little less pay. He was proud and annually he would gain a nifty Christmas bonus for perfect attendance.
He fathered, a maybe partially biased grandfather would say, three of the most beautiful kids EVER!
Happy times, sad times, times of struggle. Every once in awhile he could struggle with patience so we'd give him a little of ours.
He had a very good sense of humor, called his father 'Shay... Pops.... OG... and his favorite, Fat Boy'.
HE LOVED HIS CHILDREN LIKE CRAZY.
The last couple of years he lived with me. He hasn't driven in almost 20 years, so.....
Daily, after I picked him up from his job at FedEx, we'd go on a looooong 'spin', talk about family, sports or life in general. We each looked forward to it.
We loved going to smaller towns, Smithville, Kearney, Weston, Oak Grove, Grain Valley, Lathrop, Cameron, Platte City, etc., and, we'd go Downtown on weekends, and retrace his steps there.
We had our favorites.. he Loved going to downtown Excelsior Springs (and I did too). My favorite was easily the airport where we'd park in the cargo area and watch planes land and takeoff.
My, our son Dru, had a series of strokes a week ago. Strokes, like much, are sadly hereditary too. He was on the road to improvement, walking laps around the hospital floor - and he was one day from going to a therapy facility for 12 days of speech, occupational and physical therapy.
I was enroute to the Hospital yesterday (Long John Silver 3 piece chicken, fries, Doctor Pepper in hand, per request) when my phone rang. The Doctor, in his rounds, found him unresponsive. More strokes, no brain activity.
Dru Worth Schultze, born July 3rd, 1985, passed away yesterday at 5:17pm, March 17, 2025, on his Grandma Velma's birthday.
He was a giver. Wanted to take me to lunch on payday.. bag of candy, where his dad would hoard, protect his, not Dru, he'd open it it, offer up, then eat some.
Hopefully that's hereditary too as he was an organ donor.
I will miss.. "WhatsUp Fat boy?".. "You OK?"... and Fer sure the gleam in his eyes when he saw one of his kids. Him.
One nickname was Boot, because from early age on he had such a cute little Booty!
Never is a long time here on Earth and it happens so quick (many, many years too quick in this case.)
Love, like it might be the last time you'll see someone, Victor
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