Hilary Ward Schnadt

My brother Barry called from Traverse City in the first weeks of the COVID lockdown to ask a favor.  He wanted to order something new from Jameson, whiskey infused with cold brew coffee, that couldn’t be shipped to Michigan.  Could he have it shipped to me?  “Sure,” I told him.  At the time, we expected that COVID would soon be conquered, and life would return to normal.  Barry and his wife Deanna often came down to Chicago to visit us or Deanna’s family or friends.  Scheduling a handoff would provide a good excuse to connect.

Soon a large box arrived containing three well-packed bottles of Jameson Cold Brew.  But the COVID lockdown continued.  Weeks turned into months as we awaited a safe time for Barry and Deanna to visit. 

During lockdown, I instituted monthly Zoom visits with my two brothers and spouses/partners.  Since Barry’s box resided on the floor of my office, my regular sign-off would include pointing the camera at it and reassuring him, “See, I haven’t drunk your booze yet.” 

By the time St. Patrick’s Day 2021 rolled around, his Irish tenants had been residing on my floor for more than a year.  I printed out a greeting in a dialogue bubble, “Happy St. Patrick’s Day, Barry! We hope to meet you soon,” and texted him a picture of it atop his bottles. 

Finally, on May 7, 2021, they met.  I proclaimed it “International Retrieve Your Whiskey Day” and commemorated it with a photo that I had duly captioned and printed on canvas for each of us.  That visit would prove to be our last.  A sudden heart attack took him that next December.

On the first anniversary of his death, an old friend gave me my own bottle of Jameson Cold Brew, and I shared an Irish toast that Deanna had recently texted me after she found it in Barry’s handwriting:

May you always steal, swear, cheat, and lie:

Steal away from bad company

Swear by your friends

Cheat the Devil

and

Lie with the one you love