Peter Flieg

My brother Peter passed away on June 4th, 2021 but did not go gently into that good night. As his sister, I know that he would have fought, screamed and kicked his way out of dying if he had a choice. My brother had always been a fighter. If he were still here, he would say something like “I don’t know what the f… happened “, and then probably reach out immediately for a cigarette.

He was the consummate salesman, he loved chatting it up with strangers, and had a network of close friends that were more like family that spanned decades. As we all are, he was complex in many ways. As kids he was my best friend, my closest buddy. We grew apart as we got older, but we always stayed in touch one way or another, and when the chips were down, we were there for each other.

He practiced Kenpo Karate for many years, and I think it was satisfying to him on many levels; it gave him discipline, and something that was bigger than himself to believe in. It was a spiritual practice for him as well as physical exercise.

My brother was smart, witty, and incredibly funny at times. He also was his own worst enemy like many of us are including me. That seemed to be a family trait. He was a lifelong bachelor, although he most definitely enjoyed the company of women, and many enjoyed him. I guess he just never found the right one to settle down with.

I miss him terribly; wish I had gotten a chance to say good-bye. I guess I’m saying good-bye to him, now which makes my eyes tear up. I didn’t think I had any tears left in me, I thought I had used them all up. I just assumed he would be around forever. We’d make up for lost time, shoot the breeze together like when we were kids, just happy being together.

The ironic part is that he was obsessed with his health, he smoked yet did finally stop a few weeks before he died. He wanted to stop smoking, but it was an addiction and not easy to kick. He had asthma ever since he was a kid, and a whole host of allergies, and he was very allergic to cats. I have had cats over the last twenty years ago, so he would avoid coming inside my home to visit. I would have to meet him in a public place.

He didn’t die from smoking, and he didn’t die from asthma. He died from getting a staph infection from one of his most recent hospital stays. It was sudden, unexpected and out of the blue. To die in the place that is supposed to help you get better, but instead makes you sicker, and causes you to die is hard for me to wrap my head around.

I wish I had more time with him. I wish there was something I could have done to save him. I wish, I wish…. The only thing I can do now is try and live my best life in his honor. I love you, Peter. I always will.

XOXO,

Sis

Rest In Peace