I
have become an aunt, I have a husband, I have lived clear across this
continent and then I came back, I got a 'redesigned' heart, I saw
some other countries, and the list can go on a mile long. And yet one
of the same three cats is sitting next to me as I write this, 10
years later, and probably the same black dog would recognize him
again if he ever came back home. So much and yet so little can happen
in a lifetime!
The
one thing that's remained a constant through all this time has been
my daily thinking and missing him. There are things that remind me of
him every day, and that is not an exaggeration. I think of him when
baseball season starts; I think of him particularly in March, with
Spring Training, and in October, with World Series on. I think of him
every time I see Pringles and Milano Cookies on
the shelf at the grocery store. I think of him when I watch Comedians
in Cars Getting Coffee, and I wonder if he would have liked it. I
think of him when I hear about a newspaper laying off people or
folding. Every such news feels like a piece of my flesh is ripped
away from my body. I am sure it would feel the same to him, too.
I
miss him when I see a black dog, a random mutt-like, black
lab-looking dog, because it reminds me of Floyd and his bond with
him. I miss him when the Phillies lose, but I get especially sad when
they win!
I
miss his wit the most. I still use phrases he taught me and chuckle
inside when I meet with a situation that I know how he would
have received. I almost know exactly what words he would have
used. I still picture his mouth grinning, pushing the dimples deep to
the sides, his head tilt, and incredulous stare when I speak about
liberal politics.
Lately,
I have missed him a lot in this political mess of ours. I wonder
daily what he would have thought about this headline or the other,
because, boy, you can be sure he would have had a strong opinion on
everything. On the other hand, I am glad he was spared the true
disgrace and despair that followed some years later. I think it would
be safe to say he would hurt for America today.
I
thought of him relentlessly when I went through my heart surgery. He
was so brave in the face of a forlorn diagnosis, he fought with
dignity, with hope, with the eyes wide open of the realist that he
was, and – most of all – with grace. I wished, in my direst
moments, to have had the grace that he showed in his last year of
life.
The
huge empty spot he left behind 10 years ago is still left open, like
a gaping reminder that he was there. Like all of us, he was unique.
He was singular. But only like some of the most special people, did
he make a meaningful dent into all our existences. It's the sign of a
good life, of a well-lived destiny, however short, when you leave a
scar this deep.
Yes,
it's been 10 years, and as 10 years show, a lot can happen in that
time. But really, all we have on this side of the dirt is not years.
What we have is barely minutes. Seconds. Short and shallow breaths!
He showed me, and all of us, that not a blink needs to be wasted if
we want to have a life to show for ourselves when we're gone.
I saw this quote somewhere and it reminded me of him so. Because, in the end, he was ultimately not afraid: "It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live." And in the end, he lived.
Miss
you today, more than any other day, my dear friend, and hoping you're
gracing a better place with your presence today, and forever ...
