Feeling the loss

My physical therapist, Larry Paster, passed away on July 6. One of the therapists from his practice called my house, but I was outside sweating profusely while installing a baby car seat into my husband's truck, so I missed the call. ARRRRGH! She didn't relay much information, though; Larry's wife called her, very distressed, obviously, and simply told her to call all the patients. Needless to say, I had trouble lifting my jaw off the floor when my sister gave me the message. He was only 63. Immediately I thought heart attack or stroke, you know, something sudden and quick. I stood there in disbelief. Utter. Disbelief. 

I went to the funeral service that Sunday, July 8. No, I was not close to him; he was my physical therapist who helped me with my shoulder and ankle. But I felt inclined to go, I guess because I liked his wife so much (she worked in the office, too). So, I, along with well over a hundred other people, paid our respects. We all sat there and listened to his son and two close friends speak about their love for this man, how devastated they were about his passing, and how much his absence left such a void in their broken hearts. There I sat, wondering, well, what the hell happened to him? I need to know.

His son gave a very moving and touching speech. One of the things he said was, "You lived like a rockstar and you died like a rockstar." Hmmm. What does that mean? Drug overdose? Hmmm. Then, one of his close friends mentioned the word "demon" in his speech. Okay. That could be any number of things: drugs, alcohol, gambling, the list goes on. Why be so evasive? Oh wait...it can't be. It just can't. I sat there feeling sadder than when I had first arrived. And then the final speech of the service, given by another of Larry's close friends, sealed the deal. He, too, used that word: demon. Ah, Larry. I was wrong. It wasn't drugs or alcohol or gambling. Pain was your demon. Mental anguish was your demon. Inner torture was your demon.

Three weeks later, I am still in disbelief. And feeling very sad. There hasn't been a day since July 6 that I haven't thought about Larry, or his wife Sharon, or their little dog Dooley who always greeted me at the office with sweet kisses. I don't know why it has affected me so much. I just hope Larry finally snuffed out those demons.

It's been ages

Can it really be almost a year since I last blogged? I guess I've been too busy (or too tired?) to write. Or maybe I just haven't had much to say. I doubt it really matters, though, since I have all of one follower, and I don't think even that one follower reads my posts. Anyhoo...

Mothers' Day is this weekend. I still sometimes can't believe that I'm a mom. And to think that this is my second one is even more strange. But my daughter brings my husband and me copious amounts of joy. We're both giddy with love for her. She's grown so much, changed so much, and learned so much in one short year, it's simply astounding. But as she gains more independence every day, I'm reminded of how fleeting these tender years truly are. She used to hold my hand all the time when she first started walking; in fact, it was hard for her to even let go. Now, I give her my hand and she shoves it away while saying, "NO!" Ouch. I'll admit it, that stings a little. But the sting goes away so quickly when she just randomly comes up to me and kisses my knee with her "mmmmmm-hhh" (it's hard to put letters to the sound she makes when giving kisses), or when she cuddles with me before bedtime, or when she puts her head in my lap while we're watching Sesame Street, though that's a very rare occurrence. I savor all those moments and bank them in my love vault. A child's love, my child's love, makes every single day  Mothers' Day.