There are some people who will celebrate the countdown to, and the month after, a birthday or anniversary. Adorbs.
Personally I save my sentimentality. And maybe, too, it’s that all the dates I remember are associated with sadness.
I forgot about Toad till he showed up in my memories.
I mean, the relationship ran its course. Nothing more that could have been done. On my part, anyway.
But seeing this in my memories threw me back to April 8 when T told me about L being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer over Bloody Marys at Benny’s.
Like, Toad-boy was trying to be so matter-of-fact about it. But I asked if it was a first diagnosis, and he cried. Like, I never saw emotion in him like that before or since.
Larry was gone by midsummer. With a one-line obituary in some local paper. About as much effort as I’d expect from his family, TBH.
By then, Toad and I were toast and he didn’t even tell me. But I followed one of Larry’s beloved neighbors. His whole community loved each other, and they downright exalted him. His absence left a hole in their little G’acres HOA.
Last year took a lot of people from me. This year seems to be following suit. My own health can’t seem to recover long enough before the next hit takes me right back down. It’s like why even get back up when you’re just going to be in the fetal position again soon enough.
From my ball-shaped position on the floor, I think about how Larry listened to his docs. Oh you have cancer? Better get surgery.
Hell that’s how Toad found out. Larry called Toad on the way to JFK to say I’m going into surgery because I have cancer.
Also, nothing explains that family’s communication style better than that sentence right there.
Over the coming weeks, I would hear about how L went to chemo and how his gorgeous gray curls were being left behind in the chemo chair.
How they had to delay scheduled treatments because the first few were so awful on his once-athletic body.
How he started falling all the time and, in true L fashion, acting like sure, I totally wanted to lie down in front of the fireplace that isn’t even on.
I thought about T this week. I never reached out when I knew L died. He obviously didn’t think I needed to hear it from him. And I didn’t want to reopen that line of communication.
I guess what I really wonder is, does Toadster even think about his dad. How this time last year was really the last time he was “good.” How we all hoped he’d pull through this. How we never dreamed this big, strong man would go downhill so fast.
And, maybe just maybe, how I gave him some comfort and support in the worst time of his life.
Larry never wanted me to see him sick. But he said I could come over anyway as long as I gave him time to pull himself together.
I never did see him. I wanted him to have the chance to get stronger.
Something tells me I think about him more than his son does. I hope not. I hope they speak his name and rent boats and go fishing and be good to their neighbors, just as he did.
And wherever L is, I hope his curls have returned and the water is as blue as the men’s eyes in that family.