“I’m scared.” He said, and I could see the fright in his eyes.
That was my friend Larry speaking. Larry Czerwinski. Perhaps using the word ‘friend’ might be a bit of a pull—I only knew Larry from softball.
For those readers who don’t know me, I play softball on Tuesday nights during the summer. I got on an informal 16” league back in the late ‘80’s as an extra curricular activity. A sign up sheet had appeared on the front counter of my department, and I eagerly added my name to it. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough people for my department to field a team. So, on the last moment, a secretary had written a message saying that if anyone wanted to play, they should call a guy named Ralph. I called, and Ralph had me show up for their first game. That's when I met Larry.
He was, among other things, the master of the ‘fat guy’ stance. His chubby body seemed out of balance holding a bat, and his overall girth seemed to be a hindrance. But it wasn’t—he could hit, field and run with the best of us. For many years, Larry was one of our better players—a consistent hitter and good fielder.
He was also one of the regular drinkers. After the game, we’d all head to the buffet (pronounced, btw, as it’s spelled) for a few beers. Larry was always fond of Miller Lite, and used to tell me constantly that he didn’t know why I could drink ‘that dark shit.’ He also used to chastise me about my hitting: “You’ve got the power … but you need to be consistent.”
Larry didn’t play for us this last season. Our team suffered some changes, and we lost some core players. Larry was suffering from several ailments, and he decided to play on another team. Unfortunately, I never had a chance to play against him. His ailments got worse, and he then learned he had inoperative cancer. I didn’t see him at any of the games, and I didn’t see him at the party.
Yesterday, while in the hospital, a nurse finally told him what we already know: Larry has only a month left, at most. He was moved from the hospital to hospice. I picked up my friend Ralph and went over to the nursing home.
I wanted to tell Larry to not be scared. He has lived a full life, and lived it the way he wanted to. I can only hope that he was satisfied with what he has accomplished. Life is leaving him early, and he isn’t ready for it to end.
A pad and pen was on his bed when we saw him. On it, in his handwriting, was a list of things he wanted to do before he died. Larry liked to gamble; he really wanted to go to Las Vegas next week. Looking at the list, there were more things on it then days he has left.
Yeah, Larry, I’m scared too.
