Larry
I met Larry over 3 decades ago. He is my wife's cousin. He was a big burly man who worked at Union Pacific.
It was a hard time in my life. My family, with the exception of one sister, had disowned me. I had always been the one in the family who just never fit, but being officially disowned (I was told by my mother that I was not to set foot in her home again until I had confessed my sins to a priest and broken up with T) was difficult for me. Suddenly, holidays became something that I had to get through. In spite of our differences, I missed my mother and sisters.
I was lucky. I had T and her family. The first time that T introduced me to her cousin Larry, he gave me a big bear hug and said, "Hi, Cuz!" It was balm to my beat up heart.
Hi Cuz!
I'm sure that he had no idea how much that meant to me. All of T's family were incredibly kind and accepting of us. And I became close to them. But, it was Larry who said the words that meant more than anything to me.
Years passed. T's family had a picnic twice a year and Larry was always at the helm, serving up the scrambled eggs or sausage or bacon, making sure that everyone had a full plate and someone to converse with.
He and I talked at every gathering. He was about 8 years older than me, but he always sought me out, a big cup of coffee with cream in it, just the way I liked it, and we visited. I learned a lot about him. His mother had left his father and he and his three brothers when he was little and for a while, his dad struggled to keep his job at the meat packing plant and take care of them. Eventually, he ended up putting his sons in an orphanage for a year, but came and visited them every weekend, promising that as soon as he could swing it, he would get them out. He did, finally. But, that year was the hardest of Larry's life and something that shaped him forever.
Larry was not into school, so he got a job at Union Pacific on the loading dock when he graduated from high school. He worked there for 45 years, working his way up to supervisor. He married and had a family. He fought depression. He never liked his job, never enjoyed his work, but since it afforded his family a good life, he stayed. His marriage was not a happy one, but like so many, he and his wife stayed together for the kids.
Finally, a combination of type 2 diabetes and heart disease caused him to retire. After that, he only came occasionally to the family gatherings. He no longer was the server at the family picnics; he couldn't stand up for more than ten minutes. We sat in chairs and he talked about how much he missed his snickers bars, now a no-no because of his diabetes. But, every single time he saw me, he called out, "Hey, Cuz!" He was no longer a big burly man, but a skinny frail one. And he no longer delivered my coffee to me, but called to one of the younger kids to get it for me. We still talked. By that time, my mother had died and my sisters and I had reunited. He was so joyous for me. He would say, "That is so great, Cuz. I'm so glad for you. And I'm glad for them, too. You are a person who is not to be missed out on." He was that kind of man.
And then he stopped coming to all family functions all together. His diabetes was out of control. His heart medication no longer worked well. His brothers told us that they worried for him. That he was eating way too much sugar and had grown sores on his legs that would not heal. He didn't want visitors.
We heard this week that he is in hospice care. His heart is failing. The doctors say that without oxygen, he will die quickly.
T went to see him after she got off school yesterday. Came home to tell me that he is unconscious and not expected to live much longer.
I am preparing to go see him now. I won't stay long. I haven't the stamina and he has other places to go now, people to see.
But, I plan to take his hand and whisper, "Hi, Cuz!"
I will never be able to tell him how much those two words meant to me.
It was a hard time in my life. My family, with the exception of one sister, had disowned me. I had always been the one in the family who just never fit, but being officially disowned (I was told by my mother that I was not to set foot in her home again until I had confessed my sins to a priest and broken up with T) was difficult for me. Suddenly, holidays became something that I had to get through. In spite of our differences, I missed my mother and sisters.
I was lucky. I had T and her family. The first time that T introduced me to her cousin Larry, he gave me a big bear hug and said, "Hi, Cuz!" It was balm to my beat up heart.
Hi Cuz!
I'm sure that he had no idea how much that meant to me. All of T's family were incredibly kind and accepting of us. And I became close to them. But, it was Larry who said the words that meant more than anything to me.
Years passed. T's family had a picnic twice a year and Larry was always at the helm, serving up the scrambled eggs or sausage or bacon, making sure that everyone had a full plate and someone to converse with.
He and I talked at every gathering. He was about 8 years older than me, but he always sought me out, a big cup of coffee with cream in it, just the way I liked it, and we visited. I learned a lot about him. His mother had left his father and he and his three brothers when he was little and for a while, his dad struggled to keep his job at the meat packing plant and take care of them. Eventually, he ended up putting his sons in an orphanage for a year, but came and visited them every weekend, promising that as soon as he could swing it, he would get them out. He did, finally. But, that year was the hardest of Larry's life and something that shaped him forever.
Larry was not into school, so he got a job at Union Pacific on the loading dock when he graduated from high school. He worked there for 45 years, working his way up to supervisor. He married and had a family. He fought depression. He never liked his job, never enjoyed his work, but since it afforded his family a good life, he stayed. His marriage was not a happy one, but like so many, he and his wife stayed together for the kids.
Finally, a combination of type 2 diabetes and heart disease caused him to retire. After that, he only came occasionally to the family gatherings. He no longer was the server at the family picnics; he couldn't stand up for more than ten minutes. We sat in chairs and he talked about how much he missed his snickers bars, now a no-no because of his diabetes. But, every single time he saw me, he called out, "Hey, Cuz!" He was no longer a big burly man, but a skinny frail one. And he no longer delivered my coffee to me, but called to one of the younger kids to get it for me. We still talked. By that time, my mother had died and my sisters and I had reunited. He was so joyous for me. He would say, "That is so great, Cuz. I'm so glad for you. And I'm glad for them, too. You are a person who is not to be missed out on." He was that kind of man.
And then he stopped coming to all family functions all together. His diabetes was out of control. His heart medication no longer worked well. His brothers told us that they worried for him. That he was eating way too much sugar and had grown sores on his legs that would not heal. He didn't want visitors.
We heard this week that he is in hospice care. His heart is failing. The doctors say that without oxygen, he will die quickly.
T went to see him after she got off school yesterday. Came home to tell me that he is unconscious and not expected to live much longer.
I am preparing to go see him now. I won't stay long. I haven't the stamina and he has other places to go now, people to see.
But, I plan to take his hand and whisper, "Hi, Cuz!"
I will never be able to tell him how much those two words meant to me.
I am so very sorry.
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