A GAME OF CATCH

"Hey, not so hard. I'm having trouble tracking the ball."

"How about like this?" I ask, switching to an underhand toss.

"That's better. And a bit higher and to the left. It's hard for me to reach down if I miss it."

Larry's bone cancer is relentless but on this balmy November day, it's being kicked to the sidelines. 

A small boy comes over to watch, probably drawn by the novelty of two men enjoying a simple game. Suddenly the ball is by Larry and the little fellow scurries to retrieve it.

"What's your name?" I call out as he propels the softball back to us.

"Elias," comes the answer from his proud gramma.

"Thanks Elias," I shout. "It's so nice to have a ball boy." 

Our little backup is kept busy for a time but our game comes to a sudden halt when Larry notices he's bleeding from his left wrist. 

"Ease up, Mike. That last throw got more arm than glove."

I feel terrible and so must Elias as he fast disappears from sight. Larry goes rummaging  in his duffel and comes out with a wrist pad, as if he had anticipated his injury. While he's at it, he fishes out an eyepatch and places over his right eye.  Larry's vision has been a victim of his brain cancer, binocular vision turning his world slightly askew.

"And this should help too," he says, switching to a lighter glove.

"Gee, I get to play with a real pirate here," I holler. 

"Lucky you," he retorts. "Now, I'm ready for anything you can throw at me."

His words remind me of how well he's handling his Herculean challenges. We play a little while longer before taking a walk around the Pomona Valley Park.

We usually spend our time sharing old stories but today, it's also about the road ahead.

"Are you scared?" I ask.

"Not really," he replies candidly. "The Lord is with me. Some day, I just won't wake up here. I think that's how it's going to go."

Larry is not a religious man but his quiet faith is unshakeable. I think that's what draws me to him, his underlying sense of peace and destiny. I couldn't help but think of the recent passing of Alex Trebek, another man who was most accepting of the hand he was dealt.

We make our way back to the parking lot. It's almost 4:30 pm and the sun is about to set in the western sky, its fiery gold color promising another beautiful day upon its return.

We spot our young friend and his gramma getting into their car. 

Larry calls out, "Hey Elias, this is for you," and he tosses him his softball.

The little guy beams.

"At least I've made one person happy today," Larry says with a smile.

I nod in agreement and later quietly reflect,

My friend, you've made more people happy than you'll ever know.