I don’t know if it’s the reinvigorated rise of the virus due to the abject stupidity of so many folks not paying attention to what got us to better state of affairs back in the early summer, or age, or my usual contemplative malaise brought on by the onset of the cold weather here in CT (and amplified this year by the fact that we are not even going to take our much looked forward to, week in the sunshine in February), but sitting around the other day caused me to think back to 1993.

June 21st, 1993 to be specific: My son, then a few weeks past his 9th birthday, was playing Little League baseball for the first time, and his team had made it to the semi-finals of their playoffs. The game was back and forth, but ultimately they scored the winning run. As the run crossed the plate, I jumped in the air with joy (“jumped” being something you need to take with a grain of salt, as I was not yet in my Jabba the Hut state at nearly 400 lbs, but was very close to 300 so leaving my feet a very few inches about the ground qualified as a jump). I immediately felt like I had been hit by a 2 x 4 in both knees and as I came back to the ground was unable to support myself and collapsed to the ground. 9-1-1 was called when it was clear I couldn’t get up (interestingly I was in no pain), off to the ER I went figuring it might hurt when they popped what I thought were my dislocated knee caps back in place. Long story short, they were not dislocated but, in fact, the patella tendons in both legs had totally ripped, and I was scheduled for surgery the next day [blissfully ignorant as to how risky any surgery was for someone my size]. Some 8 hours later, yup it was a very long surgery, and I was out the entire time, I woke up with my legs in hip to ankle casts. The next day my surgeon explained to me that recovery was going to be a long process, I’d be in casts for two weeks, then, with “luck” in full leg immobilizers for the next two months while I underwent lots of physical therapy. Even the small act of showering was unavailable to me and cleansing would be done with the kitchen sink sprayer while standing up over a towel.

My then, 12 year old daughter was headed out to music camp for most of the summer, my wife at the time, working, so it was left to my 9 year old son to basically be my caregiver as my mobility was significantly restricted to a walker and moving around like a poor imitation of Frankenstein’s monster, in a very small, chopped up Cape, with no AC except in the bedroom. Andrew Martin Fitzpatrick, was simply the best, that’s all I can say. we spent mostly every waking minute together, his heart and empathy, even at 9 years old, was so massive, that, instead of worrying about himself, my well being was always at the top of every thought he had.

That summer started many “traditions” that lasted for many years beyond. We would hunker down and watch two shows each week, The Pretender and the Profiler and they became “ours”. We watched innumerable Yankee games and one day as he was giving me yet another hug to lift my spirits, he said “you know, you’re my bestest buddy”.

When I was months into recovery and had started to run, he was the first one to push me to go out for an afternoon run when I didn’t feel like it, reminding me at the tender age of 9-10 that it was good for me and I was also losing weight (clearly that part didn’t stick with me then…it only took another 20+ years to take action on that)

It’s now 2020, he has 3 daughters of his own, works his ass off at his regular job and others, all while helping other folks out when he can squeeze in 5 minutes, almost never taking time for himself. Life has had a funny way of keeping us from spending much time together over the past 15 or so years. Our work and outside schedules, distance [while he’s only in NJ, traffic et al makes it seem like he’s on the other side of the earth], have created a physical void that is made even more pronounced by Covid and the need to now stay apart. I’m encouraged by the prospect of a vaccine, almost as much as I’m discouraged by the inability of many folks to hold out a bit longer and the current spike, and have made it a priority, when this is in the rear view mirror, to rectify that void.

For the moment, though I wanted to say that I spend some quite moments when alone, and close my eyes and feel that hug still. Andrew Martin Fitzpatrick will always have a “bestest buddy”, as will I.