Hurt My Heart

I visited Mom on Saturday afternoon, and we chatted a little bit, and watched a funny episode of Roseanne (John Goodman is great).

I mentioned that the Knicks were going to win the championship, and how we watched them together in 1973. She loved that team - especially with Jerry Lucas who was a genius.

She asked:

“What sport is that?”

So, her memory isn’t great, but I knew how to get it going. I put on Sinatra.

“Strangers in the Night”

She watched the video. Her leg moving to the music. Her eyes full of tears. 

She sang every word.

I thought about taping it, but she was watching the video on my phone.

Then she looked up.

“He’s dead, right?”

I nodded.

“Why?” She asked.

“He was old,” I said. “He had a great life. His songs will last forever.”

She sang a little more.

“I remember it all,” she said. “Why did he die? He was handsome.”

I knew those tears were for my Dad who loved Frank. I knew she heard his voice as Frank sang. That’s why she had tears.

It was beautiful to see, but it hurt my heart.

And then I drove through town, thinking of all those who aren’t here anymore.

Faces of friends, relatives, and acquaintances.

Life is short.

Even in its longest days.