Last
Friday I had my second dose of the Pfizer Covid-19 vaccine. People were saying that the second
So,
Friday came, and I felt fine all day long. I walked all over without the
slightest hint of fatigue and even stopped off at the post office to send a
package to my daughter in Italy. I felt great!
I woke
up on several occasions during the night feeling like my arm wanted to break
off at the shoulder. I changed position and fell back to sleep until the next
twinge. I awoke at 10:30 a.m. and tried
to get up.
As I
said, I TRIED to get up. My whole body felt, initially, as though I’d been run
over by an 8-wheeler — 10 times. Dang, where is that man when you need him the
most?! And the tears came, not so much from the pain caused by the vaccine but
because Russ wasn't there to give me the hugs I needed.
The
photo on the wall is beautiful, and I’ve leaned against it so many times crying
it’s fading, but it couldn’t step down off the wall to give me the comfort I
really needed. So, I rolled over and asked Missy Priss (the character cat I
live with) if she could help me; she just jumped off the bed and trotted into
the kitchen to wait for her breakfast treats and then go outside. The brat!
And
so, there I was, hurting and left to my own devices. I cried. And then, I
achingly forced myself out of bed. I was certain that things would get better
as time went by, but that was really courageous on my part. And I thought, as
someone used their sledgehammer to drive the dull-edged, rusty bladed axe through
my skull, “Russ, where are you?”
You
see, Russ had this lovely talent that he shared willingly with anyone who
asked: he was so kind. I would get up in the morning to find him with his head on
top of his computer keyboard after spending a night commiserating with some
person he barely knew, offering advice, or just offering an open ear and mind.
And it worked: the next time he spoke to said person, the person would be
bubbling over with happiness.
One
day, shortly after Russ moved in with me, we were talking, and I suddenly
started crying. I can’t remember what started it off, but it might have been a
photo of my maternal grandmother. She had died some 14 years earlier at the venerable
age of 99 years and 10 months, but I hadn’t gotten closure.
I had
been very close to both of my Grandmothers, but I mourned Gram in particular because
I hadn’t been at her side to say good-bye, and it broke my heart. So Russ put
his arms around me and asked me to talk about her. That simple, kind act
brought peace to my heart.
And
that kindness is one of the most important things I remember about Russ. He was
even kind to people he didn’t particularly care for. I remember one time when
he was an administrator on a private social media platform and remonstrated one
of the members for some reason I can’t remember. The member cussed Russ out and
said that his father had died.
Russ
immediately apologized and offered his condolences. The man refused the
condolences, saying that he wished Russ were with his father. Russ signed off
and cried: not because of what the man had said, but because the man had lost
his father. Russ knew what it was like to not have a father around.
Yes, I
miss him every day. I could go on and on and on, with example after example of
why. But I will put the next memory off until another day.
Do you have memories of a loved one who you’ve lost, who was kind? Would sharing help put your mind at peace? You’re more than welcome to leave a comment, as long or short as you’d like. Writing it down, even in someone else’s blog can help.
Copyright © March 30, 2021. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.
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