The 4th Of July I Will Never Forget
I am sure we all have memories of at least one 4th Of July that stood out more than the rest for whatever reason even if you can’t remember the exact year but you do remember the event.
There is one embedded in my memory banks as one of those that will forever be included in mine. This particular 4th wasn’t spent celebrating but it did include a close friend of mine who recently passed away. The two of us spent this 4th together working at his shop. He was a welder and a very good one.
The reason we were working that night was my backhoe needed a repair made on the engine block. Special concerns have to be recognized and performed when welding cast iron. Temperature changes was one concern so he said that we could do this repair late at night and lock the shop doors so we would not be disturbed.
After working non stop for several hours we decided to take a sit down break and relax. One bit of conversation led to another and then I learned something that I never knew about my friend that was very painful for him to talk about. As a matter of fact he told me that he didn’t talk about it and I was one of the few that would ever hear him talk about it.
The conversation was about him and his time in Vietnam. I never knew he was a Vietnam Veteran. As he talked about it, his voice was very low and slow and I could see the pain in his face and hear it in his voice as he talked about it. He talked about the things that he had seen and the things that he had to do to stay alive.
He talked about the situations that forced him into making a choice and making it quickly to do what he had to do. Things that he didn’t want to do but had to do. Things that would forever be burned into his memory no matter how bad he wanted to forget. Things that would mentally and emotionally tear the strongest of men apart.
As I sat and listened, the tone of his voice made it evident that for this moment he was reliving that horror. I felt his pain as I wished there was something, anything that I could say or do to help him. But there wasn’t anything. The more he talked, the more he hurt and the more that I hurt for him. That one conversation on that one particular night caused me to look at him as a friend from an entirely different perspective. He gained more respect from me in a shorter amount of time than anyone, anywhere had ever gained from me before.
I learned that night that he had shrapnel buried in his body that could not be removed due to its placement and it caused him a lifetime of pain that he had to endure. I learned about his countless trips to the doctors that resulted in more bad news of the effects that he could expect and the dim view of any available treatment. I learned of the things that the doctors said he would never be able to do again and about the things that would only get worse and never get better.
I felt this huge empty spot growing inside me as I listened to him. I felt an even bigger hope growing inside me that someone, somewhere could be located that could help him. But he had accepted the fact that there was no one out there that could help him. He accepted the fact that the only choice he had was to live with the pain without complaining and that is exactly what he did.
Many times I pulled into his shop only to hear him singing as he worked. Always in a good mood and would bend over backwards to help those that needed him and his services. His many customers never knew of his pain that those words that he would sing had to pass through to make it to their ears.
He was one of the few that could gain access to anything that I had. Whether it be tools, equipment or anything else that he needed and I, luckily was one of the few that could go to him in the same manner. If I had it then he had it and vice versa. All of our stuff was one for each other.
I sadly watched over time as he began to slow down in what he attempted to do. Then I even more sadly watched as he began to fail at things that he did attempt to do. Things that he was able to do for years without even thinking about it. I offered my assistance every time I seen him struggle. I did what I could to help him in the only way I knew how.
My heart finally sank lower than ever when he had to sell his place and his shop that he loved. Then he moved away to another state and I never seen him again. The rock bottom moment was when another friend informed me that Larry had died. I realized at that point that I would never again be able to hear him sing as he worked. I realized then that I would never again get to feel the joy that it gave me to tell him when he called that I did have an item that he needed to borrow and I would have it over to him shortly.
I didn’t feel very good that day after receiving the news about his death. I knew that his pain had finally ceased and I felt relieved for that but I began hurting in a way that I also knew that there was not anything anyone could ever do to stop it. But now when I look back at that one night, on that 4th of July, I realize what a special night that really was and how much it really did mean to me to be able to spend it with my friend Larry.
If there is a person in your life that seems to fit the bill that Larry did in mine then why not take a few moments and give them a call on this 4th of July. Tell them that you were thinking about them and if nothing else you just wanted to say hey.
I know that I would sure call my friend Larry, if only I could.
