RMJ 114 June 8

SUNDAY, JUNE 8 ● San Diego, vs Padres

This turned out to be a real nice day at the ballpark. Darryl Kile continued his progress toward the All-Star game with a five-hit shutout. If you had told me that he would do this in spring training, I would have said you were crazy. But that’s the beauty of baseball. As my old broadcasting partner Milo Hamilton is wont to say, baseball is the most unpredictable game in the world.

We got a bonus today when three players who have not been hitting well, hit home runs as part of our 9-0 win. First it was Sean Berry, then James Mouton, and the last and longest was launched by Tony Eusebio.

 

After the game, I headed for LA. I was in a cheerful mood, listening to Oldies and singling along. When I came over the grade on the 405 freeway, the San Fernando Valley spread its arms to hug me like relatives at a family reunion.

At this poignant and unexpected moment, I welled up with tears, and a few spilled over. It was the first moment of sadness I have experienced since Dad died.

The emotion passed, and I was buoyed when Rick, Susan, and Mom greeted me enthusiastically. I have been calling home just about every day, and things seemed to be going well — at least, over the phone.

After we talked a while, it was clear that there are more bridges for Mom and the rest of us to cross before we recover from Dad’s passing. At several intervals, Mom and Rick got misty-eyed. Their grief brought mine to the surface again.

 After Mom went to bed, Rick confessed some concern for her.

“She’s still not eating much, and she’s having trouble sleeping.” he said. “I guess I thought she would bear up to it a little better, but she has been weak. We’ve never seen that side of her, but I should have known. I mean, living with someone for 50-plus years and then losing them, it has to leave a big hole.”

The Valley sky was remarkably clear as we sat by the pool and reminisced. I smoked a Hemingway cigar, and it was delicious. The moon was a sliver and the soft, blue glow from the swimming pool bathed us in the mood of our musings.

We talked about Dad’s ashes.

“They were supposed to come on Friday, but the guy was running late,” Rick said. “He called about six o’clock and I told him to forget it. I guess he’ll try to do it tomorrow. I hope it doesn’t upset Mom too much. The death certificate hasn’t come yet, either. I just hope the finality of these things doesn’t get to her.”

I am so grateful to Rick for spending these critical days at home. Once, when my sister Laura Lynn was having marital problems, he called me from Hawaii and said that one of us had to be with her for a few days, because she was so distraught that Mom was afraid she might do something foolish.

It was the last day of the baseball season. After six months of constant travel, working days, nights, and weekends, I was not thrilled about making another trip. I was looking forward to a vacation, but he was already on one. I could see why he thought I was the man for the job, but I still resented him living it up in Hawaii while I was on a mission of mercy.

As it turned out, those few days were the best I have ever spent with my little sister. We went for long walks in the mountains, talked about important things, got to know each other a lot better. Now, Rick is doing the family duty while Laura and I must work.

There is so much strength in the family unit. I would guess that most of our country’s social problems are directly related to broken homes. We Dierkers have been lucky.