A little after nine on a sunny May morning in California the phone rings. It’s Tommy:
“We’re meeting at the hospital today. Bring a headshot. We aren’t allowed in. Larry’s room. We’ll put our pictures on the wall. He’ll know we’re there.”
Larry’s been in isolation at Sherman Oaks Hospital for a week now. He has some mysterious virus. Larry with the shy grin. He may be shortest Les Cagelle, but he is by far the sweetest. Need a hand to hold, an ear to listen, Larry’s there.
Sitting in the corridor, outside his hospital room asking questions that had no answers. The next week we gather at The Little Church in Sherman Oaks for Larry’s Memorial. And so it begins. The hospital visits – the memorials – the tears – the red ribbons.
A scary time. A grieving time. A time that bonded us forever.
