Sextant - June 2021

handed it to me. I looked at the brownish orange drink with two ice cubes in my hand. The pungent scent pierced my nose, the memories of January 5th crashing back on me like a wave at a beach.

People say that you can physically feel your heart break. I can vouch for that. Usually the first couple seconds are disbelief. “There's no way, no chance this happened.” Then the realization, “I’ll never see them again, I’ll never get to see her smile, hear her laugh.” Then the grief. The overwhelming, the gut-wrenching, the indescribable feeling of loss. What happened next I can’t even describe. I honestly don’t remember it. Just black. Just darkness.

My dad in the months after spiraled out of control. He drank everything in sight. There hasn’t been one night since January 5th he hasn’t drank. It’s July 23rd today. The liquor cabinet, which at one time would have lasted him years, was empty within a couple weeks. But I understood how he felt. The whisky on the top shelf above the refrigerator whispered its ugly name in my ear before, prodding me to give in, but I refused; I don’t want to give up like my father. My mom wouldn’t have wanted that.

I snapped out of it to see Luca waving his hand in front of my face.

“You good, dude?” he asked me with a questioning look on his face. “You were just staring at your drink for probably the last two minutes.”

“Yeah I’m ight,” I responded, still staring at the whisky in my hand. “I don’t want this though.”

“You sure, bro? What’s wrong?”

“Listen man, I just don’t want it. My mom would be pissed.”

“Well your mom isn’t here, is she?” He smiled.

“You’re right.”

I fell silent. Being a quiet kid, I didn’t usually talk about my feelings that much, but all of a sudden I found myself gushing everything out. I told him about the months leading up to January 5th, seeing my beautiful mother wilt and succumb to the cancer like a sunflower without water. I told him about the moment she died. The moment I felt my heart snap in two. My dad and his downfall. For the first time, I let someone into my heart, I let someone understand how I was feeling. We put a couple dollars down on the table and walked outside. The sky was dark now, the remnants of the pink and purple fade stripe sunset long gone by now.

“You wanna keep talking about it?” he asked me.

“Thanks.”

We ended up walking through downtown Nashville for nearly two and a half hours that night. He became my best friend on the team, and later my best man at my wedding. We coach our six year old sons together today. He helped me move on. He helped me understand that I can honor my mom through my actions in my life. He brought me out of a dark place and showed me the light; all he had to do was listen.

And for that, I am forever indebted to him.