Where is Sharon?

Where is Sharon? I thought to myself. I was sitting in a teak chair on the patio of the Boulder Country Club watching golfers finish their last putt at the 18th hole. The sun warmed the brown grass of the foothills. A gentle breeze kissed my skin.

I sipped a cold beer and watched the catering staff present the latest California cuisine. I remember portion control from this week’s weight watcher’s meeting. I sat in chair to wait for Sharon to arrive.

“Would you like one of these, Sir?” the young woman asked politely?

“Thank you very much. Please tell the cook the food is wonderful.” I replied looking through sunglasses and putting one piece of shrimp on my small black plastic plate. I took a black napkin with the country club logo.

No sense launching into the “Don’t call me Sir” lecture. Being called “Sir” just pushes another button about getting old. I skipped the lecture for the server.

Where is Sharon? I thought to myself.

I offered my teak chair to an elderly woman and slithered through the crowd trying to look cool. I was wearing a white shirt open collar, black pants and black shoes. I remembered to wear black for a memorial service for Mike. He was only 22 when he died from a brain tumor. Mike’s family had two memorial services. One in Texas one in California.

Mike had two passions in his life: baseball and his wife. He wanted his family and friends to remember him when he was vibrant and healthy. Before he died he said. “There’s no crying in baseball so don’t cry for me.”

As I searched for Sharon in the crowd I ate a tiny chicken sandwich, grilled veggies with Thai peanut sauce, pieces of cheese all with the “portion control” weight watchers mantra playing in my head. I squeezed through the crowd trying not to spill Thai peanut sauce on my white shirt. This is all about me looking good at the country club.

Where is Sharon? I thought to myself.

“Excuse me do you seen Sharon here anywhere?” I asked one of the guests.

“No but there is Sharon’s mom at that table right there.” A young woman replied nodding her head toward a nearby table.

I walked over to meet Sharon’s mom. She wanted to know how I met Sharon and I gave her a brief outline of our friendship. I met everyone at the table and we talked about the weather and how bad the traffic is in the bay area. I said farewell and headed for the bar to get a cold bottled water for the commute home. I had given up my hope of seeing Sharon.

“There you are Doug. Thank you so much for coming today. How are you? “ Sharon asked.

“Hello!” I exclaimed as I gave her a hug. “I like your hair cut short”

“Thanks, this is my Texas cut. It has to be short. It’s very hot in Texas” She replied. “Let me introduce you to some of my friends.”

I shook hands and met two women who worked with Sharon. Now they are young moms each with a new baby. We all agreed that babies are wonderful. I slipped away from the two moms and found Sharon alone for a nanosecond.

“Sharon, how are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m am really glad you are here Doug. I am doing OK. Over the past few months Mike moved into hospice after the doctors gave up their medical treatments. The brain tumor kept growing and Mike slowly lost body functions. I asked Mike, Are you ready to go yet? He said No. A part of me wanted to hold on to Mike and never let my son go and another part of me wanted to let him pass away and be released from this world. It was a horrible way to die.”

There was a pause in her story as we watched the sunset. The two mothers had joined our conversation as we listened to Sharon’s experience.

“I was there when Mike was born and he entered this world and I held his hand when he died and left this world. After Mike died and I returned to his home I realized he was never coming back home. His house seemed so empty. I never realized how big Mike's spirit was until he died.”