When you're a kid they tell you a lot of things.
"Have good manners."
"Play hard, study harder."
"Eat your veggies so you grow up big and strong."
They give you a basic road map for what is to come and how to deal with it. What they don't tell you is that all of us will tow a "Sled of Sorrow" during our lives. It's always there. Somedays, and hopefully most, you don't even feel it. You skip through the day and feel untethered and easy like Sunday morning. Yet that sled is still very much there. It's looped around your shoulders, invisibly dragging behind you. When we lose something or someone close to it, the sled is loaded up. Suddenly taking a short step forward seems daunting. The heaviness is unbearable. You feel hallow inside and weak with a sick feeling. The sled weighs so much that you don't know how you will advance, or why it had to fill up so fast and often without warning. Each day there is a little change. The reason the sled is heavy doesn't go away, but like weight training you get stronger and learn to maneuver with it. A bit down the road you find that awful sleds a bit lighter. You regain some strength and fight your way back...the thing that filled the sled is still there but it has turned into something new...it's a lesson, love, or peace. That awful sorrow you carried leaves you and you run again not feeling the weight. You never forget that struggle, but find the beauty in the sled. The hard thing to know is that it won't be the last time you tow that Sled of Sorrow in walk through life.
10 years ago I wrote about my best friend in a piece called BYB, THE GOOSE & MY DOG.
They give you a basic road map for what is to come and how to deal with it. What they don't tell you is that all of us will tow a "Sled of Sorrow" during our lives. It's always there. Somedays, and hopefully most, you don't even feel it. You skip through the day and feel untethered and easy like Sunday morning. Yet that sled is still very much there. It's looped around your shoulders, invisibly dragging behind you. When we lose something or someone close to it, the sled is loaded up. Suddenly taking a short step forward seems daunting. The heaviness is unbearable. You feel hallow inside and weak with a sick feeling. The sled weighs so much that you don't know how you will advance, or why it had to fill up so fast and often without warning. Each day there is a little change. The reason the sled is heavy doesn't go away, but like weight training you get stronger and learn to maneuver with it. A bit down the road you find that awful sleds a bit lighter. You regain some strength and fight your way back...the thing that filled the sled is still there but it has turned into something new...it's a lesson, love, or peace. That awful sorrow you carried leaves you and you run again not feeling the weight. You never forget that struggle, but find the beauty in the sled. The hard thing to know is that it won't be the last time you tow that Sled of Sorrow in walk through life.
10 years ago I wrote about my best friend in a piece called BYB, THE GOOSE & MY DOG.
My dog was named by Hall of Famer Rich "Goose" Gossage and came to me while I was hosting the MLB Fan Cave in New York City. Thurman Mattingly O'Hara was my bulldog....but he was so much more than that. In our 10 plus years together my buddy saw my life change for the better, and he was such a big part as to why. T (as we called him) saw my wife and I engaged and then married. He was there to welcome my two children. He was the best big brother they could've been blessed with. Thurman, like his namesake, was the Captain of our family. He was the constant that kept us all happy and moving forward through the ups and downs. He wasn't a dog...he was a furry, wrinkled up guardian angel....Yeah, I'm an Irish Catholic and I believe in that stuff from here to eternity.
As a guy that went into the entertainment business (whatever that means), I always found myself trying to make others smile, forget about their worries and just laugh. But when the shows ended, I always found myself down...don't really know why. I struggled with anger and was always tough on myself, and still very much am. Thurman changed that for me. He just knew how to calm me down. I would laugh so loud at his silly bulldog antics...and when he'd jump on the couch and fall asleep on my lap while I was watching the game I was the kind of happy I never knew before. We had a bond where we took care of each other day in and day out. Now obviously my wife and kids make me happier than I ever could've dreamed was possible...this was just different. It was like my own Jiminey Cricket. He was my Chewbacca. He was my best friend and my heart.
Thurman crossed that Rainbow Bridge this past weekend. He was ready and as hard as it was I owed him that. He'd slowed down, was in failing health and didn't have it in him to stay with me any longer. The cruelest thing about dogs is they gain 7 years every trip around the sun to our 1.
T was named by a Hall of Famer and lived a Hall of Fame life. I can never pay back what he gave to me and my family. I wrapped him up in a Paul O'Neill jersey and a Mighty Regis t-shirt. I hugged him with my very soul and said goodbye. I will never forget him. He wasn't a dog....he was a Captain....MY Captain.
I wrote this to feel better.
The Yankees are such a big part of my family...and Thurman is now in the Monument Park of the O'Hara Organization. I believe in the Rainbow Bridge. I believe in the heart and soul of everybody...even the furry little guys that take the ride with us for a time....and change us for the better.
I love you Thurman. You are the best.
--Mike O'Hara
BYB Contributor
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