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JULY 10 -AUGUST 8, 1991— SYRACUSE, NEW YORK (6 MONTHS LATER)It’s been eight months since I lost Lenny and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of him at some point. Like today: here I am at Lyndon Golf Course with my son under blue skies and bright sunshine. As I stand back and watch Tommy line a shot up on the par 4, 260-yard downhill hole, I get a comforting sensation of Lenny standing beside me and looking on as Tommy takes his stance. My son swings, sending a looping shot down the middle of the fairway. More than 160 yards. Not bad for a twelve-year-old. Tommy looks back at me and it’s clear he’s pleased with himself. I give him a thumbs-up.
Before Lenny passed, I never thought to bring Tommy along on the course. I just assumed he’d be bored with the game. Obviously,
