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Wilkes-Barre Academy announces Science Olympiad State Medalists

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Capitol roundup: Legislation would expand prescription drug coverage for thousands of low-income seniors

<p>PLYMOUTH &#8212; Graduation time doesn&#8217;t bring back a lot of good memories for me.</p><p>Wait a minute, on second thought, maybe a few.</p><p>When I graduated high school, there were 691 others in my class at Wyoming Valley West. It was June 6, 1968 and ours was the second class to graduate from the new &#8220;monster district&#8221; that consolidated nine towns into one school.</p><p>I was like a zombie. A month earlier, my mom had died. It was the worst of times for my dad and me.</p><p>But we persevered. We managed to endure three and a half days of greeting my mom&#8217;s family and friends at her wake. The funeral was held on the fourth day and it was emotionally draining.</p><p>It was difficult, at the very least, to finish out the school year. Graduation didn&#8217;t have nearly the meaning it would have with my mom and dad sitting together in the stands. Sometimes your proudest moments &#8212; your greatest achievements &#8212; lose much of their luster when you suffer a loss like that.</p><p>As zombie-like as I was, I do remember many of my classmates being excited about the day. They couldn&#8217;t wait to stroll up to accept their diplomas, smile and wave to their families and friends in the bleachers.</p><p>There was a lot of talk about graduation parties. Which ones were you going to go to? Were you invited here or there? Do you think the punch will be spiked?</p><p>I didn&#8217;t begrudge any of my fellow Spartans for enjoying their graduation day; it just wasn&#8217;t joyous for me.</p><p>My dad was still distraught from the trauma of losing his life partner. A proud man, he struggled to stay composed and to be strong for my sake. I didn&#8217;t realize it at the time, but I know he wished over and over that my mom could have been there. He knew how important this day would have been for her &#8212; to see her only child graduate from high school.</p><p>In the daily struggle to cope with our loss, no plans were made for a graduation party for me. In a class of 692, I was probably the only one who didn&#8217;t have a graduation party planned. I didn&#8217;t care &#8212; celebrating was not on my mind.</p><p>Then somebody stepped to the plate. My mom&#8217;s friend, Sandy, told my dad she would host a graduation party for me at her house, just down the street from where we lived. My dad accepted Sandy&#8217;s offer and we had a party attended by family and close friends.</p><p>There was a mild celebration and I will never forget the kindness Sandy showed to my dad and me. It seemed somewhat disrespectful to celebrate anything just four weeks after my mom had died, but we smiled and chatted and had a nice time.</p><p>In retrospect, that party might have provided much-needed therapy for everyone. It was our first venture into this new world without my mom.</p><p>My mom died on the day before Mother&#8217;s Day in 1968 at the age of 42. She was such a wonderful person &#8212; a genuine, caring human being. We only had her for a short time, but she managed to leave an indelible mark on everybody &#8212; especially me.</p><p>As did her friend, Sandy Kraynack Potoski. Sandy was full of energy and always ready for anything at the drop of a hat. She would run to Golden Quality for CMPs or to Stookey&#8217;s for BBQs or she would sit on our front porch and make us laugh.</p><p>When I came down with the mumps at age 10, Sandy taught me how to wiggle my ears. You never forget people like that. They have special, magical powers.</p><p>Sandy&#8217;s parents were like grandparents to me. Her family was my family.</p><p>That&#8217;s why, on Christmas Day 1968, we were all devastated when Sandy died of leukemia &#8212; just seven and a half months after my mom had died. Sandy was only 28 years old.</p><p>So when graduation time comes around, my memories are not of pomp and circumstance.</p><p>They are of friendship, compassion, grief, CMPs and wiggling ears &#8212; and my mom and her friend, Sandy.</p><style>
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<div class="neCaption">Bill O&#8217;Boyle </div></div><div class="metaInfo"><photo0>https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/web1_Oboyle_Bill-2-1-1.jpg</photo0><caption0>Bill O&#8217;Boyle </caption0><photoCredit0></photoCredit0></div></div>
<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>By Bill O&#8217;Boyle</p><p>boboyle@www.timesleader.com</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Reach Bill O&#8217;Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at boboyle@www.timesleader.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Beyond the Byline: Friendship, compassion and wiggling ears