Several years ago, I received a phone call from a distraught mother, whose daughter had just passed away after a long illness. I had met the young lady only once, and was at a loss for words - struggling to find any words of wisdom or guidance that might help at such an awful time. I told the grieving woman that I would talk to a friend of mine, who might be able to offer some guidance - a woman I had gotten to know well during the course of her own child's extended battle with, and eventual death from cancer.
The young man's life and death had touched me to the point where I had written a small chapter, "Marcos", dedicated to his memory in my 2007 book, "The Hardcore Diaries." I hoped that his mother, Rachel, might be able to tell me something - anything, that might allow me to ease the suffering of this other woman.
ever get better?", I asked.
"No", Marcos's mother told me. "It never gets better. Not a day goes by when I don't feel the pain of losing my boy. You just learn to live with the pain."
Like so many in the wrestling world, my heart goes out to the family and friends of Reid Fliehr, who left this world way too young - at the age of 25. AS a father of four children of my own, I can only imagine the grief that his family must be feeling. I didn't know Reid all that well. But I remember watching him play while I was at his father's house in 1991 - all of 3 years old, taking on all the challenges that a swing-set had to offer. I remember seeing him every couple of years after that, watching him grow from a toddler into a boy, and then into a handsome young man with a world of potential.
What I remember mostly, though, was sitting next to his father, Ric Flair, on an airplane, getting ready to take off from the Philippines to Los Angelas - a flight in the neighborhood of 16 hours. I was a little nervous about sitting next to the legendary Nature Boy for such an extended duration; after all, it was widely known that we didn't see eye to eye on too many things. But I listened to Ric, as one by one, child by child, he placed telephone calls to each of his children - just to tell them he loved them. I asked Ric about the calls during the course of the flight, mentioning how touching I found them to be.
"I do that every day", Ric said. "Just because you never know." Now Reid is gone, leaving behind a world of "whys" and "what ifs". But unlike so many who leave this world far too soon, he left knowing that he was loved. For Reid's family, the pain may never get better. Over time, I hope, and pray, they learn to live with that pain. But I hope that knowing they loved their son - and that Reid kew he was loved, will be a source of small comfort in the trying times ahead. God bless you, Reid Fliehr. May you rest in peace