Bad Beats

Played a $55 PLO Tourney on Stars last night and was pleased to get to the final table in about 6th spot. Only 27 runners, so 3 spots got paid. Played very patiently and found myself with 3 stacks twice the size of the other short stack and myself when dealt AAxx. Folded to me on the button, it was an easy pot bet and when BB called and an A flopped it was an easy AI in position. When called, there was only a Q that hurt me. Needless to say, I got rivered. 5th when the double up would have had me comfortably in the top 3.

Bad beat? As we know, horses with an 8% chance of winning come good all the time, so not really.

Now that I've turned off all but the regulars with my bad beat story, I'll share with you that my mum passed away last Thursday peacefully. My mum was a stickler for the rules all of her life. When I grew up, I was the youngest of 3 and was never allowed to win at any game. My mother and father taught us that one day we'd win in our own right and the feeling would feel so much better. They were right and my own children have had to endure a similar apprenticeship for life. What we did do as a family was to compensate with handicaps. Playing Monopoly at an early age, I may have been given a better starting stack or a couple of houses, or at chess, my brother would take his queen off the board.

My mum at 75 was still golfing and winning in Open competitions on her own merits. Little did she know she had advanced cancer at the time. Crippled with mis-diagnosed acute pain she was still bowling competitively up to Christmas. Even when I was home a couple of weeks ago, she'd complete the Sunday Times cryptic crossword as she had done every week for over 20 years. My mum posted off her solution every week and never once won, undeterred she continued to enjoy the challenge and hope to win. The day before I left for Australia a couple of weeks ago she was indulging her meticulous nature by vacuuming our attic.

Cancer is a bad beat! In January, after an MRI, my mum was diagnosed with a very aggressive cancer in an advanced stage. At that point, we were able to get the constant pain relatively tolerable whilst maintaining her mental faculties. There was no potential of a cure and my mum as she'd always done set about preparing for the end-game. When she passed away, it was at home, peacefully with all of her family around. That is all that she wanted. Her life was in order and she had no regrets. She'd always played the game fairly and for the most part had been rewarded for her efforts, ethics and generosity.

A week later, life is returning to some normality. The loss remains the same but how we deal with it seems to be improving. My father will soon be left alone after 55 years of constant companionship. When the table breaks up though there are often new players to fill the vacant seats. Ireland still has a very strong sense of community and my dad has had many offers of help. Cheating death himself a couple of years ago, he now walks the promenade daily, stopping frequently to chat with the others who realise that life is for living.

Thank you for undulging me by reading this post. We all need to move on and that includes hobbies and blogging. I too look forward to our occassional interactions with our little supportive community. Thanks all.