Griffey Stood at Puckett’s Bedside

When it was over, and Kirby Puckett was really gone, Ken Griffey Jr. sat in a baseball dugout and took deep breaths that turned back his grief.

It was pure chance that Puckett would fall ill here, with Griffey nearby, and die with Griffey standing at his bedside, alongside Puckett’s family, including his two young children.

Puckett had been the friendly hand on Griffey’s shoulder all those years ago, when one was a veteran player and the other was figuring it all out. So, Griffey was at the hospital Sunday, hours after Puckett was stricken with a stroke, and he was there Monday, when Puckett was taken. He slept four hours Sunday night, four more Monday night, then spoke softly before Tuesday afternoon’s World Baseball Classic game about the loss of his friend.

“Actually,” he said, “he was more like a big brother. The thing he said to me as a rookie was, ‘Your dad took care of me when I was younger, now it’s my turn to take care of you.’ ”

Seventeen years later, he watched, heartbroken, as 12-year-old Kirby Jr. gathered the courage to say goodbye to his father.

“That’s a tough kid,” he said, almost inaudibly. “I couldn’t do it.”

In the last two years, Griffey has seen his grandfather die. Then, his grandmother. Now, Puckett. So, when the phone rang Monday morning and they were taking Puckett off life support, he had to go.

“There’s certain people that you owe it to, for the things they’ve done for you,” Griffey said. “No matter where you are. He was that important to my family. It was for the things he said to me, not for the way he played.”

He smiled, and said, “One of the last things I said before I walked out of the room, ‘No matter the weather, it’ll always be 34 degrees in Minnesota.’ ”

Puckett wore No. 34.

“Kirby’s in a better spot,” he said. “But, it’s everybody else who has to go through it. He’s just, gone.”