The mental picture is not one VaLynda Mooney will soon forget.
While visiting her parents to decorate for Christmas and celebrate her mom's 92nd birthday late last month, Mooney couldn't help but smile while watching her dad, former Pirates pitcher Vernon Law, repeatedly walk in and out of the kitchen of their Provo, Utah, home.
Although Law's primary tools involved a ball, glove and spikes while he helped the Pirates to a World Series victory and captured the Cy Young Award in 1960, on this particular afternoon he spent a lot of time insisting on carrying a heated shawl that his wife, VaNita, received as a gift last year.
Every time the beads inside cooled, Vernon left the reclining loveseat he and VaNita share and returned with warmth, a small gesture of appreciation for his wife of 72 years.
"I don't know how many times he reheated that thing," VaLynda said. "But it was a lot."
Nicknamed the "Deacon" for his Mormon upbringing, devout values and squeaky-clean off-the-field lifestyle, Law carved out an impressive major league career, one that included 162 wins and a 3.77 ERA, all for the Pirates.
But as much success as he experienced on the baseball field, Law's best work has inarguably come recently while caring for VaNita, who suffered a stroke in April 2020. Together, they're the embodiment of what love, compassion and marriage really should be.
"She tells us all the time, 'Your dad is so good to me,' " said VaLynda, the youngest of six children — and the only girl — choking back tears. "And he is. It's an amazing example. We know as long as she's there with him, she's happy."
Vernon Law's role of caretaker also serves a dual-purpose. He and VaNita were high school sweethearts growing up in Utah, and he can't possibly imagine life without her. While insisting on taking painstakingly good care of VaNita, Vernon — who's also 92 — appreciates the work because it helps keep him young.
There's an award-winning garden he maintains. Law cuts his own grass, trims hedges and shovels snow. After answering his phone a few weeks ago, Law sounded rushed — because he was juggling four loads of laundry.
"The rocking chair is not for me," Vernon said. "I know how important it is to keep moving. I lost all my family before they were 70. Here I am — 92."
Vernon Law only stopped throwing batting practice at BYU, where his son Vance used to coach, a handful of years ago. He still autographs and returns every old baseball card he's sent, in previous years paying thousands of dollars in postage. Vernon also makes breakfast every morning for VaNita and their son, Varlin, who lives in the basement while navigating a second bout with Leukemia.
The energy level and compassion demonstrated by Vernon Law continually impresses everyone around him.
"It's the integrity of the man," Varlin said. "He makes sure he and my mom are 15 minutes early to church. He sings in the choir. He teaches. He speaks to youth groups. It's just incredible the responsibility he takes on.
"And then the way he takes care of my mom ... I mean, you can't even talk about assisted living in our house. You go into his room, the bed's always made. I can't even help him turn it down at night because there's a special way he does it. All I can do is turn on a heated blanket for my mom."
Vernon Law had major heart surgery in 2005, at which point he said the surgeon told him his heart had developed additional blood vessels because of his activity. Until VaNita's stroke, Vernon played golf regularly and visited Pirate City in Bradenton, Fla., for the team's annual fantasy camp.
But these days, Vernon worries about being gone from VaNita for that long.
"You don't know what love is until you have something like this happen to your wife," Vernon said. "I don't know what life would be without her. As you know, baseball life isn't easy. You're gone half the time. She's been the one who has kept our family together."
'I'm just grateful'
As VaLynda described it, now the tables are turned. When VaNita's mother was staying with her daughter and Vernon around 20 years ago, she made Vernon promise that should something like this happen, he would always be there for VaNita.
"Maybe she had an inclination or whatever," Vernon said. "But that's what I've been doing."
When VaNita needs a bath, Vernon helps. When she wakes up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, so does her husband, always eager to provide a steady source of support. Vernon picks out his wife's clothes, reminds VaNita of her schedule — she gets her hair done on Thursdays — and makes sure they remain regulars at church.
"When we go to church, everyone is so happy to see her," Vernon said. "They make a fuss over here because that's how much they love and respect her. To see how many people were in the yard, welcoming her after she went through some of this ... I found out we have some really good cooks in the neighborhood."
In the fall, Vernon likes to drive VaNita up to the mountains and observe the changing colors. Exercise is big, too. They like to go on walks, with Vernon having VaNita push a wheelchair to balance, then pushing her once her legs grow tired.
"I'm just grateful I'm here to help, to love her and care for her," Vernon said. "She's been the rock of our family and kept us together over the years. I just tell how much everyone loves her and needs to have her here."
Added VaNita: "I'm very lucky. We've been together a long time, and we've been doing everything together since we've been married."
That included a trip to the hospital one night more than 2 1/2 years ago, when VaNita got up from the dinner table, called out her husband's name and collapsed. Vernon called 911, and paramedics arrived within minutes.
But when doctors examined what had happened around VaNita's brain, they couldn't get the clot of blood to dissipate. VaNita was non-responsive, unable to open her mouth or eyes. "It was rough," VaLynda said.
Doctors told the family this was probably it, nothing more anyone could do. At one point, Vernon, VaLynda and Varlin said their goodbyes, prayed over VaNita and discussed bringing her home to die peacefully.
"I prayed for a miracle," Vernon said. "And we got one."
'Tender love and care'
The miracle came in the form of a phone call. VaLynda didn't sleep well and dozed off in the early-morning hours. Her phone rang at 7:30. It was someone from the hospital. VaNita's condition had changed.
"It was somebody at the hospital saying, 'Your mom's asking for you,' " VaLynda said. "I was like, 'What? I just saw her last night. I thought I said goodbye, and now she's talking?' It was a complete miracle."
For reasons the Law family still doesn't completely understand, VaNita's condition began to improve. To pass the time and see one another during the month or so apart, Vernon and VaNita learned to use FaceTime. While waiting for his wife to be discharged, Vernon outfitted their home with various safety devices for VaNita's occupational-therapy sessions.
"Every time we would FaceTime she'd say, 'I'm ready to come home,'" Vernon said. "We'd say, 'Honey, I think you should probably do what the doctors tell you.' But to see her and talk to her, that gave us hope."
The ensuing weeks, months and years haven't been without mishaps. There was a fall in the bedroom that resulted in a bloody gash to VaNita's head. Then three broken ribs when a cart VaNita was using tipped.
As they navigate a ninth decade together, Vernon only gets more cautious and protective, rarely allowing his wife to leave his sight and relying on a seemingly endless amount of patience.
"I'm proud to say that I still have her with me," Vernon said. "And it's because of tender love and care. I can't imagine someone not doing what I'm doing."
'It's so incredible'
If caring for VaNita didn't keep Vernon busy enough, there's also the Varlin component. The early portions of his week are often tough with chemotherapy. When he's physically able, Varlin will help by cooking everyone dinner.
But in their 3,500-square-foot house, Vernon Law certainly gets his steps in every day ensuring everyone is OK.
"It's so incredible," Varlin said. "My dad can out-work me big-time."
The baby of the family by seven years, VaLynda jokes that she was born to save Varlin's life; her other four brothers were not matches to be Varlin's bone marrow donor, but she was.
"He was the biggest tease and such a jerk when I was growing up," VaLynda said, laughing. "But he likes me now."
If there's any family that knows about miracles, it's the Laws. Raised on a farm in Meridian, Idaho, Law worked his arm into shape by chucking potatoes at telephone poles. He signed with the Pirates at age 18 in 1948. His first salary: $175 month. Law's best season came in 1960, when he went 20-9 with a 3.08 ERA in 35 starts, posting 18 complete games.
"Baseball today is not the game I played," Law said. "I don't understand why, when a pitcher is doing so well, they take him out. The emphasis now is on the bullpen, not the starter. That bothers me."
Law's playing career wasn't easy. It certainly wasn't on a "baseball widow" — Varlin's words — raising six kids back home. VaNita was the valedictorian of their high school class and passed on college to have a family and support her husband's baseball pursuits, routinely traversing the United States with the Law clan in tow.
It's why Vernon takes immense pride in retelling stories of going to bed while teammates partied, reminding prank-callers trying to get Vernon to join the fun that he was happily married and there solely to play baseball.
And it's why, to this day, he remains completely dedicated to providing top-notch care for VaNita, an example they together set for 31 grandchildren, 59 great-grandchildren (with two more on the way) and three great-great-grandchildren.
"My mom is amazing," VaLynda said. "She followed dad wherever he went and completely bloomed wherever she was planted. She's the one who did everything because he was playing baseball and coaching. Things are different now with her health, and it's remarkable to see the care he gives her. It's really an amazing love story."
