TW: for death and for length

I think we’ve all noticed a notable number of people crossing over in recent months. Celebrities aside, we had to say goodbye to three family members and at least two people we call friends.

I’ll start with the two family friends. John, who was long ago a close friend of my dad’s and who later became a fixture at the restaurant bar when I was tending there, passed in December. I first got to know him in my 20s. He would stop at the bar on his way home from wherever he was first.

We talked about his alma mater – the college I started at but later transferred from. He talked about his daughters and his grandson who loved trains. He told me hilarious stories from a hurricane-doomed cruise and an unfortunate dinner at Red Lobster. He loved his liquor. He loved to ski. He was generous of spirit, a family man, and imparted much wisdom to me over the bar. His face would light up with a warmth and mischief that betrayed the tough guy exterior.

The second, Jerry, only recently passed and it was another of those unexpected losses. He was not much older than me. He appeared to me as an intellectual but gentle giant. He was quiet but commanding, very discerning of taste and quality of his scotch and food. Though I’m sure he gave me several good pieces of wisdom my feeble brain has since forgotten, the one piece of advice I have applied many times over: if it doesn’t fit anymore, get rid of it (to my lament of clothes in the closet I was having difficulty parting with). My deepest condolences to his wife and sons, who are navigating this new reality.

The first Celebration of Life followed the passing of Todd’s Aunt Marilyn in December. Fiesty, opinionated, takes-no-prisoners, pot-smoking Aunt Marilyn. She made no bones about people she didn’t like and she spoke protectively of those she loved. I didn’t know Aunt Marilyn until Todd and I got back together. She embraced me immediately as family. She loved me and she often told me so which was hard not to appreciate and return. How can you not love someone who loves you? She gave me her mother’s diamond ring several years ago because she wanted me to have it.

Her Celebration of Life was hosted by my mother-in-law in their hot and crowded condo. There were trays and trays and containers of prepared foods – all foods Aunt Marilyn loved. We arrived early to help and Neph was already there. He kept calling MIL’s friend, also there early, by the wrong name. Neph, Neph, look at me…. that’s not Nancy. That’s Mercy. MER-CY. They were putting the food out on a big banquet table in the kitchen. A half hour before people were scheduled to arrive, MIL pulls out this recipe for “spinach pie” she wanted to make and did I want to help with it?

It should hereby be noted that I asked her what I could do, about a week or so before. Nothing, she said. She had ordered trays and things from BJs. Anyhoo, here’s me – who has made spanakopita many times over – holding this recipe in my hand that is nothing like mine, ie: leeks, SANDY leeks, instead of just yellow onion, and no fresh garlic on hand. Mortified does not even begin to describe the anxiety in my gut that this was not going to be as good and I was going to be noted as the chef. Ah well, it’s not about me, right?

My father-in-law stood behind me in the food line and I handed him a plate. He said, “I can’t eat too much or I’ll be in the bathroom all night.” It made me giggle and then he laughed too. He frequently pointed out his wife and son, and spoke to me like he knew me, though I don’t truly know if my name and position stays with him. He always, always, appears happy to see me and with a hug states, “I love ya, babe.”

Several times I ended up in the same place as a cousin’s wife, who was quite affable and an inclusive conversationalist who shared at each turn a new ailment or restriction and at one point I actually said something like, “wow, another thing? You’ve got a lot going on.” And she would nod and bask in the glow of a medical warrior, defying the odds that would keep her down. I wondered if Todd and his cousin would at some point be like, we should get together for dinner! And I’d be clocking how long that dinner would take and how much alcohol I would need to keep me from rolling my eyes back to the exit.

It was a nice gathering that felt more like a party than a celebration of life and, aside from the extended family reminiscing over old photos, there was no formal – or rather – no one got up and spoke about her. At all. I suppose I could have started it, but it didn’t feel like my place to direct the day before someone else. Her son arrived late and left early. He’s not much for speaking, I don’t think, and no one expected him to.

The biggest loss was Dianna. I mentioned it months ago, but it was and is still a fresh wound that opens from time to time. She was a titan in many people’s lives and her absence in all of our lives is a gaping hole that no one can ever fill. I feel an obligation to write about her and yet it feels too big a responsibility to get it right and me – the woman with no shortage of words when I write – cannot bring myself to articulate what she was. My procrastinative self keeps feeding this fatal flaw and I feel less and less inclined to write a whole post dedicated to her. Yes spellcheck,  I invented the word, “procrastinative.” I’m currently and defiantly calling it keeping my deepest thoughts and love for her to myself because they – and she – are MINE.

Her Celebration of Life was earlier this month. The Family held it at the restaurant and limited the attendees to something like 74 people because, as they correctly feared, there would otherwise be a line around the block. In our case, the line was of cars that could not fit into the parking lot and so one of the servers shuttled folks who parked at a school around the corner. I planned to be there early and Todd arrived by way of my brother, as they were at a conference out of town and were just returning that day.

There was a lot of hugging and some tears. And reunions. I hadn’t seen Dianna’s brother and his wife in decades – no lie – I hadn’t even met their son who was a grown man with his own family. There were folks I’d known from decades ago in the restaurant who were there and it was great to see them. Dianna’s nephew who lives in Pittsburgh with his family, who I hadn’t seen since he was a teen bussing tables. There was a lot of do-you-remember-me and some of it was funny and some was embarrassing. How do you forget the face of someone you once loved?

Mom spoke and Dianna’s ex-husband-best-friend (IYKYK) and her brother and her “daughter” all spoke and I stood back and the tears just ran down my face. She was so many things to so many people and the day was absolutely beautiful. I have said that, somewhat like the scripture says, that there was a room for everyone in Dianna’s “house.” She made people feel like they were the only person in the room, when she was with you. She made you feel loved, supported, lifted. That is a rare gift not many have and I find myself inspired to try to be a quarter of this, for her.

She was also wicked smart and wickedly funny and absolutely no one was spared. We all have that one friend whose sense of humor is so closely aligned with yours that you know instantly when you find something funny you absolutely KNOW that you must share it with them NOW. It’s also an exclusive sense of humor that not everyone appreciates or understands. Which makes it all the more hilarious.

She connected me with the “daughter” I mentioned – I feel in my soul it was her intention for us to know each other and that in some way she dropped it in our laps and said, “here – another trusted person for you.” In all of our selfish opinions, she left us way too soon. There is so much left to tell her and share with her. But her contagious – and not undiabolical – laugh rings in my ears whenever I call for it and I hope it never fades. Thank you, Aunt Dianna, for loving me as you did.

Third. Todd’s uncle. After a brief illness and a day of hospice, he passed away on a Monday two weeks ago. He was 89, leaving behind his wife of 68 years, three grown children, and three grown grandchildren. This part of the family lives 2 hours north of us in Pennsylvania. The funeral was at 9:30 and so Todd planned that we would leave our house (first at 5 a.m. and then, thank GOD) at 6 a.m. so as to be there by 8:30 and barring no significant traffic problems. We were forty minutes early and so grabbed some breakfast at a nearby restaurant. We each ordered an omelet and there was NO CHEESE in either of them. Like WHO doesn’t put cheese in a Western Omelet?

The family received people at 9 a.m. in the sanctuary. Todd and I sat directly behind his aunt and just observed. I began to notice a familiar refrain that left me feeling so melancholy… the number of people who would approach her and offer their condolences and snake a, “we should get together,” “it’s been too long, we should have coffee/lunch/etc.” into the conversation.

As an outsider I was more emotionally detached – I didn’t know him well but the grief of his family I could easily channel as I’ve done countless times where then I’m crying as hard as the rest of them – and so the words fell flat in my ears. Platitudes that are well-intentioned but are empty in promises that will never be met. THAT makes me sad. Because I, too, have said such things.

This was the second burial I’d been to in less than a year and I considered the polar differences as the first was in sweltering, oppressive heat and the second was in chilling, unforgiving blustery winds. The region still recovering from that monster snow we had three weeks before, there were still piles of snow all around and mud wherever the green all-season carpets did not cover the path to the graveside. Todd’s shoes, as one of the pallbearers, were caked in mud as we returned to the car. You’d think they’d have done a better job covering a path, he said. You’d think. I don’t think the boys working at the cemetary, who looked very much like boys who once hung out in my basement, were concerned about our shoes.

Shiva was at Aunt’s home and it was just for immediate family and close friends due to limited space. Sandwiches and salads and begguls and lox and once again I found myself in the food line with my father-in-law who, notably, lit up when he saw me and pulled me into another of his “I love ya, babe” hugs. This time, as we stood in line, he started singing Getting to Know You… and I joined in and sang the next line, and he followed up with, “and then I’ll spank you and you’ll spank me.” I pulled a shocked face and said, “how dare you!” and he laughed and one of Todd’s cousins, standing on the other side, laughed and said that’s something her husband would say, which made us all laugh.

One of Aunt’s friends, an ageless-looking woman with a full head of red hair and a cane, who I’d first noticed at the funeral home with her striking presence and later as she stood monopolizing Aunt in the condolences line, holding her hand and talking to her, was also at the Shiva house. I shamelessly speculated that it must be a wig – but only to Todd who understands me and with whom I can share brutal perspectives without fear of reprimand – and also that she has to be older than she appeared.

Thankfully there was an opportunity later to sit with her and she was sharp and inquisitive about world matters and those things that are often based in ideology and faith and personal perspectives. I listened to her and Todd discuss the plausibility of life on Mars or some other distant planet. I wish we’d had more time. She was a character I wanted more of.

Epilogue

The unrelenting news of deaths has got me feeling a certain way. It’s like, WHAT is going on with all these people dying? What is happening? Why? I don’t want to hear any more. I’m afraid to think. I’m so lucky and I’m so scared my luck might run out, and it’s that fear that keeps me from divulging my worries and anxieties. It’s my faith and my constitution that keeps me from devolving into that fear in an irrational way.

What does the irrational look like? It looks like my husband declaring for the umpteenth day in a row how tired he is, that maybe he should lie down for a bit. It looks like me thinking I should go with him, keep an eye on him. Why? I cannot stop what is meant to be, what is God’s plan, any more than I can stop a fart from becoming more than a fart. See what I did there? Dropping in some inappropriate humor to diffuse an emotional response from overwhelming me.

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Wait! What was that about a colonoscopy? Did I forget? Nah. Mom was scheduled to have what she’s been told is her last colonoscopy (age being what it is) and she needed a ride and initially didn’t want to trouble me with it. Three nights before, she said she’d just drive herself and leave her car there and have a friend pick her up. Oh HELL NO.

So I took the day off and took care of mom. Why? Obligation? Responsibility? Love? Because she’s my mom and I am So Blessed to have her in my life and if I’ve learned nothing from all of this crossing over nonsense, I’ve learned that time is fleeting and it’s not in our control. Not to waste a day, an opportunity, an hour, a minute in appreciating the people you call family, and friends. I can earn more PPL, but I can’t earn more time with mom.

We ended up driving into town – my hometown – and grabbing lunch at a little place called The Very Best, also known to old-timers as the Weiner Shop, which has been in business since 1921 and where mom and I would go when I was a little girl for hot dogs and fries. The décor has not changed in half a century (at least) and the jukeboxes are still affixed to the walls at each table. The old man at the register and his endless strips of lollipops are long gone, as are the old folks who used to sit on the stools at the counter and watch the hot dogs turn.

It was a gentle reminder that we can still go home, sometimes, and feel the warmth of memories that no one can take away. And that I get to do that with mom, and remember those early days we spent alone together, is a blessing I would not trade for all the world.