Once they were young

Posted on February 17, 2013 by 40andover

I was cleaning out a relative’s apartment this weekend (yeah, more death and destruction in Bloggerville).

While I was cleaning the Collyer Brothers-like apartment (though not a home) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Collyer_brothers, two timeless axioms of my youth (one from my grandmother and one from the rabbis) came to mind:

Wear good (and clean) underwear just in case you are hit by a bus so the emergency room doctors will know you come from a good family (and presumably treat you better); and
Live every day as if it were your last on earth.

How do these concepts work together, you ask? Work with me, here.

While there may be loftier connections, mine is decidedly mundane:

DON’T EMBARRASS US OR MAKE US CRINGE AFTER YOU DIE.

And the corollary: Get rid of pictures, outfits you haven’t used in a long time, do your laundry EVERY DAY so that no one has to see anything that could make him or her go blind.

Because everyone was young, wild and stupid, once (maybe more than once). Just don’t leave a record of it, for others who are cleaning out your home to find.

Examples of acceptable things to leave behind:

Kick-ass black leather skirts (regardless of your age at death) and even tasteful lingerie;
Memorabilia and photo albums (that don’t have nude or semi-nude pictures of you with other, now aged or dead relatives, however young or not you were at the time);
Keepsakes, necklaces, etc. (of whatever or no value) that your family members can wear to carry you with them always;
Phone number of 24-hour cartage company to cart away some of the inevitable detritus;
List of accounts and financial representatives; and
A last will and testament.

Examples of things NOT to leave behind:

Dominatrix outfits, even if still in the box;
1970s Polaroid photo album of various poses of you and your partner naked from the waist down;
ANYTHING from the 1970s for that matter;
Collection of 20 years of junk mail (not every collection has value); and
Gross piles of dirty laundry strewn about.

Did you stop at “Polaroid photo album of various poses of you and your partner naked from the waist down”? Yeah, I knew you would. Yep. I almost went blind. And I had to stop once I realized what it was I was looking at.

I know, once they (and we) were young. Once, they (and we) were middle-aged. Hell, do it in your 80s. But if you are in your 80s, burn the pictures every night. And in your 90s, don’t take pictures. Because you will forget that you have them. Because, with most of your life in the rear-view mirror, it is almost a certainty that you violate the Rule of the Ages:

DON’T EMBARRASS US OR MAKE US CRINGE AFTER YOU DIE.

This blog will self-destruct in 25 years.

The Sun Will Come Out Next Week

Posted on January 5, 2013 by 40andover

I have decided that my sad, ponderous, navel-gazing blog entries will end next week. Come this time next Saturday, I will be outraged, outrageous, funny (sometimes), weird, providing too much information, and otherwise being my usual inappropriate self on my blog.

As soon as Aunt R is buried (finally) tomorrow, my dear friend’s 53 year-old brother is buried on Monday and we commemorate Mom’s TENTH Yahrzeit on Friday, I believe that the pall will lift. And, maybe, I will entitle my entry next Saturday, “The Day After a Fortnight of Three Funerals, a Brain Injury, and No Weddings”.

Nothing on that day will make Dad healthy or sane again, or reverse Uncle L’s precipitous decline since Aunt R’s death on Christmas Day, but there will be, G-d willing, a respite from seemingly endless death and destruction and chaos.

I am still learning this hard lesson of life: as I get older, I will lose people — sometimes a few at a time — and still I must balance these gut-wrenching events with laughter, silliness and irreverence. (And, in fact, there have been some very comical moments during these trying times that can only be told after the passage of time.)

But, learn, I must and I will. Because that is the only way I can survive and see the beauty and fun and happiness in my life (for which I am eternally grateful). Otherwise, the pain will consume me, and dim the lights in my eyes and estrange my friends and family.

And then, I will have only succeeded in adding another casualty to the list of those loved ones who are dead or dying: ME.

Pieces of Paper

Posted on December 29, 2012 by 40andover

I always thought that love makes a family; nothing more, nothing less. Now I know that love makes a family while everyone is healthy, but blood and paper give you the rights to show your love in the bad or hard times.

Whether you are gay or straight, formalities and legalities matter. Legal marriage and legal adoption matter. Wills and advance directives matter.

ULOB (Mom’s brother) and AROB were together for 65 years. AROB and ULOB were always a part of our lives. Neither was a trailblazer or a patriarch/matriarch. They didn’t seek out the American dream like so many children of immigrants. Escaping from their families was probably success enough.

On Christmas, ULOB found AROB dead in her apartment and called the police. They were never married and kept separate apartments (relationships are complicated). The police took all the keys and sealed the apartment (procedure when someone dies) because, as a matter of law, ULOB had no right to be in AROB’s apartment. Even though he probably spent most of the last 65 years of his life in that apartment, he had the same rights to be there after she died as a next door neighbor: NONE.

All my life, AROB was my aunt and I was her niece. Now, I am nothing under law.

Who has decision-making authority? Nephews she hadn’t seen more than once in over three decades.

Through the generosity of the local police, ULOB, SOB and I were able to look through her apartment (with a police escort) to find information about her blood nephews or burial plans. We came up with nothing.

So, her body lies refrigerated at the coroner’s office.

Luckily, ULOB remembered enough information so I could find these nephews.

One nephew lives nearby. He is willing to help so we can bury her, so that we can perform that last act of respect and love for a dead relative. RELATIVE, not friend. My AUNT, not my neighbor or colleague. My FAMILY.

I want her to rest in peace. I think that starts with being buried by her loved ones.

And then there was one. . . .

Posted on December 21, 2012 by 40andover

Dad is the last of his generation in our family. Weakened and confused, but nonetheless, here. He is our only link with the past.

In his papers are where my great-grandparents’ graves are located. And a family tree. And what happened to Grandma Dora’s ship-shvesters (ship sisters) whom she met making the arduous voyage to America. I haven’t thought about that in years. And was my great-grandfather’s wife named Tillie? There is some confusion.

But we must sort it all out. Because this is our history. We are the grandchildren of the surviving remnant of formerly European Jews. Most of the family got out before the Holocaust, but after the pogroms — the massacres — that scarred them for life.

We must now take ownership. For we are the elder generation. And if you don’t know whence you’ve come, you cannot chart the course ahead.

We can no longer rely on others to remember, recount and record our history. It is ours to do now. Cousin Gentle, with great foresight, has already started that project.

We must search our minds for stories because it cannot be that the lives of our great-grandparents, our grandparents and, alas, our parents will fade from memory. There must be someone always to light candles of remembrance in their names. To bring their memories out of the darkness and into the light.

Post-Script

Posted on December 21, 2012 by 40andover

Rest in peace, Aunt Glue.

I will try to let in the flood of happy memories just as soon as the feelings of immense loss subside.

Say hi to Mom, Uncle Billy, Uncle Leon, Aunt Gertie, Uncle Dave, Aunt Claire, Uncle Al, Aunt Rose, Cousin Gail, Cousin Ricky and Cousin Adam.

I love you,

~~Blogger

Helpless in New York City

Posted on December 20, 2012 by 40andover

Aunt Glue is fading. The end is soon, according to her son. Aunt Glue and her son and daughter-in-law have a plan to keep her pain-free and peaceful in these hours. I need to respect that. SOB needs to respect that. BOB needs to respect that. But SOB was trying to get coverage at the hospital and BOB was looking into flights to come here. And I was trying to rent a mini-bus to schlep everyone to see Aunt Glue.

Because you can never say, “I love you,” too many times or squeeze someone’s hand too often.

Because death is permanent and, right now, she is alive. And she has a right to die the way she wants. That is the last decision a person can (with any luck) make. And that decision is sacrosanct and unimpeachable.

And, here I am, helpless and hopeless in New York City, waiting for the word that the woman

who introduced my parents,

who (with my uncle) shared my mother’s last days and minutes on this earth,

who was such a large figure in my youth,

who hosted the happiest family celebrations of my childhood (never mind, the overcooked chicken),

who was my solace after Mom died,

who embraced POB and SOS,

who, defying all odds, came to my wedding and danced, and

who was the only one to whom SOS would ever write a letter, much less maintain a correspondence,

has died.

She had a long and good life, but not an easy one.

Dad is sometimes clueless as a result of age and brain injury. But he is so very aware of Aunt Glue’s condition and has a very heavy heart. Some relationships are so deep that even dementia and brain injury can’t erase them.

One of our greatest generation is losing her fight with time and disease. Maybe not today or tomorrow. But soon. Yet, on her terms (as much as is possible under the circumstances).

And that is the way it should be for our greatest generation. Even if it breaks our hearts not to see her just one more time.

Up to bat

Posted on December 16, 2012 by 40andover

In these days in December, the world is often too much with me. So much more so this year.

This is the tenth anniversary of Mom’s death, HOSOB lost both his parents in this year, Dad and Aunt Glue are both failing. So, frankly, are the remnants of Mom’s family. Their deaths will seal a generation. They were the first ones born on American soil and they laid the foundations for our generation to grow and thrive. We stand on their shoulders.

SOB and I know that we, along with our many first cousins, will soon assume the mantel of our family’s eldest generation. The ones who are supposed to know everything, have the wisdom of the ages, the memories and secrets of the past generations, and the answers to the questions (whatever they may be) and, yes, the next wave of those to leave this earth (G-d willing). We are up to bat in a baseball game, as it were.

It is only now that these giants of my parents’ generation seem so young and human. Now I understood that Mom and Dad and the uncles and the aunts were as clueless then as are we now. The mantra, just keep moving because it is better than running in place or, worse, standing still, is still the mantra of our generation.

As long as Dad and Aunt Glue are still alive, there is always the illusion (although, not the reality) that there are elders who know more, who can bless us and what we do, and who can lead us out of the darkness and into the light.

But the truth is that wisdom comes from reflecting on the past. Humility comes from failure. Regret comes from somehow knowing if you were sure enough of your convictions and felt strong enough to press your point of view, the outcome would have been better.

The lessons of the generations that must be learned again by each succeeding generation. Over and over, until the end of time.

This is life and its journey. These are some of the immutable facts that govern the species.

One day, maybe this will change. Until then, I will try to act with kindness, with humility and with the memory of those who came before me — what they did right and what went terribly wrong.

Lunchtime in the Coffee Shop of the Living Dead

Posted on December 8, 2012 by 40andover

I went down for a quick lunch with Dad. We went to a nearby place that isn’t good, has bad service and smells like a bad diner. But it is popular for the over-senile/decrepit set because it is a close walk from many once-bustling-high-rises-now-de-facto-old-age-homes (welcome to the Sutton Place area). At the diner, there is a special area for canes and walkers, once the elder has been seated. There are less chairs available than one would think necessary because — well — the proprietors need to accommodate wheelchairs.

Dad looks better than most there.

As we are looking at the menu, he says, “I don’t remember when I last had a hamburger.”

Sidebar: I think BUT DO NOT SAY, “Of course, you don’t remember, Dad. It was last Saturday when we had this same conversation at the other diner, you know the one that is far enough away so there are fewer undead people there? You had a hamburger.”

Still, Dad sometimes surprises me by retaining information from one day to the next. “How was POB’s job interview?” he asked. Whoa, POB told him about it on Thursday. Awesome job, Dad.

I know many of the peope in the Diner of the Living Dead from the neighborhood. I grew up here. One, who is Dad’s friend, came over and wanted to talk to me only, almost ignoring Dad and Dad’s health aide (are people invisible?).

Odd because he is usually a warm and friendly, if homophobic, guy.

He was clearly in despair. He needed home heath care information for his companion of decades. Her kids were handling matters without talking to him and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even bother to brag about his daughter’s life as a married, wealtlhy, successful, procreative heterosexual. Now, that was a red flag for how the situation has deteriorated.

I listened and gave him what information I could. He seemed unable to cope with the little I was able to offer. I will follow up with him but I think he needs care, too.

Sidebar: I might have to call his daughter. I will start the conversation with, “as a married, well-to-do (before the crash), successful (before the crash), procreative (after a fashion) homosexual to you, the person I was supposed to be: get your ass back to New York and take care of your dad.”

After the conversation, Dad said in a sad but resigned way, “he doesn’t look or sound so good.” I nodded.

And then I screamed so Dad could hear (relying on the deafness of those around me):

“Dad, you are doing so much better and you had a brain bleed that shorted out some electricity!!”

We are nothing if not blunt.

Homeward Bound

Posted on October 23, 2012 by 40andover

POB spent some time with Dad yesterday. He kept telling her that he doesn’t feel as if he is home, even when he is sitting in his living room. His living room for 50 years.

Often, he says, he gets confused and wonders: “How am I going to get home from here?” And then either he remembers or his aide (or one of us) reminds him, “you are home.” Then he relaxes. But this repeats throughout the days.

Last night, when POB told me about the conversation, I had an unusual panic. Does “home” mean something different for Dad?

Even though this has been Dad’s home for more than half of his life, Mom isn’t there, and his memories are hard to tease out of the recesses of his mind. His kids visit, but we don’t live there anymore. There are lovely aides helping him, but they are strangers.

Daddy, please stay just a little longer with us. If “home” is some place else, don’t go “home” just yet. Ok? Stay here with us. Because here is still where you live.

Out of the darkness into a warming light

Posted on October 10, 2012 by 40andover

Some times, people think I am too open about my emotions and observations. And talking about sad things can really depress people. And if you only talk about the stuff in your life, not only do you lose friends, but you risk losing those essential human traits of empathy and compassion for others and what inevitably are their challenges, fears and bags of trouble.

Here is one of the great surprises. Many of the friends and family who have held me close (physically and figuratively) have also shared their past and present sadnesses and allowed me to try to comfort them or share in their memories. And I am grateful.

I guess we all walk the paths of crises, loss, joy, exhilaration and near-misses, but not at the same times. Friends and family allowed Dad’s crisis to open me up, rather than close me down. And it is hard not to be joyful about his long and happy life. And it is hard not to feel the heartbreak of others whose family members aren’t as lucky as Dad has been.

Life is a journey. Success is having made that journey surrounded by loved ones and friends.

40 — oh wait, yikes!! 50 — andoverblog

Aging and living in urban US

Tag Archives: death