It Is Mostly in The Knowing

I wrote the poem below in 2005 as I was anticipating my father's death. He had a rare blood disease which was diagnosed when he was 60+ years old. The illness was described as "something that could kill you in a month or one with which you could live well for twenty years before it killed you."

Either way, it would kill you but there is quite a difference between "imminent" vs "in the future." Fast forward twenty or so years and after having lived very well, the disease once again took hold and more or less set its date for my father's soon to be passing at 88 years old.

There are so many things which can occur in this life we most often take for granted and in a moment they can turn your life around. We expect and live as though the details of our lives are "permanent" when in effect they are "impermanent," always changing. 

The change could be a car accident that would change your life forever or an illness that could end your life after months of suffering or in a few days or weeks with little or no notice. The change could be about you or about someone you love.

As I was pondering my father's impending death years ago, every time the phone rang, I realized that without the knowledge of an event that already happened, your life stays the same as does your level of happiness and fortitude in life.

Then a call comes in, information is shared, and with the knowledge imparted you cry, are sad, freak out, get depressed, or feel (or know) that your life is basically over (or the one of someone you love.) Also, the "knowing" could be good news!

I got to thinking about all of the situations in which the "not knowing" could be going on and then "knowing" arrives and changes everything. I reflected on the idea that some things in life change and you will never know about the change and therefore never have a negative (or positive) reaction to the change.

Just for example in a long shot, your favorite university professor which whom you have lost touch since you graduated many years ago has died. You have no way of knowing that he died so you do not grieve his death. In this situation and the end of the story: no knowledge, no reaction!

In thinking about the period of time between the "knowings vs not knowings" of my life I came up with waiting to hear about these good things: receiving a grant from the Chicago Council of Fine Arts for my Maybe the Clown performances, receiving a fellowship (two years in a row) from the State of Illinois in the area of Gifted Education, acceptance to a juried application for a residency in the area of creative non-fiction at the Ragdale Foundation, acceptance of Michael's Museum by Chicago Children's Museum.

On the difficult side: news of my mom's passing in 2010, my diagnosis of Lymphoma in 2003, my life partner Gregory's diagnosis of Dementia most likely Alzheimer's Disease in 2005, the news of Gregory's death in 2015, and others.

Recently I had several tests for some gastrointestinal problems I had been having. All tests returned no cancer and therefore I was relieved. Working on other possibilities of gluten and/or lactose intolerance I have been working on the problems with success.

Currently, with a lymph node in my neck swollen for approximately 6 weeks and no sight of its getting smaller (or larger for that matter,) I am keeping optimistic and positive knowing that "what is, is" and what is, is already going on. The only difference is that I am unaware of what the "it" is!

I received an e-mail announcing that my health organization has the results of the new tests so I logged into the site only to find that it is under maintenance until tomorrow at 2:00 AM. So again, the knowledge is there but unknown to me so I can be scared and depressed or happy and relieved, the decision for now of how to be is up to me. The power is there but the knowledge isn't. At least until 2:00 AM tomorrow morning! 

I was able to sign in sooner so bravely did so. Wishing, praying, hoping no longer were viable. The results were in and totally out of my control except how I might behave if the news was CANCER! And I am not sure that I would be able to control my behavior since the last time I had to deal with cancer was in 2003 when I had a Lymphoma and literally lost a year to Chemotherapy. At least then I had Gregory to be with me and to support me. Let me say I made it through but it was HELL and I do not know if I could do it again, especially without Gregory here to help.

And the news is: 

CASE: SHP-20-00210
PATIENT: MICHAEL HORVICH

Nature of Specimen: Neck Soft Tissue, Left, Ultrasound-guided Fine Needle Biopsy


Gross Description: Prepared 1 slide(s) fixed in alcohol, 2 air-dried slide(s) and a needle rinse. A core biopsy was collected and submitted for histologic processing. A cell block was prepared and submitted to surgical pathology for processing.

Clinical History: Solid left neck soft tissue mass (2 cm). Left supraclavicular enlarged lymph node. History of parotid lymphoma.


Total Number of Slides: 3 + core biopsy + cell block

DIAGNOSIS:
No malignant cells identified. No cancer! Looks like a benign lipoma - we will have you come back to the office after Covid 19 to follow up for minor removal process!

• • • • •

FEAR 2010

There is a fear

That lurks just behind

The awareness of your thinking

Hiding

The next moment

Will not be like this moment

Or the one before

Different

And with a comment

Or the ring of a phone

All will change

Forever

Stories from my Father

In honor of the seventh anniversary of my dad's death, here are two of his stories (as augmented by yours truly.)

The Heysidonder Man

The "Heysidonder Man" is a title given to a very important position in the temple. 

On the Sabbath, when most Jews should be in temple praying to Hashem the Heysidonder Man does his assigned task.  Hashem means "The Name" because you should not take the name of G-d in vain. When you are praying to him you can use his name but when you are referring to him you should not use his name. (That is if you embrace any of this.) 

Many Jews do not take the services at temple seriously. They use temple as a vehicle to visit, catch up, gossip, be seen etc. Also, there are what are known as the "High Holiday Jews." These Jews only go to temple on the most sacred holidays, to atone for their sins, to be sealed in the Book of Life for Health, Happiness, and Prosperity and to visit, catch up, gossip, be seen etc. 

So being a generally roudy group, someone has to take them in hand and keep them in tow. This duty falls to the Heysidonder Man. He is usually a well respected member of the community and the temple, takes his religion and the act of praying seriously, is almost always quite old, and speaks with a foreign (read Yiddish) accent.

It is his job to tell the people attending the service but who are being disrespectful to the Rabbi, the Cantor and those who are serious about their prayers, "Hey Sit Down There!" The offenders almost always listen and the Heysidonder Man's job is done for the time being. Sometimes he has to tell the offender(s) again, "Heysidonder!" They usually listen on the second telling.

The Ibish Oise Machine

This story comes from the time that my mom and dad went on vacation taking the train from Chicago to Florida. This was in the pre AMTRAK days when the rail lines were still privately ownedhand the trains had names like The City of New Orleans, The California Zepher,  and the Super Chief. 

The trip took close to 40 hours going from Chicago to Washington, D.C. and then transferring to another train to Miami. In those days, travel by train was in its heyday and the trains were filled to capacity. Besides single travelers, families and larger groups would travel together.

There were your assigned seats or compartments for sitting and sleeping, observation cars, snack cars, dining cars, and cars for drinks. Many people packed their own food for breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and snacks.

As you can imagine, the train cars got more and more rank as the 40 hours (if the train was on time) dragged by. Human odors, bathroom waste in toilets that didn't always work, leftover food like salami etc, stale odors, garbage, wrappers, pop bottles, etc. piled up. By the end of the trip, the living conditions on the train were almost intolerable and it was quite the mess.

My father's idea was that when the train was at its destination and all the people disembarked, the doors connecting the cars would be propped open and a HUGE vacuum type machine would be attached to the last car. It would be turned on and would suck out all the all of the odors and garbage in one easy sweep.

He call it the "Ibish Ois Machine." Ibish ois in Yiddish means: to clean out.

My Father's Drawer

My father has always kept a secret place for treasures and memories. The top left drawer of his bedroom dresser was its address. All of my life I can remember being aware of his secret place. It was a magical place to visit.

Now and then we would visit the drawer together. He would offer me a wallet, still in its original gift box. Once he gave me a miniature harmonica. We would look at the marbles he found while digging a garden.

He would show me a picture of his mother and father and tell me stories of his father’s shoe repair shop, the five brothers and sisters all  sleeping in one bed because of the limited space behind the shop, the victory garden where Max and Sarah grew, among other things, onions. He would show me his picture in Navy uniform taken in one of those “four for a quarter” photo machines. He showed me his “dog tags” from World War Two and his medals.

He had a talent for finding lost coins on the sidewalk, in the parking lot, in the grass. He had a box which at the time seemed very heavy, at times filled with over fifty dollars in found money. Since his death, it seems that he has been communicating with us by leaving pennies around in the most unexpected places…and you could swear that the penny wasn’t there a moment ago!

He would take out the “Jew’s Harp” or was it a “Juice Harp?” The harp was a metal object, round on one end, tapered into parallel lines at the other, with a spring of metal down the middle. It was placed in one’s mouth and used for making rhythms and sounds based on tongue placement and breathing. He always warned me about being careful not to knock out a tooth while playing the harp.

Now and then I would visit his dresser drawer alone, when I was the only one at home. I would marvel at his memory items and covet the treasures. There were travel clocks, watches, tie tacks, more harmonicas, rings, screws, nuts and bolts, miniature toys, marbles, flashlights, transistor radiors, a “Little Bill” pin from the electric company, cars, and more.

Most amazing of all, I discovered his stash of condoms. Rubbers. Sealed like little treasures in round, golden, foil containers. As a teenager, I remember taking one from his dresser drawer to keep in my wallet. I did try to imagine what sex between my father and mother was like. To this day, I cannot! Can anyone imagine this of their parents?

As my father aged and during the last months of his life as he became more ill, I thought a lot about that dresser drawer. I thought about the “dad” I would never know. I was not yet born to experience his growing up, his life as a teenager or a young man. His trying to imagine his folks having sex. What was it like when his younger sister, Frieda, died on his birthday? What were his hopes, dreams, fears, disappointments, sorrows, joys. His sense of loss when his mom and dad died. His fear as one by one, over the years, all his brothers and sisters died. He was the baby of the family. His mother’s favorite.

I would never really know how he felt marrying my mom, seeing his daughter born, holding me in his arms, in 1945 just home on furlough, in his sailor’s uniform, in the picture I keep in my dresser drawer. I thought about all the conversations we never had, all the questions never asked, all the sharing that we just couldn’t or just wouldn’t do.

When my father was close to death the dresser drawer became even more symbolic. I knew that I would go through that drawer by my self once more at the end. I would absorb as many memories from his life as I could after he was gone. It would be my way of saying goodbye to my dad. Of saying I love you dad. Of saying I am so sorry for all the missed opportunities of our getting to really know each other.

I know you loved me and I know you know I loved you. I wish I could have told you so at the end. I wish I could have held your hand and kissed your forehead. I wish when I told you I loved you the last time I talked to you, you could have said you loved me too instead of just – “OK.”

Before you left, I wish I could have told you again that I was grateful for everything you did for me growing up, for helping me become who I am, sometimes despite or in opposition to whom you were or whom you wanted me to be. You did the best you could for me and I accept that with unqualified love. And I did the best I could for you.

There was a gold ring in that dresser drawer of yours that had a ruby stone in the center. I think it may have been your mothers. The back of the band was worn thin. I had always dreamed of having that ring. I looked for it last night while I was saying goodbye to you and your dresser drawer. It wasn’t there. Maybe it hasn’t been there for quite awhile. Maybe it was there only in my mind. What ever happened to it? Now you are there only in my mind. What ever happened to you? Come let me know, will you, and then be on your way.

March 19, 2005