Gigi Cares

Last night at bedtime, I got sad. I mean really sad. It has been a week or two since I have been so sad. Not that I haven't thought about Gregory but for the most part I have been able to think about all the things I am grateful for including his death, our 41 year old love, the experiences we have had, the love we shared.

No more Lieberman, no more lacks or inabilities. No more shitting and peeing himself or being confined to his wheel chair. No more frustration at lack of communication. No need for me to worry about his future decline, his inability to communicate not feeling well, his continued loss of mobility and awareness, making sure he got enough massage and exercise so his muscles and joints would't freeze up.

We had a good 18 months at Lieberman with a lot of laughter, hugs, kisses, chocolates, and watching South Pacific over and over. Homemade pies, plants in the windows, flowers to smell, new shirts, discovering pants that zipped down both sides to the knees, Manny-our personal blessing.

As I got into bed and glanced at the photograph of Gregory which is on his shelf on the bookcase, I pictured him lying in his bed at Lieberman just after he had died and I lost it! The mystery and finality of death is so large. The "never agains" of holding, seeing, nurturing, laughing, crying together. Of not being alone. 

Remembering: I sat with him and talked to him and cried for a while. I held his still warm hand and kissed his cooling forehead and lips. I had wondered if I would be able to get through this part of Gregory's leaving us and it turned out to be fairly easy. (At least at the time.)  It was still my Greggie lying there in his bed but it was obvious that his essence, his spirit was no longer living there. 

I use the word "keen" as I have before: loud wailing or lament for the dead. As I howled and wailed, Gigi came to comfort and console me. She jumped into bed and rubbed against me. I pet her soft fur and felt her purring as I continued crying but felt better at having someone to with whom to cry.

After I settled down, Gigi did an interesting thing. She had only done this once before, that I know of. She went over to the side table on Gregory's side of the bed and with her front paws, stepped up onto Gregory's Memorial Shelf where she "nosed" Grandma Carrie's box which contains Gregory's ashes. She stayed there for several moments and then returned to me.

It is as if she sensed that Gregory was the reason I was crying and that Gregory's spirit was there in the room with me as I mourned. That too made me feel better. Cats have an amazing awareness of their surroundings and possibly can feel what we human are not able to sense. I was able to peacefully drift off to sleep. 

Gregory's Memorial Shelf. You can see the tip of his nightstand in the lower right corner.

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