People I've Lost

Some Sort of After School Special

I remember that it was a Sunday when dad picked me up from Hebrew school, and told me that a friend of his had died. Now this friend shared a name with our next door neighbor's crazy beagle, so I couldn't understand why he was so shaken.

Truthfully, I was a tiny bit thankful that I would no longer have to hear Zelda's dog bark like crazy, every time he was locked out of the house, which was often.

My dad made it very clear, very quickly, that it wasn't Zelda's dog. And this friend of his, who he was speaking of, was responsible for introducing him to my mom. And with that, my dad burst out sobbing for about four seconds, before sucking it all back in, and drying up like the Sahara.

I never really saw my parents as old, or young. They were simply grown ups, and existed in that ageless no man's land. I also didn't understand why they reacted the way they did when a friend of theirs would die. I guess they all seemed old enough to have that sot of thing happen.

Grandma Bella never wanted to leave The Bronx. So she would come out to Long Island to visit us, and I would refer to her as "Grandma from the train." She moved in with us when I was in first grade, bringing her own beliefs and customs. And here we were, a house of first and second generation Americans, trying to assimilate as much as the suburbs would allow.

It would be decades before I found out what happened to the family she left behind, and how she arrived to this country at the age of fourteen. She was a tiny woman, who would spend the rest of her life carrying around survivor's remorse.

So the first real experience I had with grief was when we lost her, in 1981, eight weeks before my bat mitzvah. Mom came home and told me. I was watching some sort of after school special with a friend. And we cried quietly, while Mom was on the phone making funeral arrangements.

A Letter for the Linguist

I was 22 when my father passed away, and 41 when I lost my boyfriend. Both rocked my world in different ways. It regret that my dad checked out six months before my college graduation. And I definitely felt cheated when my eleven year relationship with Jay ended in the ICU of Manhattan's Mt. Sinai Hospital. Especially because, my mom was about to diagnosed with smokers cancer. My irrational brain wondered why my boyfriend couldn't be at my side at my mom's funeral, after I spent all that time by his bedside while he was sick.

But 10 years ago, 18 months after my boyfriend passed away, five months after I buried my mom, my roommate did the unthinkable. I still have a very difficult time processing why he locked himself in his bedroom, and lit himself on fire.

Dear Kyle,

I'm not sure where you are right now, but I truly hope that you are resting comfortably, and warm.

I am sorry that I couldn't stop you, that all I could really do was smoke a few joints with you, and make fun of your ex-girlfriend. I had no idea how torturous your fractured internal structure was. But as you know, I was incredibly wounded too.

You would think that with seven of us living in that house, one of us would have sensed that something wasn't right. But we were never all home at the same time. We may have lived under the same roof, but our lives were quite separated.

In the days after the fire, as we packed what was left of our belongings, the medical examiner spent some time speaking with each of us. We all told him weird little stories of changes we noticed in you. They all seemed so slight at the time. But as we all shared our stories, we the medical examiner wince several times.

I was angry at you for a long time. Remember, I had just lost Jay and my mom. And now I was homeless and it was all your fault. How dare you take your own life, and my living space at the same time?

It took me about a year before I realized that the guy who set that fire wasn't you. I know that day your actions were neither rational nor intentional. You just . . . snapped.

When I finally allowed these very thoughts into my heart, I was finally able to let you go.

I am thankful that the two roommates, who were actually home that evening, got out safely. The things and stuff I lost in the fire, were simply things and stuff. This includes Mom's ceramic Passover bowl, which was smashed to bits and left all over the floor, by the brave fire fighters heading towards the blaze trying to save you. Somewhere, in one of my fifteen storage bins, are the pieces of Mom's ceramic bowl. I haven't seen them since I packed them. What the hell am I going to do with them? But I think I now have some idea as to why Eleanor Rigby picked up the rice at the church, where the wedding had been.

How the fire made it as far as Jose's Buddhist shrine and just stopped, I have no idea, but the message is not lost on me.

Much love from your beloved roommate, Karen

Wounds Heal Little Time

We have all lost so much this year, so it's difficult to think of a recent death which affected me the most. I wrote about this in one of my earliest blog posts, how back in April I lost both a 36 year old cousin, and a dear actor friend, to COVID. I misplaced them within days of each other, and it felt as if New York was trying to suck the life out of me. One day our loved ones are here, and the next day they're gone. I value so much our friends and family members, who had COVID, and survived. And here I thought the rebound affect only applied to my anxiety meds.

And then there was the Older Actor, who I adored. She played Golda Meir for Kushner and Spielberg. I am thankful for the guidance, support, and schtick she provided me with. In theory and in reality, she could have played my mom in THE movie. And she actually did, at a table reading of a screenplay I wrote.

That was years ago. Both Mom and Jay were still alive. Memories. Sweetness. Fondness. Laughter.

Favorite Memories

Mom: she had the craziest sneeze. All of a sudden she would scare the crap out of you by screaming AT!!!!!, and follow it up a few moments later with CHOOOOO!!!!!

Dad: he used to do the entire Sunday, New York Times crossword puzzle, in ink.

Grandma Bella: that noise she used to make after taking that first sip of seltzer, which sound like a cross between a hiccup and a rooster.

Grandma Mollie: she would get her nails manicured into points, and then would pinch my cheek.

Kyle: he spoke fluent Portuguese. How many 33 year olds, from the mid-west do you know, who speak fluent Portuguese?