By admin
There is a movie from the 1980s called Mr. North, based on a book by Thornton Wilder. Anthony Edwards, with a full head of hair, plays the title character, a cheerful, young jack-of-all-trades rumored to have mystical abilities. He installs himself in uppercrust Newport, Rhode Island, for the summer and takes on a variety of tasks from teaching tennis to reading to the elderly.
I think of it now because the story features a somewhat morbid local oddity – the “death watch.” Avaricious relatives impatiently await the demise of their patriarch, making every effort to be ingratiating and appear caring in the meantime. My recent death watch was not driven by greed, nor was it as protracted as in the movie. Nevertheless, I have been waiting this week for a relative to die.
We were not close enough to warrant a rushed trip east to see him before he was gone. So I waited, hour by hour, for news of his passing. As is often the case, he hung on far longer than the doctors expected. It has been a sad week.
And I feel guilty, too. Guilty that I wished for him to die on a schedule convenient for me. How selfish of me to feel the seeds of resentment at the thought of missing out on things for the sake of his funeral! My life will go on – I have many more opportunities. He is dead. The least I can do is be gracious in his final moments.
But I am human, and I am relieved that I will not miss my Thanksgiving. (Me, me, me.) The next few days will be for him. Even more so, they will be for his wife, who I am close to. And I am thankful to him for allowing me to be a comfort to her and still be home for turkey.
By admin
I’ve never liked loose ends. Leaving things hanging, unfinished… it just feels wrong. I think I have left two books unfinished in my entire life. And I remember what they are and still wonder now and again if I missed out on something. One was Snow Falling on Cedars; I just got bored. A friend told me what happened at the end, but I don’t remember now. The other was Milroy the Magician. I still don’t know how that one ends, so if you do, please let me know…
About 100 years ago – okay, not that many, probably more like 20 – my friend Tom commented that he liked my silverware. No, that’s not some strange euphemism, I had interesting flatware. I happened to hate this set. A lot. So I promised Tom he could have it when I replaced it.
At the time, I imagined I’d be outfitting my own place and getting spiffy new forks in the next few years. Tom would have his hand-me-downs before too long. How wrong I was.
Years went by… I moved several times and kitted up several apartments, but never did get around to replacing those utensils. I added to the set from roommates’ leavings and I think some must have walked off with said roomies, too. Every once in a while, putting away the dishes or setting the table, I’d think of Tom. We’d lost touch long since.
Enter on the scene the magic of Facebook. Friends from high school, college, summer camp and trips abroad reentered my life. You know how that goes… are you the so-and-so who did such-and-such? You write a bit, catch up on the last few decades – amazing, isn’t it, how easily a life condenses to a few paragraphs? – and maybe never actually interact with them again. They’re your “friends,” and you get all warm inside when you read their status updates, but beyond that… with most of them, there’s just not that much to say.
Friends come and go. Some stick around for a long time; others slip in and out and we barely remember their names. There are a few people whose names I couldn’t dredge up for you, but who still were important in their moment. I remember what they meant to me or what we talked about, but everything else is gone. There are others who I remember and still miss, if I think about it too hard. I wonder, if our lives had been a little different, could we have kept in touch, still been friends, real friends, even now, decades later? Or have our trajectories been too different? Is growing apart inevitable?
Tom and I are now FB friends. I still had that silverware, up until last week. I just sent it to Tom. He didn’t remember it, didn’t remember my promise, but I sent it to him anyway. It feels good to close that loop, even though I’m the only one who knew it was open. Tom and I were close once, and I feel a small loss for the friendship we once had. And I smile when I read his status updates.
