I started to write this entry, one which was to mark the second anniversary of my open heart surgery. It was to be an upbeat commentary, following upon a wonderful week we had just spent with our very good friends Beny and Maria visiting us from Palermo. But when I sat down to write a draft, heartbreak intruded, perversely imitating the ethos of Exit the King which we saw only a few days earlier.
Last Monday morning we received a call from Suzanne, the
daughter of Ann's cousins, Sherman and Mimi, who had suddenly arrived in
Florida where her parents now live. We immediately thought of her father, Ann's
first cousin, Sherman, who had just been released from a prolonged hospital
stay and ninety days of rehab, who can no longer walk without assistance, and
has advanced dementia. His wife of 56
years, Mimi, had been by his side every day and was now caring for him at home
with the help of round-the-clock nursing aids.
But exactly on the second anniversary of my being put
into a four day induced coma after open heart surgery, Ann and I rushed to the
ER of a Broward hospital that Monday night, as it was not Sherman, but his
caregiver, his wife Mimi, who had collapsed and was in a coma. Mimi had been
like a big sister to Ann, particularly during Ann's first years in New York
City when she arrived as an eighteen year old, fresh from high school
graduation in her hometown, Atlanta.
They became close companions in spite of the 11 year age
difference and loved living in the Big City which was Mimi's adopted town as
well. They biked down to hootenannies in Washington Square park in the early
1960s, went to jazz concerts and Operas in the Village, dancing at the Latin
Quarter and Roseland, enjoyed folk singing concerts, Shakespearean plays in
Central Park, and took trips to Philadelphia and The Cape and Newport, RI
together. Mimi was her mentor to NY life
and they became best friends.
Mimi was like a force of nature, self actualizing and one
always thought indestructible until we got that call last Monday from her
daughter, recounting the sketchy facts as she knew them at that point: her mother had had a very severe headache, and
soon thereafter passed out. It was a severe
brain hemorrhage and she was rushed to ER and when we saw her, unconscious, on
a ventilator and life support systems, those memories of my own medically
induced comma came flooding back. But
this was very different.
We returned to see her on Wednesday. and Friday and
during that time, testing for brain activity was negative. She was moved to ICU and she lay there
looking peaceful, even healthy except for the tubing and the wiring that was
basically breathing for her and keeping her hydrated. Their son, Michael and his wife Miriam, had
arrived as well and the decision was finally made to transfer Mimi to the
Hospice unit of the same hospital and to disconnect her from life support. Friday was a day of misery for all. Suzanne and Michael, of course, carrying the
brunt of the grief, we and others there trying to support them. but being
deeply distraught as well.
Mimi was a special person. Her home was open to all. If a foreign exchange student needed room and
board for a school semester or even a school year, Mimi would provide it. If
there was a foster child that needed looking after, she stepped up. She sat with friends who needed care, wrote
long letters to each and every one of the hundreds of friends she made along
the way, her giving knew no bounds; she was larger than life, the last person
one would imagine dying so suddenly. But
she lived life with zest and a song, particularly folksongs and Broadway
melodies. Her children set up a CD player
at her bedside and we listened to all her favorites while waiting, waiting, for
any sign of life. When I first entered
the room, I heard "Don't Fence Me In" being sung. When she was taken off of life support she
died with the refrains of a Pete Seeger folksong in her ear.
Our hearts go out to Suzanne and Michael, such difficult
decisions, but the right ones. We all
recognize that Mimi really died the moment of the massive brain hemorrhage and
she only medically survived as the 911 EMT was so swift and efficient.
My own memories of Mimi go back now about 44 years, one
of my favorite was a vacation the four of us took up to Lake George, enjoying
Oktoberfest at a resort and even managing to get them both out on the Lake
itself for a boat ride. And how do we
count all the many family gatherings as well, Mimi and Sherman and Suzanne and
Michael were always there, at our home in Weston, CT or we at theirs in New City,
NY. So many years, so many wonderful memories.
As King Berenger says in Exit the King, "Why was I born if it was not forever?"
Thanks to that play, I've become pretty hung up over how I "spend" my
time. (what an expression -- time as
some sort of a currency, only one that you can't make any more of. We're all born with a certain quantity in the
bank, unequal ones thanks to genetics, environment, accidents, and the twists
and turns of life, and choices we make.
I guess we "buy time" with medical advances -- I certainly
have.)
I suppose that is one of the main reasons I write this blog.It is not only a record of where my time goes, but it also
forces me to think about it. I could
more easily just go see a play or read a book, but I would surely forget about
much of it and perhaps understand less of it without delving into the details
with an essay. It is of course merely my
take on those matters and, to a degree, I probably remember the past here as I
want to and record the present as I would like to remember it in the future. It
matters little to the world, but as I've said frequently, I write this mostly
for myself.
Others live those moments on line differently. I don't Twitter, those ephemeral little birds
of thought that go out there and then get lost (or is there a database of Tweets?). Then there is the ubiquitous Facebook which
could be easily renamed "Hey, look at me!" I guess we're all trying to be the stars of
our own reality shows. One could accuse
my blog as being just one big self indulgent look-at-me exercise, but I would
like to think that the differences (between this, Twitter, and Facebook) are
obvious. This endeavor really does involve a lot of thought, albeit perhaps time not
wisely spent, so I return basically to the beginning of this entry,
anniversaries.
Given my medical history, every day since my heart
surgery and comma of four days has been a "bonus" day. Even before Mimi's ordeal, I was fully aware
of the approach of this anniversary during the last few weeks. It hit home as
our friends, Maria and Beny arrived for a brief stay with us from Sicily. Only two months after my operation two years ago I had flown to Sicily (where Ann already was visiting her best friend, Maria), to join everyone in the celebration of Maria's son's wedding to Mariana, and meeting Mariana's parents who were so
thrilled to have their daughter marry David.
It was undeniable that the two sets of parents had become best friends
and loved being together. The year following their wedding was hell as within
months, Mariana's mother was diagnosed with cancer and sadly she is also now
gone, a relatively young and vibrant woman just turning 60. All of that just during the last 24 months.
With Maria and Beny here, we were able to "spend"
some quality time with them, including a day on our new boat, the 'Reprise'.
Coincidentally, we planned a small trip up the Intracoastal to Guanabanas Restaurant in Jupiter, one that we
had last been to by boat with our friends Cathy and John only a week before I
entered the hospital for that surgery which turned out to be much more serious
than anyone could have imagined. (In
fact, as we gaily ate lunch with Cathy and John, my "widow maker" artery was already 99% blocked, of course unknown to me, and I was a candidate for a
massive heart attack as I munched on my grouper.)
Arriving at Guanabanas with Maria and Beny I could not
help think of the irony of being there again, precisely two years later. How strange it all seemed, but our visit with
them was wonderful, the weather finally cooperating for boating, the clear blue
water near the Jupiter Lighthouse reminding us of the waters of the Bahamas.
Meanwhile, I conclude this sad anniversary entry with
other photographs of Mimi and Sherman, and Ann and I, taken during that Lake
George vacation more than thirty years ago.
Although scanned from faded black and white prints (I used to do my own
developing in those days), they capture the essence of her personality (she's in the foreground on the right in each). This is the way I would like to remember her.
