In the Jewish faith, the anniversary of a death is called a yahrzeit. It is observed each year on the Hebrew date of death by reciting kaddish* at synagogue and by lighting a memorial candle at home in memory of your loved one. The candle is lit at sundown the evening before the civil date.
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One year. That’s all it’s been. In contrast to the 56 years of accumulated memories that came before, it’s no wonder that one year should seem to be such a short period of time.
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I was only seven when the family of five–a mother, father, son, and two daughters–moved in next door. I was enamored of them from the very start, and they changed my life in too many ways to count.
The boy was an artist. I think it’s his hands I remember most. I was twelve years old when I first watched him draw with a number two pencil. His hands were beautiful. There was something magical about them. Over the next few years, I kept watching him, and then I started dreaming about him. I wrote a silly little song, imagining and wishing that he would be mine.
Unrequited love is such a lonely venture. And, in any case, the reality was that we were not meant to be. He didn’t want marriage. He didn’t want children. I wanted both, and, thus, took another path. I am forever grateful that I did.
But to find out, after a divorce, that this boy, now a man, the one you have wondered about your whole life, has been wondering about you, too! To have a wish from 40 years earlier come true seems unlikely. To have that same wish be something you wish for again…impossible.
During those decades–the in-between–we had always known what was happening in one another’s lives. We had even seen each other from time to time throughout those years. But the moment he knew I was going to be single again, he didn’t hesitate to admit that he had long carried a torch for me and, “What a shame it would be to have that regret on my conscience,” he reasoned. There was just the hint of tragedy in his statement, but I agreed that to not explore this thing between us now would be a tragedy. We were both in our fifties and ready for our last go-rounds.
We had six beautiful years together–a long distance relationship. It was perfect for both of us. We’d talk every single day, but being together for chunks of time was limited by my work schedule to four or five times per year–extended long weekends, and two weeks during July. When those days arrived, the excitement of seeing each other was so explosive we could hardly bear it. And we had plans. Grand plans. In our retirement, he would spend the winters with me in Florida, and I would spend a month or so with him in Indiana each summer. We belonged to each other. We thought of ourselves as a couple, as partners with separate residences.
At first, the Parkinson’s diagnosis seemed manageable. I would occasionally get annoyed at him for not eating properly, thinking, ridiculously, that if he only followed a proper diet regime, he could stave off this terrible disease for at least a couple decades. But then the signs of Lewy Body Dementia began to appear–fantastical nightmares, imagined deceits, accusations of trying to Gaslight him, all manner of delusion. It became clear to me that things were deteriorating quickly. I was seeing signs of his no longer being able to manage for himself. During a visit, I helped him with his medications, assisted him with putting on his coat, and tied his shoes.
His oldest sister moved in with him and took charge of his life. And then Covid hit, which relegated me to the role of...nothing, as I isolated myself at home, unable to travel to see him.
In just a few short months, he could no longer manage anything for himself. His sister managed his meals and exercise, bathed him, dressed him, calmed him, kept him safe, cared and loved him, and did all those things that a full-time caregiver does.
He continued to know I was someone important to him, but he didn’t actually know why. It got to the point where he could no longer have an actual conversation so our phone calls stopped as well.
Through texts and emails, his sister kept me up on how things were going, and how he was doing. And then, my phone started ringing with her ringtone. I was excited to hear from her. We rarely talked on the phone. I answered, “Well, hello! What a great surprise.”
Her voice was measured. “Yea, I know.” She then paused, significantly. “He’s in the hospital. In a sort of coma, we think. I’m on my way to see him now.”
I knew his death was in our future, but this seemed far too soon. It was too soon! Now that we were all vaccinated, wasn’t I going to soon go take care of him myself to give his sister a break?
She continued, “He has a sort of grimace on his face and I thought that, perhaps, if you were to speak to him, he might recognize your voice and it might bring him…comfort?”
“Sure, sure, of course,” I said. I wanted so much to know I could still be something to him…and to her.
“I’ll call back in about 20 minutes. It’ll take me that long to get parked…up to his room…ready,” she said.
I sat for a moment reflecting. It didn’t take long to realize that she was giving me a great gift–a chance to say good-bye. I wanted to do it right. He had been the first boy I fell in love with, afterall, and the man who I now called my life partner. And so much more.
When she called back, I was ready. She said, “I’ve put the phone on speaker and am holding it up to his ear.”
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Hey Babe! I know you can hear me so I’m just going to talk to you so you know I’m thinking about you and wishing I was there to give you a big hug and kiss and tell you how much I love you.
Right now I’m up in St. Petersburg at my sister’s condo. It overlooks Tampa Bay and the Skyway Bridge. It’s way up on the 24th floor so the view is amazing. I’m dog sitting her little Yorkshire Terrier. His name is Winston. I had to tell you his name because I know how important it is for you to know dog names. Even if you can’t smile, I hope you are smiling inside because that was a joke, Babe.
I’m still writing for my blog every month. And I’m working on a second novel. I haven’t decided on the title yet…but it takes place at a boarding school because I lived at one for 24 years so thought I’d take advantage of my knowledge for the story setting. It’s, of course, a romance novel. You know how much I love Romance, Rom-Coms. We watched a bunch together like Flipped. I think that was our favorite. And we also enjoyed The To-Do List. That was a crackup especially when the one character asked the other, “Hey big boy, what do you have under that poncho?” You and I laughed so hard at that scene we had to rewind it a couple times and rewatch it until we stopped laughing.
I have lots of traveling plans soon. Next week I am going to Wisconsin with my sister to spend the Fourth of July with our aunt and uncle. Our cousins will be there, too. We’ll go boating and I know we’ll have a really good time. Then in August I’m going to visit my daughter, her husband, and my granddaughter. She is such a delight. Ten months old, so really still a baby. She’s crawling but not walking yet. My grandma name is Gigi.
My son actually gave me that name when he first got his dog Bella. Another dog story!
The only other thing you might like to hear is that because I now live in Florida, I’m out in the sun a lot, so I’m really tan.
You are my sweetest of sweethearts.
Goodnight, Goodnoink, and Goodnaked.
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“His face has completely relaxed,” she said.
I’m not sure I believed her, but it was a sweet thing to say to me in an effort to make me feel like I made a difference. Like I was still someone important.
Six years was all we had, but it was better than nothing. Nothing would have been the real tragedy. He died the morning of June 26, 2021.
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One year. That’s all it’s been.
Copyright DJ Anderson, 2022
* Read or listen to the Mourner’s Kaddish.
