July 14th -- Bastille Day. It's also my dear friend Mike's birthday -- he's 4 days older than I. I texted him our usual guy ball busting message -- hopefully Loni will role play with him at their NC vacation home.
I also posted Alan Parsons' "Time, " which became Norman and my song years ago on Wifey's 60th birthday cruise. We overpaid dearly for Crystal Lines, but they did have an excellent pianist -- for reasons now foggy Norman and I asked him to play some Parsons, and the only song he knew was the less than festive dirge about the passage of time. Apparently, it's a favorite at British funerals -- along with the song I would have: "Always Look On The Bright Side of Life."
Anyway, the co-writer and lead singer on the song was Eric Woolfson, a Scottish Jew, and I pointed out on our text chat that he died at...that's right! 64! I need to maintain my nickname of "Obituary Dave," and realizing a songwriter died at the age of my cohorts' upcoming birthday is golden!
Saturday was a banner evening -- delicious dinner at Bourbon Steak -- and even finer company. Eric and I go back to 1979, Barry joined the band in 1980, and Paul in 1988. Talk about time flowing like a river...
I acquitted myself with 3 Ketels, and Wifey kindly drove us home, as we debriefed on the lives of our dear friends. Paul turns 75 in September, so he has an additional decade of life experience, but we late stage Boomers seem to be gaining some wisdom as we near Medicare eligibility -- particularly on the nature of our adult kids and now grandkids.
In fact, I have been SO happy lately, that I forgot, for most of the morning, the fact that today also marks the anniversary of the worst day of my life: Hy dying in my arms in the Delray barber shop. D2 reminded me -- she was going to light a candle for him later, a man she never met but knows because of a lifetime of hearing tales of him and what he meant to me.
Man -- what a day. Dad had asked me to go with him and Mom for his post hospital checkup, and I was annoyed. I had met some cool Wisconsin girls through my co-worker at Jordan Marsh in Boca, Donna, and we had a beach day planned. Hadn't I already done enough -- taking care of Mom during Dad's fortnight in the hospital? I mean -- he was fine -- he survived a heart attack -- couldn't he and Mom just go to his appointment and leave me to go back to being a 20 year old young, dumb, and full of ...vitality?
Dad said if if the doc wanted to re-admit him, he wanted me there. FINE. I could never refuse him -- I loved and adored him so, and sure enough the visit with Dr. Heller was routine -- these were days before statins, and Heller said to Dad -- maybe lay off the meat and eat more fish. After that, we went to Morrison's cafeteria, and Dad followed his advice -- getting the fish -- I got, I still remember, the brisket. Given that Dad's last meal was one he did NOT prefer -- I tend to go for the NY Strip when offered...
Anyway, after that he wanted a haircut, and so we drove to a strip center on Atlantic near the Turnpike -- Mom went to the Publix, Dad sat in the chair, and I noticed the fact that his haircutter was kind of cute and punk -- she had purple hair and tatoos. I was sitting behind, reading a magazine, and heard her yell "Sir! Sir!" Dad had slumped over and died.
Oh -- we gave him CPR (I still remember smelling the onions on his breath from that last fish meal) and the paramedics arrived and put him on a "thumper," but I knew he was gone. Mom came in, and I held her as they wheeled him out, and I told her "Everything will be all right" knowing it was a lie -- everything was about to CHANGE -- a lot.
We followed the rescue truck to Bethesda, and went inside, and they led us to a room. About 20 minutes later a young ED doc came out, and they fumbled to assemble what I assumed was the "bereavement team," with a nurse and social worker. After waiting there like schmucks for these functionaries to arrive, I finally said to the doc "Dad died, right?" He nodded yes, and that was it. Neither Mom nor I needed to see his body -- and I simply told the late arriving social worker to please call The Neptune Society where he had pre-arranged cremation.
And that, as they say, was that.
I turned 21 and had to become the real man of the family. I slept walked through my senior year of college -- applied to UF and UM Law -- got into both, but knew well Mom needed me close, to Gainesville was out.
And the Big Man must have had a plan and a nice one for me. Within 3 weeks in late Summer of 1983, I met Mike, my friend Jeff, and most significantly the person for whom I would buy a villa and name it after: Wifey.
So 1982 was my worst year -- heartbreak from a girlfriend in January, and the much worse loss of my man in July. But 10 years later? The birth of my precious D2, and making it big in the law biz.
Indeed time keeps flowing -- carrying away lovers and friends and ultimately all of us. In the mean time, this Friday I turn 64 -- and plan to celebrate with yet another NY Strip -- this time at the Palm. Little Man and Baby Man had busy weekends -- in Chicago and Naples, respectively. The plan is to go up early Friday and celebrate Baby Man's birthday late -- he turned 3 7/11 and we just got to FaceTime (tm) with him. A late cake awaits, which his brother will find more important than he will...
And I plan to toast my amazing family and friends -- all of us traveling together on this mortal coil. Life brings sadness, but also exquisiteness. That's the lesson to understand.