Intimations of Mortality

 So last night Wifey and I had a thoroughly enjoyable dinner with our old friends Susan and Steve. We met through D2 and their middle son Spencer, friends in Middle School. They have 3 kids, and the youngest just graduated UM Medical School and is headed to UNC for Pediatrics Residency. Dr. Barry is one of her mentors. Their oldest, Ryan, is married and living in Dallas -- with a beautiful baby boy. So with Erin leaving, and Spencer in NYC, they're about to become true empty nesters.

We shared life tales about our wonderful kids, who we accept, we probably helicoptered too much. Then again, watching D1 and Joey with their boys, in the parent department, is hearing them say "Hold our beers." We'll see...

Susan and Steve are headed off to Santa Fe, a place I've visited twice and love. I told them to not miss Ranch de Chimayo, a truly memorable restaurant up in the mountains. They promised to go, and send a photo of the late Spanish guitar player, a Cubana redhead I met in October of 1982, on a college trip there with Eric. Long time ago.

Despite the delicious seafood dinner, and single martini, it was a restless night. And when I awoke, as the sun rose, for some reason I had two women on my mind: our dear friend Elizabeth, and my Mom, Sunny.

Sunny's birthday is coming up this week. She'd have been 103! Elizabeth's yahrzeit, though she wasn't Jewish, is, I believe, in May. She died two years ago.

The two of them truly adored each other. Mom always found Elizabeth so beautiful, bright, and sweet, and Elizabeth said Sunny was the coolest of friends' mothers. I have such nice memories of both of them staying over -- at our various houses over the years -- and sitting together talking. 

Sunny made it to 93. Elizabeth died far too young -- early 60s. Sunny's death was long in coming -- her final two weeks were a downward ride. Elizabeth's death was a shock -- she died in her bed after a day of vigorous hiking in the Utah mountains.

I miss them both. Sunny died before either of the Ds were married, and she never got to meet my grandsons. But she had a wonderful, full life, even though she doubted that would be the case back in 1982.

I remember us talking -- how would she go on without my Dad, the man who did everything for her? Well, she would, and saw the world, and got another 31 years of laughter and wonderful memories.

When she turned 80, in 2000, I took all of us to San Francisco -- my Ds, Wifey, and my sister Trudy. We met my California sister Sue and her boys, and toured the city and surrounding areas, packed into a minivan -- all 9 of us. I have a picture from Fisherman's Wharf which I treasure -- Mom with two punk rock fellows with Mohawks, sticking out their tongues. We laughed a lot on that trip.

And now my sister is nearing 80. Wow. Longevity among the women seems to run in our family.

Wifey thinks about Sunny often, and Elizabeth daily. She was such a dear friend -- always wanting what was best for Wifey, and savoring our company. She was a healthy eater, and would come stay with us with a cooler of food we had little of -- but I could usually get her to have a cocktail or two and some great Italian at Salvatore D's.

When I met Elizabeth, she was married to rock singer Pat Travers. We had some great times together -- I could listen endlessly to Pat's tales of playing with all of my music heroes. He played at our wedding -- along with the Borscht Belt-type band, and was wonderful. Elizabeth's sister Ruby called Pat to tell her about her passing, and even over the decades of their divorce, he was shocked and saddened. We all were.

I walked my beautiful neighborhood on a gorgeous morning. I used to wheel Sunny around here, and she loved it. I don't think she ever wrapped her head around the size of our house. She picked as her room a small bedroom near the garage. Wifey just had shelves hung there to make it a functional laundry room, but it will always be "Grandma Sunny's Room."

Elizabeth loved it here, too. We would walk the dogs together, and, as a trained botanist, she would marvel at all the flora. Once, she dug an area near our front gate, and planted some ferns in a circle, hoping Wifey might plant some bromeliads, too. We bought a brass placque that says "Elizabeth's Garden," and I smile each time I pass.

It's funny -- we take our lives so seriously. But in a few generations, at most, it's as if we weren't even here, except for the stories. I plan to tell my grandsons, and any future grandkids I am blessed to have, ALL about my parents. So they'll live on in memory -- as a blessing -- albeit not in person.