When One Door Closes…

I don’t know too, too many things. But I do know one thing with absolute certainty. Life is short. Too short, to be frank. I got a call last Friday from my Uncle Charlie that my perfectly healthy grandmother (albeit, she did have diabetes) in New York was dying; then a miraculous call on Saturday saying that she was most likely going to make it; then the heart-wrenching, gut-blowing call on Sunday saying that, if I wanted to say goodbye, I would need to leave for New York immediately. I frantically packed, found a godsend of a neighbor to watch Pippin and got on a plane at 6 am the next morning. In order to insure that I’d make it on time, I called my aunt and uncle every hour on the hour on Sunday to see if she would get through the night. At 4 am, we were 75% sure that she would, so I tearily, frantically and without any luggage, flew to Long Island. Grandma died while I was on the plane, one hour before I landed at MacArthur Airport. At my point of arriving and having my aunt deliver the blow, I wanted to die. And I almost did, right by the security check-in point.

I can’t live with regret. I did absolutely everything in my power to get to New York on time. I would have flown out Sunday night, but there were no flights. I would have flown out Sunday night, but I had to pack up the dog. 6 am Monday morning was the first chance I had (or, more factually, the first chance Southwest Airlines gave me) to get to New York. I have to tell myself that – and I truly believe this – Grandma didn’t want me to see her that way. She wanted me to remember her the way she was: laughing, healthy, not hooked up to terrible hospital machines and very, very tan.

Grandma died on Monday morning at 8 am. I helped my aunt and uncle make funeral arrangements all day Monday and Tuesday. I attended an open casket wake on Wednesday and Thursday (in my entire 25 years of life, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do). I said before that Grandma didn’t want me to see her sick, but I’m not quite sure that she wanted me to see her dead either. I don’t know. That’s the way the Italian Catholics do it and, God knows (no pun intended), Grandma was a devout Roman Catholic. In fact, I saw more Italians in one room at the wake than the Vatican could possibly ever house (and probably more Jesuses too – those crosses were hangin’ everywhere). Friday was the toughest day of all. I walked down the aisle of the very church that my mom got baptized and confirmed in, following Grandma’s casket, and I didn’t understand how I got to this point (to be honest, I thought my wedding day would be the only time I walked down an aisle). She was fine one week ago. In fact, she called me on Wednesday, April 15^th, in the early evening, but I was too busy to answer the phone. Too freaking busy? I’m not that important – no one is. Not only was I too busy, I actively hit the ‘ignore’ button so that I could call her back later. I never got to. The image of ‘Grandma NY’ popping up on my Blackberry’s caller ID will forever haunt me. But I didn’t know. Actually, one never knows. Don’t ignore a call next time you’re too busy. You just might be following that person’s casket down a church aisle a week later (sorry for the morbidity). Moving on, I read a passage from the bible (something I’ve never done, but knew it would mean a lot to my very religious grandma). I stepped down from the pulpit (I think that’s what it’s called – maybe it’s the alter – I don’t know) and I saw the faces of some of my favorite people in the world. It was beautiful and devastating at the same time. The cemetery followed (I’m not expanding on this because I’m done with the morbidity) and a luncheon at one of the best Italian restaurants in the most Italian part of town was after that. Finally, we could talk and laugh and relish in each other’s talking and laughing. And now, Saturday afternoon, I’m on a plane, all by myself, heading back to Chicago.

In reference to the aforementioned breakdown of events from April 20^th – 25^th, I have to say that I have never been more proud of my mom. During the hardest week of her life as well (for many, many reasons, of which few people know), my mom conducted herself with the utmost grace and class.

Like I said, I don’t know too, too many things, but I know that childhood was a long time ago and that that’s no excuse for losing touch, breaking promises and avoiding contact. I’ve done my best these last 15 years to maintain relations with a family that’s – perhaps, a little bit – laden with problems. But I can do better. And I will. Although I haven’t seen certain aunts, uncles or cousins for an embarrassing amount of years, rainbow cookies and crumb cake were still waiting for me upon my arrival. How did they remember? It seems as if some things never change, despite time and distance. Uncles that make ‘moo-ing’ sounds still crack me up. Long Island is still the only place to get a decent bagel. Bakeries in New York are making rainbow cookies and crumb cake the exact same way they did in the 50s (believe me, my mom remembers). The Yankees are still the way to go (sorry, Daniel and Uncle Danny). The Walt Whitman mall kicks Old Orchard’s ass. Family from New Jersey (yes, the funny Jewish kind) will never let you down, they’ll surprise you when you need them the most. Hanging with cousins is still the best way to find trouble (we may or may not have done some exploring at the funeral home). Carvel ice cream in New York tastes different than anywhere else. The HOV lane of the parkway is the fastest, most efficient route on Long Island. The ‘parlo Italiano’ signs in the windows of businesses in Franklin Square crack me up…now that I understand them. Basements provide non-stop entertainment, what with their Wii, ping pong tables and recording studios (hey, I’m from Florida – we’re at sea level and unable to have basements). And…Franklin Square and Huntington, my parents’ respective hometowns, are still only 30 minutes apart.

Every cloud has a silver lining….right? Well, I certainly choose to believe that. I also – more often than not – believe that everything happens for a reason. Perhaps Grandma’s untimely death served a greater purpose. The silver lining to the absolute worst week of my life was that I had some of the best family time that I have ever, ever had. I saw cousins that have grown from little girls and boys to men and women with dry senses of humor, intuition, guitar skills, gut instincts, childish mischievousness, a love of shopping for dresses (and shoes), the ability to intellectually debate, memories of New York Christmases and love in their hearts.

So, here I am, mid-air, grandma-less and very, very sad. But I’m having a feeling of bittersweet-ness. Eight people from my past – relatives, at that – were re-introduced into my life this week. In whatever capacity those relationships continue (and I have very high hopes), a void in my life has been filled. An inescapable void is now there, but where one door closes, another one opens.

Grandma, I love you with all my heart. I’ll miss your voice and its adorable accent and your ability and willingness to pray for your non-praying granddaughter. I’ll miss our talks (yes, about everything) and I’ll miss our friendship. But you gave us all something this week…and that’s a new beginning. I’m hoping to make it to New York (and I’m not talking about my bi-annual trips to Manhattan, but my future trips to Long Island) for many years worth of rainbow cookies, crumb cakes, Aunt Cheryl talks and meatloaf, drives from Northport to Franklin Square, Italian food, Aunt Marina and Uncle Vincent visits, Finnigan, the Ramona Lee bakery, memories and, best of all. . . Family.