Don't Worry

This morning as I awoke in my hotel room in Buffalo I thought about Charlie. Returning to Buffalo is sad for me, I realized, not because I have left home to go out into the world of Philadelphia, but because Charlie is not here when I return. He has not been here since July 2001 and yet it seemed like he was always here for me when I lived in Buffalo. How could he not be? He was my friend.  I met him when I took my first statistics course at the University at Buffalo in 1988. He was the instructor and as he taught us about probability and variances he shared his life story and political philosophy. What a teacher! He had us on the floor counting pennies, building blocks and working out probabilities of the November elections. Statistics became relevant, interesting and achievable for many of us non-traditional students and undergraduates who had difficulty believing we were able to understand such a subject. He even told us about his nervous breakdown in the seventies after which he attended gestalt therapy groups and as a result claimed that all men repress their feelings. Charles was an emotional and passionate person, breath of fresh air, kindred spirit and the kindest man I have ever met. He was also an anarchist, socialist and walked the talk. We became close friends instantly. I joined him as he arranged a demonstration against the terror in Tiananmen Square. We stood at the steps of the Albright Knox Art Museum and sang "We Shall Overcome" with Buffalo legislators. I had arrived in America (I thought)! This is how it was going to be. Charles was an idealist. He had faith in all human beings no matter who they were and he understood the human condition. We shared pain together. We shared the pain of his cancer together. Two days before he died he called for me very early in the morning. I arrived at his bedside as fast as my car would drive me. He told me that it seemed he was not doing very well. I said, "Yes, Charles. This is it. The end of the road. We will be moving you to Hospice tomorrow." We were silent and I held his hand, moving in close and holding his gaze. "Are you afraid?" I asked. He nodded and said softly, "Yes." More silence. And then he turned back to me and asked, "And what about you?" Tears rose in my eyes and throat. I held his hand tightly and replied, "Oh Charles, I am going to miss you so much. I am so sad. I love you." He seemed satisfied. Charlie nodded his head and said, "I love you too."

After he died I could feel his presence in the trees as I walked daily in Delaware Park. It seemed that I was able to commune with him, tell him things and had a sense that he was with me. Of course I became sure that there is no after-life when Charles died. He would have returned to tell me about it, because we discussed our atheism so much. During the last weeks he teased me with the idea that he might turn to God before he died. He asked what I would do if that happened. I replied that was fine with me. I would love and accept him no matter what he believed. He would chuckle as if his thoughts were mischievous or provocative in some way. We would sit on his porch him sitting in his beloved newly acquired, white, wicker chair overlooking the street watching the passers by.  Ada sits in that chair now in my study in Chestnut Hill. It is her favorite place to curl up and sleep. I know it is placed right next to the left of my desk, therefore bringing her in close proximity to me as I work. However, I like to think she senses his presence too.

Charles would definitely have returned to describe what happened to him after he died. He was just that kind of friend. He would never keep that type of information to himself.

On Friday, as I was heading out the door to the airport the postman delivered Julia Darling's book of poetry that I had ordered less than a week before. What perfect timing! One day after I heard she died. In haste, I pushed the book into my bag and as I sank into the seat on my plane to Rochester I pulled it out. I seemed to devour each poem. On the back cover Jackie Kay sums it up:

Here are poems about a difficult, scarey subject, cancer, that circle around it lightly, on light dancing feet, and every so often whack you on the head. Oddly enough [it] is compulsively readable. The poems are funny, irreverent, moving and never sentimental. You can recognize yourself in them, recognize your family. They are warm, full of compassion ...

As I read each poem in Sudden Collapses in Public Places, I thought about how Charles would have enjoyed having me read them to him. He would have loved every one. I read them to him silently as I flew to Western New York. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I dedicated my reading to Charlie. I missed him and realized that he will not be in Buffalo waiting for me.  If I walked up to his office in Baldy Hall, he would not be there, jumping out of his chair the instant I appeared at his door, no matter if students were waiting for advisement or even if he had an important meeting - he always had time for me. He always expressed delight and joy at seeing me. I read the poems to him.

As I prepare to see Mar-Mar this afternoon, for I hear she is weak, tiny and fragile as a small bird now, I read the poems for her too. I remember her dancing, swaying and clapping for the children in our infant rooms at the Child Care Center, her raucous laughter and burgundy lipstick kisses on the babies' cheeks. I heard she loves maple-walnut ice cream now. I will take her some and we will put it in a blender. Apparently, two teaspoons will suffice. I can't wait to take her in my arms.

This Download julia_darling.doc is one of the poems that felt meaningful to me on Friday and this morning, too.

Comments

[leanne]

You may deny it. But you are strong, Tamar.

[Nian]

Leanne, strong and fragile are not the words to describe our Tamar. She is a drama queen in the real life, who laughts at what she appreciates with tears, who also cries and morns heartily but knows when to stop, and stop it by entertaining others and hence herself.

I was worried about what we're about to talk today when I read this before she came to pick me up. She missed her dear old friend, and she's visiting another withering friend. Shall we talk about death and life today?

......
You may not believe it: we had as much fun as we had the last time when we four were unpacking. She told me jokes and stories; we laughed and joyfully recalled her old friend and everything...

Our "date" turns out to be a full one: we'll go out for a movie tonight. :)) Jealous?

[Tamar]

Ah my dears, Leanne and Nian! How you both give me so much joy. I am so grateful for each of you. No jealousy required here - we all do wonderful and different things one with the other and all together! Leanne - see you soon. Nian, see you sooner...

Yes, life is about death and death is about life. And, it's all about grief. Love you both.

[Danny]

I always enjoy reading about Charlie and am so sad that I never got to meet him. (But, I do feel he was somewhat responsible for OUR meeting!)

Enjoy your time in Buffalo! I'll shout out to you when I'm in your state later this week...

[Tamar]

And of course I don't believe in this stuff, right? But, Danny, I do feel he was somewhat responsible for OUR meeting too. More and more I feel that way - by the way.

Am so enjoying being in Buffalo. I wish I was seeing you in my new Commonwealth of Pennsylvania!

[Jean]

I didn't know that poem. One to commit to memory and think of often. Thank you.