I was sleeping soundly when Lionel Richie’s song “It’s not easy to say Good-bye” began playing, right in the middle of my dream. It was loud enough to awaken me. I looked at the clock. It was 4:30 in the morning. “What is going on? Why am I hearing that song?” My foggy brain was trying to sort things out when I suddenly heard, “Ooo-sin, Ooo-sin!” And then my reply of “Woy-vee, Woy-vee,” the names we called each other when we were young.
Visions flashed before me. I was thousands of miles away, at 2280 Grand Avenue, in the Bronx, New York, to be exact. As clear as could be, I saw a shiny brass banister along side a long marble staircase, at the top of which was Irv’s one bedroom apartment. I lived at the bottom of that staircase, just to the right, with my mother and grandparents. We spent all of our time together, Irv and I. We napped together, bathed together, rode in the same stroller together. We were inseparable. His dad, my Unka Harry, was my first dad, as WWII was raging and my dad was away in the Navy. After the war ended and my dad returned, the twins, Martha, and George arrived. Living quarters were tight, to say the least. My family moved to the Grand Concourse, several miles away. Irv’s family switched apartments with my grandparents. That was the beginning of our wonderful Saturday adventures together.
We were six years old, Irv and I, when we started our Saturday morning trips into Manhattan. We’d leave early in the morning, a bagged lunch in hand, and take the subway to the Museum of Natural History. He’d get onto the train at the 183rd Street station and stand in the first car’s window. I’d get onto the train, if I saw him in the window as the train pulled into my 161st Street station. We had no cell phones. We’d switch trains at 125th Street and go directly to the museum, our favorite. We’d purchase Trail Guides, self-tour books about the various exhibits, and fill in the missing information. We loved the dinosaurs and the big, blue whale. We’d go to the Hayden Planetarium, watch the planets move and enjoy the shows and movies about scientists like Marie Curie, and Louis Pasteur. We’d eat lunch in Central Park, and roam around the City until it was time to head back home. We loved Saturdays. As we grew older and more adventurous, we discovered many of the other museums and places of interest. What a wonderful world we lived in. One of my biggest thrills was trying to recreate our experiences by taking my son, Jeff, to the Museum of Natural History, and exploring it with him. We used one of my Trail Guides that I had saved, and still have.
Public transportation and walking was our normal means of getting places until Uncle Harry bought the first car, an Oldsmobile, when we were about 2. That’s when we discovered the “great outdoors.” We drove to Bear Mountain and saw forests, deer, and “the lake.” Even as the families grew, like the circus clowns, we’d all pile into that car, 4 adults and the 6 kids, and go to Lake Tiorati, for swimming, bar-b-quing, toasting marshmallows, hiking, etc. We’d always compete to see who could find the most firewood, see the first deer or chipmunks, swim to the dock first, etc. What wonderful childhood memories!
When we were about 10, we all moved to Queens. Again, we lived next door to each other. Irv’s family of 6, and mine of 4, plus my grandparents. This time, he lived downstairs and I lived up. Once again, we were close. No telephones needed. We just yelled out the windows. We all grew up together, sharing everything…including the bathrooms. There were 12 people and only 2 bathrooms. We fought over things like Grandma’s strudel, knishes, and cookies. We played and went to school together. The holiday dinners were fun. Lake Tiorati was still a favorite destination.
In the mid 1960s, Irv left to go to school in Michigan. He never moved back, and returned only for occasional holiday visits. We were separated by greater distances than we had ever known, yet our closeness remained intact. We kept in touch. We wrote, phoned and later emailed and Skyped. We were always there for each other. At one point, we were both going through cancer treatments at the same time. We shared our fears, and feelings, along with drug and treatment information, etc. He came and stayed with me when my brother, George, and husband, Larry, died. He was too sick to come when my mom died. I understood. Because he lived in Canada, and I had no “legal” birth certificate and therefore couldn’t get a passport, I couldn’t be with him in his greatest time of need. I called often. We spoke, oh, so briefly. I told him I missed and loved him. I apologized. He understood. Although the physical miles had kept us apart, the bond, the mental/emotional closeness was oh, so strong. There will be no more emails or phone calls. My tears seem endless, as my heart is absolutely broken. His long, hard-fought battle is over, and in a sense, that is good. I pray for Ruth and Aaron, along with the rest of his family, as theirs has just begun.
I’m brought back to the Lionel Richie song. Yes, it’s not easy to say good-bye, Cuz. You know you were loved and will be missed by your friends, family and me. Hugs and kisses to all you meet on your new adventure. Until we meet again, Rest in peace, “Woy-vee.”
After I finished writing this, I decided to call Ruth. I thought that maybe she hadn’t called me because of the early hour. I was told that Irv had a rough night, but that now he was medicated, calm and peacefully sleeping. It’s just a matter of time. I was surprised, as I was so sure he had already passed, but maybe I just felt his agitation, and his reaching out. Stranger things have happened. Irv died early the next day. The phone call came at 3:30 AM, my time. I was not surprised, just so saddened. My heart aches, but I am thankful for all the wonderful memories and love we shared.
