Day 105

About a month or so ago, a friend of mine, the one whose dad also died from Covid-19, told me about a documentary film editor who was voluntarily making memorial videos for victims of the coronavirus. He sent me the link and I contacted the editor inquiring about a video for Dad. I’ve written about Dad, I’ve posted pictures of him, and I’ve begun a couple of photo series all in memory of Dad. But even with all that, I thought a video might be nice to have, not just for me, but for Mom and my son. The editor told me to send about twenty pictures his way and chose a song. Narrowing Dad’s life down to twenty pictures was not easy. Mom must have thirty photo albums down in the basement. Instead of overwhelming myself with hundreds of print pictures which I’d then have to scan, I opted to select the photos from those that were already digital. Most of them came from the last ten years, many of them included my son. I went through my files and I combed Dad’s facebook photos for others. As for choosing a song, I mused aloud to my spouse, “Maybe something from Billy Joel. He was Dad’s favorite.” She looked at me, eyes wide, and then she blinked, confused, “You mean you wouldn’t use ‘Wind Beneath My Wings?’” I laughed, of course she was right, how could I have even considered anything else? “Wind Beneath My Wings” was the song I insisted upon for my wedding dance with Daddy. Nothing else would suffice. Bette Midler was perfect.

After I sent the editor my pictures, he asked if I wanted to add a few words about Dad to the video. I asked my son to write them. He took a sheet of paper and pen into his room and sat on his bed while he thought about what he wanted to say. Finally, he gave me the paper on which he wrote three short sentences, “Even though Grandpa is dead, he is alive. He lives on in the hearts of his loved ones. I love you Grandpa.”

The following night, as I was working on some editing of my own, I got an email. The editor had some extra time earlier than expected so he completed the video. I clicked on the link he sent me, and as soon as the opening notes to “Wind Beneath My Wings” started, I began sobbing. I sobbed during the entire video, and then I watched it again and cried some more. I am fairly certain I will never be able to watch that video without tears. Today, I showed it to Mom and she cried even more than I did, but she liked it, she was happy to have it. If you would like to see the video, you can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=29jZ01EzZpI&feature=youtu.be

(If you are interested or know anyone who might be interested in a memorial video for a loved one you can find out more information here: https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=104018201303404&id=103310258040865)

Yesterday, we had to run some errands and we ended up in Target. In the back of the store, an entire corner was being prepared for back to school supplies. Empty yellow bins called our attention to them, prompting my spouse to comment, “Will there be a need for back to school supplies this year?” It’s a fantastic question. Parents are antsy to get their kids back to school, they are eagerly anticipating free babysitting in September so that they can resume their own lives. But even though Murphy issued guidelines to open schools, there are no guarantees that schools will open. 

Granted, things are looking better here in New York and New Jersey, but the virus is spreading rapidly in the South. It is entirely possible we will get hit hard again. Our states’ borders are too porous. It’s too easy for infected people to enter states in which the virus is on the decline. And people are being careless. People are taking chances. My brother-in-law is getting married on Saturday. The wedding will be outdoors, but the guest list is climbing toward 60, some of whom do not live locally. All it will take is one infected person to show up and the virus will feast on new flesh.

And while more people die, while hospitals fill to capacity, and the Texas governor admits to opening too soon, what is our brilliant and compassionate president doing? He is playing golf. Americans are losing their lives, and the president doesn’t give a shit. Europe has recently issued a list of who can enter this summer, and not surprisingly, the United States is not on it. We are too much of a risk because our idiot president has made more of an effort to rescue confederate statues from being toppled than he has to contain the virus. If only statues were vulnerable to the Coronavirus, he might have issued a national mandate requiring everyone to wear masks. But no, he just pretends that life is grand, because for him it is.

I am back in Queens. Mom is very lonely so my son and I came for a visit. We spent the afternoon playing games. I haven’t played so many games with Mom since Dad was in the hospital. But I think she enjoyed it. She definitely enjoyed us being here. Without Dad the house seems so big and too quiet. And today, the doors on one of the kitchen cabinets aren’t closing properly. It’s uncanny how things are falling apart without Dad here. I’m beginning to wonder if he somehow really does have a hand in breaking things. Is he trying to convey a message to Mom? Is he trying to tell her she should move closer to me? Or is he angry that he died? Does he somehow blame us?

Why are flip-flops so difficult to find this year. My son needs new ones. The old ones no longer fit, but we can’t find them anywhere and we’ve gone to several stores. Even today, we struck out. More stores in the mall behind my Mom’s house will be opening tomorrow. We’ll have to walk up there and see if they have any. Either they’ll have new inventory and we’ll get first crack at it, or they’ll still be trying to get rid of clothes from March. If that’s the case, the odds of them having what we need are slim.

My son found a Lego Star Wars set in his room. It was a set that Dad had bought him for Christmas, a set my son brought here months ago with the intention of putting it together with his Grandfather. While Mom and I were making dinner — Mom tending to the vegetables and me tending to the grill — my son went up to his room and opened the box of Legos. When dinner was ready, I went upstairs to get my son and I found him on the floor of his room crying, the Legos in his hand as he tried to undo a mistake he had made. I offered to help, but he pushed me away, “You’re not Grandpa. Grandpa has to help me. Grandpa has patience and you don’t. Leave me alone.” I tried again to help, but he pushed me harder, “I don’t want you. I need Grandpa.” We all do. We all need him. We’d all be happier if he were here. But he’s not. Eventually, my son was able to fix his mistake, but it wasn’t the same. If Grandpa had been here, no mistake would have been made, because Grandpa always kept a close watch over what my son did. He always checked every step.