Day 512

It rained yesterday and it rained today, fitting weather for my mood. Yesterday, Mom and I spent the day packing up the house. Taking knickknacks off shelves, wrapping dishes in newspaper, boxing up memories. Maybe the rain drops are Dad’s tears. I know he never would have sold this place. We packed until we filled my tiny car. This morning, I drove to Queens just so we could drop off boxes and then turn around again. There is more to pack up, but I don’t seem to have much energy to do it. It’s depressing me too much. This place has been my home for thirty years. I don’t know how I’m going to function when coming here is no longer an option.

While in Queens, we stopped in at the Yeh Art Gallery at St. Johns University. This week, their exhibition is the Queens COVID Remembrance Day Project. On display are portraits of nearly 300 Queens residents who died from COVID. They were created by Hannah Ernst, a young artist who founded Faces of COVID Victims after her grandfather died. For her, it seemed important that people stop talking about numbers and statistics. She wanted the world to know that each death was a person who was loved, a person who will be missed. You can see her work and follow her on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/covid.victims/. 

I want to thank Brian Walter and everyone else from the Queens COVID Remembrance Day Committee. They have worked tirelessly to ensure that Queens COVID victims are honored and remembered. Because of them, my dad and so many other people whose lives were cut short are not being forgotten. We need to remember how awful this pandemic was and still is. We need to never forget what we lost. And it’s so important that those of us who survived know we are not alone in our grief. 

Even though I knew what to expect, walking into the gallery was difficult. The moment I stepped through the doors and saw the walls covered with portraits tears filled my eyes. It’s one thing to know the numbers. It’s one thing to be aware of how many people have died. It’s quite another to actually see them. Every single person hanging on the walls should still be alive. When Mom and I arrived, we were the only ones there. We had the place to ourselves and all the time in the world to look at the faces and read the names. I read every name. And what struck was the diversity. COVID certainly didn’t discriminate. It hit everyone regardless of their background.

I’ve been to art galleries before. But today it was different. Usually, art shows are about the artist and their work. But this exhibit is also a memorial. It was a solemn event. A reminder that while the world is pushing for a return to normal, my family isn’t the only one that will never know normal again. 

On the wall, my father stands out — at least to me. When selecting a picture to submit to Hannah, I wanted something meaningful. So I chose a photo of him sitting next to G3  — of course, I cropped G3 out of the photo before sending it — and in the picture he is wearing the Star Wars shirt I bought him in Disney. I bought matching shirts — after following my road trip for a month, you all know how we obsess over matching clothes in this family — for Dad, G3, and Me. Black shirts with white writing: The Force Is Strong In My Family. Dad and G3 both loved wearing those shirts whenever we visited. It seemed the perfect shirt for a memorial portrait. The day I took that picture of Dad we were on the Amistad. When Dad had read that a replica of the Amistad was going to be in Greenport he had immediately purchased tickets for the family. We had a great time out on the water learning a little history. It was Father’s Day. The last Father’s Day we spent with Dad. As I looked at the other loved ones on the wall in the gallery, I started wondering what their photographs looked like, the ones their families sent to Hannah. Why did their families choose the photographs they did? Mostly, I guess, I wanted to know the stories behind the pictures. Or maybe not necessarily that story, but a story about each person who died. Yep, that is what I was thinking as tears spilled down my cheeks. Who were these people and what memories of them do their families cherish the most? 

Dad would have appreciated the fact that his portrait is hung at St. Johns University. Though he never had much interest in art, for years he liked the St. John’s basketball team. He preferred college basketball to professional basketball and he always watched The Red Storm on television. When I was young and infatuated with basketball, Dad took me to at least one game. I still remember sitting in the stands and watching them play. 

When we left the art gallery, Mom wanted to go to Popeyes for lunch. St. John’s University is near a doctor she used to go to. Whenever Dad drove her to appointments, they always stopped at Popeyes afterward. Actually, Popeyes and Burger King are in same space and Mom used to eat Burger King. It was dad who really liked Popeyes’ chicken. But today, Mom wanted Popeyes. I’m guessing it’s because it reminded her of Dad. Perhaps, for moment, it brought her closer to him. The woman behind the counter even recognized my mother, and Mom said it’s because she always liked Dad. Dad had a way of making people laugh. And he could be very memorable to the people he knew, even in passing.

In the last six weeks, I have driven through and visited seventeen states. When it comes to wearing masks, NYC residents are champions. Nowhere else do so many people wear masks indoors. True, not every single person I saw was masked, but the majority of people I saw in NYC had their faces covered. Perhaps it’s because NYC was once upon a time the epicenter of the pandemic. New Yorkers know how deadly the virus is. We know it isn’t a game. We know the virus itself isn’t political. We’ve lived through an awful ordeal once. I suppose we don’t want to live through it again.

We are back in Long Island. I should be helping Mom pack, but I’d rather write. I can pack more later. I don’t even want to be in the house. The emptiness is upsetting me too much.