Goodbye

Dear Dad,

Despite the horrible flood, Mom wanted G3 to have one final day at the beach in Mattituck. So, while she stayed in Glendale to continue cleaning the basement, I took G3 back out to Long Island for a day. Since it was going to be his last and he wanted it to be perfect, he planned it out making sure he got to go everywhere and do everything he wanted. It turned out to be one of those days where I didn’t say no, not at all, not once. I couldn’t, and I know you wouldn’t have wanted me to. And everywhere we went, he asked me to take his picture, in case at some point his future his memory failed. Although, I can’t imagine how he could possibly forget anything related to Mattituck — his once upon a time favorite place on the planet.

Early in the day, it became apparent that he wasn’t only saying goodbye to Mattituck, he was saying goodbye to you. I’m not sure he realized it, but every place we visited he shared a memory that almost always began with, “Do you remember the time Grandpa…” Or, “Grandpa always took me…” He never did get to say goodbye to you, and I know it bothers him, though he rarely speaks of it. Maybe saying goodbye in this way will bring him a bit of closure. Although a house, a town, can’t hug him the way you once did.

First on his list was a trip to the library. I know you’re not surprised. We spent so many hours there in the last eleven years it would have been wrong not to visit one last time. Before going, we stopped to pick up some flowers for the children’s librarian. She’s been so good to us that it would have been wrong not to give her a parting gift. It was Mom’s idea and she felt bad she couldn’t come with us, but there was the basement in Queens to deal with. The librarian seemed sorry to see us go. She said she’ll miss us and the us included you. But we’ve all been missing you for more than a year now. She reminisced about your visits, how you were always so cheerful, so talkative, so engaging. Everyone who knew you, will remember you. G3 wandered over to the “Elephant and Piggie” books and wanted me to take his picture with them. He recalled when he was younger and all the times he would take out a stack of those books to read with you. No one could ever match your enthusiasm or the emotion in your voice when you read Elephant’s lines. You really brought those books alive.

There was no question where we were eating lunch. How many time did you take G3’s to McDonalds? We went together as a family, and sometimes, when G3 got older, just the two of you would go for your boys’ outings. I’m not sure what he liked more, the hamburgers or spending time with you. I don’t eat McDonals, so I brought pretzels and hummus, but he didn’t seem to care. As always, part of me kept waiting for you to arrive, to pull into the parking lot and join us. But of course you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The beach hasn’t been the same since you died, but still we had fun. It was chilly, barely seventy degrees, but G3 told me I had to go in the water. It was, after all, our last day there, and he didn’t want to hear any excuses. I didn’t want to disappoint him and so I went in and we had a few swimming races. He’d throw a tennis ball as far as he could, and as soon as it landed with a splash, he’d shout, “Go.” I beat him almost every time, but he’s nearly as fast as me. It won’t be long until he can beat me every time. Then, for old times sake, he asked me to throw him. Remember when he was a year old and the Patch reporter saw me tossing him up in the air. She asked if she could take our picture, and she published it. I used to be able to get some serious height, not so much any more. Now, it’s more like pushing a shot put and I never was very good at that. But G3 didn’t seem to mind too much. He laughed each time I struggled to launch.

The moment G3 heard the ice cream truck, he sprinted off the beach and to the parking lot. I’m sure you wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was first on line. We each got an ice cream cone, and for reasons I’m not exactly sure about, G3 bit the bottom of his cone. Chocolate ice cream immediately dribbled onto his arm and dripped onto his leg and as he tried to clean it off he announced, “I didn’t expect that.”  Yeah, he’s a smart kid — most of the time.

G3 said he really wanted to watch one more sunset at the sound. I’ll never forget the sunset he insisted on watching with you two years ago. With his arms around your neck posing for photo, he looked so happy. You both did. If that night someone had told me I’d never again watch another sunset with you I wouldn’t have believed them. How could I? You were healthy and COVID wasn’t even around yet. I thought we’d still have many more summers together in Mattituck. At least you left us with many happy memories.

For dinner, I promised G3 banana splits from Magic Fountain. He also wanted to watch a Marvel movie in memory of you. One last movie in his favorite house, one last cuddle in your reclining chair, but since you weren’t there, he cuddled with me instead. We watched Captain America: The  Winter Soldier because he knows I like Black Widow and she’s one of the main characters. And when the movie ended, he didn’t want to go to bed because it was his last night in the house. The last time he would ever go to bed in the place that always made him happiest.

In the morning, he woke up with tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to get out of bed. I wrapped my arms around him and we cried together. “I had a dream last night,” he told me. “Grandpa walked into my room and told me not to leave. He told me I had to stay.” And that only made me cry harder. It took us forever to leave because G3 didn’t want to go. I had to take his picture in every room, and when he sat on your dresser and stared at the bed where the two of you used to read together the pain on his face was heartbreaking. Leaving that house with him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. And when I pulled out of the driveway we were both still crying. “Do you remember,” G3 asked, “whenever we left Grandpa always waved and made funny faces. I miss him waving.” Of course I remember, and every time we left, we’d go only about ten meters when G3 was already complaining that he missed you and Nona. And every time I told him not to be sad because we’d see you again. But now, you’re dead and he’ll never go back to your house. The house will be sold. The chapter, the long and happy chapter, has come to an end.

G3 wouldn’t let me leave without one last trip to the beach. I stopped at McDonalds, bought him breakfast, and he ate at the beach. When he finished eating, he took an empty water bottle and filled it with sand. In the car, he requested that we listen to Billy Joel — your favorite singer — and as we pulled onto the highway he said, “It’s not fair. It’s just not fair. I want more time. I want Grandpa.”

I know how he feels. He’s not the only one who misses you. And he’s not the only one who will miss the Mattituck house.