In this season of promise and expectation, my thoughts go to the myriad of Everyday Angels that surround me, my powerful circle of love and hope. You all, who have given me so much, will be in my heart forever. I know you will be richly rewarded for your gentle kindnesses and loving generosity. Especially those of you who know my many flaws but love me anyway, thank you for being role models of compassion. Your humanity inspires me. I pray that you all will be showered with blessings.
No matter what, I am so grateful for my children and the many treasured Christmas memories that revolve around them. Throughout the years, you four, individually and collectively, have given me more joyful moments than you will ever know. There is nothing you could ever do or say that could change my love for you. That love is for eternity.
December is such a busy month, and not just because of
Christmas. In our family, we have
significant dates on both ends of the spectrum of life. I have two precious grandchildren born in
December. And, sadly, my husband Dennis died in
December, five days before Christmas, twenty years ago this month. Our kids were
6, 8, 15 and 16. I was 39 and he was
only 40.
His death was a hideous shock. He was an active guy, slim and athletic. But he apparently had congenital heart
disease that was never picked up. The worst
thing I have ever had to do in my life was witness the suffering my children
endured at his loss and not be able to fix it or make it go away. Every subsequent family milestone that I went through alone at first was excruciatingly painful, then gradually faded to a dull poignancy.
We have four grandchildren now, will have five in
February. He would have been a marvelous
grandfather, because he was a big kid at heart. He was always up for playing a game, reading
a story, going for a walk or making up silly sayings.
A tugboat pilot, he was very good at his job. But it was a career he had been caught in,
not a career he had chosen. At 17, a
neighbor gave him a job at Circle Line, the Manhattan sightseeing boats, as a
line catcher, the lowest job on the pier.
(This neighbor just happened to be a VP at Circle Line). Dennis was a reliable, hard worker and
popular with the other guys, so he easily worked his way up to deckhand. Because he was ambitious, he studied for and obtained his
pilot’s license, a notoriously hard accomplishment. He became a captain at Circle Line and then a
pilot on the tugs.
But what he really wanted to be, more than anything, was a
high school gym teacher. He would have
been fantastic. He loved kids and he
loved sports, he was a natural. When I
“helped” our kids with their homework, I was shrieking maniac within 15
seconds. He was endlessly patient. But he never had the luxury of quitting his
job to go back to school, he had a family to support. So he settled for being an autodidact and was
quite learned in many subjects, especially the Civil War and geography. We used to challenge each other to Jeopardy. Getting comfortable on the sofa, our younger
son would sit between us and keep score.
We’d turn the show on and most of the time it would be neck and
neck. But if I won, it was usually just
because I had a faster mouth. He was
always a good loser, whereas if I lost, I would pout. It was years before I could watch
Jeopardy again. It just made me too sad.
He was a die-hard New Yorker, something that had bonded him with my grandfather. These two complicated men had a genuine respect and fondness for each other. And like my grandfather, not-so-deep-down, Dennis was a quiet romantic. His favorite movies were West Side Story,
It’s a Wonderful Life, The Quiet Man and Dog Day Afternoon, all films about flawed men with huge
capacities to love. He had a soft spot
for animals, with their helplessness and unconditional affection. He was especially fond of an obscure TV movie
from 1969, J.T. It has only been broadcast once or twice since (although it is available here on YouTube, in 4 parts). J.T. is set in Harlem, a touching but raw story about a lonely boy who secretly nurses an injured alley cat while trying to cope with the challenges of inner city life. Dennis saw himself in that little boy and talked
about comparisons often. Although he had
his melancholy streak, he was incredibly funny and had a sharp wit, but plain
old slapstick, like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, could leave him crying
with laughter.
Golf was such a passion that he would have pitched a tent out on the
green if he could have. He was
a great athlete and probably could have played professional baseball if he had
had the encouragement and support he needed as a kid.
Twenty years is an awfully long time. We had been married for 17, known each other
for 20, had four wonderful children together.
He had a hard life and dealt with many challenges, some more
successfully than others. He was a very
good man at heart, but I know he always wanted to be better. He was always striving. I am so sad for him that he has missed so
much. Sometimes it seems as though he will walk through the door any second. It happens far less now, but I
still find myself occasionally thinking, “oh, I have to tell Dennis” and then I
remember. I think he would have been very proud of my accomplishments. It feels desperately unfair that his life was so short. But I want to believe he is in a place
of happiness and healing, far better off than I can comprehend.
Merry Christmas, Dennis.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Thank you Lord, for making Yourself one of us. Please strengthen our
faith in You. Please make us worthy of Your love and of each other.Merry Christmas, Dennis.
Merry Christmas everyone.
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| Fragment of a painting, Shooting Star, by Stephen Magsig |
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