Pat & Sissy “The Phone Ring” The saga of Pat & Sissy (a.k.a. Betty) is one that spans 55 years. I am going to start at the very end, because, to me, this is the most poignant moment in my mind. In February 1997, the middle of a cold, snowy winter, Christine had as many of Aunt Pat’s family and friends gathered into their living room at 34 W. Maple Ave as she possibly could. There was: Christine, her three kids and Uncle Bob; Mommy and Daddy; John, Cindy & there two twin boys, myself, Eddie and Dawn, and countless other friends of Aunt Pat’s that I can not remember. Aunt Pat was very sick with brain cancer, and the determined progression of the disease combined with the physiological effects of morphine, ushered in the end of Aunt Pat’s life right before our very eyes. As with all events, such as the passing of Aunt Pat, we feel sorrow for the person that we lose, we feel sorrow for ourselves, we want to all be an important part of the process, we want others to acknowledge our pain and suffering. This is exactly what happened at 34 W. Maple Ave., on that cold February night. Everyone expressing sorrow, everyone speaking up, everyone seeking their own acknowledgement. Everyone, that is, except for Mommy. Mommy sat silently in her chair, not saying a word, but swelling from the inside of her heart to the gushing streams of her eyes, with the tears of a sister, a friend, a neighbor, a partner in good times and bad times, of over 55 years. I just hugged Mommy, and hugged her, and hugged her. Everyone wanted it to be about themselves, but to me it was about Chrissy, JC, Bernadette, Maria and, last, but certainly not least, Mommy. The hospice nurse allowed anyone who wanted to say their last good-bye to do so, and then she ushered everyone out so that she could perform her job and take care of Aunt Pat. We all, and I mean all, except for Chrissy and Uncle Bob, who needed to be down at 34 W. Maple Ave., went up to Mommy’s and Daddy’s, and sat around the kitchen table, in the rec room, under the telephone, and up along the kitchen counters. By that time it was about 10 or 11 pm. We were not home 5 minutes, when the phone rang. And that “RING” cut to my heart and I cried like baby and went and hugged Mommy, because I knew every time that phone would ring in the future, day or night, that Mommy would automatically think iabout Aunt Pat, because that is who called our house 90% of the time. I can hear Mommy say in her very pleasant voice, “Hello”, and I can also hear Aunt Pat’s reply, in her upbeat voice, “Hi Sissy”. I had heard this exchange for 32 years, but Mommy had experienced it for 55 years. Many people are sad for those who die, but, as for me, I am always the saddest for those who survive and suddenly have a hole where there was once an abundance of love and acceptance. Mommy lived another 11 months, which was ironically the same number of months which separated their births. She survived without Aunt Pat, but was never the same. Mommy did bring out the best in Uncle Bob in that last year, for he allowed Mommy to borrow Aunt Pat’s car for the next 11 months. Anyone who knows Uncle Bob, would know that this is unheard of for him. That phone ring may bring a tear to Mommy’s eye (and mine), but seeing Uncle Bob trying to fill his own hole in his heart by allowing Mommy to borrow Aunt Pat’s car, was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Love is beautiful. Love hurts. Love keeps us going. “Ring”, “Ring” - whose phone call are you expecting ?
Posted on: Sun, 17 Aug 2014 03:18:59 +0000
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