Life, Death, and Other Simple Truths

Note: Last night, I found myself watching "Up" on DVD and it reminded me of this essay I wrote on the second anniversary of my dad's death. I posted it to Facebook but not to the blog, and wanted to put it up here.

Two years ago, my father died. Six weeks after, on Sept. 11, the woman I referred to as my second mom passed away as well.

It felt like the Twin Towers of my childhood were coming down around me. Fortunately, the foundation of much of that childhood -- my mom -- is still standing.

My entry into this not-so-exclusive club -- adult children who lose their parents -- was not dissimilar to many who are my age. Nor, as I continue to learn, are the emotions that to this day catch me off guard.

For example, I took my kids to see "Up," the new Disney movie, this past weekend. In what is a bravura sequence of filmmaking (animated, CGI, or not), the audience watches an almost 10 minute sequence that represents the arc of a lifetime for Carl and Ellie. As you watch the adventure they go through, that of the mundane day-to-day tasks and miscellaneous hardships and barriers that prevent them from going to the land unknown, I dare anyone not to tear up.

Or, as in my case (and to the horror of my suddenly self-conscious children), you might start blubbering like a baby.

The reason for this, I later figured out, was because the relationship represented everything I saw in my parents. Life's barriers, big and small, kept blocking their path, but they never stopped living their adventure. Not until after the very end.

Two years and two days ago, my father waved goodbye to me and to my sister before slipping into a final, fitful coma. His death, or some form of life without him, was something I had prepared myself for almost daily since childhood.

Truism #1: No matter how prepared you may be, you are never prepared for life after the end.

The death of my second mom was not as much of a shock, even though Fran's dramatic decline in such a short period was traumatic in its own way.

The numbness of these two events started wearing off after about 4 months. The holidays brought a flood of memories and feelings I had anticipated, but was not able to deal with at the time. No matter how “prepared” I thought I was, I wasn’t ready to see a movie I knew my father would like and not be able to call him, or to find a book or CD that he would enjoy and realize I couldn’t buy it and put it away for Chrismas or his birthday.

Truism #2: Memories live as long as you breathe life into them.

Over time, I found myself welcoming other friends into my not-so-exclusive club. We now exchange knowing nods, e-mails, and phone calls as critical days and anniversaries pass, times in which we are transported back to childhood and reminded of the things (big and small) that we encountered with our parents on life's great adventure.

Two years after his death, I remember my father’s life, and all that it represented. On days like today, days in which my mom and I share conversations about mundane things and find ourselves beset by awkward long distance pauses, I can’t help but think about the end.

On days like today, I wonder why I forget the simplest things, like remembering to put on my watch, or carrying my phone with me to a lunch meeting that runs late. I wonder why my mom’s phone call about finding some of my father’s sketches makes me feel like I’m 8 years old all over again, or why I feel compelled to write this now to share with the world.

I wonder why, on a day in which I received a promotion that would make my father beam with pride, I feel so ambivalent. And then I realize it’s because of what’s been lost, that nothing can replace the presence of a parent in your life.

And then I look at my own kids, those who exasperate and upset me so while bringing such joy to my life, and I know. I just know.

RIP: John Glenn Cook Jr., 1940-2007.

Our “time” to say thanks

Almost 10 months ago, our son joined a group of actors, singers, and dancers in a rehearsal hall at The Kennedy Center. Usually one or both parents accompany Ben to the meet and greets, whereupon we get to talk to some of the actors before we’re restricted to the stage door or green room to sit and wait.

Jill and I both attended this meet and greet because it was Ben’s first Kennedy Center show, his first Equity production, and his first time working as an understudy. He had just finished two Ford’s Theatre shows — “A Christmas Carol” and “The Heavens Are Hung in Black” — and was nervous but confident as this next journey started.

Little did we know what this journey would bring.

Ten months later, as I write this on a late Sunday in early January, I’m sitting on my bed in a New York apartment three blocks from the Neil Simon Theater. It’s quiet, although the 30 mph wind that has dropped temperatures into the low double digits continues to whip in and around our building. Ben is asleep in the top bunk near me, restlessly waiting for his return to school and to a life that in short time will be more unfamiliar than ever.

Because, one week from tonight, he bids farewell to “Ragtime” and to the extended family he has known for these past 10 months. It has been a time that has changed his life — and our lives — forever.

If this were an awards show, the list of people we need to thank would go far past the 45-second allotment that you get before they cut to a commercial. I would have to start with Ben’s siblings — Emma, Kate, and Nicholas — who have seen their lives turned upside down by all of this and proven to be remarkably resilient. Jill and I would have to give a special shout out to our employers and the people who work with us, for their patience and help as we juggle schedules. And we could not have done this without Laurie and John, the child helpers, or “wranglers” as they are known.

“Ragtime,” for those who haven’t seen it, has a 40-person cast and a 28-piece orchestra, plus a large crew that works behind the scenes. Almost half of the cast transferred with the show from the Kennedy Center, which means that Ben has spent the better part of a year with a core group of actors who have greatly influenced his life: Bobby, Dan, Quentin, Josh, Eric, Christiane, Sumayya, Ron, Mark, Donna, Aaron, Jonathan, Tracy, Bryonha, Corey, and Jim.

And of course I have to thank the kids, from mighty Miss Sarah and Christopher to Kaylie, Ben’s fellow understudy who joined the cast with 21 others from the New York area in September. And of those who joined the show in New York, I also have to give shout outs to Robert, Stephanie, Terence, and Carly. There are many, many more that I wish I had gotten to know better who also helped influence and support Ben.

Before my time at the podium runs out, I must move over to the creative team — especially Marcia the director and Jim and Jamie, the show’s musical backbone — that decided our son could be successful on the large stage. You have changed his life for all time.

And to Terrence, Lynn, and Stephen, as well as Tom and Michael, thank you for creating and nurturing such a wonderful piece of theater and allowing Ben to be part of that process.

We must also thank the crew from both companies, among them Peter, Shari, Brandon, and Kate, the stage managers who have been so supportive; John, Sunshine, and Roeya, the business folks behind the scenes; Rachel the dresser; and Errollyn the elevator operator, just to name a few.

As parents, we have learned to appreciate the people and what goes into the process of moving from page to stage, from creation to evolution as your work grows and changes over time. From our vantage point, somewhere on the distant periphery, we have witnessed the highs, the smiles, the lows, the tears, the questions of what happens next.

The reason “Ragtime” isn’t running for much, much longer will be one of many questions and much debate in the weeks, months, and years ahead. But we are so blessed to have had it be part of our lives for this past year.

Thank you again, from the parents of a Little Boy…