it's been a year

8:25 pm, a year ago.

Corinne, M and I are watching The Glass Menagerie at the Booth Theater.  All the reviews are raves. Career-altering performances.  A stunning revival.  The most revealing production of this acclaimed play, ever. A must-see.  And so we go.  Even though M is not much of a theater-lover.

The play starts a little after 7, and at 8:25 M is struggling to read her watch.   She is not successful and whispers to me, “What time is it?”  She is bored; her restlessness obvious.  “8:25,” I tell her.

The play finally ends two and a half hours after it starts. We all appreciate the performances but are not about to run home, breathless with enthusiasm, and tell all our friends to go buy tickets. 

I get home around 10:30.  My phone rings.  It’s my mom.  She’s calling to tell me that my dad had died at 8:25 .  His death had been expected.  My mother is strong and composed.  She hadn’t wanted to call me earlier, knowing I was at the theater with friends.  So she waited.

My mom had no way of knowing that at 8:25, in a strange way, the time of my dad’s passing had been acknowledged.

It’s been a year.  My dad lived a good, long life.  He left this world at 90, with no regrets.

I think of him often, in unexpected ways.  And he makes me smile.  He was a good man who lived a good life.  I miss him.

November 11 (Alexander's 3rd birthday), 1995