There were visitors coming and going all weekend, florists and delivery people ringing the bell at every hour. On Friday afternoon, a few special faces showed up. “Aunt Mare" and “Aunt Jackie," two of my college friends, came to spend some time with us. Mare, “The Beach House Kitchen” food blogger arrived with homemade cream of broccoli soup, her signature chicken salad, and some tasty treats. Jackie, owner of a pet accessory company didn’t bring any of her wares, but showed up with her famous, super healing hugs. All of my Rosemont friends loved John, but Jackie and Mare and their husbands had spent the most time with him. In our twenties, we all lived in the same area outside of Philadelphia, and our kids were born at about the same time. Naturally, we spent countless hours at each other’s homes making dinner and hanging out, so as to share the burden of child rearing in the early years. As the kids got older, the South Jersey Shore was a sweet spot for all of us.
We had all just had lunch together in January. It had been some time since we were all together. I can still see John yelling to Jackie from across the parking lot with his booming “Wackeerrrrrrr!!” and the six of us laughing and carrying on the way we used to, promising to get together more often and find time to gather in Avalon in the coming summer. That Friday, after he died, the girls and I spent a few hours reminiscing and wondering, unsure of how our future adventures would play out without him.
On Saturday, there was no let down of company. Late in the day I got word that a group of high school friends decided to gather in Allentown. It was comforting to have people around, to tell stories and remember John, so I encouraged them to bring their get-together to our house. It was just three days since he had died, and everyone was having trouble coming to grips with the news. Emotions were high and the loss seemed easier to talk about as a group. There were so many questions. The same questions. Over and over again. How? Why? Did you have any idea he was suffering? Were there any signs? And then the questions turned to theories. Why people kill themselves and whether they have a plan or if it is an instantaneous decision. Anyone who knew John immediately fell to the instantaneous side of the argument.
It was comforting to come to the same conclusions, but it didn’t bring us any closer to an answer. To put the future on hold, and to step back in time was easier, and happier. We had plenty of moments to relive, stories that brought smiles…even gut-busting laughter…to a room so laden with anguish. To remember the guy and his boat, the countless hours waterskiing and partying. Places like Touché, Snickers, Fred’s and the Princeton, and sitting at a bay side bar listening to Johnny O and the Classic Dogs of Love. Within seconds we were taken back to Avalon in the late 80’s laughing and carrying on. The chatter that night covered 32 years and we spent every bit of five hours bouncing between memories, new and old. The noise was off the charts and the spirits helped hide the pain. All of the conversations included John, and many times throughout the night you could hear the clank of glass followed by drinks raised high. If we had had a stash of sleeping bags, these trusted companions might have drunk and reminisced all night. Instead, we talked about seeing each other later in the week, and spoke promises of keeping in touch.
Erin, the second of the three Kelly cousins was now home. Thanks to her, and her study abroad program in Florence that past November, my brother’s family, John and I, the kids, and Gabbie and Kat, all went to Italy over Thanksgiving. It was John’s first time abroad and he loved it. The laughter, the food, the wine… the memories! Now home with her cousins, she and the other kids raised their share of glasses and listened intently to the tales that night. Hearing the stories helped them put faces to the stranger’s they had heard about for years. Old photo albums were dusted off and the images begged more stories.
The gathering wrapped up at about eleven, but the kids were still in rare form. There were seven remaining: five cousins and two girlfriends. The decision was made to stay the night at “Aunt Annie’s.” There was laughter and tears, and more laughter and more tears. Before I knew it they were huddled in our king size bed. What seemed a metaphor for the night, their faces were donned in facial masks and cucumber eye patches, as the laughter that ensued in those ten minutes was certainly covering up the grief we were all feeling.
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