February. Such a cold and complicated month. In 1996, when I was a senior in high school, a good friend of mine died in a tragic accident. In 2000, after nine months of battling pancreatic cancer, Netsy left us. Couple these indelible losses with my birthday followed by Valentine’s Day, my father’s birthday, and arctic temperatures outside and maybe you can understand why I call this month cold and complicated.
Today is the day my grandmother passed away in the home where I grew up on Long Island. It is a day ripe with details that I remember so vividly. It was a Sunday night like tonight and my mom and I were driving home from making funeral arrangements as we knew Netsy was close. I was dazed and upset and I missed our exit on the LIE which added an unnecessary 15 minutes on to our trip. When we got home I remember my father cooking in the kitchen – the smell of ginger and garlic permeated the house. I remember going to Netsy and just knowing it was time. I remember calling screaming for everyone to come to her bedside. I just knew she had waited for my mom and me to return and I immediately felt struck by guilt for missing our exit. Minutes later she would struggle to take her last few breaths. I remember Alfy, our cat, jumping up on to her stomach in the minutes after she passed and howling her head off. It was poignant and eerie. I can only think that she must have felt my grandmother’s spirit leave. My mom was speechless and looked like she was going to vomit. She screamed for me to get Alfy off of her.
By late January I had moved my mattress downstairs to sleep by Netsy’s bedside. I would spend one final night there alone, on February 13th. I remember being awoken in the middle of the night by lightning and thunder. I watched through the living room bay windows seemingly aware that Netsy was being greeted by a glory of Gods. I am certain that’s what it was because it was the middle of February, and never before and never again have I seen a storm of that caliber.
It’s been 11 years now and I have made my peace with my grandmother’s passing. She was 76 years old and lead a fascinating and complete life. But it doesn’t mean I don’t miss her. I miss the manicures, the shopping, the lunches and blowing raspberries on her neck. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I don’t lament that she does not know the woman who I have become, and that she will never know my son, Mylo.
There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of Netsy, especially because I am reminded of her now when I look at Mylo. My mom’s best friend was the first person to say so when she saw a photo of him taken the day after he was born and my brother says it all the time. They are right. There is something in Mylo’s chin and mouth area and the way in which he clasps his hands that reminds me of her. I cannot help but think that something larger was at play when Mylo’s physical makeup was being decided. How beautiful that I would be given a son who reminds me of someone I miss terribly.
