Thursday, August 25, 2011

Rain…Spaldings

It poured on and off the days of the calling hours and services. My sister said Fred loved rain and considered moving to Seattle. He considered Albany, San Diego, and wanted to visit Alaska. He never ventured out of the City.

“Okay, that’s enough, Fred,” Fran joked in the limo on the way back from the funeral. “Did you notice it didn’t rain when we were outside though?” she added.

I remember once, we had a driving rain, and he hadn’t come home from playing ball with friends. The only time I remember my father angry enough to strike, he did so when Fred finally came home. Fred cried. I couldn’t bear to watch.

Fred and I were talking once, after my father’s death. Probably about how he wanted to "borrow" more of my balls to go out and play. Then he suddenly was in his room. “Where did you go?” I wondered.

He was crying in front of his statue of St. Anthony. In pain, probably due to the realization that the pain of death knows no resolution.

I prayed in front of that statue once, too, after pissing off my father when he asked me to stop petting my cat, Katy, because she was getting upset. And I didn’t like that, and I ran and shoved my hands through a window. His glare caused me to seek out that statue of St. Anthony.

I prayed again, every night, probably for two years straight, when I was afraid Fred would die because of the sixties and seventies drug epidemic. In school, they scared us to death about the dangers of drugs. I recall a pamphlet featuring the Grim Reaper and a boy, in a drug-induced stated, attempting to jump off a roof.

He did live. Did my prayers help? He lived many more years, poured his efforts into education, pursuing a Master's degree in Education, and had a successful, drug-free, drink-free and smoke-free life in which he positively influenced many.

It rained heavily a few nights ago. The thunder seemed never to end. Hurricane Irene is socking us. I wonder if Fred would have evacuated his apartment if it were necessary? Probably not. He seemed not to want to ever leave NYC.

It's funny how rain, something Fred loved so, can conjure up so many feelings and memories for me, both good ... and bad. Even thinking of Fred, a good thing, can turn sour when I remember I can't call him to tell him about the thunderstorm and the hurricane, and to share another long conversation with him about the reasons we get emotional during rain.

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