In Memoriam

         Girls, I could not write this blog in all honesty, without recording the sad importance of '
this day.  Though on one front there is a lighter side--it happens to be my Aunt Jane's birthday.
Aunt Jane, married to my mother's youngest brother, Donald, is hale and hearty at 88,  living
happily on Florida's sun filled West Coast.  Hell, she could have been a Weeki-Watchee
mermaid!!!!!!

          I always thought Aunt Jane would pay a terrible price for her youth, because when
younger, and we would all go to the beach, when they lived in Linwood, South Jersey, not
far from it, she would tan the color of Lena Horne. Honey, I am not kidding!!!!!!  But fortunately
she has not succumbed to any skin ills that come from such exposure, and all we can be is thankful.

           However, for my immediate family, this was a sad day; one that, in 1979 changed our
history  forever.

            My mother had been diagnosed, and was ill, with lung cancer, for the past six
weeks. The outcome was inevitable, but of course none of us could predict when.

             Well, on the morning of the 2nd, it was 7:30 am, and I was just getting up.
My father was already downstairs, getting ready for the day, when the phone rang.
Somehow, I just knew, not only because of the situation, but because to me phone calls
at too early--or late--an hour do not portend for good news.

               Sure enough, my father told me, my mother had passed away.  I was 24, very
inexperienced and naive, and, as this was my first real loss, it was a bit overpowering.  I can
look back now from the vantage point of distance, with no pain (and it took me a very long
three-and-one-half years to get to that point!) but one thing, which may seem so melodramatic,
but comes under the rubric "You-Can't-Make-This-Stuff-Up," still stands out.

                 Because my parents were children of the Radio Age, we had a radio playing
downstairs in our house all the time.  It sat in a hutch in what I called the dinette--our family
dining room, where we ate our meals daily. (We had a larger dining space for company.) The
radio would be on from the time my parents got up in the morning, till they went to bed at night.
I became so used to it, I never noticed, unless some important news event or song presented itself.

                  At the time, there was this maudlin song that was popular on the airwaves, called
"Honey," by a Country-And Western type artist named Bobby Goldsboro.  It told of a man
who had lost, and now mourns, his deceased (I guess) wife.  I absolutely hated the song to
begin with, but I was to have more reason than ever for hating it, because, at the moment my
father told me of my mother's passing, the radio station was playing that damn song!!!!!!!!!

                   And every day, on this day, it all comes back to me.  Though I have to give
credit--if I had been told then that down the road I would be living in NYC doing all the
things I have done and continue to do, I would have laughed and said whomever was crazy.
I had goals and aspirations then, but no clear idea on how I would achieve them.

                    It was, as I recall, a most uncertain time. But the certainty of my hatred for
that song is cemented.  I should be grateful the radio was not playing a song I liked, as that
would be tainted.

                     One doesn't hear "Honey" as much anymore, if ever.  But if I should, I absent
myself from the area fast!!!!!!!!!!

                         However, girls, you are all still my honeys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!