I had been looking forward to it for weeks. David and I had tickets for Saturday, September 13, at the Regal Union Cinema in Manhattan to view a 60th anniversary screening of "The Sound Of Music." But the unexpected happened.
First, David was recovering from a cold and did not feel like going. So, we got our good friend, Chris, who knows his movies, to accompany me, which was a delight. I learned that he had never seen the film on screen--the only way to see it--and was happy to share this experience with him.
And the audience--even a group dressed like nuns-- reacted normally. During the opening, when the camera first spots Julie Andrews, applause shook the theater. And when she unleashed that voice, well, the audience gasped. As they should. The audience also applauded loudly at the end of "Do Re Mi," and at the end of the film, as the Von Trapps fled over the mountains.
I did all the above. The ending is doubly sad for me, because when they go down the hill on the other side, it is like saying goodbye to Charmian Carr and Heather Menzies, who died, respectively in 2017 and 2018.
Now, I had seen this film at least a dozen times. Yet I found myself crying in the most unexpected places. I cried through the entire film, something I had never done before. Why?
The answer did not come till evening. Of course, I was overcome by the beauty and craftsmanship of the film, the performances, the musical numbers, but there was something more going on, which I finally realized. This was the 60th anniversary, which would have made it 1965. That year, for my 11th birthday present, my parents took me to see this film. It was a seminal moment of my childhood. Sadly, both my parents are now gone, and this was the first time seeing the film with my parents not being alive. Oh, I had seen it many times, especially by myself, when I was single, but one of my parents was always around. Ten years ago, the 50th anniversary, David and I went, and my father had then reached his centennial. But now none of my parents, or grandparents, who had also seen and loved the film were around, and the movie, much as I loved it, reminded me of this. I should have realized this instantly.
Alas, then the film went on to trigger several other past traumas, which I want to share and would like some feedback on. Let's start with a minor one. This year, my great-niece graduated from college, and I could not have been happier for her. The funny thing is, my sister, her grandmother, called me, reminding me to send a card, which I already had. That did not bother me at all; I can't keep track of all the birthdays and celebrations. I sent my great-niece a card, with a $100 check. I did it gladly, but I have never received a Thank You note, nor am I completely sure that cash was checked. I emailed my nephew, her father, and he said he would see that she cashed the check. I trust him but not getting a Thank You note hurt.
Ah, but there is worse. Three years ago, a friend of mine--I will call her Andrea--was throwing a bat mitzvah for her daughter. I remember her carrying the child; I was even in the hospital the day after birth and held the child in my arms. Over the years, I enjoyed seeing both mother and child at a series of Chanukah parties; Andrea gave the best ones. They were living outside the city, and David and I were in Brooklyn. Getting there was a chore, and then Covid hit, and the world changed. The last time I remember seeing mother and child was when the latter was 8, and we all went to a screening of "The Wizard Of Oz" at the Film Forum.
So, now we come to 2022, and the bat mitzvah. I had no reason to think we were not going to be invited, so I was devastated--and still am--when I found out David and I were not invited. A mutual friend of us all was concerned and asked Andrea why we were excluded. She said because we had not been a part of the child's life!
Huh? I saw them when we were both available; over time that had become more difficult, and we kept in touch by email. And Andrea had had the child in vitro. Before the procedure, she had even asked me for my "swimmers," but my sister and I talked it over, and said that would not be a good idea. I agreed.
It took me five days to get over it, at the time. The movie brought it back, with tears behind my eyes and feeling as though I had been punched in the stomach. And that feeling came back and is with me now.
But I will give Andrea one credit. Wanting to do the right thing, I sent the child a card and a gift--a Barnes And Noble gift certificate. The child sent me an email thank you note, with a picture of herself. I was touched, it helped a little, and I am sure Andrea had something to do with it.
Sadly, though, I will never have the relationship with Andrea again that I had before.
At least the daughter sent a Thank You note! But my great-niece? Why not?
It gets better, as the saying goes. Seven years ago, my father passed away. Because he died in February of 2018, we waited till Spring to have the service and the interment. It was at the latter that trauma was suffered.
My nephew drove my sister into New Brunswick, NJ, where David and I took a bus to, and we were picked up by them. Now, we were all upset but my sister seemed more so, as she acted very nasty that day, and at one point, my nephew, whom I had never seen this way, blew up at her. I understood where he was coming from, but not my sister.
My other nephew, his wife, and their sweet dog, Lugi, who was alive then, joined us at the grave. My sister acted like she could not wait to get out of there. And this was our father we were burying!!!!!!!!!!!!
Or was it? Because the truth is, my sister and I are 14 years apart; she was the child of my mother's first marriage. That husband died, at 29, of a brain tumor. Seven years later, she married my father, and seven years after that, I was born. So, my sister never knew her real father. I learned, years later, that my sister nursed a hurt over not having my father adopt her. I never thought of it; from infancy she was my sister. David said it might have had something to do with my mother's inheritance from the first husband. All the parties are gone, so we may never know the answer.
But two things that day I cannot excuse. Because my parents were now reunited in the earth, at the ceremony's end, I wanted to stand over the graves, reading the last paragraph from Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights." I am surely Emily would have been honored. My sister abruptly dismissed this, saying we had no time for this, and then, THEN, she turns to David, looking at him directly, and referencing me, says nastily, "Now he is your problem!!!!!!!!!"
What the-- I can never forget this or excuse it. I was upset, but my emotions were not validated by my sister. No one else said anything. Maybe, like me, they were too stunned by this behavior.
So, this is what my recent viewing of "The Sound Of Music triggered. All of this still hurts, and it comes up from time to time. I am currently in one of those times. I would love reader feedback on what you think.
But I cannot leave without mentioning the one bright spot in all this--Chris. He was so kind to go with me. I missed David, but Chris made it enjoyable, and his company and conversation were welcome antidotes to what I was going through. Kudos to Chris!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The slightest, most unexpected thing, can suddenly trigger trauma. I learned this the hard way, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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