The Last Word: Always and Forever

Dear Pepsi,

Sorry I haven't written in a while; however, you are in my thoughts a good portion of each day. I have been busy trying to wrap up the semester, which went well overall despite dealing with Pandy being diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma. I was going to Greece, to the island for 3-4 weeks; however, Pandy being sick put the kabash on that. It is okay though, I prefer to be home with her and Pearl after we were away the past two summers. I had hoped we would all be together in Maine this summer, going to the beach early mornings and at sunset. There are moments when I pause and feel baffled by the fact that you are not physically present with me anymore. I often glance sideways while driving, halfway expecting to see you riding shotgun in your pink harness looking straight ahead in your person like pose, or pawing me to pet or scratch you with my right hand. When you left, the girls and I lost our center so we hover, lacking solid ground. Our three quarter life without you Peps.

Looking for Pepsi at Higgins Beach

Pearly up close 

Pandy nestled in your pillows

I continue to miss you with an aching in my heart. It has been six months, and while the constant pain has subsided, it is replaced with a more chronic and subtle hurt that seeps into every corner of the room. I decided to find a Medium so we could connect. I needed to hear your voice, know that you are okay, and tell you how much I miss and love you. I also wanted to check in with Pearl and Pandy and see how they are faring beyond the obvious. I did some research and located a woman who lives in New Hampshire thinking I might drive to her; however, it is nearly four hours from Portland so we scheduled a phone appointment for last Friday at 6pm. Susan Deren is her name. I sent pictures of the three of you per her instructions. The house was quiet enough to hear a pin drop as I waited by the phone for her call, my pen and paper ready to take notes. I tried to temper my expectations but my aching heart needed to hear from you. Short of bringing you back, I figured this was my best shot. 

Me and my Pepsi girl

We chatted a few minutes before launching into the communication. Susan said Pandy is in good shape and she doesn't know she is sick. Susan thinks she will be around a while, which is good news. Susan spoke of how she came to us emaciated (so true), her breathing is off (Prednisone), that as long as she is joyful all is good, that she looked to you for everything and that we are stuck (our three quarter life). Then she went right to you Peps, and what she said took my breath away. You told her that you had to go, you couldn't stay. Susan asked if my dad was on the other side, and I said yes. You father has your dog, he wants you to know he is taking care of your baby. My mom was there as well, but she wasn't the one talking, it was my dad, saying we've got your baby, she is with us. Susan said my dad was there for your passing. She said you are with my parents and you like them, that you were ready and the last two weeks were hard for you with the pressure on your heart. You were ready, you were tired. She said my dad wanted me to know that taking care of you was his way of thanking me and being a real father to me. He said was a pain in the ass, not a good listener, and too judgmental, and he would change if he could do it again. The tears streamed down my face. The man who let me down as a father, who tried to crush me when he couldn't control me was finally stepping up in taking care of you. All the years of complication, sadness, pain, dashed hopes, and lost opportunity came down on me like a thud. How did he enter this picture when I had all but sealed him off?  

My father, Sid Gerstenblatt

My fall from grace with my father is a story into itself. My father was one of a kind - brilliant, talented, tortured, funny, sharp witted to a fault that bordered cruelty. He had a huge influence on my intellect, love of books, art, and politics, and my relationships with men. As with any story there is an up and down side; however, the souring of our relationship was a long gradual decline. We hadn't spoken for three years when he suddenly died and despite the hurt he inflicted on me I regret I never saw him one last time. Perhaps that's why Susan said he was the one talking and not my mom since she and I ended on a good note, and he and I did not. I have tried to think more kindly of him as I get older and reckon with my own flawed parenting. The acute sadness has faded somewhat; however, some wounds remain raw to a certain degree. I am proud of what he did for poor kids in Vermont and the fact his legacy lives on. At a luncheon last month I introduced Jonathan to a colleague who attended Montpelier High School and knew of my father's work. I felt happy that Jonathan heard about the work his Poppy did. We laughed about him being the first radical Jewish guy with glasses and white hair in Vermont, not Bernie Sanders. He sang at the Apollo, where he stopped shows, and Billy Eckstien and Pearl Bailey told him he was the greatest singer they ever heard. He picked up a paintbrush as an easy way to finish his degree at 48, had a well reviewed show in Providence, and was accepted to Rhode Island School of Design for his MFA, though he wasn't interested. It must have been hard to be that talented, tangled up and tortured at the same time. His parents were Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe and never gave him any kind of support or encouragement. It was all about survival. He was playing gigs at 14 years old to bring in money for the family. And while he fell short for me in so many ways, he opened my mind and extended my horizon. I had to buck him or I would have been roadkill. He shadowed my development, undercut me in ways I could not understand. In the end our score was never settled, yet, knowing he came for you when you passed and takes care of you everyday goes a long way towards evening the balance. Thanks, Dad.

Pearly looking up at her Pepsi

Pearl. Your partner in crime, sister, best buddy. Susan said she feeds off my energy, she is an emotional sponge - if I am depressed, she is depressed. We know she is the caretaker in the family always circling the perimeter to make sure danger is not lurking. She absorbs all the stress in the family, does not like the spotlight shined on her, which suited you well! She has a job, and that's protecting us. Susan said we are stuck, all of us. Pearl and Pandy aren't sure where you are. I never told them. I made the decision to have you put to sleep away from them, I feared it would be too chaotic and I wanted to focus solely on you with no distraction. Perhaps I made the wrong call - if they had been present they could have sniffed you after and known you were gone. Susan said I need to tell them Pepsi's body was broken, Pepsi has died, she is not coming back but she is fine and we are still a family. Tell them as soon as you get off the phone she said urgently, and I did. I held their faces close to mine, looked into their eyes and told them. Susan said you spend a lot of time in the house, in fact, she said if she walked in she would find you in the living room. When were chatting about you Susan said Pepsi is so intelligent, like a person. I laughed at how many times we all said Peps is a person. Shakila even put that in the book she made of you. Susan said you liked it when we put things on your head and I chuckled at how Rena put a tiara on your head and you looked so fittingly regal. We had so many fun times Pepsi, you brought so much laughter to us, and I suppose what we miss the most is the levity you showered our lives with. The house is devoid of it and we are reeling from the loss. You were our anchor, we took our cues from you. 

The three sisters

Aslan is coming this summer for a few months and Susan said we need him to bring a good energy and distract us from our sadness. Aslan will shake things up she said. Aslan is your biological brother and has many of your traits; however, he is grateful compared to your center of the universe diva ways. Like you, he loves to swim, paw for attention, and sleep on the pillow. You both resemble each other. We always thought he would go first since he has been frail health wise, until the cancer that is. We need him now, our Pep's brother. He will love the yard, going to the beach and walking in the neighborhood. I am taking him to Dr. Stuer for holistc treatment, get him groomed and lavish him with love and attention. Pandy will have her compadre to hang with and perhaps Pearl will be inspired to play again. I may or not let him go back to California, and if not, I doubt anyone would be surprised. Maybe Papa will insist. We'll see. I admit it is a way to be closer to you and I have no shame about it. You will be around in your way, a steady and loving presence, keeping a close eye on your family. Aslan without Pepsi is a bittersweet situation I never expected; however, you have taught me that permanence and expectation are fleeting at best.

Pepsi and Aslan

Pepsi, being with you ten and half years changed me and your death has changed me even more. I might do anything really. On a whim or well thought out. Having to let you go has emboldened me, given me courage and perspective. I have terrible stage fright but love to sing. I decided to sing at the social work graduation party. We rehearsed for weeks, and even that was hard at first but I became more comfortable. At the party I stood in front of a crowd and sang my heart out. I thank you for that baby girl. I am up for tenure in a year and half, and while I feel pretty confident, I learned that not getting something isn't the worst thing that can happen. If one thing doesn't come though there will be something else. The list of things that can take me down has become much shorter since you died. I know more loss is ahead of me, it is inevitable with one dog who has cancer and others who are aging. We are all getting older, and while I try to brace myself, I know there is no way to predict or prepare for certain kinds of loss. It will level me as your death did and somehow I will get up and live a recalibrated life, all the better for having so many wonderful people/pets grace me with their presence.

Singing at the School of Social Work graduation party

Nothing stays the same, including me. I feel more aches and pains, see lines expanding on my face. It takes longer to recover from activities that once hardly phased me. There is a freedom that accompanies getting older and experiencing this depth of loss. You just don't sweat the small stuff and cherish what really matters. I remember a lovely couple I met on the island many years ago, and unknown to me at the time the husband had terminal cancer. Peter was a bright light and wonderful human being. We spent an afternoon being philosophical and he told me you have to let go so new things can enter your life. I needed to hear that, I was having a hard time ending a toxic relationship that was doing me no good. My tenacity is my asset and liability, and letting go is excruciating for me, always has been. Your diagnosis seemed to come out of left field. Why did I think I would have you forever when it doesn't exist? Talking to Susan helped me realize you are still here, albeit your spirit watching over us. I know you are okay, it's us who are struggling to move on without your physical presence. I want you back, I always will. I can see you looking at me with those eyes like deep pools, pawing me, urging me to choose life and laughter. The thing is I am not sure how to share the love that was always reserved for you. Everyday I still kiss your harness, talk to you, and look at the portrait I painted of you that stares me dead in the eye as I read or watch TV in the living room. I hold you in my thoughts and heart. I always will. I know what you want Peps, you made it clear what you wanted Susan to tell me, "I am okay, take good care of the girls". You get the last word darling Peps, always and forever.

I love you baby girl,
Mom