When did you meet Mickey?
1983
Where did you meet him?
Through his daughter, Abby
Memory of Mickey
My heart hurts. Because Abby’s father is gone from Abby and Sharon’s life (as well as from the lives of many others for whom, Mickey was an integral part such as Caitlin and joyfully, many others).
I didn’t have a part of this relationship — only coming to know Abby in middle school, and for reasons too foolish to have relevance now.
For me, Dr. Nardo is Abby’s Father, and Sharon’s Partner in life. I never knew about the myriad kindnesses he and Sharon showed to many people while they were growing, hurt, changing and surviving and ultimately, thriving. I am so glad to know of these goodnesses through this group. I love everyone’s stories posted here.
On a self-focused level — because this is a time of “our time” — my heart aches keenly because of the loss of parent. While the loss of a parent rips a hole in the Universe for many (and probably all), regardless of who we are and what our circumstances may be, what kind of person our parent may have been, and what person we may be or may not have (yet) become; AND because “becoming” continues to the last breath: I have many wonders about what any person’s last developmental thought may have been.
So on the selfish “me, me, me, us, us, us,” level: I keen the stress/severence of any chord that has been tempered and frayed between familial bonds. Whether they were strong or fritzed bonds — there are so many threads in the wool — some are not as powerful as others, but they all spin into thread — the quality of the yarn is borne across a landscape. I hold these threads in my hands, and I wonder, and I weep, and I gnash, and I rejoice. (Not necessarily in that order)
Six years ago, I faced similar. My father had a stroke and his life was guaranteed as a DOA. Fortunately and against any prognosis, Dad not only survived, he beat every odd in the books. But: This is not a story about my dad; I simply wonder at the workings of Things.
This is a story about those who continue: those who bear the grief and even the joy of the individual who transcends (whatever “transcend” may mean to anyone). Those who lift up. In sorrow. In song. In Peace.
I met Dr. Nardo exactly once. In the eighth grade when he came to the Challenge Class with Ms. Spurlock to talk about Freud. That’s it.
I grieve for Abby and Sharon and EVERYONE who sheltered in the warmth of what sounds like a wonderful haven of Grace. This is the gift of good people.
I am warmed by the stories of those who intimately knew.
For me, tangential empathy is real and all encompassing for all of you — and all of us.
I am having much of the Feels about this. I have lived in this ICU room. I know the salt. I know the heart. I know the end.
To Sharon and Abby and Mickey, and to you and your clearly extended family — I hug you with the heart of family — with its unbound meaning, depth, and scope.
