The merry month of May

Tis May, ‘tis May, the merry month of May. . . I hear Vanessa Redgrave sing as I stumble and slosh with perspiration through these oven-hot May days. My God it is so fiery hot! I have slept without an air-conditioner since 1979 when I caught my daughter escaping to go to the disco at night. I could not hear her even if my bedroom overlooked the gate. So I turned off my airconditioner and since have not used one. Nevertheless it is so hot and I keep asking myself if I have to do anything at all. I am in this mood on May 1, feeling sluggish, useless, bothered by. . . I don’t know what, maybe the heat.

Then my cell phone emits the text signal. Now who might that be and what? It is from one of my close friends. She says her husband "passed away from cardiac arrest." Huh? I read it again. How can it be? I just saw him walking down the street in shorts, a rumpled T-shirt and cap. He looked perfectly fine. Now he’s gone? Huh? I just went with her to see a play two Saturdays ago. I guess I got his ticket because he wasn’t feeling up to it. And now he’s permanently gone? Huh? The facts were having difficulty entering my head. I put my telephone down and went to get myself an ice-cold soft drink. I am 60. In my family, I’m the only one who takes ice cold soft drinks and I’m the oldest one around. Should tell you something about that market.

As I sip and stare out at the bright blue sky I realize it is Sunday. My car is sitting in the garage with a major radiator leak, waiting for the driver to pick it up early Monday, even if it is a holiday, and have it fixed. I am carless and driverless for two days. I am immobile, darn it. It doesn’t usually bother me but today it does. I want to rush to my friend but at the same time I don’t know if I might be intruding. It is just too awful to think about. So my mind brakes and I stare at the bright blue sky.

Suddenly I think back to life last year. I had another friend who lost her husband. Him, I knew well and mourned too. Then I was in China on my first trip after my stroke, dazed and stupid still but recovering anyway. He had an accident the day after I left and I didn’t know about it until I returned because I had not managed my cell phone well. That was terrible too.

I wonder idly, why not me? I already had a stroke and no one would miss me. Why take my friends’ beloved husbands? Take me instead, economize on the mourning, cut down on the grief. I am organized for death. My bags are packed, I’m ready to go. Every night I tell you that but I awake to guess it isn’t my time yet. I still have to do something. Tell me what so I can rush it. I have not been told yet so every morning I drink my coffee then water my plants and face the rest of the day.

The two days pass slowly and finally I get my car back and go to the chapel to see my friend. There she stands tall and smiling but with swollen eyes. She will not take me to his coffin because, she says, she knows I do not like that. No, I say, this time I want to see him. I guess it’s one of the changes in me. There he lies tidily, looking like a poor shadow of himself. I remember him as bigger than life, jolly, always joking, always just passing through. Sometimes he would sit down to eat with us. He was always mocking then laughing, the quality that gives us life, inflates us, makes us unable to fit into boxes with clear glass tops. I remember seeing my uncle in his box for the first time, being asked to bless him. When the water hit the glass over his face and he didn’t flinch, my heart understood that he was gone forever and suddenly I broke down and cried – all these memories that rise and weave and braid with each other over time. My braid is not the same as my friends’. It is not the same as yours either but they are all precious to us. These braids are our lives.

This morning I wake up stewed like prunes boiled in water to plump them. It is so darn hot but still I will not turn on my air-conditioner. I want to sing ‘Tis May, ‘tis May, the merry month of May with a touch of sarcasm in my Billie Holiday voice but even that doesn’t work. ‘Tis May, ‘tis May and I am sad this May. There, that sounds so much better.

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