It’s been 11 years. lately, it seems like 11 years. “seems like only yesterday” eventually doesn’t. at first, i’d scribble 100 Phyl-moments that trigger joyful recollection. after 11, reminisce includes the bad stuff too. but even that is somehow missed. she’s still never-ending fascination to me, ’cause your grandma’s a one and only. here’s some i may’ve mentioned but not at length; times when your grandparents didn’t think as one. but keep in mind, our 41 years together dwarfs the discord.
Phyllis was drop dead gorgeous (pardon the expression; one she used for friends that weren’t half her beauty). those eyes, lips, and goddam cheekbones. i called her Pretty. every day i told her what i truly believed, that she was the most beautiful girl in the world. she’d respond either “yah, right” or “i used to be” or “not any more”. when little, she was hit by a truck on a winthrop street. so on the other hand, despite a very feminine, very perfect bikini body, she walked like Walter Brennan on “The Real McCoys”. ever empathetic, i also called her Glunkies. i said she was Miss Universe taking the crown and walking the runway like an At-At.
how resolute she was. ALWAYS speaking up when others couldn’t or wouldn’t. ALWAYS opinionated. in fact, probably the angriest she’d get at me was in that vein. she was exceptionally passionate and would get loud, or Phyllis-mode; loud-er. everyone loved her for that. except maybe her idiot husband, beside her, amidst her passion. i’d catch her eye, and ever-so-slightly jiggle my fingers downward, in an ill-fated motion to tone it down. duh. DUH. DUH. a lesson i never learned. whether amongst everyone, her wrath right then (“Don’t YOU tell me to…!!!”) or saved to fly off the handle the next instant we were alone (“i cannot fucking believe you….!!!”) it’d move the richter scale for a week. and a reminder for at least six months. eventually, asshole that i am, i bought a tiny gadget with a button, when pressed, said, “Yes, dear”. i thought it funny. she didn’t. That one, begat volcanic armageddon.
i called her Tough Cookie too. how tough she was phyl-sically, difficult to write about. she had a will to live, second to none. age 40 or so, an incompetent doctor ignoring allergy, gave her sulfa drug. she inflamed, but insisted on staying home. i dragged her to Kaiser. She went into anaphylactic shock. i recall exact blood pressure was 35/28. over 24 hours, 4 succeeding kaiser doctors told me there was no hope. a very young Dr. Tim Horita appeared with a Chicago allergy expert and “Nes Gadol Hahah Sham”. a great miracle happened there. she said she couldn’t have left the kids. jump 25 years…i was upset with Cedars. brought her to UCLA chemo, and insisted we drop Cedars. i’ll never forget, she said “No. You’re not the one who’s dying. I’m want to be here.” later, we were on the way home from a new chemo at Cedars, and she was burning up. we did epipen and benadryl in the car, went right back to Cedars, not to the clinic but to emergency. again a horrible anaphyllactic shock allergy to the chemo. again, miraculously, 48 hours later, she and they pulled her through. born 7-11, but to little good fortune. her adenocarcinoma was exceptionally rare and statistically twice a deadly as pancreatic, but she willed herself that extra 15 months.
Diet Coke, Cedars, and Boston burial were her choices. i should’ve said far more against all three. but hysteroscopy, Kaiser, and Kaiser Hospice she left up to me. my foolish, foolish choices. i was so-o-o wrong….subtractions I believe would’ve given us far more time.
She always worked phenomenally hard, from junior high in Winthrop to retirement in L.A.. when i first met her she had 4 jobs; Suffolk Franklin Bank mail department, Filene’s Department Store clerk, Northeastern University Electrical Engineering secretary, Charlestown School Department student teacher. all at once. she wrote down every penny spent. no exaggeration. even the kids’ births, she worked child care at home, though we were not in accord. Jr. Hi, H.S. Reading, English, ESL, Librarian. 7 credentials; then our retirement. she told both friends and me, “since we retired, we’re getting along better than ever. we should’ve retired sooner.” that lasted a year, destroyed by C. fuck you, C.
i miss even not seeing eye-to-eye; the bad times too. i miss it all every day. i love you, Pretty.
