In The Dim Light Of The Day: A Novel 6y2z2t

In the Dim Light of the Day

A Novel

Lou DeCaro

Copyright © 2012 by Lou DeCaro.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012921885 ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4797-5253-9 Softcover 978-1-4797-5252-2 Ebook 978-1-4797-5254-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, : Xlibris Corporation 1-888-795-4274 www.Xlibris.com [email protected] 125841

Contents

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Part II

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Part III

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

To Dale and Maryann

Part I

CHAPTER 1

I never imagined I would get Parkinson’s disease. But, that’s exactly what happened. Then, my wife filed for divorce after thirty-one years of marriage. I didn’t want a divorce. I loved my wife. And, I thought she loved me. Maybe she didn’t want to be burdened with taking care of a sick person for the rest of her life. I really wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to get sick. Sometimes, things just happen. At the time, I didn’t feel sorry for myself. I didn’t complain about it. I kept it a secret from the rest of my family and friends. I certainly didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. I was never in denial about what was happening to my body. Even worse, I didn’t look sick. I always took care of myself. As a result, people had a hard time believing I had the disease. In the beginning, the medication worked well, so no one saw me shake. I was actually diagnosed eleven years ago. About a week earlier, while playing softball, a teammate noticed my left arm shaking. I was sitting in the dugout waiting for my turn at-bat. He happened to be a doctor, and told me I should have it checked out. A couple of days later, I met with a neurologist. He told me I needed to have a brain and a cervical spine MRI. One week went by. Finally, I received a phone call from the neurologist’s office. I was told to meet with him as soon as possible to go over the results of the MRI’s. He had a strange look on his face when he came into his office. After a few moments, he sat down and gave me the news. It didn’t take long for me to feel things were about to change. I got that feeling when my wife started asking people what it was like to care for someone with the disease. She was with me when I got the results, and sat there without saying a word. Shortly afterwards, she went back to work. Later that evening, she said very little. There were hardly any words of encouragement or . My son’s reaction was even less comforting. When he found out I had the disease, he told a friend it was the last thing he needed to hear. I was sorry if I caused him any inconvenience. I was told I got the disease from overexposure to toxic fertilizers, pesticides, and insecticides. In addition to being a full-time teacher, I had a small landscape

maintenance business while my son was in college. I had to work two jobs because I needed the extra money to put my son through medical school. When my son graduated, I stopped working two jobs. But, according to neurologists in the United States, China, and India, it was too late. Nothing could be done. The chemicals had permanently damaged my brain. Still, I would have done anything to help my son at the time.

CHAPTER 2

Parkinson’s is a hideous disease. I experience tremors, loss of balance, chronic pain and fatigue, impaired mobility, difficulty swallowing, and even depression. When my wife announced she wanted a divorce, I became very depressed. I did everything I could to convince her otherwise, and even took her on a weekend getaway so we could be alone and try to work things out. That Monday, the day after we returned, she came home from work claiming she had a migraine headache. I made dinner, and then sat down to watch some television with her as she lay on the couch. The doorbell rang at nine o’clock. It was a process server. As I was served the divorce papers, my wife got off the couch, walked upstairs to get a few things, and left the house. She came back the following day, but ultimately left for good in December on the same day my mother died twenty eight years earlier. I staring out of the bay window in my kitchen that morning. I kept on asking myself what went wrong. As the day progressed, I realized I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit around. I decided to call some friends who lived in the city. I wanted to meet them at mass the following morning. I loved the city, and wanted to move there someday. I left the house at eight o’clock. My friends always attended ten o’clock mass. I getting in very early, and went into the church to escape the cold. Suddenly, I began to cry. A few moments later, I felt a hand on my left shoulder. It was a priest. He asked me if everything was O.K. When I told him my wife filed for divorce and left me the day before, he looked into my eyes and told me I had done nothing wrong. I suddenly felt a sense of relief, and shortly afterwards I was ed by my friends. After mass, we went out to brunch, and then I drove back home. As I drove home on the parkway, the sun began to shine. I figured this was a good sign, but the reality of the situation set in as I went into my house. Instead of being greeted by a familiar voice, I heard nothing. Then, the phone rang. It was one of my wife’s coworkers. She called to ask my wife something about her schedule, and at the same time she asked me where I was the night before. Apparently, my

wife attended a Christmas party and told everyone I wasn’t there because I had another party to attend. I guess she didn’t want everyone to know she left me. As I got undressed, I noticed some pictures on my desk. They were pictures I had taken on our weekend getaway two days before I was served with divorce papers. One picture was really nice. It was a picture of me and my wife having dinner at the inn. It was the last picture ever taken of us together. Both of us were smiling. It was now Monday in mid-December. I woke up at five o’clock, and got ready for school. As my world began crumbling around me, I took comfort in the fact that I loved my job as a teacher. I began teaching right out of college. Unlike some of my colleagues, I wasn’t burned out after thirty-two years. In fact, I loved to teach more than ever. But now things began to change for me at school as well. My condition was getting worse. I considered myself lucky because the disease had leveled off for several years, but now my tremors began to spread down the entire length of the left side of my body. My balance was very poor, and even my mobility took a turn for the worse. The pain and chronic fatigue became almost unbearable, and it got to the point that hiding the disease was almost impossible. My neurologist saw signs that my condition was worsening about six months ago, and predicted this would happen. In order to keep the disease a secret, I would hide during my free time at work. I simply went into an empty classroom, closed the door, and graded papers. People began asking me where I was all the time. I never went into the faculty room anymore, and kept my classroom door closed when I was teaching. I stopped attending meetings, and didn’t stay after school longer than I had to. I also sat behind my desk in class so my students wouldn’t see me shake. Every once in a while a student would notice the tremors. I would say I had a pinched nerve and leave it at that. It didn’t take me long, however, to run out of excuses. Just before the Christmas vacation began, I decided to see my neurologist. I explained what was happening, and to my surprise, my neurologist told me I should consider retiring. I was very close to retirement anyway, so that was definitely an option for me. He reminded me that Parkinson’s was a degenerative disease. Once you take a turn for the worse, there’s no turning back. And taking more medication wasn’t necessarily the answer. One major side-effect of the medication is extreme fatigue. I was already on four different drugs at the time, and had to take a narcolepsy drug to offset the fatigue side-effects of the other drugs. But even that wasn’t the answer. The narcolepsy drug caused problems sleeping at night. In fact, I never slept through the night, and always woke up in

the morning exhausted. If it wasn’t one thing, it was the other. I had to decide what to do before vacation was over. I also had to deal with my wife’s divorce. Our first court appearance was just before the vacation began. It snowed that morning, and I wound up being a bit late. But so was everyone else. My lawyer showed up ten minutes late, and my wife arrived with her attorney five minutes later. She was represented by a childhood friend who was once kind enough to write a recommendation for me when I applied to law school. I saying hello to both of them and asking her what she was doing for Christmas. She said she didn’t know. Neither did I. Somehow, I didn’t think I would be spending it with her even though I desperately wanted to. I loved my wife very much.

CHAPTER 3

My neighbors were in their late twenties when they bought the house next door. I really liked them a lot. They were two angels. The husband owned a construction company, and the wife was a hair dresser. They had a young daughter, and two dogs. I met them one afternoon in late August on their daughter’s birthday. When they found out my wife left me, they took pity on me. But as Christmas approached and the weather turned colder, I saw very little of them. Christmas was always a difficult time of year for me. Christmas had become too commercial as far as I was concerned. It lost much of its meaning. As a result, I found the whole shopping experience very frustrating, and was very uncomfortable receiving a lot of gifts. I always believed it was more important to give rather than receive. My wife and son agreed, although sometimes it didn’t seem that way. I felt the best gift I could receive was being with my family. That was worth more than any material gift to me. I can still sitting for an hour watching my son open all his presents. After a while, they all began to look the same. Some people measure love in material . If you didn’t give a lot, it meant you didn’t love a lot. Then something truly remarkable happened. It was Christmas Eve, and it began snowing lightly. Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door. It was my neighbor. He asked me what I was doing, and when I told him nothing, he insisted that I come over to his house for dinner. When I walked into his house, it was like entering another world. My loneliness and depression disappeared. His wife greeted me with a big hug, poured me a glass of wine, and introduced me to her entire family. Her mother, father, sister, and brother-in-law were there. Then she asked me what I thought was the best way to cook a fifteen-pound lobster her husband bought. I left their house around ten-thirty with a very full stomach, and decided to attend midnight mass. I was hoping no one I knew would see me alone. I decided the best way to avoid being seen was to sit in the back row on the right side of the church. That section of the church was always dark at night. As mass

began, I started to think about my neighbors. They really were angels from heaven. But the loneliness returned as I walked into my house an hour later. I was really tired at that point, so I decided to go to bed. My son was supposed to stop by tomorrow, and I wanted to get a good night’s rest.

CHAPTER 4

I came from a blue-collar family. My father worked for the post office. My mother worked in the school cafeteria. As a result, I learned at a very early age that if I wanted something, I had to earn it. So, when I was old enough, I got a job. There was nothing wrong with that. I learned the value of a dollar and to appreciate what I had. When my son was born, I did the opposite. I gave him the best of everything, no matter what the cost. My son was my life. I didn’t want him to work as hard as I did. We were real buddies. We did everything together. My son was the first grandchild in my family. My mother and father adored him. My brother and sister loved him dearly. My mother was able to enjoy him for only two and a half years. She died of breast cancer at age fifty. My father was very kind to his oldest grandchild. When he died from mesothelioma several years ago, my wife and son did not attend his funeral. That broke my heart. My son told me he would stop by at ten o’clock. It’s hard to describe the strange feeling I had that morning. Even though the sun was shining brightly, everything appeared cloudy. I sitting on the same couch my wife was resting on with her migraine headache the night I was served, and wondered if somehow she would be with my son when he finally arrived. Ten o’clock came and went. So did eleven o’clock. Finally, my son walked into the house. It was twelve noon. He was alone. I asked him if he saw his mother. He said yes. Then I told him it would have been nice if he brought his mother over so we could be together on Christmas. He didn’t say anything. I got the feeling he didn’t have any choice in the matter. Maybe his mother just didn’t want to see me. I was always very proud of my son. He was ambitious, and had a really good head on his shoulders. Back in January, he borrowed forty-thousand dollars from me to use as a down payment on an office building where his practice was located. I thought it was a great idea to buy the building, and gave him the forty-thousand dollars without hesitation. A couple of months later, I asked my son if he had signed a real estate contract. He told me he was still in negotiations with the owner. Another couple of

months went by. This time he told me there were structural problems that had to be dealt with. Something was wrong. Several weeks later when my son came home for his birthday, I asked him give back the money he borrowed. I told him I wanted to buy some stock with the money if he wasn’t going to use it. He didn’t give me an argument at all. That seemed very strange. I’ve often wondered why he really borrowed that money from me, and if it had anything to do with his mother’s divorce. The real reason still remains a mystery. It was now twelve-thirty. We exchanged some gifts and drank a cup of tea. After he finished his tea, he got up and told me he had to leave. I thanked him for coming, and then I told him I loved him. As he walked out of the house, he told me I had to call him if I wanted to be part of his life. That afternoon, I decided to go to my brother’s house. I always considered my brother a special kind of person. He was the person I wanted to be like as a child. And, he was the closest thing I had to a hero. One year older, and a thousand light years wiser, my brother was always there for me. When I was five years old, he saved me from an oncoming car as we walked home from school. When I was seven years old, he came to my rescue when my foot broke through the ice while sledding near a lake. When I was in high school, he kept tabs on me in school. He was a tough act to follow because he was such a good student. Ironically, I ired my brother the most for his conservative values. If he was the protagonist, I was the antagonist. If he was the conformist, I was the rebel. And if he walked the straight and narrow, I walked the crooked line. He was my best man, the godfather of my only child, and most of all a brother and a friend. That’s why he was the first person I called when my wife told me she wanted a divorce. He was genuinely saddened by the news, and offered to help me any way he could. I was still reeling from my son’s comment when I got into my car and began driving to my brother’s house. I was having a hard time dealing with the fact that I had to call him if I wanted to be part of his life. I asked myself where that came from. What caused him to change his attitude towards me? It took me almost two hours to get to my brother’s house. There were a lot of cars on the road. I felt very awkward going over there alone. I was having a very hard time getting used to doing things by myself. After spending thirty-one years with the same person, I felt I had lost half of my body and soul. I smiled most of the time I was there. I had dinner, and then I left. My brother did everything he could to make me feel comfortable. But while I was there, I felt like I should be somewhere else. Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer too many questions. I probably didn’t have the answers anyway.

I did tell my brother what my son said just before he left my house that afternoon. My brother looked at me for a moment, and then just shook his head. From day one, my wife tried everything she could to get me to sign a separation agreement. She really didn’t appear to be interested in anything else. When she left in December, she took only a few things and left everything else behind. All her clothes were still in her closet. All her personal items, makeup, and collectibles were in their place. It was like she disappeared into thin air. When I told this to my psychologist, he told me it was all very simple. She was running away. I asked him why. She stated in her divorce papers that she was happily married for thirty-one years. Did it have anything to do with my health? Was she having a midlife crisis? Was she tired of the same old routine and felt she needed to reinvent herself? Or was she afraid to see me deteriorate from a degenerative disease? She wouldn’t be the first person in the world to feel that way, if that was true. Of course, there was one other possible reason she left all her things behind. She was leaving the door open in case she suddenly changed her mind and wanted to come home. I saw more evidence of this over the course of the next few months. In my opinion, she was testing the waters and trying to determine if the grass was really greener on the other side of the fence. I was hoping she would quickly see it wasn’t. When I finally got home, I decided to turn on the radio and listen to Christmas music. Then I thought of something I hadn’t thought of before. My wife left me just as my health really started to deteriorate. Was this cold, calculating, and callous like my psychologist said it was? Or was it coincidence? Coincidences, they say, require a lot of planning. Maybe my psychologist was onto something. Or, maybe it was just bad timing on my wife’s part. I was still wide awake when I got undressed, so I decided to watch some television. I started watching a movie about a Christmas party. For some reason, it made me think about a Christmas party my wife and I attended a year earlier. It was at the home of one of her coworkers. He had a partner who was a hair dresser. My wife was very friendly with both of them. Shortly after we arrived at eight o’clock in the evening, my wife became ill. I guess she had a little too much to eat and drink. That’s O.K. It happens to the best of us. When I saw she was getting ill, I asked the host to help me bring my wife out to my car. We managed to get my wife out of the house without being noticed by the other guests. Then she really got ill. When I arrived home, I carried her up to bed, cleaned her up as best as I could, and started to clean her mink coat. When she woke up the following morning, she was very concerned about the condition of her mink coat. She said she was sorry. I told her not to worry about it. We all make mistakes.

We also attended a number of parties at another coworker’s house. My wife was very friendly with him and his partner as well. Aside from family gatherings, coworker parties were the only parties we attended during the last three or four years we were together. She always talked about these men. One day I found a framed picture of a woman in her closet. The woman was holding two small dogs. The picture was taken in November about a year earlier. When I asked my wife who it was, she didn’t answer me at first. Then, she said the woman was a friend, but moved somewhere out west. She claimed she couldn’t the exact location. I thought that was pretty odd. But, I didn’t give it any more thought at the time. It was now midnight. I decided to call my wife to wish her a Merry Christmas. There was no answer, so I left a message on her voice-mail. My wife never returned my call. When I went to sleep, I looked at my wedding picture hanging on the wall next to our bed. Before I closed my eyes, I said merry Christmas to my wife.

CHAPTER 5

I had a friend who was a great guy. He was one of my best friends. We taught together for many years, and never hesitated to do each other a favor. Next to my brother, he was the one person in the world I could count on. The following morning I decided to pay him a visit. He lived about seven miles from my house. He built his own house practically by himself. I’ll never forget the surprised look he had on his face when he saw me. Naturally, he asked me if everything was all right. Above all, he was a family man. If anyone could help me, it was him. He understood the importance of family. When I told him what had happened, he couldn’t believe his ears. We decided to go out to breakfast at a small diner. For the next two hours, I told him everything. He listened very intently. I concluded the conversation by asking him if he would call my wife. I knew she would listen to him. If there was any chance of reconciliation, he could facilitate it. I thanked him, drove him back to his house, and went home. Later that day, it began to snow. I decided to call my wife at six-thirty to see if she was safe. It was snowing heavily at the time, and I was worried about her driving home. She had an apartment not far from the coworker’s house where she got drunk. My wife finally called back at eight-forty five. We chatted for a while, and I closed the conversation by telling her I loved her. She said she loved me, too. I went to sleep at eleven-thirty hoping my friend might be able to do something for me. After all, my wife still loved me. She had just told me so. When I woke up the following morning, I ran some errands. I did some shopping, and then I went to renew my automobile registration. I bought a convertible a couple of years ago because my wife liked the car. It was silver with a black top. She really enjoyed driving it. That evening, my wife called at seven-thirty to see if everything was all right. The conversation lasted twentythree minutes. The last time I saw her was in court, so I asked her if she wanted to meet me for lunch or dinner in the near future. She said maybe. I closed the conversation by telling my wife I loved her. She said she loved me, too.

My friend called my wife, but wasn’t able to do anything for me. I thanked him for trying, and told him I hoped to see him soon. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. I never imagined the year would end this way. It began with promise, and ended with remorse. It began with a family, and ended without one. I was alone. My depression only worsened as the year came to an end. I was rapidly losing weight. I didn’t know what next year would be like. I still hadn’t made up my mind about school. The chronic fatigue and pain were worse than ever. I wasn’t sure what was making me feel this way. I did some shopping that morning. First, I went to a clothing store to return a shirt. Then I went to an office supply store to buy an ink cartridge. It seemed I had a million and one errands to complete. Then, I went to see my psychologist. We talked about my wife for about an hour. After that, I went home. I went to bed at eleven-thirty. There was no with my wife. The following day I went to the post office and to my neurologist. I was home by two o’clock. I spent the rest of the day doing some research on the internet and writing in my journal. My lawyer told me to keep a daily log of events. It was my turn to practice what I preached to my students for thirty-two years. I went to sleep at midnight. Once again, there was no with my wife. It was now the end of December. I left the house at three o’clock in the afternoon and went to my lawyer’s office to complete my net worth statement. I had been given a list of things to complete for the court, and was a little behind schedule. After a couple of hours, I completed everything I had to. Instead of going straight home, I went out for something to eat at a local diner. My lawyer was a teacher for many years. She went to law school at night, earned her degree, ed the bar exam, and eventually opened her own practice. We were good friends, and I trusted her without hesitation. When I heard she specialized in matrimonial cases, I called her. She knew my wife and son as well, and felt terrible when she heard my wife filed for divorce. We talked about my son a lot. After dinner, I drove home. I went to bed at eleven o’clock in considerable pain. It was now four days since I had spoken to my wife. The last day of the year was sunny and cold. I spent most of the day thinking about my wife. I wondered over and over how she could leave someone she loved. Was she just saying that to me? Or did she really mean it? Was she telling the truth for the past thirty-one years, or just saying she loved me out of habit? And what

was she saying to our son? I didn’t have the answers to any of these questions, yet. Just as I was about to make something to eat, the doorbell rang. It was my neighbor. When he saw I was alone, he told me to come over for dinner. Like Christmas Eve, they made me feel right at home. And for the second time in just a week, I was rescued by two angels from heaven.

CHAPTER 6

The first thing I saw when I woke up on New Year’s Day was my wedding picture. It was hung on a wall in my bedroom. Then the phone rang. Immediately, I thought it was my wife. It was my sister. She’s a kind soul, and was always good to my family. She asked me what I was doing. I told her I wasn’t sure. Then I decided to call my wife to wish her a happy new year. How odd, I thought. How could this be a happy new year when it started with us being apart? There was no answer, so I left a message. My wife called me back ten minutes later. It was a Saturday, so I was surprised she was home. She usually worked on Saturdays. I wish she hadn’t. I wanted to be with her as much as possible. I decided to invite her to brunch the following day. There was a great restaurant near my house that was well known for their Sunday brunch. I thought it was a good idea. Maybe I could get her to agree to some kind of reconciliation. I had already tried to get her to go to a marriage counselor with me. She went once, and then refused to go again. But, I thought she might reconsider since it was a new year. Nevertheless, she accepted my invitation to brunch. We agreed to meet at the restaurant at ten o’clock the following morning. After I got dressed, I sat around for a while. There wasn’t any food in the house, so I decided to take a ride to the supermarket. Before I left the house, I called my son to wish him a happy new year. There was no answer, so I left a message. He called me back that evening. I couldn’t figure out what was going through his mind. A couple of days earlier, my psychologist asked me if I thought my son was siding with his mother. I was surprised to hear him ask that. He said that sons often side with their mothers as a way of getting even for something the father did in the past. I couldn’t think of anything it could possibly be. I treated him like gold. I put my son through medical school. I guess he thought I was overbearing. If I was, it was because I loved and cared for him. I shouldn’t have given so much. I spoiled him. I would have been better off giving him what most parents give their kids. My psychologist said no good deed goes unpunished. After I went to the supermarket, I stopped into a book store. I decided to buy my

wife a small gift. I bought a book about how to save a marriage. I had the book gift wrapped, and bought a greeting card to go along with it. Then, I went home. That night I could hardly sleep. I had tremors along the entire left side of my body, and was in considerable pain. I was also nervous about seeing my wife the next day. Just before I closed my eyes, I said a prayer that she would have a change of heart and come home. It wouldn’t take long to find out if my prayer was answered. My wife’s health was very important to me. I made sure she received proper treatment whenever something was wrong, and accompanied her to the doctor as often as I could. When the results of a routine exam came back questionable, I accompanied her to have special x-rays taken. I was the only husband with his wife in the waiting room. Every other woman sat in the waiting room alone. Almost all of them were crying. I felt terribly sorry for them. I lost a day’s pay by going with my wife, but I didn’t care. I would have given up a million dollars just to hear my wife was O.K. That’s why I was so concerned when I first saw my wife that morning. She looked very ill, and I was really worried. Yet, I didn’t say anything at first. Instead, I told her she looked beautiful, and that the outfit she wore was very pretty. She handed me a box of candy and a jar of spaghetti sauce. After I put them in my car, we walked into the restaurant. We were seated near the fireplace. We wound up sitting next to two friends that lived just down the road from our house. We said hello, then got up to get some food. When we returned to the table, my wife, without warning, kissed me. She did this several times while we were eating. I wasn’t sure what was going on. My psychologist told me she was testing me. If I had asked her to stop, she would have felt rejected. Then she would have had an excuse to leave. But, I let her kiss me as often as she wanted. We finished our brunch at twelve o’clock noon. As we left the restaurant, I asked my wife if she wanted to go to the doctor. She really looked very ill. I convinced her to go to the walk-in medical center in town. We used the walk-in center many times in the past, so there was no hesitation on her part. Because it was Sunday, the center was full of people. After we signed in, we both sat down on a wooden bench in the waiting room. I knew it would be a long wait, so I told her to put her head on my shoulder and try to get some rest. She did so, and before I knew it, she fell into a deep sleep. She looked like an angel at rest. I was convinced this was the first time she slept soundly in a long time. I couldn’t help thinking my wife was a very confused and frightened person. It

seemed like she was being controlled by some outside force, and that the divorce was something someone convinced her to do. It was clear to me that she was torn between her love for me and the demands being placed on her. I was now afraid she was not in control of her own destiny. It wouldn’t be the last time I felt this way. After an hour, the receptionist called her into the doctor’s office. He told her she had the flu, and prescribed medication. While the prescriptions were being filled at the local pharmacy, I brought my wife back to the house for a cup of tea. It was the first time she was there since she left. She looked around to see what was changed. Nothing was changed. Then the pharmacy called to say the prescriptions were ready. I gave her the book and the card I bought her. She hugged and kissed me on the driveway, then left. As she drove away, I think she started to cry. All night long, I thought about her. Then I realized I had to go back to school the following morning. I still didn’t know what I was going to do about school. My wife was the only thing on my mind at the moment. Then, for some inexplicable reason, I thought about the woman holding the two dogs. And then I thought about my son. Again, I wondered if they had anything to do with all of this.

CHAPTER 7

I was always very honest with my students. I treated them as equals in many ways, and never asked them to do anything I would not have wanted to do. They knew I respected them. That’s why I had such a good rapport with my students all these years. And that’s why I wasn’t burned out after thirty-two years in the classroom. Teaching was that enjoyable. There wasn’t anything in this world I wanted to do more, so the idea of ending my career was very depressing. The istration knew this. I was devoted to my students, and always had their well-being in mind. It was the first day back from the Christmas vacation, yet it was the beginning of the end. I the day went fast. I did what I had to do in the classroom, and then I did what I had to do for my students. I think I made up my mind somewhere around lunchtime. That day was a particularly difficult one for me. I woke up in pain. I thought about calling my wife, but decided against it because I didn’t want to take a chance of disturbing her. Maybe she decided to stay home from work, I thought, and was still sleeping. Anyway, if she needed me, she knew how to get in touch with me. I had a pager. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but she would often page me around the time I arrived at school. When I called her back after receiving the page, she would ask me to do something for her like put dinner on at a certain time or pick up the dry cleaning. I began wondering why she did this so much. She could have told me to do these things before I left the house. Most of the time, she was still sleeping. Or, at least I thought she was. I always kissed her goodbye, and told her I loved her. A friend told me she was making sure I was at school before she had someone over the house. I never considered that possibility. I finally made my decision. I was never a quitter, but I had no choice at this point. I decided to retire at the end of the semester. That was just three weeks away. The first thing I did was walk down to the main office to see my principal. Luckily, he was in his office at the time. I could probably count the number of times I’ve been in his office on one hand, so needless to say, he was quite

surprised to see me. The only time I ever went into the main office was when I signed in around six o’clock in the morning. Nobody was there at that time. Sometimes, secretaries would ask me who I was because they never saw me during the day. They had a good sense of humor. My principal was a good man. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him I had Parkinson’s disease. I told him what my neurologist said, and I made it clear that I decided to retire because I didn’t want to jeopardize my students’ education. If I couldn’t fulfill my responsibilities due to health reasons, then it was time to go. I also told him my wife left me as I left his office. Just before I left school, I got a call from the superintendent. He expressed his concern for me, and promised to do whatever he could to help me. I thanked him, and began to make my way home. On my way home, I decided to see my psychologist. I wanted him to know that I decided to retire. He asked me if I would have made the same decision if my wife hadn’t left me. It was a good question. Frankly, I didn’t know the answer. When I did arrive home, I realized there was nothing to eat for dinner. I went up to the store, bought some food, and immediately went back home. That evening I watched some television, and got into bed around ten o’clock. I wondered how my wife was, and tried to call her. I got no answer. It was getting late, and I was in a lot of pain, so I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. Instead of sleeping, I stared at our wedding picture most of the night.

CHAPTER 8

I left for school the following morning at five-thirty. I got into the habit of leaving early because it took time for my medication to work. It used to take me about a half-hour to get to school. Once I arrived, I signed in at the main office, got my mail, and immediately went down to my classroom. Then, I locked the classroom door, closed the window shades, sat behind my desk, and took my medication. By the time the medication got into my system, it was seven o’clock. That was about the time students started entering the building. The medication lasted about four hours which brought me up to lunchtime. I then had to find an empty classroom, lock the door, close the shades, and take my medication again. Sometimes, a colleague would notice I was in the room. I simply said I was looking for a quiet place to work. There was never any objection. I got a call from the personnel director around one o’clock. He asked me to stop down to his office after school. When I got there, he expressed his concern for me, and told me that he thought it would be in the best interests of the school district and my students if we kept my resignation quiet. I agreed. I was blessed with great students that year, and knew it would be better if they knew nothing. They were going to have a hard enough time learning they had a new teacher. Apparently, I had more than enough sick days to carry me through the remainder of the year. He told me he would draw-up the necessary papers for me to sign in a couple of days. I thanked him and left school. On my way home, I ed I had an appointment with my neurologist. The last time I saw him he suggested we increase the dosage of my medication. So, I needed to stop by and pick up the new prescriptions. I figured it was also good opportunity to tell him I decided to follow his advice and retire. I knew the district would ask him to certify my present condition, and state reasons why he didn’t think I could fulfill my responsibilities at school. While I was there, he completed the application I had given him for a handicapped parking permit. I was a little reluctant to use the permit, and for good reason. I didn’t look handicapped. In fact, once I was yelled at by someone who claimed I shouldn’t be using a handicapped parking space because I didn’t look like I needed it.

When I told him I had Parkinson’s disease, he apologized. I would gladly trade my disease for his parking space. About a week before my wife left me, I discovered, hidden under a pillow on our son’s bed, an envelope with two thousand dollars in cash and some personal notes. One note was actually a journal entry. She wrote that my disease was an act. That broke my heart. I had never taken her health for granted or questioned the validity of any health issue she was having. But, to her, I was acting. I never said anything about it to her, but when I mentioned it to my psychologist, he said it was a classic example of denial. It was easier for her to think I was acting rather than face the reality of my illness. She needed to convince herself somehow that it was O.K. to leave me. She probably would not have left me if she thought I was sick. I told him I didn’t know if that was true, but it was an interesting theory. I loved my wife, and wanted her to come home. When I arrived home, I found out my wife came home earlier that day to pick up a pair of shoes, and pay for her car repairs. She drove an expensive import, and had it regularly serviced at a gas station not far from the house. She also came by to feed a stray cat she had been feeding for some time. The cat looked just like the one on television. She left a note on the kitchen counter as well. She wrote that she was sorry the cat’s dish was still outside. She also thanked me for the card I gave her with the book a couple of days ago. She said nothing about the book. She signed the note with the word Love before her name. For a moment, it appeared to me the cat was more important than I was. If she wanted me to feed the cat, why didn’t she ask me? I would have gladly done so. I didn’t care about the cat’s dish. I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but I kept on thinking maybe I wasn’t that important. That night I felt like a donkey chasing a carrot on a stick. I ed some other things my psychologist said. He said she was playing with my emotions by giving me the false hope that she might be coming home soon. She was maintaining , but at a distance. She was saying she loved me, but not demonstrating it. It was just words. I always believed true love was when you loved someone more than you loved yourself. I know I did. When things didn’t go her way, she stopped saying she loved me. Her love always seemed conditional. As I started to fall asleep, I thought I heard the cat’s meow. Then I realized I hadn’t spoken to my wife for two days. I called her in the morning, but there was no answer.

The next couple of days resembled a rollercoaster ride to nowhere. It was Wednesday. I had already made some pretty important decisions about my life, and things began to accelerate very rapidly. School went well. I was able to keep things in perspective. I was enjoying my classes like I had never enjoyed them before. The knowledge that I wouldn’t be there much longer was an advantage of sorts. I taught with emotion. Even the kids noticed I had stepped it up a notch. I had all senior classes, so it was a fairly easy time of year for me. They didn’t have to take any state examinations, so I didn’t need to worry about preparing them for anything special. In fact, I told them they wouldn’t have to take a midterm either. I had more than enough grades to do their semester average. I must it I was always very emotional about things. I seemed to wear my heart on my sleeve more often than not. I used to think that was a sign of strength rather than a weakness, but now I realized it made me vulnerable. I came from an emotional family. I always thought that’s what made my own family so close. I couldn’t understand how we grew apart so rapidly. The only logical explanation I could come up with was an unpleasant one. In my opinion, this was planned out a long time ago. I wasn’t sure what the motive was, but I figured I would find out eventually. Shortly after I asked my son to return the forty-thousand dollars he borrowed from me, I noticed a change in his attitude towards me. He seemed very distant. In early August, I went to a barbeque at his fiancée’s house. He and his fiancée hardly said a word to me. Then in late August, I took my wife to Bermuda for four days. We took a lot of vacations during our marriage. My wife showed hardly any enthusiasm. When we returned home, she went to stay with our son for a couple of days. Again, I didn’t think much about it at the time. I couldn’t go with her even if I wanted to. I had to be in school the day after we returned from Bermuda to make up a day we lost due to snow the year before. On my way home, I had to stop by my ophthalmologist’s office to make an appointment. I was experiencing double vision at night, and I was concerned the increase in Parkinson’s medication was the cause of it. I ate dinner at five o’clock, watched some television, and then got into bed at ten-thirty. Just as I was about to close my eyes, the phone rang. It was my wife. She called to ask me how I was doing. For the second time in less than a week, she sounded worried. She was whispering, and her voice had no emotion whatsoever. Just as the thought crossed my mind, I heard a voice in the background. I wasn’t sure if the voice was male or female. When I asked my wife who was there, she told me the television was on. Nevertheless, I respected my wife’s privacy, and chose to change the subject by telling her I had decided to retire at the end of the month. There was silence at the other end of the telephone. Then she asked me why. I

told her it was due to my health. We said goodbye shortly afterwards, and then I went to sleep. I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of ice hitting the roof. The forecast called for snow, sleet, and rain. Then, I decided it would be a good idea to find some important documents and remove them from the house for safe keeping. I thought about the time my pension statement was sent to my son’s house. When I called the state pension office, the agent told me someone put in a change of address request. I hadn’t.

CHAPTER 9

I never went back to sleep. Instead, I gathered up some things, and put them into my car. It was lightly snowing at four o’clock, and for a moment I hoped for a snow day. But as I’ve done many times in the past, I decided to get dressed and leave a bit early. I made it to school by six o’clock. I went to my classroom, locked the door, closed the shades, and took my medication. My pager began to buzz at six-forty. It was my wife. She called to ask if I arrived at school safely. I got the feeling there was more to the call, but I didn’t pursue it. She had a cell phone that was ed to my son, so there was no way of knowing if she was in her apartment or at the house. I always thought it was strange that she had a cell phone ed in my son’s name. I found out later she got it around the time he borrowed the forty-thousand dollars from me. The day went well, and by the time I left school the sun came out. I decided to stop at a locksmith’s shop to make arrangements to have a lock installed on my closet door in our bedroom. I just wanted to make sure anything I had in there would be safe. When I got home, I scraped some slush off my driveway. Then I noticed there was food in the cat’s dish. Apparently, my wife had stopped by the house after all. Later that evening I called her to see if she made it home from work. I was genuinely concerned. Her car performed terribly in ice and snow. I wasn’t going to say anything about her stopping by, but it didn’t matter anyway. I got her voice-mail. My wife never returned my call. It was now Friday. It dawned on me that I had only ten more days of school. That afternoon when I picked up my paycheck at the district office, a secretary told me that the personnel director wanted to see me. When I arrived at his office, he told me my retirement papers were ready. He told me to take them home to read them over the weekend. If I had any questions, I was welcome to see him on Monday. He also told me that he met with my principal, chairman, and the district superintendent to decide how to handle my situation. All felt it would be best not to say a word to the students or staff. In the interim, they would begin interviewing replacement candidates. If I wanted to, I could be part of the interview process. As I walked out of the district office, I almost started to cry. Fortunately, my car was parked not too far from the door.

Friday night was pizza night in our house. My wife would leave work, pick up a couple of pies at our favorite pizzeria, and bring them home. Sometimes, we had Chinese food instead. But most of the time, it was pizza. Otherwise, dinner was prepared every night. My wife and I had a great system. She would do the food shopping, and each day she would tell me what to prepare for dinner that night. Up to a few years ago, I worked two jobs. I was unable to help my wife in this manner. But when I stopped landscaping, I was home usually by three o’clock. I would do anything my wife asked me to do. Cleaning chores never bothered me. I would vacuum the floors even if they appeared to be clean. The property was beautifully landscaped. And from then on, dinner was ready when she arrived home. During the summer, our system left us plenty of time to go to the beach before sunset. We would walk along the beach holding hands, or sit in beach chairs watching the sun set. Then we’d go for ice cream. I was always proud to be with my wife. She was my soul mate, and my friend. For some reason I had no desire to have pizza for dinner. It wouldn’t have been the same. I made some pasta, and then I sat down to watch some television. I fell asleep on the couch in the den like I always did at night. My wife always used to wake me up and send me to bed. I wish she was there to do the same this night. My sister called Saturday morning to invite me over her house for dinner on Sunday. I hadn’t seen her for the holidays, and thought it would be a good idea to get out of the house. After we hung up, I vacuumed the floors and cleaned the bathrooms. Then I thought about my wife. I wanted her to call to say she loved and missed me. I realized I was wishing on a star. It was a star at the other end of the universe. I drove into the city Sunday morning to see a friend who owned an Italian bakery. After I bought a box of pastries, I made my way to my sister’s house. We had a lovely meal, and I left her house around three-thirty that afternoon. As I drove home, I began wondering what my wife was doing. She used to go food shopping on Sunday morning, but somehow I felt she had changed her routine along with everything else. Shortly after I arrived home, the telephone rang. It was my wife. She said she called just to say hello. I told her I missed her very much, and asked her if she would consider coming home. She did not respond. Then I told her I loved her. Again, there was no response. Then I realized I was being too pushy. I began to feel very vulnerable. Before I lost all my dignity, I politely said goodbye and hung up the phone. I lay awake all night wondering if I had done the right thing. I felt damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t. On one hand, telling her I missed her and asking her to come home was my way of

affirming my love for her. On the other hand, telling her these things might have played right into her hands. The only thing she really wanted was her divorce. By allowing her to play on my emotions, I was weakening myself. Then I ed what my psychologist said about her, but hoped that tomorrow things might change. January is my least favorite month. I hate the cold and snow. I’d rather be at the beach in ninety-degree weather than all bundled up and freezing. I was worried my wife was upset at me because I was so pushy on the phone the night before. Both my wife and son seemed to be maintaining their distance. I continued to look for pieces to this puzzle. Before my wife left the house in December, I convinced her to go with me to a marriage counselor. At first, she refused. She said I probably wouldn’t listen to what she had to say, so there was no reason for it. But when I promised her I would, she reluctantly agreed. I thought the session went very well. The entire time we were there, we reaffirmed our love for each other. We agreed to come back the following week, contingent upon both of us g a waiver that would prevent each of us from using what was said in court. I agreed immediately, and signed the agreement. My wife, on the other hand said she needed time to think about it. After dinner, I received a telephone call from the counselor. She called to remind me that our next session was scheduled for tomorrow. I thanked her, and told her I would remind my wife. When I showed up at the counselor’s office the next day, my wife wasn’t there. The session had to be cancelled. Unfortunately, we never went back. The next two days were fairly quiet. My classes went extremely well, and I realized by Wednesday that I only had seven more days. I appeared to be falling into a stagnant routine. I went to school, ran some errands, and went home. My wife had always been a bright spot during the dreary winter months. But, now she was gone. I hadn’t heard from her in several days, so I decided to call her on Friday. Maybe I could figure out a way to thaw the chill between us. When Friday came, I got up from bed and stepped onto the bathroom scale. To my amazement, I had lost another three pounds and was down to one-hundred and seventy-eight pounds. I had lost fifteen pounds since my wife left back in December. Even though I was eating, I couldn’t control the weight loss. A lot of my clothes were really loose. Even the kids noticed I was getting thinner by the minute. I hoped and prayed they would never find out the reason why. I loved my wife and son dearly. I’m sure that was the case with them. When it came to love, I never played games. It’s a terrible thing to play games with someone you

love. Love should never be used as a weapon. Love should always be unconditional. Unfortunately, some of my family and closest friend were starting to really put pressure on me. They wanted me to give in and give her the divorce. I was constantly being asked why I still wanted to be with her, particularly in light of the fact that she left me, and really didn’t seem to care about me at all. I simply responded by saying I wasn’t convinced the marriage was over. I was afraid to say I still loved her. Most of these people probably would have laughed at me. But, I didn’t think I was being foolish at all. I was trying to figure out a way to preserve something that had already lasted for almost a lifetime. My psychologist told me she must have been unhappy for a long time when she left me. Most women, he explained, don’t just decide overnight that they are going to leave their husband. Unlike men who will come back to their wives after a short absence, women tend to leave for good. I didn’t understand how this could be true if she said she still loved me. Then I thought about all the reasons he said they do that. My classes went really well. Before I left school, I went down to the personnel director’s office to see if he had narrowed the list of candidates for my position. He told me he was down to two candidates. Then I left school, bought some Chinese food, and went home. I hadn’t spoken to my wife in four days, so I decided I would call her at night.

CHAPTER 10

My wife was gone now over a month, and I was still getting her mail. The pile was getting higher and higher, so I decided to use that as a reason to call her at work. My psychologist told me she wasn’t forwarding her mail to her apartment because she needed a way to keep her presence felt at the house. Like her belongings, it was another way for her to confuse matters. Was she coming back, or was she gone for good? She was keeping her options open, and maintaining a lifeline. That was his opinion. I called my wife at eight o’clock that evening to tell her there was a large amount of mail at the house. Then I asked my wife to meet me for brunch on Sunday. At first, she told me she already had plans for Sunday. Then she told me she still wasn’t feeling that good. She also told me she was working a lot more hours and that she really needed to rest. Finally, she told me she had begun counseling that week and needed to do a lot of paperwork. When I said she had to come by this way to get her mail anyway, she thought twice about the idea. She finally gave in a little, and told me she would let me know by Saturday afternoon. I felt vulnerable because I was begging, but I didn’t care. It was better, in my mind, to show too much love than not enough. Sometimes, I thought I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. When you’re in love, you’ve got to take those chances. I now believed my wife was working late every day to fill a void. I believed she was very lonely, and the easiest way to deal with her loneliness was to stay around people all the time. Working in a retail environment gave her the opportunity to be around people and not be so alone. The same thing applied to me. I didn’t feel so lonely when I was in school. Work had become, for both of us, an escape from reality. I was about to lose that form of escape in six more days. The following day my wife called to say she couldn’t meet me for brunch. She said she couldn’t change her plans. I then suggested breakfast, and assured her it would only be for one hour. After a long pause, she agreed. I was happy because the last time I saw her was two weeks ago. I hoped she would share my enthusiasm. But, I had to be realistic and remind myself of something. She was the one that filed for divorce.

CHAPTER 11

Parkinson’s disease can affect every aspect of the human body. Since it’s a disease of the central nervous system, a person never knows what will be affected next. I was losing weight rapidly, and having some gastrointestinal problems. So, I made an appointment about a week ago with a gastroenterologist for Monday afternoon. It was Sunday, and I was looking forward to meeting my wife for breakfast at ten o’clock. I got up early and went to the store to buy a card. It was a beautiful card that had multiple quotations about love and devotion. I thought it would be a nice gesture, and give her something to think about for the rest of the day. One thing I knew for sure. The chance of her coming back was getting slimmer, and the longer it took for me to convince her to come back, the less likely it would happen. It was already mid-January, and time was running out. I arrived at the restaurant first. I thought about going in, but changed my mind and sat in my car. I didn’t want to seem rude. It was bitterly cold that morning, but that really didn’t matter. Finally, my wife arrived at ten-fifteen. She didn’t look very happy, and didn’t even wait for me to open the door for her. She immediately reminded me that she didn’t have much time, so I asked the waitress to expedite the order. Then we exchanged pleasantries, and waited for our breakfast to be served. I gave her the card I bought. She put it down without saying a word. Fortunately, the waitress arrived with our orders at that moment. While we ate, I told my wife I was having gastrointestinal problems, and that I had an appointment with a specialist after school on Monday. I asked her if she would be kind enough to accompany me. The appointment was scheduled for two-thirty in the afternoon. She looked at me and said no. Then she asked me an odd question. She wanted to know who I had been speaking to lately. I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. I told her I hadn’t spoken to anyone, and left it at that. Obviously, she was concerned about something. When we left the restaurant at eleven-fifteen, I gave my wife her mail and told her I would call her Monday afternoon to let her know the results of the gastrointestinal examination. She said O.K., and abruptly left.

I stood there in the parking lot waving goodbye to her as she sped away. I spent the rest of the day wondering what was going on. That evening, my son called to announce he had gotten engaged. I welcomed the news and wished him luck. Then he asked me how breakfast went and wanted to know what his mother and I talked about. I said nothing specific. He closed the conversation by asking me how I was feeling. I told him about my gastroenterology appointment, and then I said goodbye. My wife called me at ten o’clock. I asked her again if she would accompany me to the examination. She said no. Then, I asked her if she opened her card. She said no, again. It was now Monday. School went really well. The personnel director wanted me to meet the two replacement finalists that afternoon, but I told him I was unable to because I had a doctor’s appointment. I left school right after my last class at one-thirty eight, and made it to the doctor’s office with only two minutes to spare. As I sat in the waiting room, I began to think about my wife and son. They seemed concerned about something when I spoke to them both yesterday. The only people I was talking to about the divorce were continually trying to convince me I was wasting my time, but I wouldn’t listen. Maybe I was unwilling to accept the truth at the time, or maybe I was too dumb to see the light. I was beginning to feel everything was coming down upon me all at once. Again, all I knew was I loved my wife, and wanted her back. The gastroenterologist turned out to be a great guy. I explained my situation, and told him I was losing weight rapidly and bleeding whenever I had a bowel movement. After a detailed examination, he gave me some preliminary results. He told me I have experiencing difficulties as a result of Parkinson’s disease, and told me he wanted me to have an endoscopy and colonoscopy. He wrote two prescriptions for me, and then I left. On my way home, I decided to stop by my psychologist’s office. Fortunately, he had just finished his last appointment, so he was able to give me a few minutes of his time. First, I told him that I was retiring from school on Friday. He knew I was considering whether or not to retire, but didn’t know I had made up my mind. Then I told him about my son’s engagement. He asked me if my son said anything to me about a wedding date. I said no, and then I realized where he was going. Neither did his mother, I added. I arrived home at five-thirty and had a bite to eat. I decided to call my wife at seven o’clock to tell her the results of the examination. I got no answer, so I left

a message on her voice-mail. I called my son as well. I got no answer, so I left a message on his voice-mail. I stayed up until midnight waiting for them to call me back. They never did.

CHAPTER 12

The following day was cold and sunny. I had only four more days of school left. No one knew I was about to retire. The personnel director called my classroom around lunchtime to tell me he had made a decision regarding my replacement. I was happy to hear that, and promised him that I would meet with the new teacher sometime during the week to go over the curriculum. He said thanks. That evening, I called my wife after I ate dinner to discuss the results of the gastroenterologist’s examination. I got her voice-mail. I left a message that I had gotten bad news and that I would like to speak to her at her convenience. My wife finally called me back at nine-thirty that evening. I told her I was having difficulty keeping food in my system, and I was continuing to lose weight. She told me I would be all right, then she said goodbye. I didn’t understand her indifference, particularly in light of the fact I had always taken such a great interest in her health and well-being. It was now Wednesday. When I woke up, I noticed it was snowing heavily. Just before I was about to leave the house, I received word that school was cancelled. At six-forty, my wife paged me. When I called her back, she asked me if I had arrived safely at work. I told her school was cancelled. I said I would call her in the evening to make sure she got home safely. The following day I left school at one-forty and went to see my ophthalmologist. I was experiencing double vision at night, and was surprised to learn this too was a result of the disease. Apparently, the optic nerves weren’t working right, and the tear ducts weren’t lubricating the eyes. My eyes were drying out. At ten o’clock that evening, my wife called. She asked me how I was feeling, and wanted to know if I was available for brunch on Sunday. I was elated, and said yes. We agreed to meet at ten o’clock at a restaurant on the water. My wife ended the conversation by saying she loved and missed me. Maybe the stalemate was about to end, and she was having a change of heart. I had no choice but to wait until Sunday to find out. Friday finally arrived. I was very depressed. I was about to end my career, and I was afraid I would not be able to maintain my composure. So I decided to show a film about Edith Wharton to all my classes. It

was the last day of the semester, and my replacement was scheduled to begin reading Ethan Frome in class on Monday. It’s a classic love story. In my heart of hearts, I still believed my wife loved me. But her behavior lately was giving me cause for concern. Clearly, something was coming between us and pulling us apart. I was running out of ways of keeping us together. I needed to do something fast, but wasn’t sure exactly what that was. I my last day of school like it was yesterday. I told all my students I was proud of their achievements during the first semester, and wished them well for the new semester that was about to begin on Monday. Nobody really knew what I meant by that. When the day finally ended, I sat at my desk for a few moments, and then I put on my coat. As I started to leave school for the last time, a student I had as a ninth-grader a couple of years ago, was standing at his locker. He saw me, then turned to a friend and said I was the teacher he wanted next year for twelfth-grade English. I told him I would be glad to have him in class next year, and started walking down the hallway. As I made my way out of the building, I realized that would never happen. Once I stepped outside the building, I started to cry. Another teacher saw me and asked me if I was all right. I said yes, got into my car, and drove home. Sometime later, I found out the principal called a special faculty meeting on Monday to announce I had resigned and wouldn’t be back. He told the staff I had Parkinson’s disease. Apparently, all you could hear while the principal was speaking was the sound of people crying. For the next month, I received a lot of get well cards and letters. I think I got a total of three-hundred and sixty cards and letters in all. I never received one from my wife or son. My wife had recently told me I had no friends. I guess she was wrong about that. On Saturday morning, I met my replacement at a diner near the school. I went over the curriculum with her, and even gave her a copy of my lesson plans for Ethan Frome. She said she loved the novel, and would read it again over the weekend. A while later, I found out the principal, department chairman, and school psychologist went into my classes on Monday to announce I had retired. They told the kids I had a serious disease and was unable to continue. The kids were beside themselves. That June, I decided to attend graduation. Almost all of my students fell out of line and hugged me as they walked up to get their diplomas. The superintendent gave a speech about courage, and acknowledged me. It thought that was really nice. Later that afternoon, my wife called. She said she was looking forward to seeing me on Sunday. I told her I loved her, and said

I was looking forward to seeing her as well. I spent part of the day cleaning the house. Then I decided to take a drive to the mall. After a short while, I walked into a jewelry store and bought a diamond and sapphire pendant for my wife. At first I thought I would give it to her on Valentine’s Day, but then I decided to give it to her in the morning. It was now Sunday morning. I got dressed and made my way to the restaurant on the water. I was surprised to see my wife was already there when I arrived. As soon as we got inside, my wife asked me to sign a separation agreement. I told her I couldn’t. Every time she asked me why, I said I still loved her. I was willing to do anything to save my marriage. If I signed an agreement, it would be all over. I wanted to keep the marriage alive. When my wife left the restaurant, she told me to have a nice day. In my opinion, the only reason she invited me to brunch was to ask me to sign a separation agreement. There was nothing more to it. I then realized she never asked me about my health, or said anything about our son. It appeared she was strictly there for herself. I was dying to know if she began to read the book I bought her. But, she didn’t say anything about that, either. Then I ed one other very important fact. I never gave my wife the diamond and sapphire pendant I bought her the day before.

CHAPTER 13

It was Monday morning. I got up at the same time I always did, went into the shower, and was ready to go by five-thirty. Only, I didn’t have anywhere to go. I must it I felt very peculiar not being in school. I was afraid I would look at the clock all day long and remind myself where I was supposed to be at that moment if I was still in school. I knew I had to do something to occupy my time. I didn’t feel like reading books like many retirees do. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I did it for a living for thirty-two years. I needed something to take my mind away from what was happening to me. I had always wanted to paint, and swore that I would take up painting when I retired. I also wanted to act on stage, but my disease eliminated that option. I always ired the impressionist painters. Monet, Degas, Cezanne, and Van Gogh had been favorites of mine for many years. Yet, I didn’t know the difference between an acrylic paint and an oil paint. But, I figured I had to start somewhere, so I promised myself I would take a ride to an artist’s supply store to set myself up. In the interim, I had some business to complete with my lawyer. I had to amend my net worth statement, and hand in an authorization to have my house appraised. I thought this was a complete waste of time and money. Financial matters like this only came into the picture if my wife had grounds for a divorce. Instead of thinking about those things, my mind was focused on getting her to come home. I didn’t know it at the time, but I wouldn’t see my wife for another two weeks. There were so many things to think about at the moment. I wondered how I did everything I needed to while I was working. Now that I was home, I had plenty of time to do what I had to. I soon found out that the days would by much faster than before, and that I would run out of time to get everything accomplished. Our home was a lovely home. When we had the house built almost twenty years ago, I bought all new furniture. Believe it or not, the same furniture was in the house. We were very clean people, so the furniture looked as good as new. But after twenty years, it was time for a change. Last August, just before my wife and I went to Bermuda, we went out and bought new furniture. We decided to look in several furniture stores, and settled on a family owned business not too far from our home. We poured through

catalog after catalog, and finally agreed on purchasing two love-seats, end tables, and back tables for the living room. When my wife filed for divorce, she accused me of cruel and inhuman treatment by alleging I didn’t include her in the furniture selection process. The saleswoman at the furniture store told me she would testify that my wife’s allegation wasn’t true. I often thought of my students during the first few weeks away, and even considered paying them a visit. But, I decided not to because I didn’t want to interfere with my replacement. Word had it that she was having a hard time because her style was so different from mine. So, I kept my distance and hoped that things would calm down for her. Anyway, I had a very important date coming up in my schedule. It was Valentine’s Day. The only problem was we had to be in court. Whoever scheduled the meeting for Valentine’s Day had a very strange sense of humor.

CHAPTER 14

In many ways, I considered myself an incurable romantic. I always celebrated Valentine’s Day with my wife, and thought it was one of the nicest traditions in our culture. I always tried to do something special, and so did she. I thought I would never see the day that I would spend it in court defending myself against an unwanted divorce. That’s why it was so difficult for me to comprehend what was happening. I was being accused of constructive abandonment. Nothing could have been further from the truth. And, so were the allegations of cruel and inhuman treatment. My wife hardly ever complained about anything. When she did, I listened. Neither of us liked to argue. We never consciously made arbitrary decisions, and dealt with the ups and downs of life the best way we could. But because she rarely complained, I made the assumption everything was fine. That’s why it was such a shock when she came home from work that day in late October and told me she wanted a divorce. Not one person made any attempt to prevent the divorce from happening. Not one person stuck their neck out and took the initiative to sit down and speak to both of us. Not one person cared about the ultimate effect it would have on us as individuals and as a family. Not one person became part of a solution. Instead, a lot of people added to the problem. Maybe I would have been better off if my wife nagged me and complained more. I might have known what was on her mind. I knew if there was any chance for reconciliation, I had to proceed very carefully. As time went by, the hole in the ground got deeper and deeper. She was slipping further and further away from me into that hole. I knew I had to be patient and not push her. Nor did I want to crowd her. I believed I could convince her to give the marriage another try by proving I loved her, but time was running out. The lawyers were almost in complete control by now. They both knew we loved each other deeply, but could do nothing to change what was happening. The whole litigious process became one big chess game. At the moment, there was no end to it in sight. These thoughts were racing through my mind as I sat alone

in the courtroom on Valentine’s Day waiting for my wife to arrive. Finally, my wife arrived with her lawyer. I couldn’t say hello to her because he blocked her as they walked past me. When my lawyer arrived, she went with my wife’s lawyer into the judge’s chamber. About a half-hour later, they both emerged. My lawyer told me the next conference would be in March, and we started to leave. My lawyer had to be back into court that afternoon, so we didn’t have much of an opportunity to talk about what happened. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Neither of us was budging an inch. I wanted my wife back. She wanted to go away. It was only around eleven-thirty, so I decided to do some food shopping. That was a chore I was still having difficulty getting accustomed to. People always seemed really unhappy in supermarkets. It was downright depressing at times to watch people shop for food. You got the feeling it was the last thing they wanted to do in the world. My wife always went food shopping by herself. She claimed I only got in the way, and was forever trying to buy things we didn’t need. She would also get annoyed at me if I tried to get her to buy store-brand items. She always bought the best for her family. After I picked up a few things, I went to a local florist to buy some flowers. Then I stopped at the local pharmacy to buy some candy and a card. I knew she would be working late, so I decided to go home, get some rest, then call her around seven o’clock to see if she would meet me somewhere for an hour or so. It was Valentine’s Day. It was the least I could do. When I finally got home, I noticed the bird feeder was empty. As I went to fill it up, I thought of another of the twelve allegations of cruel and inhuman treatment in her complaint. She said I complained that she was damaging the lawn while when she fed the birds in January. I didn’t understand how that was possible. The ground was usually frozen in January. There were a lot of mistakes I made in my life I wish I could have erased. One of them was taking care of an uncle for twenty-seven years. After his father died, I took it upon myself to help him in every way I could. Whenever something needed to be repaired at his house, I did it. Whenever he needed medical attention, I took him to the doctor. He was always included in every family function, and became a permanent fixture at my house. If I took my wife into the city, he came along. He was truly dependent upon me. I never asked him for anything in return. My wife would often complain about the amount of time I spent with him. Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to her. She was right. I wish I could buy back all that time and be with my wife. Another mistake

I made was working two jobs. In fact, I worked two jobs from the day I was married. In addition to teaching, I had a landscape maintenance business. The extra money I earned helped me provide my family with a very comfortable existence, but the time away from home had a negative effect. I wish I had the opportunity to erase that mistake. I also wished I hadn’t invested so heavily in the stock market. Actually, at one point the stock I bought with money I earned working a second job was worth over a million dollars. I distinctly recall asking my wife and son in early March of 2000 if I should sell the stock. They both told me to hold onto the stock rather than sell it. Both told me to wait until it went even higher, but that never happened. They told me this as I was about to pick up my cousins from Italy at the airport. The very next day, the market began its crash. We watched the stock drop over the next nine months to a fraction of its value. So did my wife’s good friend who lived in Garden City and Florida. I should have listened to myself rather than my wife and son. Ironically, my wife blamed me for losing the money. I always got blamed when something went wrong, and never got the credit when something went right. After I finished feeding the birds, I decided to clean my car. My wife and I always kept our cars clean, so I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read one of her allegations of cruel and inhuman treatment. In her complaint, she said I began insisting that she clean the mats in my car after she drove it. This was preposterous. My wife rarely drove my car. Her car meant a lot to her, and she spent a considerable amount of money on specialty cleaning products for it. As a matter of fact, she would always offer to wash my car on the driveway when she washed hers. I always told her no. She had better things to do with her time. That’s what carwashes were for. Another allegation had to do with the garden hose. She said I started complaining about how she was putting the garden hose away after she used it. She also complained that I put wet towels back into the drawer with the dry ones, and that I complained about leaves and rocks in the garage. I was accused of wiping her footprints off of the bathroom mat, and even throwing a cell phone at her, even though I didn’t own a cell phone at the time. She also accused me of giving her the silent treatment for three days when she got drunk at the Christmas party. Finally, I was accused of cruel and inhuman treatment when I told him I thought he should dress more formally since he was a doctor. Was I cruel and inhuman when I put him through medical school? Was I cruel and inhuman when I bought

him a new car for his eighteenth birthday? Was I cruel and inhuman when I gave him money towards another new car and a new home? I guess I was cruel and inhuman because I paid for his rent, food, insurance, utilities, etc. I guess I was a failure as a father because I loved him too much. It’s too bad I ran out of money when the market crashed. Things went downhill not too long after that. I was also cruel and inhuman because I spoke to my father in Italian. She said I hid things from her because I was talking to my father about financial matters. How did she know I was speaking about financial matters? She didn’t speak or understand Italian. And if she did, then I wasn’t hiding anything from her. Strangely, a lot of people believed her instead of realizing she was making things up to gain their sympathies. After a while, I went into the house, put a few things away, and then I took a short nap. I set the alarm for seven o’clock so I wouldn’t oversleep, and then closed my eyes. I’m glad I did. Before I knew what happened, the alarm rang. I would have slept through the night if I hadn’t set the alarm. I called my wife at work right away. I wished her a happy Valentine’s Day, and then I asked her if she would meet me for dinner once she got off from work. At first she was extremely hesitant, but then she finally agreed. I told her a new restaurant had opened inside the hotel near our town, and that I heard it was really good. She said that would be fine, and we agreed to meet at eight-thirty. My wife arrived at eight forty-five. It had just begun to snow. I kissed her hello, and told her I loved her. She said the same to me. Then I gave her the roses I bought her earlier in the day, and the diamond and sapphire pendant I bought her about a month ago. She was very happy with both. During the entire dinner, there was no discussion of separation agreements of divorce. We enjoyed each other’s company like we had many times in the past. On several occasions, we held hands and kissed. To the casual observer, we looked like two middle-aged love birds. There was nothing wrong with that. I was always proud she was my wife, and never had a problem showing my affection in public. She was everything to me, and I didn’t mind letting the world know it. For many years, I sent her a message in the local newspaper on Valentine’s Day. I would often borrow a quote from Shakespeare. My students got a big kick out of that. Even though she didn’t receive a card, gift, and flowers every day, I still professed my love to her three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I tried to show my love for her in unspoken ways. I thought the best way was always being there for her. After we finished, my wife told me she had to go. I asked her to stay in the hotel, instead. I took a chance by doing this. I didn’t want to seem pushy in any way. I

was really happy when she said yes. She went out to her car to get a few things, and returned immediately. We had a nice evening together.

CHAPTER 15

Before we left the hotel the morning after, we had a lengthy discussion about getting back together. It was clear we still loved each other very much, and that both of us were not happy without the other. I seized the moment, and asked her if she would agree to give it a second chance. I suggested that she find a marriage counselor she would be comfortable with, and make an appointment at her convenience. It didn’t matter when it was to me. I also told her she wouldn’t have to sign any waiver agreements or legal documents that placed limitations on what was being said or what could be repeated. I wanted her to feel completely at ease, and didn’t want her to have any second thoughts. I even offered to pay for everything, and suggested that she remain in her apartment. We had too much to lose, and everything to gain. For the first time in a very long time, I saw the wife I loved and adored for so many years. She spoke to me in her own tone, and looked at me with her own eyes. No one was there to tell her otherwise, or influence her behavior in any way. When she left a few minutes later, I was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt she was being sincere and meant every word she had said. After I paid the bill, I drove home. I was having a fence installed in the back yard to keep the deer from eating my flowers and shrubs. That evening, I called my wife to say hello. I got her voice-mail, and left her a message. My wife never returned my call. For some reason, I went to sleep with a sick feeling in my stomach. It was a feeling you get when things seem too good to be true. Was I about to be a victim of Murphy’s Law? I tried to convince myself there was nothing to worry about. I fell asleep at around eleven o’clock in tremendous pain. The following morning I called my wife again. When she answered the phone, I thanked her for an enjoyable evening and told her I loved and missed her. She responded by saying she had changed her mind. She didn’t want to go to counseling, and wanted a divorce. I never felt so depressed in all my life. I was at a complete loss for words. I said I was sorry she felt that way, and told her I would call her back that evening. Something obviously happened between the

time I had left her yesterday morning and this evening. I realized the best thing to do was to start building her confidence in me all over again. It was hard to remain positive, but like a child watching a sandcastle crumble before him, I had to take a deep breath, put the sand back into a pile, and start sculpting the castle all over again. If I didn’t, it would have meant I wasn’t sincere about what I was feeling, or doing for that matter. And if I didn’t try again, she could have used it as an excuse that I really didn’t love or want her. Then, in her mind, she had all the justification in the world she needed to go ahead with the divorce. I did some yard work the following morning. The fence I had installed really looked good, and the weather permitted me to do some cleanup work around the backyard. It was a bright sunny day, so my spirits were up despite the emotional setback I had just experienced. I knew I had to remain positive, and needed to maintain confidence in my ability to see this through to the end. My wife had given me a check for $92.00 which was her share of the house appraisal fee. I decided to give it back to my wife, and went to her workplace to return the check. She was working late again, so I waited until eight-fifteen that evening. When I arrived, we exchanged hugs and kisses. She told me numerous times she loved me, and I took the opportunity to once again ask my wife to end her estrangement and divorce action. She said she would think about it. The following day the weather took a dramatic turn for the worse. The forecast called for heavy snow, so I called my wife in the morning and asked her if she would come home so she would be safe. My wife called back at seven-thirty to say she would not be coming home. I asked her to call me the following morning to make sure she arrived at work safely. She said she would. I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing by calling her so much. I didn’t want to seem like I was treating her like a child. I was just concerned for her safety. Again, I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. It was a chance I had no choice to take. My wife did call me at nine o’clock the following morning to tell me she arrived at work safely. I thanked her for calling. She responded by saying she would call me soon and that she loved me. I didn’t hear from my wife for the next three days. Finally, I called my wife Friday morning. I asked how she was doing. She said she was fine. Then I invited her out to dinner on Saturday night. She agreed to me for dinner at a Mexican restaurant near her apartment. Then, I decided to take a chance by suggesting that I pick her up at her apartment. Even though I knew where she lived, I hadn’t been there yet. She was living there now for over

two months, and I was really curious to see what the apartment was like. She said yes. I told her I would pick her up at seven o’clock that evening.

CHAPTER 16

One thing I never did was spy on my wife. Even though I knew where she lived, I never drove past her apartment to see what she was doing. Even though she was still my wife and I loved her dearly, that would have been an invasion of privacy. Married or not, I never believed a person had the right to invade someone’s privacy. People don’t give up their basic rights when they get married. Yet, some people treat their spouse like property, and think they can do anything they want just because they share the same last name. It was a clear and cold evening when I left my house to go pick up my wife. It was only about five miles away from my house, and when I arrived I saw my wife’s car parked on the side of the driveway on the lawn. Apparently, the owner of the home had just converted the two-car garage into a one-bedroom apartment, but didn’t extend the driveway to accommodate the tenant. My wife told me to call her just before I left home to get her. I had forgotten to call, so I called her from my new cell phone I had gotten just a few days earlier. I was a bit surprised when she told me to come in. For some reason, I didn’t think she wanted me to see the inside of the apartment. But I was amazed at what I saw when she finally opened the door. She just didn’t open the door. She opened my eyes. My wife was a very intelligent person. She was very talented as well. She was a great cook, and was very creative when it came to arts and crafts. As intelligent and talented as she was, I think she liked being dependent on me. There was something else I knew about my wife. She often wanted me to make all the really big decisions. A lot of people I knew were like that. They didn’t want to be able for anything. If something went wrong, they could blame their spouse. I now felt that was happening to me. The failure of our marriage was falling squarely on my shoulders. In my opinion, I was now being punished for doing what she always wanted me to do. I didn’t think that was fair. I don’t know why I was surprised when she opened the door. Instead of finding substandard conditions, I walked into an apartment that was beautifully furnished. Everything was brand new, and of the finest quality. The carpeting was plush,

the kitchen was well appointed, and her bedroom was beautiful as well. Even the wall decorations and accessories were really nice. But, I still felt uncomfortable about my wife living in a converted garage apartment. I think I now know why my wife wanted me to pick her up. She wanted me to see she was capable of doing things on her own. My psychologist said it was her way of saying she didn’t need me, and that she could live well without me. I handed her a bouquet of flowers I bought on the way, and took a seat on the blue sofa in the living room. Just as I sat down, my wife noticed something on the television stand she didn’t want me to see. She quickly grabbed whatever it was and took it into her bedroom. At first, I thought it was a picture in a small frame. But, I wasn’t quick enough to notice exactly what she was hiding from me, so I really wasn’t sure. When she returned, she apologized for some strange reason. After declining her offer for something to drink, we left. One of the first things she said when we got to the restaurant was that I was losing too much weight. I told her I wasn’t trying, and didn’t make any attempt to blame her. I told her I was eating well, but for some reason, I couldn’t maintain my weight. I was down to one-hundred and seventy pounds, and was starting to look the way I did when I was sixteen years old. While we were eating dinner, her cell phone rang. She got up and went into the ladies room to answer the call. Immediately, I wondered who it might have been. Someone knew she was out to dinner with me. The same thing happened when we had brunch in January, and while eating dinner on Valentine’s Day. I was convinced it was the same person on all three occasions. After dinner, we drove near the water and went into a pub for an after-dinner drink. She had a something sweet, and I had something dry. As it approached midnight, we decided to call it a night. At no time did we discuss the divorce, or the possibility of getting back together for that matter. It was as if nothing was wrong between us. The drive back to her apartment was a pleasant one. I almost hit a deer while driving around a narrow bend on a very dark road near her apartment. Then I made a bold move. Just as we pulled up to her apartment, I asked her if I could spend the night. To my surprise, she said yes. On the surface, I was happy. Yet, deep down inside, I was worried she might be playing on my emotions like she did when we spent the night together at the hotel on Valentine’s Day. I knew it

was too soon to find out the answer, so I made myself comfortable and waited to see what would happen next. I never slept so well in all my life. When we woke up at seven o’clock, my wife decided to take a shower. While she was in the shower, I stayed in bed. I was cold, so I remained under the sheets to stay warm. Then, I thought about the object my wife hid when I first arrived the night before. I decided to look around to see if I could find it. I didn’t find anything. Then, I heard my wife turn off the shower. I put on my clothes and walked into the kitchen. Shortly afterwards, my wife came out of the bathroom with her yellow bathrobe on, and asked me if I wanted some coffee. I said yes, and as she prepared a pot of coffee, I noticed that she had a framed picture of me on the bottom shelf of her television stand. It made me feel good that she had a picture of me in her apartment. I didn’t notice any pictures of our son. When the coffee was done, she poured a cup for me. Then, she sat next to me on the couch. My wife wasn’t a coffee drinker. In fact, I never saw my wife drink a cup of coffee in my entire life. I the first time I brought her home to meet my parents. We were coffee drinkers, and when my mother asked her if she wanted a cup, she told my mother that she was a tea drinker. Luckily, we found some tea bags from the Chinese restaurant in a kitchen draw. We sat there for a moment sipping our coffee and tea. Then my wife told me I could take back to our house the thirteen-inch television she borrowed when she left the house in December. The sun had started to rise as I finished my coffee. I decided to pour myself another cup, but as I started to get off the couch, my wife held me back and began to kiss me. It was the most ionate kiss she had ever given me. After at least one minute, we both looked at each other in the eyes and sat there in a warm embrace. It was one of the nicest moments I had ever had with my wife. I prayed it would never end. The past twelve hours had been really pleasant, but I couldn’t help thinking that there was something behind all of this. Yet, I didn’t let my fears get in the way of having a good time with her. When she returned with another cup of coffee for me, we started a conversation about our future that lasted almost four hours. We started talking about getting back together. There was no doubt we loved each other. Before she left me on December 11th, I asked her what we would do without each other. We were lying in bed at the time. After a long pause, she told

me she didn’t know. I knew then she wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing. It certainly wasn’t right for me. She started the conversation by asking me if I would change. She said I had been very difficult to live with, and that she needed some proof that I wouldn’t continue doing the things that bothered her so much. She also told me that she needed her own space, and that I was too domineering. She called me a control freak, and said everything we did had to be my way. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t quite sure where she was coming from, but I told her I would do whatever I had to do. But, she had to give me the opportunity. The only way I could prove to her I would change is if we went back to living together. This made sense to her. How could I prove anything to her if we remained apart? She agreed. I made sure I didn’t make her feel guilty she left me. Then I said something that was really honest and from the heart. I told her I ired her for her courage. I explained that I never thought she would leave me, and gave her credit for what she had done. I told her I respected her for doing something as drastic as filing for divorce. I also said this could have been avoided if we had communicated better with each other. In other words, we should have talked to each other. I was the first to it we had grown silent over the past few years. When I tried to take the blame, she insisted we were both guilty of the communication breakdown. We were two people that loved each other, but didn’t know how to express love. We had lost our innocence. We allowed a wall of indifference to be built between us. And now we were being faced with a crisis that neither one of us truly knew how to deal with. We couldn’t leave this up to anyone else. We had to deal with this problem and seek professional help. Too much was invested over the past thirty-one years to see it destroyed, I said. The discussion didn’t end there. She started to talk about our son. She said that my son loved me very much, and that she was upset I hadn’t been speaking to him on a regular basis. I responded by saying that wasn’t true. Then, I told my wife what he said as he left the house on Christmas morning. She seemed surprised, and asked me if he really said that I had to call him if I wanted to be part of his life. I said yes, and I told her I thought that was very disrespectful. I deserved to be treated better than that. I reminded my wife that I sacrificed a lot for him. I was his father. I shouldn’t be required to call him to be part of his life. I then told my wife that she had to stop making excuses for him. As I said that, I realized I may have made a mistake. My wife always defended our son, even if he did something wrong. This always bothered me. Instead of making him able for his actions, she would let things slide. I always told her that was the wrong thing to do. She felt I was being too demanding. But, I

really wasn’t. If he did something wrong, he should have itted it. That wasn’t being demanding, in my opinion. All I wanted was for him to be honest and recognize right from wrong. Ninety-nine percent of the time he did. He was a great kid, and became very successful in life. True, I did a lot for him. But in the end, he deserved the credit. However, in his mother’s eyes he could do no wrong. That was a bit unrealistic. Even our son wasn’t perfect. She then told me something that really surprised me. My wife told me I was the reason our son ended his relationship with a girl he met upstate. I supposedly said I didn’t like her. I thought she was stretching the truth, but I gave my wife the benefit of the doubt by saying I was sorry if that really was the case. My defense regarding this was simple. I reminded my wife about what my parents thought of her when they first met her. They didn’t like her at first because she wasn’t Italian. They had a very old school way of looking at things. I then reminded my wife how it didn’t matter to me what my parents thought of her, and that if my son was truly in love with the girl, he should have ignored me like I ignored my parents, and continued his relationship with her. Actually, I really liked her a lot. She had a great personality, and was a kind and gentle person. If I did have anything to do with their break up, I was truly sorry. That was one mistake I wish I had a chance to erase. I told my wife I wished our son had gotten engaged to her. She agreed, but reminded me it was too late. I told my wife it’s never too late when it comes to love. This was probably the best heartto-heart discussion I ever had with my wife. We wouldn’t be apart had we communicated this way all the time. But, that was water under the bridge, and the only option I had at the moment was to hope for the best and look towards the future. It was now eleven o’clock. Suddenly, my wife seemed to be a bit nervous. As we spoke, she started pacing up and down the living room, and occasionally she would look out of the window. I got the feeling she was worried someone was coming over. Then she told me she had a lot to do. I asked her if there was anything else she wanted to say. My wife told me she didn’t want to move into the city. She actually wanted to move closer to our son. He lived several hours away, and she wanted to be nearer to him when the day came that he raised a family. I told her that was fine with me, and assured her that if that’s what she really wanted, I would agree without any hesitation. Then I told my wife I thought we were going in the wrong direction by leaving our future up to the court. She agreed. I suggested that we start seeing each other on a regular basis, and go to counseling. She agreed, again. I didn’t bother taking a shower. It had

started to snow lightly, so I finished my coffee and got dressed. Just before I left, we embraced each other. I told her I loved her. She told me the same. Then she told me to call her when I got home so she would know I arrived safely. I told her I would, and wished her a nice day. When I got home, a strange feeling overcame me. I began to wonder why she looked so nervous and was constantly looking out of the window while I was there. For a brief moment, I considered driving back to her apartment to see if she was with someone else. But, then I realized that was taking too great a risk. What if she was alone? How could I justify going back to her apartment. Surely, she would think I was spying on her. She had just told me she needed her space. By going there, I ran the risk of destroying everything I had achieved over the past eighteen hours. Maybe it was a coincidence that she wanted me to call her when I got home. But, then I thought of one of my favorite expressions. Coincidences require a lot of planning.

CHAPTER 17

When I got into the house, I ed I hadn’t taken any medicine that morning. I realized it when I picked up the phone to call my wife. I didn’t want to use my cell phone. I used the house phone so her caller-ID would show I was home. After I took my medicine, I decided to take a nap. I was glad I didn’t have to shovel snow. I got into the habit of sleeping on my wife’s side of the bed ever since she left me. It was one way I felt I was still near her. I wondered if every other man that was going through a divorce did the same thing. I doubted it. I slept until five o’clock. When I got up, I made myself some dinner, and then I watched some television. I thought about calling my wife, but then I ed what she said about needing her space. I had a hard time concentrating about anything. I kept thinking about my wife’s list of grievances. I felt emotionally drained. There was a lot for me to mentally digest. Then I realized I hadn’t said one negative thing about her. Why hadn’t she itted she had done things wrong in the past? She wasn’t without fault because she filed for divorce. Most people think the person that files for divorce is automatically in the right. My psychologist said that many times the opposite was true. He added the person making the accusations was often guilty of the very thing they were accusing the other person of. It was an irony of life, to say the least. The following day was Monday. It was the last day of February. I had a doctor’s appointment at one o’clock in the afternoon and an appointment with my lawyer at four o’clock. I stayed there for about an hour, and then I drove home. After dinner, I called my wife. She told me she was no longer interested in getting back together. She spoke very irrationally, and eventually she hung up on me. I was absolutely devastated by this. This was the second time she had done that in two weeks. Immediately, I began to wonder who might have been responsible for changing her mind. I considered the usual suspects, and then I realized one thing. I probably would have known who it was had I drove back to her apartment the day before. My wife once told me that she was in competition with me. That was one of the

strangest things I had ever heard. I never considered my wife a competitor. She was my partner. Marriage, to me, was a partnership where a husband and wife worked together to achieve a common goal. If this wasn’t the case all the time, then the marriage was bound to fail. I contributed everything to my family. From the day I got married, I worked two jobs. The money bought houses, cars, boats, and vacations, but most of all it was a tool to provide my family with a higher standard of living. We started out with a very simple philosophy. I was the breadwinner. My wife was the homemaker. Neither of us had a problem with this. We pooled our resources, and lived a happy life. In the early days, we lived a very simple life. Our troubles started when we became more successful. Nothing was easy anymore. Things got complicated. The more we had, the more we wanted. We lost sight of what made us happy in the first place. We were happy because we were together. It didn’t matter if I ate spaghetti five times a week. I was with the woman I loved. She was my friend, my lover, and my partner. Less was really more for us then. Our lives were uncomplicated, and our needs were simple. Our son was baptized on our first anniversary. We couldn’t have been prouder parents. We planned on having another child when our son was two-years old, but Fate dealt us a terrible blow. My wife was involved in a serious auto accident, and she almost lost her life. I being terrified at the prospect of losing her. I took me years to nurse her back to health. But, now I was involved in a competition I had no understanding of or interest in. What did she mean when she said that to me? Was the divorce the ultimate contest in her mind? Was this all about winning or losing? Nobody wins in a divorce. You might win a battle here or there, but everyone loses the war in the end. We seemed to be going in opposite directions. In my opinion, I was the one trying to bring us together again, and she was the one putting distance between us. Even though the lawyers were only doing what they had to, they weren’t making matters any easier. The whole thing was rapidly getting out of control. I knew I had to do something fast. This was the second time she agreed to get back together, then go back on her word and change her mind. I had to figure out a way of getting through to her in the gentlest manner possible. So, I decided to write her a letter. I wanted the letter to cover all the bases, but at the same I didn’t want it to intimidate her. I knew the risks involved with writing a letter. You can’t take back what you write. But, I knew she liked my letters. I wrote her letters almost every day when we were dating. As far as I knew, she still had them. I began my letter by asking my wife a question. I asked her where we were going. I told her I asked myself this question a thousand times while lying awake at night. I was sure she had done the same thing. I then recalled our first date, and reminded her that we fell in love shortly thereafter. We filled a tremendous

void in our lives as a result, and we became each other’s joy and inspiration. I told her she was my reason for living. I was so proud to be with her, and for the first time in my life I had someone to love. I then described how we overcame my parent’s objection. It was the first of many storms we ultimately survived. I reminded her that it didn’t take long for her to express her love for me by giving birth to our son. She was my pride and joy, and I put her on a pedestal for the entire world to see. We became a family full of hopes and dreams, I wrote. I then asked her why we were so happy then. By today’s standards we were poor, but in reality we were the richest people on the planet. We were rich because we had each other. We talked to each other, we laughed with each other, and we were the best of friends. We never left each other’s side. We also didn’t make excuses. And, we didn’t fear or lie to each other. We may have acted a little foolish and immature at times, but most twenty-one year old people do act that way on occasion. I then asked her why we were acting that way now. I told her I thought our troubles began when we started demanding more out of life. We wanted more money and more material possessions, but all we got were more troubles. We thought making a name for ourselves was the most important goal in lives. But, it turned out to be less. I then told her I never loved her more than when she was just herself. I reminded her that she won my heart by being herself, and because she cared about things that were important to both of us. As time went by, we started growing apart because we felt it was more important to satisfy our own personal needs rather than our t needs. What good would all these things be if we didn’t have each other? I concluded by saying it was time we proved to each other that we still had what it takes to make our marriage work. We couldn’t afford to waste one more moment of time. Time, I said, was running out. We had to be courageous, and remind ourselves that we never quit in the past. I said we shouldn’t be quitting now. As I put the pen down, my hand began to shake. I didn’t know how much longer I could fight this battle. My disease was getting worse, and I wasn’t taking care of myself. I now weighed one hundred and sixty-nine pounds. I decided not to take any chances with the letter, so I drove to my wife’s post office and mailed it from there. I was now on record as far as I was concerned. It took a lot of courage and energy to write that letter, and I felt the sooner she received it, the better. However, there was no guarantee she would read it. When she told me she had changed her mind the other day for the second time, I sensed that she was

under tremendous pressure from someone. If she received the letter too soon, she might react angrily and tear the letter to pieces. If I waited to send it, then it might lose its sense of urgency. It was now March. The new month began on a sunny note. I had enough of winter and snow, and looked forward to working outside in the garden. This year, there was an even greater need to get outside and start working around the yard. I needed to do something creative with myself in order to cope with my frustrations. Working in the garden and planting flowers had always been a favorite pastime of mine. Even when I did it as part of my landscaping maintenance business, I enjoyed myself. It was also a perfect activity for people with Parkinson’s disease. It was a really good form of exercise, not to mention therapy for the mind. My wife and I often spent hours working in the flower garden during the summertime. After dinner, we would go out to the flower garden and pick flowers. Or, we would sometimes just sit around with a glass of wine and enjoy their fragrance and beauty. I always made a special effort to make our property look beautiful. She was very proud of the work I did, and brought pictures to work for her coworkers to see. But, this year would be different. It wouldn’t be as enjoyable without her. The next twelve days were some of the loneliest ones of all. Aside from cleaning the house, shopping for food, and going to my lawyer’s office, I was basically alone. The only thing I did that brought a smile to my face was visit my sister in the hospital. She had hip-replacement surgery, so I drove to the hospital to see how she was doing. But otherwise, I was as lonely as a person could get. After ten days, I finally called my wife. She did not return my call. Then, I called her again the following day. Once again, she did not return my call. Maybe she reacted negatively to the letter. But, when I finally reached her two days later, I got a pleasant surprise.

CHAPTER 18

My wife was gone now for three months. I hadn’t heard from her in almost two weeks. I had spent the afternoon at my lawyer’s office going over some legal documents. There was always something to fill out or hand in. I drove home at around five o’clock. When I finally got a hold of my wife, she told me she was really busy and didn’t have a chance to call me. I told her not to feel guilty even though I was really sad we hadn’t spoken to each other for so long. I told her I really missed her, and asked her if she would go out to dinner with me the following evening. She said yes, and told me to pick her up at seven-thirty. I decided to take her to an Italian restaurant not too far from home. When I arrived at her apartment, I handed her a bouquet of flowers. She thanked me, and put the flowers in a vase. To my amazement, she still had some of the flowers I had given her last time, and my picture was prominently displayed on top of her television in the living room. Everything else seemed to be the same. When we got to the restaurant, the place was practically empty. She really liked Italian food, and we started our meal with some of her favorite appetizers. Then, as our main course was being served, she began a discussion about wanting a separation agreement. Before long, we were the only patrons in the restaurant. The owner of the restaurant realized this and dimmed the lights. I then asked him to turn up the music so our conversation couldn’t be heard by the staff. My wife couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t sign a separation agreement. I told her I loved her, and felt that if I signed a separation agreement, after one year our marriage would be over. That’s what the law said. Then she told me something really strange. She said if I signed a separation agreement, she would agree to go out on dates with me from time to time. I was confused by the remark. I started to feel all she wanted to do was use me at her convenience. I was the man she supposedly loved for thirty-one years. When I wouldn’t agree, she said I was trying to destroy her. I told her nothing was further from the truth, and that up to this date, I had made numerous attempts to reconcile our differences and resume our marriage. After she finally calmed down, I told her I wasn’t upset at her. She

had to believe that I loved and missed her very much. She said I was right, and we finished our meal. We left the restaurant at eleven-thirty, and went directly back to her apartment. She asked me if I would like to come in for a while, and I said yes. We sat down on the sofa, and started a conversation about things in general. She told me she was working a lot of hours because she needed the money. I didn’t respond, but instead I told her that she needed to take care of herself. My wife used to tell me that I was going to be the richest man in the cemetery. I always thought that was strange, because there was no other way to live the lifestyle we were living and put a son through medical school without working two jobs. Rich man or not, I was only concerned about giving my family the best I could. Even though she would complain about me working so much, she never complained about everything I gave her. About an hour later, I decided to take my chances and asked her if I could stay. It was really late, and I was exhausted. I told my wife that, if she preferred, I would be glad to sleep on the couch. She agreed, and took out a pillow and comforter for me to use. By the time we went to sleep, it was one o’clock in the morning. I lying there with my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. How sad, I thought. We were only separated by a four-inch wall, yet we seemed to be thousands of miles apart. Then, something most unusual happened. My wife got out of bed, walked into the living room, and told me to come into bed with her. I didn’t realize it was three o’clock in the morning. We didn’t get out of bed until nine o’clock, six hours later. I couldn’t help thinking I had been in this position once before. Only about three weeks ago, I did the same thing. I took my wife out to dinner, slept in my wife’s bed, and convinced her to try to save our marriage and end the divorce. This was actually the third time I spent the night with her since Valentine’s Day. On the two previous occasions, she agreed to get back together with me. I didn’t know what was going to happen this time. She did the same thing this morning that she did the last time I spent the night. She got into the shower, then made some coffee and tea, and sat down on the sofa next to me. I then asked her about the letter I sent her. The subject never came up the night before, so this was the best opportunity I had to bring it up. She told me she had just read the letter, and that she thought I was correct about a lot of things. After a long discussion, she once again agreed to try to make the marriage work. I asked her if she really meant what she was saying in light of the fact that she had already changed her mind on two other occasions. She swore to me that this time she really meant it. I left her apartment believing she

was telling me the truth. A lot of people probably thought I was a fool. They didn’t know what my wife was doing, but those that did said I was wasting my time trying to stay married to someone that didn’t want me. They said she was manipulating me, and getting away with one thing after the other. Whenever I told these people I still loved my wife, they would laugh. If that was love, they didn’t want anything to do with it. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when my wife called the next day to tell me she changed her mind. She then told me not to call her anymore, and hung up on me.

CHAPTER 19

It was the middle of March. Easter was rapidly approaching, and St. Patrick’s Day was only a couple of days away. I called my wife to invite her out to dinner for St. Patrick’s Day. My wife never called me back. A couple of days later, I decided to bring my wife’s mail to her workplace. I got there early before the store opened so I could be alone with my wife. She always got to work about an hour before she had to, so I knew it was a safe bet she would be there by eight o’clock in the morning. She thanked me for bringing the mail, and then she told me she didn’t want to see me on Easter Sunday. A while ago, I ask her if the three of us could have dinner together on Easter Sunday. She said no. I was starting to believe she didn’t want the three of us to be together under any circumstances. My psychologist said she was using our son. But, on the other hand, he said my son was old enough to make his own decisions and do the right thing, whatever that was. I didn’t disagree. That Sunday, I went to my sister’s house for Palm Sunday dinner. I had a nice time. My brother-in-law is an excellent cook, and he enjoys making special meals for his family on Sundays. My sister was still recuperating from hip replacement surgery, so I helped out as much as I could. Driving home that night, I reminded myself of how fortunate I was to have a brother and sister. They had beautiful families, and they were shoulders for me to lean on. I couldn’t help thinking my chances of getting my wife back were fading away. I had to think of something fast. I now weighed only one-hundred and sixty-six pounds, and it seemed I was losing weight by the minute. I hadn’t seen my doctor in a while, and was beginning to smoke more than I ever did in my entire life. My health was deteriorating rapidly, but for some reason I really didn’t care. A friend of mine saw me walking in the library on Good Friday and said he hardly recognized me. I told him I wasn’t feeling too well lately, and left it at that. That week, I spent most of my time in the law library. My lawyer told me to research matrimonial cases involving cruel and inhuman treatment. While I really didn’t think it was necessary, I did what my lawyer told me to do. To my

surprise, I became engrossed in matrimonial law, and read case after case from morning to night. None of the cases resembled mine. None of the cases dealt with garden hoses, dish towels, leaves, and bathroom rugs. The defendants in all the cases I read were being accused of far more serious things. I began to wonder what the judge would think when my case went to trial. But, that wasn’t what I wanted to find out. I just wanted my wife to end her estrangement, and come home. It was now Good Friday. I hadn’t spoken to my wife for several days. I left messages on her voice-mail, but she did not return my calls. That afternoon, I decided to send her flowers for Easter. I called the florist at six o’clock to make sure she got them. My brother called on Saturday. He invited me over for Easter, and told me to be there at one o’clock. I told him I wasn’t really feeling well, and that I might just stay home. In all honesty, I really wasn’t feeling well. I was also hoping to hear from my wife. I desperately wanted her to change her mind and have dinner together. That evening, I stayed up late waiting for her call. The call never came. When I woke up Easter morning, I noticed the crocuses were in bloom in my flower garden. I then got dressed and went to nine-thirty mass. After mass, I bought the Sunday paper and returned home. After a while, I decided to call my wife to wish her a happy Easter. She did not answer. In fact, her voice-mail was turned off, so I couldn’t even leave her a message. Then I called my brother to tell him I wouldn’t be coming over for dinner. I said hello to the rest of the family, and told them I would see them soon. I decided to spend part of the day working outside. At five o’clock, I went to the store because I was low on cigarettes. On my way, I saw my son’s fiancée. She drove right past me. There was no doubt it was her. I figured if she was here, my son had to be nearby. His fiancée lived only a couple of miles away from my house, so I came to the conclusion that he must have spent the day there. And if he spent the day there, then so did my wife. I was heartbroken. I had hoped to spend the day with them, but it appeared that wasn’t their plan. Then, I did something very foolish. I said something I should not have said. It was one of those mistakes I wish I could have erased. The phone rang at six o’clock. It was my son. He began the conversation by asking me what I did for Easter. I decided to skip the small talk, and told him I was disappointed that he didn’t stop by to see me. Then I called him a mama’s boy. I was very upset at myself when I hung up the phone. I should have called him back and apologized. That evening, I decided to go to bed earlier. I was really disgusted with myself.

The following morning I went food shopping and did some yard work. Three days later, I received a greeting card from my wife. She thanked me for the bouquet of flowers, and signed the card without the word Love before her name. Two more days went by, and the month of March came to a close. I couldn’t the last time I had spoken to her.

CHAPTER 20

I began to do a lot of work outside because the weather improved dramatically. The month of April began on the mild side, and fortunately for me it never really got cold again. It was definitely a welcome change. I was able to spend a lot of time in the garden and get my mind off of things. One day a package arrived in the mail. It was a teapot my wife told me she wanted the last time I was in her apartment. I hadn’t spoken to my wife in several weeks, so I decided to call her and let her know it finally arrived. She did not answer the phone, so I left a message saying I would drop it off. About an hour later, I pulled up to my wife’s apartment. To my surprise, she had just gotten home from work, and was just getting out of the car. When she asked me what I doing there, I told her I was delivering the teapot. She walked over to me, took the teapot out of my hand, and walked away. As she did, I asked her if she wanted to go out to dinner. She said no, and kept walking. She went into her apartment, and I went home. During the second week of April, I decided to deliver her mail along with some daffodils I grew in my garden. I stopped over around noon because I knew she would be at work. Shortly thereafter, I stopped receiving any of her mail. I found out later she completed a change-of-address-notice. She had severed another tie to me. Another week went by without seeing or speaking to my wife. I continued to do work outside, and even began to plant some annual flowers. I wanted the place to look really nice just in case she decided to come home. But it was becoming apparent that she had no intentions of returning. I tried not to think of the thought too often, but it was inescapable. I began lying awake at night trying to think of a way to get her back, but didn’t come up with any good ideas. Then I realized something. Maybe I was doing exactly what I should have been doing all along. Nothing. I know she wanted her own space, so I decided to continue doing nothing. It sounded logical at the moment, so I fell asleep thinking I was doing the right thing. My false confidence didn’t last too long. By doing nothing, I was giving her the opportunity to say I didn’t care. Certainly, that wasn’t the case. And besides, I didn’t want to give her anything to

use against me in court. Fortunately, that would have been very difficult for her to do. I had kept a record of all the things I considered to be attempts at reconciliation. According to my records, I had made over eighty attempts to date. But, she did tell me she wanted her own space. I didn’t want to do anything to risk a harassment charge. My lawyer told me to be careful. I thought that was a joke. All I was doing was telling my wife I loved her. But, my lawyer said that was a dangerous thing to do. Frightened by the consequences, I made sure whatever I did was very low key. I decided I would not go over to her apartment without her permission again. The month of May did give me a few windows of opportunity. There was Mother’s Day in the beginning of the month, and my wife’s birthday at the end of the month. But before either occurred, something unusual happened. Actually, the more I think about, the less unusual it seemed. One evening, I was mowing the lawn. I own a very large riding mower, and was mowing an area near the road when suddenly why wife drove past the house. Actually, I think she was more surprised to see me than I was to see her. I had just driven around a thicket, and almost lost control of the riding mower when we noticed each other. About a week later, something similar happened. While I was sitting outside one evening just before dusk, she drove past the house again. I began to wonder what she was doing. Why couldn’t she have stopped to say hello? I thought that was a shame. She missed two golden opportunities to do something positive. Mother’s Day eventually came and went. I sent her a bouquet of flowers and a card the day before, and called her the following morning. She did not answer the phone. Day after day, I wondered how she was. I was desperate to hear something about her, even if it was just a word or two saying she was O.K. My flower garden was starting to look good. I was certain my wife would have liked it if she came home. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine her back. I didn’t have a magic wand. The only thing I did have was a deep desire to be with my wife. I was going down a lonely, one-way road, and couldn’t find my way.

CHAPTER 21

The following day I called my sister to wish her a happy birthday. After I said goodbye, I realized this was the day I first asked my wife out on a date. That was thirty-five years ago. At the time, we both worked in a store. I was also in college at the time, and only worked at the store at night. She worked there fulltime during the day. The only time we really ever saw each other was when she was leaving and I was just arriving. I don’t think we ever imagined we would be husband and wife someday. We liked each other from the start, but I never considered dating her. Actually, to this day I don’t know why. She was pretty, and had a really nice personality. Nevertheless, the opportunity presented itself on several occasions. Finally, the temptation was too much to resist. One night, I was driving home from a friend’s house around the time the store closed. As I ed the store, I saw her leaving the parking lot. Apparently, she had worked from open to close, and was on her way home. I decided to turn around and follow her, and eventually caught up to her at a red light. When she recognized who I was, she pulled over. We went to a nightclub and had a great time, and the rest was history. We dated for three years before we got married in the month of August. I began teaching in September, and by our first anniversary, we baptized our first child. During the dating years, we were inseparable. And we remained that way up until a year ago. The key now was for me to find the reason why. Every time I thought I had it all figured out, something different came up. I’d give anything to be able to turn back the hands of time. Another week went by without any sign of my wife. I was giving her all the space she wanted, but I couldn’t stand not seeing or speaking to her. Then her birthday arrived. Once again, I sent her flowers and a card. I decided to call her that evening, but she did not answer my call. Then, it seemed, Fate intervened. I wound up seeing my wife before the end of the month, after all. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the most unpleasant meeting I ever had with her. The meeting took place at her lawyer’s office. It was required by the court, and was called an Examination Before Trial. It was more like a mini-hearing than a meeting. My wife’s attorney was supposed to limit his questions and comments to financial matters. But, he didn’t. At one point of the questioning, he asked me to start shaking. He wanted everyone in the room to see me shake, as if it was some kind

of act or joke. I was horrified at his insensitivity, and was about to leave when my lawyer threatened to call the judge. I looking at my wife to see if she had any reaction to what her lawyer had done. There was none. She just sat there, and did not say a word. Later, I realized I should not have been surprised. She also thought my disease was just an act. I wonder if people know how much they really change over the years. When I think about myself, I basically see the same person. I haven’t lost my sense of humor, and I am still committed to what I believe is right and proper. By and large, I am happy with what I see, but I am also the first to it that I have made mistakes. I also believe that a person should learn from their mistakes. In order to do so, you had to hold yourself able. Granted, no one is perfect. But, I did expect everyone around me to follow the same rule. Another month had come and gone. It was now almost eight months since she filed for divorce, and almost six months since she left the house. Still, nothing had changed at the house. All her belongings were there just the way she left them. I could still smell her presence whenever I went inside her closet. Once in a while, I would find a strand of her blonde hair in the house. I holding one up to the sky to watch it glow. Sometimes, I would find a shopping list in her handwriting tucked away in a draw and wonder when she wrote it. On other occasions, I would forget that she was no longer with me and call out her name. Then, I would pause for a moment and realize my mistake. I’d give anything for her to answer me the next time I did that. But the worst thing of all was thinking she was coming into the house at night. From day one, I left the outside lights on all night. It was my way to show her she was welcome. Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep, I would hear noises in the house and imagine it was a door opening or closing. I would then wait to hear footsteps on the wooden stairs leading to the second floor of the house, and imagine her standing at the doorway of our bedroom. On many other occasions, I would look out of one of the windows to see if she was pulling up the driveway. I did this when I saw the reflection of headlights against my house. Almost always, it was just someone using my driveway to turn around. But, once I swore it was her. At least, it was the same car she drove. Just the other night, I got up to go to the bathroom, and then I went downstairs to smoke a cigarette. As I turned on the kitchen light, I saw her standing by the stove cooking breakfast. But after a moment, I realized she wasn’t there. I thought I heard someone laugh, and then I woke up. I was soaking wet. It was nothing more than a dream, but it felt real. If that was happening to me, then what was happening to

her? I didn’t want her to have nightmares, or imagine things for that matter. Once, I asked her if she thought about me at all during the day. She said the only time she thought of me was at night. I suppose the mind can play tricks on us when it wants to.

CHAPTER 22

The weather was getting warmer as the month of June began. I had plenty of things to do, but I would have preferred to be with the woman I loved. I was beginning to feel forgotten. By the middle of the month, I hadn’t spoken to my wife for almost two weeks. On the 14th of the month, I went to the hospital for pre-op tests ordered by my gastroenterologist. After the tests were completed, I had lunch with my father. Then I went to see my nephew’s baseball game. He was an excellent pitcher, and wound up striking out twelve batters that day. After the game ended, I went back to my sister’s house for dinner. Then I went home. Once I was in the house, I noticed a package on the back deck. It was a Father’s Day gift from my wife. She also included a note with the gift. She told me to have a happy Father’s Day, and signed the note with the word Love before her name. This was the nicest thing she had done in a while, so I decided to write her a thank you card. I wound up writing a lengthy letter, instead. I began the letter by thanking her very much for the beautiful shirt and pair of shorts, and complimented her taste. She always had perfect taste when it came to picking out clothes for me, and I always looked my best thanks to her. I always bragged about how she dressed me to everyone in school, and I thanked her for continuing to do so. Unfortunately, I had to return the shirt because it was too large. Then I explained why I was so grateful to her. I wrote that we were the happiest parents-to-be on the face of the earth when she was pregnant. I reminded her that everyone in the family was very proud of her, and that she was treated like a queen. The nine months she was pregnant were some of the most enjoyable months we ever had together. And, the day our son was born, I wrote, was the greatest day of our lives. Because Father’s Day was only a couple of days away, I started to write about the personal sacrifices I made for our son. I wrote about working two jobs all the time, and how I sacrificed my health in the process. I wasn’t looking for sympathy by saying this. I was just reminding her about some of the things I had

to do to be the best father I could. When it came to personal sacrifice, my wife couldn’t deny that I gave up a lot for our son. I reminded her that I gave up my hobbies, stopped going to graduate school, and declined an opportunity to go to law school so I could save money for his future. But through it all, I still found time to coach little league baseball, attend every school function, and take our son to religious instruction, music lessons, movies, shows, museums, sporting events, zoos, parades, and the beach. I welcomed every child on the block over the house so our son could play with them. He also went on a tour of Italy and England before he graduated high school. Then, I reminded her that I paid for his entire college education including medical school. I also paid his rent, travel expenses, utilities, food, and insurance. I bought him his first new car, and gave him ten thousand dollars towards the down payment on another new car. I also gave him twelve thousand dollars towards the down payment on his first home. But money wasn’t all I gave him, I wrote. I wrote that I gave him my heart and my soul, and all the affection a father could give. I was never shy about telling him how much I loved him. But, now I don’t see him at all, I wrote. The last time I saw him was on Christmas. And, the last time I spoke to him was on Easter. I was trying to be objective. I told her he rarely calls me, and that I felt forgotten. I concluded the letter by saying I really appreciated the gifts, but said I would feel very sad on Father’s Day this year. I felt I had nothing to lose at this point by being very blunt, and then I said something else that was really important. I told my wife the best part of the gift she sent me was not the gift. The best part was reading she still loved me. I also added that a minute didn’t go by without me thinking about her, and that I would never give up hope, no matter what any friend, family member, or lawyer said, that she would change her mind and come home to me. I ended the postscript by saying I was sure I would be getting a lot of calls on Father’s Day, but that there was only one call I really wanted to get. I wanted a call from the woman I loved for the past thirtyfour years. The following day I mailed the letter from my wife’s post office. It was Friday, and by doing so, I made sure she would receive it before Father’s Day. The next day I received an actual Father’s Day greeting card from my wife. It was signed with the word Love before her name. Father’s Day came and went. My son did not call or send a card. I stayed home for a while, and then I went to see my father. We had a nice time together. When I got home that evening, I looked around to see if there were any signs that someone may have stopped by. There were no signs. Then I ed another Examination Before Trial had been scheduled for Thursday. Only this time, it was my lawyer’s turn to question my

wife. I knew one thing for sure. I knew my lawyer would not insult my wife in any way.

CHAPTER 23

I decided to send my wife flowers the following day. I thought it would be a nice gesture. In fact, I always did things like that to her. I didn’t need a reason to express my love for my wife. It didn’t have to be a holiday or a special occasion. During the summertime, I always made an arrangement of flowers for my wife from the ones I grew in the garden. More times than not, it was what you did rather than what you said. I could think of a dozen different ways I expressed my love for her. The next two days I worked around the yard. There was no with my wife. Then on Thursday, I went to my lawyer’s office for the Examination Before Trial. It lasted a total of two hours. My lawyer asked a few questions about bank deposits and cost of living expenses, and left it at that. We hardly even acknowledged each other while we were there. At one point, my wife stared at me from across the table. I didn’t know why she was so upset at me. I wasn’t the one that filed for divorce. I was the only person I knew that didn’t want my marriage to end. That afternoon, I stopped by my psychologist’s office to say hello. I asked him what he thought could have precipitated such a harsh look from my wife. He told me she was getting tired of the legal process. He also said I probably wouldn’t have any more with her for a while. She was going to take a hard line against me because I wasn’t cooperating with her. But, then I ed something. My son’s birthday was coming up. That was my opportunity, I thought, to break the ice. That following Monday morning, I went to the hospital for the endoscopy and colonoscopy. I got to the hospital at six o’clock, and was prepared and ready in thirty minutes. I knew my wife would be getting up at this time, so I decided to give her a call to let her know I was having surgery. She did not answer the phone, so I left a brief message. I told her it would be nice if she stopped down to see me. I didn’t think she would object to this request because I was always there for her when she had a medical issue. Again, there was plenty of time for her to stop by and make it to work on time. I sat around for the next hour wondering and waiting. My doctor had an emergency call, and told the nurse he wouldn’t be there until eight-thirty. Actually, I didn’t really mind. It gave my

wife more of an opportunity to stop by. At eight o’clock, a nurse gave me a mild sedative, and I slowly began to dose off to sleep. I wasn’t accustomed to tranquilizers or sedatives, so I quickly started falling asleep. Just before I did however, I saw a blonde-haired woman standing over me. When I tried to raise myself to greet her, I was pushed back down onto the gurney. I couldn’t make out who it really was. My eyes were almost closed at this point, and I could hardly open my mouth. Then I started to see the image walk away. I tried to get up to stop her from going, but once again I was pushed back down onto the gurney. Then I went out. When they brought me into the recovery room, the same figure stood over me again. As my eyes began to focus, I realized it was not my wife. It was one of the operating room nurses, and a former student of mine. About ten minutes later, I asked her if there were any visitors for me. She said no. Then I asked if anyone had called to check on my condition. The answer again was no. I paused for a moment, and then I asked the nurse if she would see if my wife was in the waiting room. After a few minutes, she returned and said no one was there. I was very disappointed, and I felt abandoned and alone. That afternoon, a friend of mine picked me up and brought me home. I slept through the night in considerable pain. I was back on my feet within a couple of days. I got the results from my gastroenterologist about a week later. He told me I had a hiatal hernia. He said I should quit smoking, and prescribed some medication for excess stomach acid. Fortunately, there were no signs of cancer. My cholesterol was very high, however, and he recommended that I deal with that issue with my primary care physician. He said I was at risk for a heart attack. I told him I would, and thanked him for everything he had done. He was a good man, and took a genuine interest in me. Of all the things in this world, gratitude, to me was most important. I never believed in the entitlement mentality, and I felt no one had the right to take advantage of someone or forget what someone did for them. I never liked people that had a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately attitude, and once I felt I was treated well by someone, I was grateful to that person for the rest of my life. I had similar views about marriage. Marriage had its ups and downs. The key to a successful marriage, in my opinion, was compromise. Everyone had their idiosyncrasies. Married people had to be flexible. They needed to adjust to their spouse’s nuances. But, in a world where divorce became easy, a person could end the marriage and avoid these problems with little effort. What made it even more tragic was the fact that many divorces were occurring after thirty or more

years of marriage. All of a sudden, their vows meant nothing. Time continued to march forward. The month came to an end without any fanfare. I wasn’t feeling much better, but at least I had stopped losing weight. I think I went down to one hundred and sixty pounds at one point, but quickly rebounded to one hundred and seventy pounds. I was staying pretty much to myself, and only venturing away from home to go shopping, or occasionally go fishing with a friend of mine. I hadn’t heard from my wife at all, and thought it best to continue giving her lots of space. July began just as June did. The weather got even hotter, and the forecast for the July 4th weekend called for record breaking heat. Our son was born around the 4th of July. I’ll never forget that day for as long as I live. Actually, my wife was due to give birth on the 4th. On the morning she did go into labor, it was already ninety-three degrees. I was just about to leave for my summer job as an attendant at a state park when my wife went into labor. Her bag was already packed, so it was just a matter of getting into the car and driving to the hospital. We got there at ten o’clock in the morning. My wife really wasn’t in terrible pain. I ired her stamina and fortitude, and the courage it took to do what she was about to do. About a halfhour later, the doctor arrived to perform the delivery. I was asked to go into the waiting room for expectant fathers, and sat down with a nervous look on my face. There was one other man in the room at the time. His wife, too, had just gone into labor. He was as nervous as I was, and broke the ice by saying hello. A short while later, his wife’s doctor came into the waiting room and announced she had delivered a healthy baby girl. He immediately went to see his wife and daughter. I was really happy for him, and we began a friendship that day that lasted for many years. About ten minutes later, my wife’s doctor appeared at the doorway of the waiting room. Instead of walking in, he asked me to step out into the hallway. Immediately, my heart went into my throat. He had a sullen look on his face, but when I finally got out into the hallway, he turned around with a smile on his face and told me I had a son. I immediately asked him how my wife was doing, and went into the nursery shortly afterwards. I’ll never forget my wife’s doctor. He was a good man. He died of cancer on the very same day my mother died. They were the same age. My wife never looked more beautiful at that very moment. She was the proud mother of a six pound thirteen ounce baby boy. He had almost a full head of hair, and was resting comfortably on his mother’s chest when I first saw him. After spending a few minutes with my wife and son, I was asked to leave. I took the opportunity to call my parents. When the phone rang, my

sister, who was seventeen years old at the time, answered the phone. I told her the news, and then I asked her to put my mother on the phone. My mother let out a cry of joy that almost broke my eardrum. When my father got home from work about two hours later, he wasn’t allowed to get out of the car. My mother and sister were waiting for him on the driveway. They told him he had a grandson, then got into the car and sped to the hospital. It’s too bad my mother died two and a half years later. She loved her grandson very much. My son became quite a family celebrity during his early years. He was the shining star of the family, and a source of joy to everyone. As I sat there addressing his birthday card, I wondered what my mother would have thought if she was still alive. I’m sure she would have been terribly disappointed at what was now happening. His disrespect and lack of appreciation would have really bothered her. The same thing applied to my father. He was heartbroken at the way I was treated. He was also disappointed he never received a call from my son in his final years. It’s a sad fact of life. Once the mother is gone, the family seems to fall apart.

CHAPTER 24

I decided to take a ride up to the post office to mail the card. Then, I took a ride to the beach. It wasn’t far from my home, and I thought the ocean air would do me some good. I wasn’t breathing well lately because I was smoking about two packs of cigarettes a day. When I got there, I saw a man and a woman taking a walk. They were holding hands. They appeared to be my age, and it reminded me about how I used to walk along the same beach with my wife hand-in-hand. After an hour or so, I drove home. I called my son on his birthday, but he never returned my call. I even called my wife to tell her I loved her, but she didn’t return my call, either. Each day, I tried to vary my routine to keep my mind off of things. And, each night I lay awake imagining this was all just a dream. Sometimes, I would hear footsteps outside my bedroom window. It was always the deer walking through the woods on my property. Day after day, I wondered where my wife was and what she was doing. Surely, I tried to convince myself that she was wondering the same thing about me. But, there was no proof of this. There were no signs that she really cared. And, there was little hope that she would be coming back. The month ended as it began. I was alone, with no place to turn. My one hope now rested on the fact that my anniversary was coming up. We got married on a brutally hot and humid day in August. By six o’clock in the morning, the temperature had already risen to ninety degrees. Since the church ceremony wasn’t until five o’clock, I decided to go to the beach with some of the grooms from my bridal party. By noontime, the temperature was over one-hundred degrees. Almost everyone that went to the beach got sunburned. We all came back to my house and got dressed. I wore a brown tuxedo with a gold ruffled shirt. My wife wore a gorgeous dress. I thought she was the most beautiful bride the world had ever seen. The ceremony took place in a tiny stone church not too far from our homes. It was a beautiful ceremony, and everyone had a great time at the reception that evening. Technically, our thirty-second anniversary was coming up. A day before, I mailed my wife an anniversary card. Some people didn’t think this was a good idea, but I didn’t care. I was willing to take the risk rather

than not expressing my love for my wife. When our anniversary finally arrived, I called my wife. Like so many times before, she did not answer my call. For the next few days, I worked around the yard and went to the beach. The opportunity to reconnect with my wife came and went. I figured my wife would be moved somehow by our anniversary, but I was wrong. By the time I saw her at the next court appearance in the middle of the month, I hadn’t seen or spoken to her for almost six weeks. I was actually able to sit next to her in the hallway and exchange some pleasantries, but then my lawyer came over and took me away. When both lawyers emerged from the judge’s chambers, I found out that a trial date had been set for mid-November. There was no more need for status conferences. I had maintained from the very start that I did not want a divorce. I made it clear to the judge that I still loved my wife, and that I didn’t want my marriage to end. That was my right. I also had the right to a trial. My wife, on the other hand, wanted the divorce. But, the only way she could get a divorce was to convince the judge that I was guilty of constructive abandonment and cruel and inhuman treatment. A couple of days after the court date, I called my wife and invited her to the beach. She declined the offer. The next day she drove past the house while I was walking in the front yard. I waved hello, and tried to stop her, but she kept driving. Several days later, a package arrived for her. I called her to tell her about it, and offered to deliver it for her. She declined the offer, and told me to mail it to her. Then, my sister’s family came to stay with me for a couple of days. She liked to spend a weekend with her family at my house in August, and had done so now for a couple of years. We all looked forward to going to the beach together, and even packed a large picnic lunch and cooler full of drinks. It felt strange, however, doing it without my wife. For a moment, I thought about inviting her. But, at the last minute I decided against it. We had a great time, nevertheless. The summer was coming to a close at a rapid pace. Even though it was still hot outside during the day, the nights were cool. I started sleeping at night to a chorus of crickets because I had all the windows open. I wished it was my wife’s voice instead.

CHAPTER 25

Of all the things that happened to me since last October, the saddest took place next. Shortly after the last court appearance, I decided to take a ride to visit my son. I thought it would be a good idea since I hadn’t seen him since Christmas, and hadn’t spoken to him since Easter. At first, I thought about calling him to make sure he wouldn’t mind. It was also a good idea because I wanted to make sure he was home. But then, for some reason, I thought it might be a nice surprise if I showed up unannounced. Fate, I’m sure, had something to do with my decision. My son lived in a really nice college town. He had an apartment on the third floor of a building right on Main Street. It was located next to a coffee shop, and across the street from some really nice restaurants and cafes. During the summer, the town was fairly quiet. But there was plenty of activity going on during the weekend. I didn’t want to take a chance by going on a Friday or Saturday when a lot was going on, so I decided to go up on a Sunday morning when he was probably just hanging around and taking it easy. I left my house at nine o’clock that morning. When I left, the weather was sunny and warm. But as I made my way up north, the sky began to get cloudy. By the time I arrived, it had begun to rain. Fortunately, I was able to find a parking space not too far from where he lived. I entered the building, walked up the three flights of stairs, and knocked on his door. To my surprise, a young college-aged woman answered the door. When I asked her if my son was home, she told me that he didn’t live there anymore. I couldn’t believe my ears. She said she didn’t know where he was, but suggested that I speak to the owner of the coffee shop downstairs. I took her advice, and immediately went there. When I walked into the coffee shop, I was immediately recognized by one of the waitresses. She said hello, and asked me what I was doing here. I told her I just drove up to visit my son, but when I went to his apartment, someone else was living there. I then asked the waitress if she knew where my son moved to. She said she thought it was a town about two or so hours away, but really wasn’t sure. Then she told me that the landlord might know, and gave me his phone number. Shortly afterwards, I got the landlord on the phone. He told me my son built a new house in a small town about three hours away. I asked him if he had a forwarding address. He said yes, and provided me with the information. I thanked him.

Then, I got back into my car, bought some gas, and left. The weather started to get worse as I began to drive. For the next three hours, I drove through one heavy downpour after another. I could hardly see out of my windows because the rain was falling so heavily. Armed with only a map and a good sense of direction, I plodded along and eventually found the town. I stopped at a local store and asked the proprietor where my son’s street was located. To my amazement, it was right down the road from the local store. It turned out to be a new subdivision of homes. They must have cost a lot of money because they were huge. My son’s house was just inside the subdivision, so I found it without too much difficulty. I parked my car right in front of the house on the road, walked up the driveway, and knocked on the front door. The door was actually open. I could see inside through the glass screen door. Nobody answered. I wondered if he knew I was there and just wasn’t answering the door. I really didn’t think that was true. Maybe he was taking a walk. Maybe he was in the basement doing something. I figured the smartest thing to do was to wait in my car. So I walked back down the driveway, and sat in my car. About ten minutes went by. I got out of my car, lit a cigarette, and started walking up the block to look at the other houses. When I turned around and started to walk back, I saw my wife and son pull into the driveway in her car. Immediately, my wife and son began to walk towards me. As they were doing so, I saw my wife whisper something into his ear. I think I know what she said, but can’t say for sure. As they got nearer to me, my son walked ahead of his mother, greeted me, and asked me what I wanted. I told them both that I decided to take a ride to speak with him about the divorce. I then asked my wife if she would be willing to talk about things. She said no, and told me she wanted the lawyers to handle the matter. Then she walked away and went into the house. I had no idea she would be there, and apologized for interrupting her visit. Then my son and I took a walk. I told my son the reasons why I thought his mother was making a mistake by going through with the divorce proceedings. I pointed out that I didn’t think she would succeed in court, and that it would be a terrible shame to continue along this path. He disagreed. Then I told him that I still loved his mother, and that I didn’t want to see the marriage end or the family destroyed. He said nothing. I asked him if he would be willing to sit down with us and help us work things out. He said no. Then he told me he was upset at me for calling him a mama’s boy on Easter. At that point, I realized my situation was hopeless. We walked back to my car in front of his house. His mother was nowhere to be found. After a moment or two, I hugged him goodbye. As I drove away, I realized he never

invited me into the house, or even asked me if I needed to use the bathroom, or if I wanted a glass of water. I came to the conclusion that my son didn’t want to have anything to do with me, and that he had chosen sides. My psychologist later told me this was probably the case all along, but that I was too blind to even consider that this could be true. He said in some ways this was the best thing I could have done. I gave him the benefit of the doubt by saying he might be right. But, I really didn’t want to believe it. I still loved my son very much. As I drove home that night, I couldn’t help thinking about all the happy times we had together, and everything I had done for him. Maybe, I said to myself, there will come a day he will realize he made a mistake. Then again, maybe he doesn’t think he made a mistake at all. Someone told me things would change between us once he became a father. I didn’t think so. My son was gone. And as long as his mother and I were apart, I didn’t think there was any way he was coming back.

CHAPTER 26

When I arrived home, I was mentally and physically exhausted. I wasn’t angry or disappointed with anyone. But, I did wonder what my wife and son were saying about me. The following day I did some yard work. I went fishing the next day, and spoke to my lawyer the day after that. The month of August was about to end just as it began. Summer vacation was coming to a close. In early September, I sent a text message to my wife. I invited her to the beach. My wife never responded. Then I sent her another text message inviting her to marriage counseling. She never responded to that message. Before I knew it, the first week of September came and went. The second week was as uneventful as the first. I did some food shopping, went fishing with a friend, and spoke to my psychologist. He didn’t have anything dramatic to say, but seemed a little concerned about my well-being. He wasn’t surprised that my wife hadn’t answered my text messages. The second week then came to an end. I sent another text message to my wife during the third week. I invited her to an Italian feast in the city. My wife never responded. I even called her the following day, but she did not return my call. Another week had gone by. Then the silence was broken. My wife called me to ask if I would sign a separation agreement instead of going to trial. I said no. In return, I asked my wife to end her estrangement and go to counseling with me. She said no. It seemed like the word no had become the most popular word in our vocabulary. I visited my father and sister at the end of the month. On the last day of September, I went food shopping. In early October, I sent a bouquet of flowers to my wife at her workplace. That afternoon, I received a call from someone. But, when I said hello, the person hung up. I then saw that the call came from my wife’s workplace. Maybe it was my wife calling to thank me for the flowers, but I couldn’t say for sure. My routine had become almost predictable by the middle of the month. I would go shopping, do some yard work, and occasionally go fishing with a friend. I knew I was just marching in place, and waiting for the trial date to arrive. Then a hurricane headed up the East coast during the third week of October. I

sent a text message to my wife asking her to come home because of the storm. I received no answer. The day after the storm, I called my wife to see if she was O.K. I left a message, but my wife did not return my call. It was now one year since my wife filed for divorce. That night, I sat in the living room and recalled the precise sequence of events. In my mind’s eye, I saw my wife come home, eat dinner, then lie down on one of the loveseats in the living room that we bought together that summer before we went to Bermuda. I saw myself making her comfortable, and then I heard the doorbell ring at nine o’clock. A process server handed me the divorce papers, and then everything went blank. A few days later, I received a birthday card from my wife. It was my fifty-fourth birthday. The card had a heart on the cover with red, yellow, green, and blue balloons all around the edges. It said Happy Birthday on the front. When I opened the card, there were more balloons on the inside with the words To You. She printed her name at the bottom, but did not sign the card with the word Love before her name. I did not receive a card or a phone call from my son. I decorated the house for Halloween a day later, and brought a gift over to my neighbor’s daughter. Her parents were my angels from heaven, and checked-in on me from time to time to see if I was all right. October ended and November began. The trial date was only two weeks away.

CHAPTER 27

My lawyer had done a great job up to now. She had taken care of everything in a professional and thorough manner, and made sure that my best interests were addressed at all times. When November began, I was called into her office to discuss the idea of retaining another attorney to handle the trial. He had the reputation of being the absolute best trial attorney anywhere. I said it sounded like a good idea, so we made an appointment to meet with him. Words couldn’t adequately describe how impressed I was when I met him the following afternoon. His reputation preceded him, and he truly commanded the respect and iration of everyone in the legal profession. But most of all, he was a comionate and sincere man. He quickly understood my situation, and went to great lengths to accommodate me. When I left his office, I was confident I had made the right decision. The last thing I was looking forward to was the trial. Even though I was confident that the outcome would be in my favor, I considered it the saddest moment of my life. I had made exactly one-hundred and nineteen different reconciliation attempts over a thirteen month period, and hoped beyond hope that my wife would change her mind at the last minute. My psychologist said that wouldn’t happen. She had gone too far, and felt she had nothing to lose at that point. She didn’t want to lose face by quitting at the last moment. She wanted her day in court. That morning, I met my trial attorney at his office at eight o’clock. We reviewed some papers, and then we made our way over to the courthouse. At nine-thirty, we entered the courtroom. When my wife and her lawyer arrived, they seated themselves on the left side of the courtroom. Shortly, thereafter, the law clerk called both attorneys into the judge’s chambers. A last minute attempt was made to cut a deal. The trial began shortly after that. I was questioned first. I denied all of the allegations. Then my wife testified and was cross-examined. The whole process took almost seven hours. When the trial ended, the judge went back into his chambers. He came out thirty minutes later and read his decision. His ruling was simple and direct. He stated that grounds for divorce clearly did not exist in this case. He dismissed the complaint by saying there was not a scintilla of proof that

my actions had affected or impaired my wife’s physical or mental health in any tangibly deleterious way. He further stated that my wife itted that there were no such effects. After he read his ruling, my trial attorney and I silently walked out of the courtroom. There was no to celebration because there was nothing to celebrate about. It was too bad all this time and effort was wasted. It should have been spent saving the marriage, not destroying it. I felt terribly sorry that things had to turn out this way. I wanted my wife to know I still loved her. The following morning I called my wife to say hello and to ask her if she was O.K. She told me not to call her again, and hung up the phone. The following day I received a certified letter from her. She forbid me from making any with her from that date forward, and threatened me with legal action if I did not comply. She concluded the letter by saying any from me would be interpreted as purposeful harassment.

CHAPTER 28

Eight years have now ed. I never saw my son again. He didn’t go to the trial. No one in my family ever heard from him again. Someone told me he got married. No one from my family was invited to the wedding. He didn’t go to his grandfather’s funeral. One day a friend called me to tell me I became a grandfather. His wife gave birth to a girl. A local newspaper listed the child’s name, the parent’s names, along with the maternal grandparent’s names, and the name of the paternal grandmother. My name was omitted. I called my son on Father’s Day to congratulate him. When he heard my voice, he hung up on me. Three years ed before I saw my wife again. I had to go to court to resolve a legal issue regarding my uncle. This was the uncle she once said I spent too much time with, and couldn’t stand having around. How ironic. When she accompanied him to the courtroom, the judge asked her who she was and if she knew me. She said I was her husband. We never said a word to each other or even made eye that day. I thought about her that night, but had no desire to her. She told me not to her in the letter she sent me after the divorce trial. I really enjoyed my flower garden. I spent a lot of time and effort keeping the house in great shape. I wanted it to really look good in case I had to sell it. All of her personal belongings were still there. I didn’t get rid of anything. But, I wasn’t really taking good care of myself either, and I was smoking more than ever. I never slept well, and often got up just before daybreak. I stopped wondering where she was or if she missed me. A cousin once told me she still loved me. I told my cousin I didn’t think so. She wouldn’t have treated me that way if she loved me. When my neighbor found my body, I was lying face down on the back lawn. The autopsy revealed that I had suffered a massive heart attack. My left anterior descending artery, commonly known as the widow’s artery, was completely closed. Again, how ironic. Most of my friends said the true cause of death was a broken heart. My brother and sister complied with my wishes. They had my body cremated, and they scattered my ashes in the ocean near a place where I

used to take my wife and dog when we went out on our boat. Just before I died, I took a ride to see my son. For some strange reason, I woke up one morning overcome by an unusual sense of urgency. Maybe it was because my days were already numbered. Anyway, I made the four-hour drive without too much difficulty, and arrived at his office around eleven o’clock in the morning. I parked my car right in front of his private office. The curtains were open, so I could see inside. The lights were off. I waited fifteen minutes, but he never appeared. He was probably with a patient. I don’t know why I just didn’t go into his office. I was worried about being rejected. I was so close, and yet so far away. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. If it was, he would have gone into his private office and seen me sitting outside. I drove home feeling the same way I did seven years ago. I learned a lot about human nature from my psychologist. He was a great man. He told me that Time really does heal a lot of wounds. He also said most wounds are never healed because people let their false pride and ego get in the way. When the opportunity no longer exists, they wind up spending the rest of their days wondering whether they did the right thing. That doubt torments them for the rest of their lives. He also said bitter people are eventually poisoned by their own venom. It’s too bad. A lot of people I knew could have lived a much happier life.

Part II

CHAPTER 1

I never thought about dying while I was alive. And, I certainly wasn’t in any hurry to die at this time. But, after my neighbor found me lying face down on my back lawn, I quickly realized it wasn’t as bad as I thought. My mind was at ease. My body was pain free. All my worries disappeared. It was too bad that I died so young. There were a lot of things I still wanted to do. But, now that I was dead, I made the best of it. I was really enjoying my life when I died. Actually, I’m surprised I lived this long. I wound up having a massive heart attack because I didn’t take care of myself. I ate a lot of junk food, drank too much, and smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. I didn’t get any exercise, and never slept at night. Some people said I had a death wish, but that wasn’t true. My funeral was very simple. My brother and sister complied with my wishes and had my body cremated. Cremation was far less expensive than a formal funeral. Frankly, I always thought a formal funeral was a total waste of time and money. I didn’t want my body to be put on display in a cheap suit with my hands folded on my stomach. And, I didn’t want people crying over me. A lot of people go to funerals to satisfy their guilty conscience. I didn’t want to be part of that charade. I also didn’t want people satisfying their morbid curiosity by looking at my lifeless body. My brother and sister scattered my ashes in the ocean. That made things a lot easier for them. There were some good things about being dead. You were allowed to see whoever you wanted to see and go wherever you wanted to go. But, you weren’t allowed to communicate with the people you saw, and you couldn’t change what happened in your life. I often wondered how my life would have changed if I had done some things differently. Every time I wonder about that, I think about the night I saw my future wife leaving work while I was driving home. I was eighteen-years old at the time, and a freshman in college. Instead of going home, I decided to say hello. We wound up dating, and three years later, we got married. I often wonder what would have happened if I had gone home instead. Anyway, you couldn’t change what was done.

I got along with most people in life. They liked me because I always treated them with respect. I was always very comionate, and I was extremely generous as well. I was even told by a cousin that I was generous to a fault. I always thought being generous was a good thing. I was also very understanding and sympathetic when it came to other people’s problems. And, I was extremely loyal and devoted. Most people knew this was true. My wife didn’t. She thought I was unfaithful. I often asked her why I couldn’t be friendly with the women I worked with. I never questioned her relationship with the men she worked with. One day, I decided enough was enough. I was tired of her jealousy, false accusations, and double-standards. So, I came up with a plan to teach her a lesson about trust. I figured the best way to do this was to pretend I was having an affair. I must say I was very convincing. At first, I started flirting with women every day after work on the telephone. Then, I started inviting some of them over the house on Saturday mornings while my wife was at work. Just in case I needed to prove my innocence, I kept a daily log of everything I said and did from one day to the next. I even recorded a lot of the phone conversations. I was hoping she would come home early one day thinking she was going to catch me in the act. The joke would have been on her. But, she was the kind of person that believed what she wanted to believe. So, I wasn’t surprised when she filed for divorce and left. She really didn’t have any choice at that point because she had already told a lot of people I was cheating on her. These people were just as naïve as she was, and took her word for it. None of them had the courage to hear my side of the story. Maybe I should not have done that. Yet, in the final analysis, I don’t think it mattered one way or the other. I think she was tired of her life and wanted to reinvent herself. All she needed was a plausible reason or excuse so she wouldn’t look bad in the eyes of her family and friends. I certainly gave her that. But now, what difference did it make? I was dead.

CHAPTER 2

One of the first things I wanted to do was see my mother. I missed my mother very much, and couldn’t wait to be with her again. I hadn’t seen my mother in thirty-six years. She died from breast cancer when she was only fifty-years old. Even though it’s been a long time, I the day like it was yesterday. I was living upstate at the time, and came down to Long Island as often as possible to see her. She actually cooked dinner for the entire family on Thanksgiving, but had to be hospitalized a week later. Shortly after I arrived at my parent’s home that day, I went to the hospital and found my mother all alone. She was breathing very heavily. Moments later, she expired. As I called a nurse into the room, I noticed a peaceful look on her face. A few minutes later, I called my father and told him the bad news. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. Because he missed her so badly, he wound up selling the house only seven months later. He couldn’t deal with all of the memories. My father was far more fortunate than my mother. He lived a much longer life than she did. He was eighty-one years old when he died from mesothelioma. When he was diagnosed, the doctor told us to put him in a nursing home. He gave my father two months to live. Instead of doing what the doctor suggested, I brought him home to live with me. In early September, he took a dramatic turn for the worse. Shortly after I itted him to a local hospital, I suffered a heart attack. It was my first brush with death. Later, I found out I would not have survived if I was not in a hospital at the time. I lived because I received immediate medical attention. Several days later, my father died. Ultimately, he lost his life, but in the process, he wound up saving mine. But, now I was dead too. I couldn’t wait to see them even though I was unable to communicate with them. So, I decided to pick a date and time from the past where we were all together. It was the day our son was baptized. We were living upstate at the time. Our son was just under one month old. In fact, the baptism took place on our first wedding anniversary. Everyone in the family was invited. My brother was our son’s godfather. My wife’s sister was our son’s godmother. Sadly, she ed away when she was

only in her fifties. It was too bad. I really liked my sister-in-law. She had a good heart, a great sense of humor, and I missed her very much. Of course, the baptism took place on a Sunday, so everyone was able to attend. After the christening ceremony was over, we all went to a well-known Italian restaurant. The food was outstanding, but unfortunately the central airconditioning broke. By 2:00 P.M., it was 102 degrees outside. The restaurant owner setup a few fans for us. That helped a little, but the women complained about their hair being blown, so we eventually turned them off. We still had the time of our lives. I never laughed so hard. Seeing everyone again had a bittersweet side to it. On one hand, I was happy I saw everyone. But, on the other hand, I felt sad because I couldn’t talk to them. However, there was one other person I did want to see again despite the consequences.

CHAPTER 3

When you’re dead, you have no concept of time. Time just seems to stand still. In fact, being dead was like being in a state of suspended animation. Even though you felt like you were moving around, you really weren’t. All movement was simply a manifestation of the mind. And since there was no need for food, water, or anything else, you felt completely carefree. It didn’t take me long to get accustomed to my new existence, so I decided to see another person from the past. He was my uncle. He was married to my mother’s sister, and was also my godfather. I was only three years old when he died, so I couldn’t really say I knew him. Actually, I had no memory of him whatsoever. Since my family always came together on Christmas, I chose to see him on Christmas Day, one year before he died. My visit took me back fifty-seven years. When I arrived at the house, he was the only person I was allowed to see. He was very handsome, and in some ways resembled a movie star. I saw him holding me in his arms, and smiling at me. He died a year later. He was hit by a truck while walking across the street near his home. When I was old enough to drive, I would go to the cemetery and visit his grave. When I was born, my family lived in East New York, Brooklyn. I was the second child. My brother was one year older. He was someone I surely would miss now that I was dead. I always considered him a special kind of person. He was the person I wanted to be like as a child. And he was the closest thing I had to a hero. I guess that’s why I got emotional when he had to have an operation several years ago. After they brought him into the operating room, I began to think about our childhood as I wiped the tears from my eyes. My brother was always there for me. When I was five-years old, he saved me from an oncoming car as we walked home from school. When I was eight-years old, he came to my rescue when my foot broke through the ice while sledding on a lake. When I was in high school, he kept tabs on me. He was a tough act to follow because he was such a good student. Ironically, I ired my brother the most for his conservative values. If he was the protagonist, I was the antagonist. If he was the conformist, I was the rebel.

And if he walked the straight and narrow, I walked a crooked line. He was my only role model. He was the pride of our family when he enlisted in the U. S. Army, my best man when I got married, the godfather of my only child, and the devoted son who cared for his father in his final days. When he finally went into the operating room, I made my way to the waiting room. Rummaging through some old books and magazines, I came across a book of Proverbs. I opened the book and read the first one I saw. A brother is a friend God gave you; a friend is a brother your heart chose for you. Suddenly, I felt at peace. About an hour later, a nurse brought me to post-op. There he was, still under the effects of the anesthesia. I never felt so relieved in all my life when the nurse told me the surgery was a success. My sister was another person I would miss dearly. She was six-years younger than I was, and had a heart of gold. When she was born, she had to be placed into a cast from the waist down to correct a dislocated hip. We had to carry her around like a bag of groceries because she was immobilized by the plaster cast. One year later, the day finally came for the cast to be removed. That morning, my parents brought me to my aunt’s house before they brought my sister to the hospital to have the cast removed. I was the middle child and was always looking for attention. Since I didn’t want to be upstaged by my sister, I decided to lock myself in the bathroom and give myself a haircut. When my parents came back to my aunt’s house, they hardly paid any attention to me. The next day, my father brought me to a barber and had my head shaved. My sister now had to learn how to crawl, and eventually walk. She quickly learned how to do both, and grew up like any other normal child her age. She was treated like a princess by the family, and rightfully so. My parents always wanted a daughter, and had to wait a long time after I was born for their wish to come true. She was a tremendous help to both my mother and father when my mother was dying from breast cancer. Since me and my brother were married and out of the house, my sister took on more and more responsibility during the year my mother was ill. The burden was lessened slightly when our aunt came to care for my mother. But, my sister deserved a lot of credit for dealing with the situation on a daily basis better than anyone else right up to the day my mother died. One day, I received a call from my brother. He called to invite me to dinner, and

told me I would be meeting my sister’s boyfriend as well. When I arrived at my brother’s house, I immediately introduced myself to him. My sister’s boyfriend looked like an opera star, and had a very pleasant personality. When I asked him what he did for a living, he told me he made pipes. I thought, at first, he meant metal pipes. The conversation went on for about twenty-minutes before I realized he meant smoking pipes. He turned out to be a really nice guy. He married my sister two years later and became a very devoted husband and father of two beautiful children. Both of my sister’s children were wonderful in every way. Her daughter became a nurse, and her son became an ant. I took their son to Italy the year he graduated high school. We spent ten days together travelling to all the major cities throughout the entire country. It was truly a memorable experience for both of us. I will always consider my sister and brother-in-law’s marriage as a perfect one. When it came to raising their children, they were always on the same page. I always felt that was the key to success in raising children. And they never neglected to consult each other before making a major decision. Their marriage stood the test of time because they worked together and communicated with each other constantly.

CHAPTER 4

Thinking about my brother and sister brought back a lot of happy memories about my childhood. One of my fondest memories as a child happened on a crisp fall day in 1960. After attending Sunday mass, my parents introduced me to a truly heroic man who indelibly changed the course of history, and my life. I met this man at the Commack Arena. Still reeling from the Yankees’ World Series loss to the Pittsburgh Pirates, I recall being uninterested in the outing at first. But when I heard who we were going to see, I became very excited. I was going to see John F. Kennedy. I that cool sunny day like it was yesterday. I was only nine-years old, but I had learned enough about Kennedy, then a senator, who was campaigning on Long Island and would be elected the next president of the United States two days later. He represented the hope of a brighter future for our country. His youthful vigor and dynamic presence made such an impression on me that even to this day I can still feel the thrill I experienced as he drove past us in a convertible limousine. Just by chance he looked straight at me and smiled as his car ed through the cheering crowd on its way to the arena. John F. Kennedy truly was an inspiration to me. I cried when he was assassinated, but I never forgot his optimism, determination and faith. He made me believe that anything is possible if you tried hard enough. Another favorite memory of my childhood involved my next door neighbor. When we moved to Deer Park, the town was considered the capital of the dahlia trade on Long Island. When I first saw what a dahlia bulb looked like, I thought it was a potato. Our next-door neighbor was planting one in the spring of 1961. My relationship with Mr. Baldwin was not unlike Dennis the Menace’s relationship with Mr. Wilson. Mr. Baldwin’s property resembled an arboretum. He had flowers growing everywhere, and his lawn was absolutely perfect. One day I hit a whiffle-ball onto that lawn. I considered hopping the three-foot chainlink fence that separated our properties, but before I could, Mr. Baldwin came out of his house, picked up the plastic ball, and walked back inside without saying a word. I was dumbfounded. At nine-years old, I didn’t have the courage to ask him for the ball. I simply considered it lost forever. Over the years, Mr.

Baldwin amassed a sizable collection of my baseballs, softballs and footballs. One day, my curiosity got the best of me. Sitting on my back stoop, I noticed a huge flower in Mr. Baldwin’s garden. Nobody seemed to be home, and I wanted to take a closer look. But just before I was about to hop the fence, Mr. Baldwin appeared out of nowhere, carrying a rake. I quickly said hello, then asked him what kind of flower it was. He answered after a short pause and did something I never saw him do before. He smiled. Sometime later Mr. Baldwin helped me get a job on a farm. Mrs. Tippett had grown dahlias in Deer Park for as long as anyone could . She treated her bulbs with the same care a mother bird tends her eggs. She taught us how to dig the bulbs from the ground with a pitchfork, arrange them in straw baskets, and neatly place them in the basement of her farmhouse. She paid us fifty cents a basket, inspecting each one. If anything, I learned the difference between a dahlia bulb and a potato. The last time I saw Mr. Baldwin was in 1973, the day I got married. Dressed in my tuxedo, I walked over to the fence to see what was growing in his garden. After a few minutes, Mr. Baldwin came out of his house carrying an old box. It was full of balls, the same balls I considered lost forever many years ago. He gave me the box of balls, and told me to use them with my children someday. He died not too long afterwards.

CHAPTER 5

My childhood memories did stop there. Fishing had become a favorite pastime of mine as a child, but there was a time in my life when I didn’t know the difference between a tuna fish and a snapper. Almost ten-years old, all I knew about tuna fish was that it came in a can. But I didn’t know where snappers came from. It was late August 1962 when I overheard a neighbor talking about snapper fishing. I’d never been to the Babylon docks and didn’t have any idea how to catch a snapper, so I decided to ask him. All I needed was a snapper pole and some bait. To my surprise, the pole was made from bamboo. It came with a special hook, bobber, and about seven-feet of line. The name of the bait was spearing. A couple of days later I bought myself a snapper pole. All I had to do now was figure out how to get there. I knew there was only one option. My bike never failed to get me where I needed to go. Summer was almost over, and school was reopening in a couple of days. My home was about seven miles from the Babylon Village Docks, but that didn’t discourage me. It took about an hour in all. Forty-five minutes into the trip I knew I was almost there because I began to smell the briny odor of the Great South Bay. I’ll never forget my first glimpse of the brilliant blue-green waters that surrounded the village docks. Clam boats dotted the water as far as the eye could see, and it seemed the fish were everywhere. The water was clear enough to see the bottom, and a crowd of people lined the docks in every direction. Their snapper poles created a rhythmic wave like violin bows in an orchestra. Cries of joy and jubilation permeated along the docks as young and old hoisted their catch out of the water. I decided to visit the docks because this was such a favorite part of my childhood. When I arrived, I didn’t see a single clam boat. The water was no longer a brilliant blue-green, and I couldn’t see the bottom. The crowd was gone, and in its place a few people were scattered along the dock. Among them was a young boy fishing by himself. He was no more than eleven-years old, and his bike was rested up against a weathered post. He reminded me of myself, so I walked over to him to see if he caught anything. Unfortunately, his bucket was empty. I wish I could have helped him catch some fish, but I was prohibited from interfering or communicating with the living. I’m sure he eventually caught some fish.

I was also pretty ambitious and a bit of a hustler as a child. Whenever it snowed, I took advantage of the situation. I was told money was hidden in snow, so I got dressed, grabbed my father’s snow shovel, and started shoveling driveways in my neighborhood. The first house I always went to was diagonally across the street from my house. The owner used to give me his nod of approval from a window even before I made it half-way up his driveway. Time was money, so I shoveled his driveway as fast as I could. After he paid me, I quickly made my way to the next driveway. I wanted to stay ahead of the competition, so I shoveled, chipped, and scraped my way through the neighborhood as fast as my body would allow me. Several hours later, I was too exhausted to continue. I had shoveled eight driveways, and earned a total of eight-dollars. I thought I was rich.

CHAPTER 6

But of all the activities I participated in as a young child, nothing compared to playing little league baseball. Every child re their first game like it was yesterday. I played my first game on a field on Pine Acres Drive in Deer Park, about three miles from my house. I riding my bike to get there, and I knew I was getting close to the field when I heard the familiar jingle of the Good Humor truck in the distance. When I finally arrived at the field that day, I took a seat in the dugout and patiently waited for my coach’s instructions. I could hardly contain my exuberance. All those early evening and Saturday morning practices were about to pay off. Finally, the big moment came. The game was about to begin. When the umpire started the game, I stepped out onto the hardened clay soil and took my position at first base. Suddenly, my eyes opened wide, and my heart started beating faster and faster. I prayed the first batter wouldn’t hit the ball to me, but just as I completed the thought, the exact opposite happened. I almost swallowed the Bazooka Bubblegum in my mouth, and grabbed the ball as if my life depended on it. The umpire called the runner out as I touched first base with my right foot. Two more outs later, I made my way back to where my coach, Mr. Ferrara, was standing and grabbed a bat. No child ever forgets their first time at bat either. As I stepped into the batter’s box for the first time, I pretended I was Roger Maris, my childhood hero. I recall holding the bat as hard as I could, and losing my breath the first time the ball sped towards me. Time seemed to stand still when I swung the bat. When I finally noticed the ball trickling on the ground, I ran as fast as I could. I was safe because my foot touched first base a millisecond before the first baseman touched the bag. The world was a perfect place that day. We won our first game, and I got my first hit. Mr. Ferrara treated the entire team to ice cream. He made the Good Humor man very happy. I may not have done as well as Roger Maris did in 1961, but I’ll always that first game and the excitement I felt as I played on my own field of dreams. And the last time I saw a little league game in progress before I died, I wondered how many kids got their first hit that day.

Who could also forget their first love as a child? I my first encounter in the world of puppy love like it was yesterday. I was in Mrs. Ryan’s fifth-grade class at the George Washington Elementary School in Deer Park. I liked a girl who just happened to live around the corner from my house. Her name was Sherry. She had strawberry-blonde hair and freckles. We were both very shy, and we took the same bus to school every morning. I often rode my bike over her house after school. That year, our class took a field trip to the Guggenheim Museum on Valentine’s Day. Even though it was customary at the time to give all the girls in the class a card, I wanted to be her one and only valentine. What better time, I thought, was there for me to ask her? The day before the trip, I decided to go into the Five and Dime store on Deer Park Avenue, and buy her a special card. It was heartshaped, and had a puppy dog on the front gazing upwards. I put it in my lunch box, and ventured off to New York City the next day with my class. All I had to do now was find the right moment to give it to her. When we got to the museum, everyone knew what I was up to. I made the mistake of telling one of my friends. All of a sudden, I started to feel my heart beat faster and faster. I could hardly wait for the right opportunity to come. After a couple of hours, my big chance finally arrived. As the entire class went into a courtyard to have a snack, I saw my valentine sitting on a bench. I seized the opportunity, sat next to her, and asked her if she would be my valentine. Suddenly, I heard some of my friends laughing from behind a statue by Rodin. I felt a fluttering sensation inside my chest when she told me she would be my valentine. I was beside myself, and held her hand for maybe a second. Afterwards, we sat together on the bus for the long ride home. The following Monday, I rode my bike over her house after school. As always, I never made it inside the front gate. We would often kid each other about that day at the Guggenheim in later years. Even though she never became my girlfriend, I was always able to say I was once her one and only valentine.

CHAPTER 7

I had a great imagination as a child, and I would often talk long walks in the woods near my house or ride my bike to places that I hadn’t been to. Belmont Lake was one of those places. In fact, the first time I heard about it was right after watching an episode of The Adventures of Sir Lancelot. The episode was about the Lady of the Lake, so I figured I’d take a ride to the nearest lake to get a first-hand look at her. The park was about five miles from my house, but that really didn’t matter. I was going to dress-up as one of King Arthur’s knights for Halloween, so I donned my costume a few days early and began my journey. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a horse, so I had to ride my bike. With the wind to my back, I rode across my imaginary kingdom down 16th Street until I reached a large wooded area. Could this be the magic forest that surrounded the lake? As I entered the dark path through an open gate, I imagined the woods would be full of monsters and demons. And before I knew it, something approached me. I was relieved to learn it was only a chipmunk. Having survived my first test of courage, I continued to ride down the dimly lit path. Occasionally, rays of sunlight would filter through the branches overhead. Then, the path suddenly widened, and to my astonishment the lake appeared. It shimmered in the morning air, and the fog on its surface resembled the breath of a fire-breathing dragon. But there was no dragon to be found, only a lot of ducks. Even though everything seemed peaceful, I thought it would be a good idea to keep my guard up anyway. So, I decided to draw my sword. But, then I realized I didn’t have a sword, so I picked up a fallen branch from a nearby tree. Holding my wooden Excalibur high in the air, I came upon a waterfall, and a path that went under a stone bridge. Surely, the Lady of the Lake had to be close by. But I was too tired from the long ride, so I decided to rest. Before I knew it, the sound of the waterfall put me to sleep. I was awakened some time later by a handsome dark-haired man and a beautiful blond-haired woman riding their horses. Was it Arthur and Guinevere? I never did find the Lady of the Lake, or that fire-breathing dragon. But, I did see a lot of colorful trees However, one mystery still remains. I can’t figure out what

kind of monster made a loud noise as I left the park that day. Maybe it was that same chipmunk saying goodbye.

CHAPTER 8

I have some very fond memories of my adolescence as well. I was very involved in high school sports, music, and drama. I guess that’s where I got my acting abilities from. I was very active in the music program. I ed the school band, orchestra, and chorus for four years. Basically, I hung out with fellow band, orchestra, and chorus all the time. Just before I died, I was watching a Christmas episode of Glee and recalled the time I went caroling with my friends about a week before Christmas. We were ninth-graders, and little did we all know how heartwarming and gratifying the experience would turn out to be. The idea to go street caroling suddenly flashed into my head like the light from Rudolph’s nose while I was eating lunch with other of the chorus one day. We would often sing together, and on this particular day, we were rehearsing Christmas carols for the Winter Concert that was less than a week away. I suddenly decided to ask my friends if they wanted to go street caroling before Christmas. At first, my friends looked at me like reindeer caught in headlights. Some said it didn’t sound like a bad idea. Others suggested we could raise some money for charity. But, some of my friends at the table didn’t seem impressed. I explained that carols were first sung in Europe thousands of years ago. Originally, they were pagan songs that were sung at the Winter Solstice. People would dance a round stone circles singing joyous songs. That got some people interested a little more, and after a little more cajoling, we all agreed to make our street debut on Saturday night. We decided to meet in the high school parking lot at 5:00 P.M. To my surprise, everyone arrived on schedule. Some of my friends brought their musical instruments along. I wore a ski hat that covered my face for the exception of my eyes, nose, and mouth. I was told I looked more like a cat burglar than one of Santa’s elves. I decided to take the hat off and brave the cold rather than frighten anyone. The first house we decided to visit had more Christmas lights on it than Rockefeller Center. As we began to sing Deck the Halls, the owner and his wife opened the door and smiled at us. Once we were finished, they thanked us and put a dollar in a Unicef box one of my friends was carrying. We were definitely off to a good start. We sang for at least a dozen more families, and actually

collected ten dollars for charity, but after two hours we could hardly move our mouths anymore from the cold. Just as we agreed to call it quits, we decided to sing for one more person. Mrs. Smith was my neighbor. Nowadays, she rarely left her house. But when I first moved to Deer Park, she would often come out of her house on a hot summer day and give us some lemonade to drink while we were playing whiffle ball in the road. Mrs. Smith must have heard us singing next door because she turned on the front light just as we approached her house. She immediately recognized me, and before we knew it, we were all inside the house drinking hot chocolate and singing our hearts out. One song after another, tears of joy flowed down her cheeks. I even thought I heard her try to sing along at times. Not too long afterwards, Mrs. Smith ed on. We never went caroling again, but would often reminisce in later years how, on a cold winter’s night, we brought the warmth of the holiday spirit into the home of a very special person who, for as long as I could , always had a kind word in her mouth and a big smile on her face whenever she saw me.

CHAPTER 9

Living in the country verses the city back then meant you either had to like walking, or you owned a bike. I never liked walking, and I never realized how difficult it was to get around by bicycle until I owned my first car. Even the motorcycle I bought from my tenth-grade English teacher couldn’t compare to my car. Actually, living in the city was pretty easy. Everything seemed nearby, and the buses and subways were always available if you needed them. Back then I was given a bus , and was able to go anywhere I wanted for free. During the summertime, I would often stay with an aunt. My father commuted to work every morning by car, and he would drop me off at my aunt’s house around fivethirty in the morning. Sometimes, I would go back to sleep. Sometimes, I would just watch television. But, the day didn’t really begin until my aunt and my cousin went to work. Once they left the house, I was all on my own. Sometimes, I would hop on a bus and ride around Brooklyn all day long. I would get transfers from the bus driver, and use them to get on another line once I came to the last stop. Other days I would do the same with the subway. I was only nineyears old at the time. The most important thing I had to keep track of was the time. I had to make sure I was back to my aunt’s house by five o’clock. This went on for a couple of years. I was only late once. I decided to go to a ballgame. The New York Yankees were playing the Baltimore Orioles in a daytime doubleheader. When I got to the stadium, the first game had just ended. A lot of people left after the first game. As they left the game, they would throw their tickets on the ground. I just picked up the ticket of my choice and went into the stadium like any other paying customer. Three hours later, I realized it was six-thirty. I raced to the subway and got back to my aunt’s house forty-five minutes later. My aunt and cousin were sitting on the front stoop as I turned the corner. Walking up the stoop was like running a gauntlet. But aside from the occasional transgression, I was a responsible kid. When my aunt moved after my cousin got married, I stopped going into the city during summer vacation. I had a lot of friends in Brooklyn, and often wondered what happened to them all. Oddly, the one I missed the most was a Hispanic boy. He was a real tough guy, but that didn’t stop me from punching him when he said something derogatory

about my mother one day. I took the beating of my life to defend my mother’s reputation. Then there were the two Polish brothers. They were a lot of fun, too. And, of course, there were the Italian, Jewish, and Afro-American kids on the block. We all played together, and never allowed race or religion get in the way of having fun. I was very fortunate to have spent a lot of time in the city. It made me color blind. To this day, I am oblivious to color. Black, tan, or white, I consider everyone equal. But, it wasn’t that way on Long Island. AfroAmericans were severely discriminated against in many ways out in the country. It was like a different world, and took quite a while to get used to things.

CHAPTER 10

There were certain things that weren’t different outside of the city. When it came to your circle of friends, a pecking order was established. Your age, for the most part, determined your status within the circle. It was that way on Long Island as well. One of my best friends on Long Island lived right across the street from me. He was four years old than I was. His father came from a German family, and his mother was from an Irish family. Our mothers, in fact, became very good friends over the years. She was very upset when my mother died. One day, he was riding his bike with another friend that was his age. As they started peddling down the block, I decided to chase after them on my bike. The fact that I was four years younger made it difficult for me to catch up to them. But, just as I began to close the gap between us, they turned the corner. Not wanting to lose ground, I turned the corner at a high speed and wiped out. At the time, streets were paved with bluestone gravel. As soon as I hit the road, I began to get shredded by the bluestone. I must have traveled twenty yards before I came to a stop. My arms and legs were all bloody, and I had a big cut on my forehead as well. I screaming as loud as I could. A man and his wife rushed out of there house to see what all the commotion was about. When they saw what happened to me, the husband picked me up and brought me into his house. He and his wife spent about a half-hour cleaning me up and putting peroxide and bandages on all of the cuts and bruises. Later that day, I was laughed at by my two older friends. Practically every time I saw them, even years later, they laughed about the moment. For some reason, the whole story lost much of its humor in time. Another time I was rescued by a Good Samaritan was when I wiped out on my bike while riding downhill with an arm full of pumpkins. There were a lot of pumpkin farms near my home, and after Halloween, the farmers would allow me to take a few of the smaller ones from their fields. This particular day I got greedy. I must have been holding six pumpkins. As I started to go downhill, the rear tire on my bicycle slid out. I crashed onto the road and slid another ten

years. A car came along shortly thereafter, and the driver helped me up and brought me to his house for some first aid. Like the other husband and wife, they cleaned and bandaged me up. When I told them where I lived, they wound up driving me home. I lost all the pumpkins that day, and my wounds took about a month to heal. I wonder how many ten-year old kids would do some of the crazy things that I did back then. I’m sure they wouldn’t be bothered with getting pumpkins. And even if they did, they wouldn’t be riding a bike carrying six of them. Instead, they would be chauffeured around in their mother’s BMW.

CHAPTER 11

As I began my adolescence, I began to experience life in different way. I became very interested in natural things, and less motivated by material possessions. Summer was my favorite time of the year. And in June of 1966, I began my love affair with the beach. I recall the summer of 1966 to be a very hot and dry one. I had just finished a season on the high school track team, and was in very good shape. I was also beginning to become interested in girls, so the beach was a natural choice for me. Back then, you had to rely heavily on your bike to get you from place to place, but getting to the beach was the exception. A bus ran from my home town to the beach on an hourly schedule. It cost very little, and since I was making money mowing lawns, I could easily afford the round-trip fare. Actually, the bus ride was a lot of fun. In addition to people commuting to work, a lot of other boys and girls would go to the beach as well by bus. Because the bus ed through four other towns, I would meet new people my age almost every day. The trip turned out to be an adventure for me. The beach was my main activity that summer. And my ultimate objective was Field #2 at Robert Moses State Park. I can smelling the beach as we approached the causeway on a hot summer morning. And as the bus began crossing the first bridge, you were practically blinded by the shimmering light off of the water. Yet, that didn’t compare to the sight of the waves crashing along the shore as the bus crossed over the second bridge. And when it finally made its stop at Field #2, I could hardly contain my enthusiasm. The beach was truly the place to be. For as long as the eye could see, umbrellas dotted the landscape. Laughter and conversation permeated through the never ending sound of the crashing waves along the coastline. Body surfing became one of my favorite activities, and by the end of the day I was noticeably darker by the relentless bombardment of the sun’s rays. By the end of the summer, my entire body resembled a bronze statue. I could have easily been a model or poster-child for any of the sun-tan lotion companies.

My experiences that summer marked a turning point in my life. To begin with, I began to be more independent as a young adult, and more discriminating about what I liked and what I wanted to do. I liked the people I met because they shared with me some the same interests and desires I had. And, I realized that many of the pleasurable things in life didn’t cost a lot of money. It was a time of my life where I began to polish my social skills and learned how to be accepted by others just by being myself. But, as much of an impact my summer of fun had on me, it didn’t compare to what would happen the following summer. The summer of 1967 proved to be a once in a lifetime experience, and probably did more for me as an individual than any other single period of time in my entire life.

CHAPTER 12

My mother was a very emotional person. She would often tell us about her family in Italy, and read to us letters that she received from family including her father. My aunt, the one I used to stay with on occasion in Brooklyn during the summer, went back to Italy after her daughter got married in 1964 to care for her father. My grandfather was in his late seventies at the time, and was not doing too well. So, in June of 1967, my mother decided to visit him one more time, and made arrangements to go back to her home town once school ended. Since my brother had gone to Italy the year before by himself, my mother decided that my sister and I would go with her. At first, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea because I was looking forward to another summer at the beach. But, that attitude changed in a hurry. My mother was afraid to fly, so we went to Italy by boat that summer. This was the traditional way people in my family would travel back and forth to Italy. My mother originally came to the United States in 1939 aboard the Italian Line Rex. This was a sister ship to the Andrea Dora, and was considered one of the most luxurious ships of its time. But, the Rex was out of commission, and the Andrea Dora had sunk in 1957, so the jewels of the Italian Line in 1967 were the Michelangelo and the Rafaela. Everything was all set by the beginning of June. We were scheduled to depart from Pier 81 on June 22nd aboard the Michelangelo It was a very chilly and rainy day when my father drove us to Pier 81 on the west side of Manhattan. Shortly after he escorted us on the ship and said his goodbyes, the ship began to make arrangements for departure. Leaving New York harbor was truly a sight to behold. As the lines were thrown off the ship and the tug boats began to push the ship out of the pier into the Hudson River, the throngs of people screaming and waving goodbye became smaller and smaller as the ship went further and further from shore. Suddenly, their sight and sound disappeared into the vast expanse of the ocean. I vividly recall ing under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and ing by the Statue of Liberty as we made our way out of the harbor. An hour later, we were in what seemed to be the middle of the ocean. I stood on the deck as long as I could, and finally made my

way to my cabin to get ready for supper. When I got to my cabin, I met my cabin mate. He was my age, and came from Chicago. Like me, he was going to spend his summer with his grandparents in Sicily. I really didn’t know much about Sicily, or Italy for that matter. But, my mother promised me that I would not have to spend all summer in her home town. I would be allowed to travel about so long as someone accompanied me. I thought that was very generous of her, and was looking forward to a number of day trips to break up the monotony of staying in one place. But, first I had to get there. I had no idea we would be making so many stops along the way. Several days out of New York, we made our first scheduled stop. The Azores were a group of small islands somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. As we approached one of the islands to pick up some engers, schools of flying fish suddenly appeared and rode the wave the bow of the ship had created. It was quite a beautiful sight. When the ship dropped its anchor not far from shore, local merchants rowed out to the ship to sell their merchandise. They would display their wares poles and deliver whatever they were selling to interested buyers by throwing the goods up to the ship by first placing them in baskets. After the goods were removed, the buyer would place the money in a small pouch and throw the basket back down to the merchant. Everything was based on honesty, and the system worked like a charm. The next stop was Gibraltar. I was particularly interested in seeing Gibraltar because, according to the ancient Greeks, this was where the Pillars of Hercules were located. I had become a real fan of Greek mythology that year in school, and was looking forward to seeing some of the places I had read about. Seeing Gibraltar for the first time was very exciting. It was shrouded in fog as we made our way into the harbor, and when the fog finally burned off, a beautiful city emerged with colorful homes and an equally colorful landscape. We remained there for only several hours, and left by the end of the day. I remained on deck to watch the sunset, and swear to this day that it was the most beautiful sunset I had ever experienced. About a day later, we stopped in Nice, . The Riviera was quite beautiful, and once again the ship was met by local merchants selling their goods from small skiffs. After we left Nice, we began the final leg of our journey. We pulled into Naples a couple of days later, and were met by my grandfather’s sister and a cousin. I had never met my mother’s aunt, and was surprised to hear her greet

me in Engl ish. Apparently, she had lived in the United States for a number of years and learned how to speak fluent English. My mother’s cousin also spoke fluent English. He had lived in the United States for fifteen years, and had just returned to Italy shortly before we arrived. After having a bite to eat at a nice restaurant in Naples, we began the three hour train ride to my mother’s home town.

CHAPTER 13

Scario was a town that time had forgotten. It hadn’t changed much over the years. People were set in their ways, and it seemed they had little desire to become part of a more modern world. However, Scario was a spectacularly beautiful place. Located on the Tyrrhenian Sea in the Gulf of Policastro, its azure blue waters rivaled anything I had ever seen before. Getting there was easy. When the train arrived in Sapri, we got into a taxi and arrived at my grandfather’s house fifteen minutes later. As we pulled up in front of the house, the front door opened. A tall, thin, grey-haired man aided by a cane suddenly emerged to greet us. My mother was the first person to say hello. She began to hysterically cry as she hugged and kissed him. Then I greeted him, and finally so did my sister. He had never met my sister because she was born three years after he left the United States. Then we made our way into the house. Several people seemed to come out of nowhere and carried out luggage inside. The house resembled a palace. As soon as you walked in, you stood before a magnificent marble staircase that led to the second floor. Once you walked to the top, you stood before the formal parlor. Three bedrooms were to the left, and the kitchen was located to the right. The parlor, kitchen, and master bedroom all had balconies that overlooked the sea. I had never seen anything quite as exquisite, and spent much of my time at first walking around with my mouth wide open. Every room had a ceiling mural with a chandelier at its center, and tall windows that one could look out at the sea from. In the back yard was a garden full of vegetables and fruit trees. I was astonished to see orange and lemon trees. Both bore fruit the size of softballs, and were tended by a woman that was allowed to live rent free in a small basement apartment in exchange for her services. As dinner was being made, my sister and I decided to take a walk down to the water. It was only fifty yards from the back of our grandfather’s house. When we finally made our way to the water, we were greeted by a young girl tending a flock of sheep. We found out later that the sheep belonged to our grandfather as well. He also had chickens, goats, a couple of pigs, and a number of rabbits. Too bad he didn’t have any cows. It would have

made the farm complete. It was about six o’clock when I heard my mother’s voice calling us from the balcony in the kitchen. When we came inside, we were greeted by another halfdozen people that were invited for dinner. Even though the main meal of the day was served around two o’clock in the afternoon, my grandfather had adopted the habit of eating at six o’clock from the years he spent in the United States. These strangers turned out to be aunts and uncles from my mother’s side of the family. My mother was never really that fond of them because she believed they tried to take advantage of my grandfather after my grandmother ed away.

CHAPTER 14

Italy was a curious place. I got the impression from day one that a lot of people in my mother’s home town were envious of the fact that I was American. They thought we were rich, and were always looking for some kind of handout. A lot of men in my mother’s town were always asking me for cigarettes. I quickly ran out of cigarettes as a result. Another thing that bothered me was when they would say something derogatory in Italian. They were under the impression that I didn’t understand Italian, so they thought they could get away with it. That ended one day when I started speaking Italian. You should have seen the look on their faces when they realized I understood everything they said. Aside from that, a lot of people were genuinely kind and sincere. I very quickly became friendly with most people, and developed a really good relationship with one person in particular. He was one year younger than me, and the son of one of my mother’s first cousins. Almost every day, we went out on his boat. It wasn’t anything fancy. It was a twelve-foot wooden skiff with a ten horsepower outboard engine. Even though it was pretty slow, it got us were we wanted to go. One day, we decided to take a ride down the coast to do some snorkeling. He was very fond of spear fishing, and liked to catch octopus. After we anchored the boat just off shore, he explained to me how to catch an octopus. He told me to dive down and start overturning rocks. This was where the octopus would be hiding during the daytime because they were nocturnal creatures. He was right. After only three rocks, I caught my first octopus. However, before I got it up to the surface, the animal had attached its legs to my right arm. When we pulled it off my arm, it ripped circular pieces of skin off with it. The next time I went octopus hunting, I brought a spear along with me. I swore I would never experience that type of pain again. I was also fortunate enough to go night fishing with the local fisherman in town. It took a little persuasion, but my mother finally agreed to let me go with her cousin who had been a fisherman for thirty years. It was actually a fascinating experience. I how the water shimmered under the moonlight, and got

lit up by all the iridescent creatures that were attracted to the surface by the kerosene lamp on the bow of the boat. Pulling up the nets by hand was a little difficult, but the sight of all the fish in them made the effort worthwhile. We stayed out all night, and returned just before daybreak. You knew you were close to town when the odor of fresh-baked bread filled the air. By the time we arrived at the dock, the one and only baker in town had already baked several hundred loaves of bread. I’ll always eating almost an entire loaf while walking back to my grandfather’s house in the early morning hours of the day.

CHAPTER 15

After about a week, I started to get bored. My grandfather would spend most of the morning sitting with the owner of a gas station next to his house. He liked people watching, and drew a lot of attention from the locals that came there for gas. He was practically the patriarch of the town, and commanded a lot of respect. I was proud to be named after him, and surprisingly shared a lot of interests with him. One example was our love of baseball. When I started buying an English newspaper to see what was happening back home, he would ask me how the Dodgers were doing. I was a diehard Yankee fan, and we would often debate who had the better team. I think he enjoyed those conversations, but he didn’t want me to spend my time sitting next to him while there were so many other things to do. One thing I was looking forward to doing was seeing some of the historical sites. Finally, my mother was able to convince a cousin to take me to Naples and Pompeii. I was thrilled. Besides, I really like this cousin. He used to live in the United States, and was a truck driver by trade. He also had a drinking problem, and I would often see him in a bar near my paternal grandparent’s home in Brooklyn. Whenever he would notice me walking by, he would call me in and buy me a soda. One day, another patron took exception to me being in the bar and complained to the bartender. Without warning, my cousin grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him up into the air. He let the man down only after I received an apology. This cousin had a vicious temper, but he also had a heart of gold. During my second trip to Italy in 1970, I attended his wedding. Nine months later, his wife died while giving birth to a boy. He never got over the loss, and drank himself to death two years later. I began to learn at a very early age that only the good die young. We decided to take the train from his home town to Salerno, then from there to Naples and Pompeii. Salerno was a nice, clean, compact city about two hours from my mother’s town. Pompeii was very interesting because of my infatuation with Greek and Roman mythology. I enjoyed immensely the historical ruins, and was able to apply my knowledge of Roman mythology to the various exhibits we visited. But, Naples really peaked my interest. I suppose its mysterious

atmosphere intrigued me the most. I enjoyed walking the back streets and watching one suspicious character after another. This was a city I could spend more time in. There were certainly an infinite number of places to explore, and I couldn’t wait to ask my mother for permission to spend several days there on my own. I was starting to get on her nerves anyway, so I thought my chances of convincing her were pretty good. But, first we had one hurdle to clear. When I returned to my grandfather’s house that night, I learned that one of my mother’s cousins died in a motorcycle accident. My mother told me to get some rest. We were going to the wake the following morning.

CHAPTER 16

Laurito was a tiny town about an hour away from my mother’s home town up in the mountains. At night, the lights from these small towns would twinkle in the darkness. I quickly learned the names of all of them including this one. The deceased turned out to be the son of my mother’s aunt who spoke English and who met us when we first arrived. The ride to her house was very uncomfortable because the car had no air conditioning. In addition, my legs were cramped, and my neck ached because I had to sit in the back seat of a very small car the entire way. But, the discomfort I experienced in the car didn’t compare to the discomfort I experience when we arrived. The temperature had to be close to one-hundred degrees inside the house. There were at least fifty people there, and most of them were crying hysterically. Some of the women were beating their breasts and wailing as loud as they could. Unlike wakes and funerals in the United States, this took on a surreal atmosphere. I was truly sorry this person had died, but couldn’t fully comprehend what good all the beating and screaming was serving. Nevertheless, I was very respectful, and sat there watching everything in total silence. It was almost eight o’clock when we left Laurito. The ride back to Scario wasn’t half as bad as the one in the morning. The temperature had dropped, and I was more comfortable because I was able to sit in the front enger seat. When we finally pulled up to my grandfather’s house, I decided to take a walk down into town to see what was going on. During the summer, it was customary for people to walk along the beach or on the main street along the water’s edge to watch the sunset and the evening. Everyone seemed to dress up for this ritual. Young boys would be flirting with young girls, and hopelessly romantic couples would walk along hand in hand. While all this was going on, people from the town were decorating the buildings along the water with lights in preparation for the town’s annual feast. Every town in Italy had its annual feast in the summer, complete with live music and an elaborate fireworks display. I always enjoyed seeing the fireworks go off in some distant mountain town at night while

standing on one of the balconies in my grandfather’s house. My aunt always knew what town it was and the name of its patron saint. I decided it wasn’t the right time to ask my mother for permission to spend some time alone in Naples. I didn’t want to seem disrespectful, so I just hung out at the beach or sat with my grandfather at the gas station for the next week or so. Then one day, my mother received a letter from my father. Apparently, arrangements had been made for me to visit his home town in Calabria. I would take the train to Cosenza, and be met by his father’s brother. All we had to do was call this uncle to set a date and time. I didn’t object at all, and looked forward to seeing where my father’s family came from.

CHAPTER 17

Taking the train south turned out to be very enjoyable. I had to take one train to Paola, and then get on another train and head inland to Cosenza. I must it the scenery was quite beautiful, and the service was excellent. There were no chickens or goats on these trains like the one I took to Naples. Cosenza was the largest city in the Province of Calabria. People from this region were known to be very stubborn and headstrong. Actually, the city was built in a valley surrounded by mountains. As a result, it was very warm and humid during the summer time. My father’s uncle turned out to be a very kind and generous man. When my train arrived, he was standing on the platform waiting for me. After we greeted each other, he took me to a fancy restaurant for lunch, then to a men’s clothing store. He bought me two Italian designer shirts and a pair of slacks. When we finally arrived at his apartment, his wife greeted me with open arms. The apartment was quite luxurious, and had air conditioning. I thought I had died and went to heaven. By nightfall, I was fairly tired from all the travelling. We decided to leave for my father’s home town first thing in the morning. Regina was a tiny town located about ten kilometers outside of Cosenza. It had only one road, and was inhabited by no more than two-hundred people. My father’s uncle was quite nervous about going there, and decided to take a friend along just to be safe. Apparently, the people in the town were very suspicious of visitors from America, especially from my family. My father’s father left Regina in 1921, and never returned. When he left, he owned a considerable amount of land and the family home. I never found out the true reason he left Italy. We were always told he left because America was considered the land of opportunity, and that there wasn’t anything worth considering in Italy at the time. But, by all standards, my paternal grandfather was considered a rich man in Italy. Nevertheless, the relatives that took over the house and property now feared I was there to claim my rightful ownership, so they were very suspicious when I arrived. My father’s uncle introduced me to some aunts and cousins, and gave me a quick guided tour of the house. Before I knew it, we were in the car

making our way back to Cosenza. I stayed two more days with my father’s uncle, and then I made my way back to Scario. I didn’t want to miss the feast that was about to begin.

CHAPTER 18

When I arrived in Scario that evening, I hardly recognized the place. There were decorations everywhere. It looked more like Christmas time than anything else. All the roads had arches full of lights and banners every twenty yards. All the trees were adorned with lights and ribbons as well. And, all the houses along the waterfront were decorated with lights, flags, and pictures of St. Ann, the patron saint of Scario. It was quite beautiful. The feast lasted three days. Not surprisingly, the population seemed to triple in size the day the feast began. The Feast of St. Ann was considered to be one of the best feasts in southern Italy. So, I wasn’t surprised to hear that people as far away as came to it. Scario, after all, was a very beautiful town. The beaches were magnificent, and the town had a charm unrivaled by other coastal towns. At the moment, it was little more than a sleepy little fishing village. In years to come, however, it would develop into a popular vacation destination in southern Italy. My mother was actually born in a house right next to St. Ann’s chapel in 1926. The chapel itself was tiny, and it housed the ceramic statue of St. Ann that was paraded throughout the town on the third day of the celebration. The first event was the mass itself. Since the chapel was so tiny and seats were limited, you either had to get to the chapel about three hours earlier to get a seat or sit outside and listen to the mass on loud speakers. Then the statue was carried outside of the chapel, and the procession began. It was considered a very high honor to help carry the statue during the procession. People would pin money or gold jewelry on the statue as it ed them by. In all, it took about four hours to complete the procession. Hundreds of people would walk slowly behind the statue, and eventually the statue would be placed on a small boat and rowed out to where the fireworks show would take place. I couldn’t understand why they did that. But, the statue never caught on fire, so I guess they knew what they were doing. My mother’s family was very devoted to Saint Ann. My aunt’s daughter was named after her, and even my sister’s name included a reference to her. Our house back home included photographs and mini-statues of the saint. We would

celebrate July 26th back home like it was a national holiday. Ironically, there was no church or chapel named after her on Long Island. I thought that was odd because she was such an important figure in Roman Catholicism. If there was one, we would have undoubtedly spent a lot of time there. As quickly as the celebration started, it abruptly came to an end. By the end of the week, the decorations came down, the tourists left, and Scario went back to being just a sleepy looking fishing village. That meant only one thing to me. It was time to take another trip, so I decided to ask my mother for permission to go to Naples. She responded in a way I could have never imagined.

CHAPTER 19

I really never gave my mother the credit she deserved. She was far more progressive than anyone imagined. She knew I was having a hard time adjusting to such a drastically different environment, and did everything she could to make me happy. That’s why she didn’t hesitate to grant permission for me to visit Naples. Even my grandfather said it was a good idea with one condition. I had to stay with one of his cousins. The cousin turned out to live in the back part of the city. She was eighty-years old, and spoke fluent English. Like my grandfather’s sister, she had worked in the United States during the twenties and thirties, and went back to Italy after World War II to live off her pension and social security. She settled in a small apartment on the north end of the city. The further north you went in Naples, the poorer the neighborhood. Unlike my trip to Pompeii, I decided to spend a little extra money and travel first class. Since the train ride took four hours, I didn’t want to put up with chickens and goats. The difference between travelling first class verses second class was night and day. You had your own private sleeping alcove, and you were served complimentary beverages as well. Naples was my kind of city. It was very romantic and charming in certain areas, and very seedy and mysterious in other sections. Fortunately, I was able to find my way to the cousin’s house without too much difficulty. When I finally arrived, I was greeted by a very kindhearted woman who did everything she could to make me happy. She had prepared a dinner for me in advance, and had me sleep in her son’s bedroom. Sadly, she informed me her son had died several years ago. No one had slept in the room since. I wasn’t bothered by things like that. I was just sorry she lost her son. The following morning I ate breakfast, and then I set out on my own to explore the city. I spent most of the morning on the seaport, and even went as far as the opera house all the way at the other end of town. I returned to the cousin’s house at two o’clock that afternoon to eat supper and take a nap. When I awakened at six o’clock, I had another bite to eat and took off again. This time I concentrated

on the north end of the city where many of the bars and houses of prostitution were located. I didn’t realize it then, but walking the back streets of Naples was a very dangerous thing to do. While I was much taller and probably a lot stronger than most of the locals, I was no match against someone wielding a knife or handgun for that matter. Fortunately, the United States Mediterranean Fleet was in town for the weekend, so the back streets were full of American sailors. They didn’t seem very friendly at first, but when I was threatened by a pimp while walking on one of the more infamous side streets, two American sailors came to my rescue. For the next three hours, I walked alongside them like a puppy dog seeking protection from its owner. I made my way back to the cousin’s house around midnight, and never forgot how they rescued me that night. I stayed in Naples for two more days. I had experienced my moment of adventure and seen pretty much all that I wanted to see. It was now the end of July, and the weather was getting even hotter. August would prove to be excruciatingly hot that year with daytime temperature reaching close to onehundred degrees. Little did I know my mother had planned a two-day trip to a monastery located in the mountains outside of Rome. That was the one place I didn’t want to be on the hottest day of the year. But I dare not complain at all. After all, I was allowed to do everything I wanted so far, and only thought it would be right to accompany her. Then again, I really had very little choice in the matter.

CHAPTER 20

The trip to the monastery began at five o’clock in the morning. Barely awake, I found my way to the back of the bus and quickly claimed a seat on the right corner. My mother, sister, and aunt sat up in the front of the bus. By the time we departed, there wasn’t an empty seat to be found. Apparently, this was a very popular pilgrimage that took place a week after the feast of St. Ann. In a way, taking the bus to distant places was more convenient than taking the train. You weren’t subjected to chickens and goats, and there were no restrictions about getting off the bus when it stopped at comfort stations. In some ways, the bus was more scenic than the train. The bus would often travel on local roads. I enjoyed looking at different towns. All towns had their own unique characteristics. It made the trip that much more interesting. By twelve noon, we were on the outskirts of Rome. I was fast asleep when we stopped for lunch, and had to be shaken several times before I woke up. After a half-hour break, we boarded the bus to continue the second leg of the trip. Little did I know the third leg of the trip would be the most difficult. By five o’clock that afternoon, the bus came to an abrupt stop. When I asked why, I was told we all had to walk the rest of the way to the monastery. In reality, the road ended. The only way to complete the rest of the trip was by foot. I still wonder to this day how people in their seventies and eighties made it. I was only fifteen and in very good shape. But even I was exhausted once I completed the three mile walk to the top of the mountain. I felt sorry for the older pilgrims. Some looked like they were going to die by the time they arrived at the shrine. Before we left Scario, my mother told me and my sister that we would be sleeping in a hotel that night. But when we arrived, there were no hotels in sight. Instead, all the men were led into a huge stone and mortar building that was full of single-bed cots. Each cot had a straw-filled mattress and no pillow. There was only one bathroom in the entire building. If nature called, it was easier to run outside rather than wait for a spot in the bathroom. Sleeping that night was almost impossible. I was constantly awakened by the

sound of various bodily noises, grunts, groans, and bugs crawling all over me. But when daybreak finally arrived, I was treated to a magnificent sunrise and panoramic views of the Italian countryside. I was in the middle of nowhere, but it seemed like I was on top of the world. Shortly after we ate a boxed breakfast that consisted of a biscuit, banana, and container of juice, we made our way into the chapel to celebrate mass. At one point, a statue of the Madonna became covered with tiny droplets of water. Everyone thought a miracle was happening, and grabbed what cloth they had to soak up the water from it. Little did they know that it was nothing more than condensation as a result of the difference between the outdoor and indoor temperature. After the mass ended, we made one last visit to the bathroom, and off we went. We arrived in Scario at eleven o’clock that night just as the fisherman were about to leave port. Under any other circumstances, I would have begged my mother to let me go with the fisherman. But, I was exhausted. When I finally climbed into bed, there were no bugs crawling all over me. No one made any noises, either. I slept almost twelve hours, and got up the next day just in time for dinner.

CHAPTER 21

It was now August. The weather was consistently hot and humid. Bright sunshine punctuated the searing heat. Each day it got hotter and hotter. But, I was different than most people. I loved the heat and humidity. I got into a steady routine of swimming every morning, and was always back to my grandfather’s house by one o’clock. My grandfather was a very punctual man. His life was pretty much controlled by a rigid schedule. He was up by six o’clock in the morning. Then he ate breakfast at seven o’clock, and went next door to sit with the gas station owner by eight o’clock. He returned to the house at twelve noon, and ate the main meal of the day at one o’clock. He was very consistent and predictable. I was very fortunate so far. I had already taken several day-trips, and even experienced a few adventurous moments along the way. But, things quieted down quite a bit during the beginning of August. The next feast wouldn’t be until the 26th, and no one was making any offers to take me anywhere. So I began to ride the local bus on cloudy mornings to other towns along the coast. Actually, my mother didn’t mind that I was doing that. In fact, she and my sister would come along. Our favorite destination was a town called Sapri. It was a very clean town, and it had a lot of nice shops and stores. Actually, I really like the town. It was very easy to walk around. Nobody tried to pick your pockets or beat you up like they did in Naples. But, the best time to visit Sapri was at night. Scores of people would come down from the mountain towns to walk along the shoreline and enjoy the fragrant evening breezes. Boys and girls my age would hang out in front of ice cream shops or coffee bars. Arcades were another favorite pastime for young adults. There was nothing like it back in the states. One afternoon, a man in his twenties stopped by my grandfather’s house to say hello to my mother. This man was a first cousin who had just returned from . He was a nice guy, and offered to take me to a free open-air concert in Sapri that night. At first, my mother seemed a little hesitant. But, my grandfather

intervened on my behalf. Eventually, I was given permission to go. At eight o’clock that evening, a car pulled up to my grandfather’s house. Then, I heard someone call my name. It was the cousin I met that afternoon. He was running a little late because he picked up some friends before coming to get me. Nevertheless, I was glad he made it. I had put on one of the shirts my father’s uncle bought me in Cosenza, and wore a really nice pair of slacks as well. I was ready to meet some new people and have a good time. When the car door opened, I quickly realized there was barely enough room for me to fit in the car. But, somehow I squeezed myself into the back seat with three other men, and off we went. About ten minutes later, we turned off the highway and began making our way up a steep dirt road. At first, I thought we were taking a shortcut to Sapri, but I quickly found out that wasn’t the case at all. Moments later we pulled up to a house, and everyone got out of the car. The house was occupied by a local prostitute. At first, I didn’t know how to react. Then I was asked if I wanted to spend some time with the woman. She was middle-aged, and not particularly attractive. So, I declined the offer, and went back outside while the rest of the men stayed inside. One hour later, everyone got back in the car. We got to Sapri by ten o’clock. I didn’t want to give the impression that I was ungrateful, so I tried to express my appreciation for the kind offer. But, I wasn’t about to lose my virginity with just anyone, much less an over-the-hill prostitute. All things considered, I did the right thing. I hoped I would never see this seedy cousin again. I’m sure he was disappointed with me. Nevertheless, my mother asked me if I had a nice time the following morning. I told her I did, and left it at that. Little did I know I would be back to see the over-the-hill prostitute a day later.

CHAPTER 22

For some reason, I started to think about the cast of characters that made up my own little Italian drama. First, there was my mother and sister. My grandfather and aunt completed the list of main characters. The subordinate characters were equally interesting. At the top of the list was the over-the-hill prostitute followed by the gas station owner, the baker, the pimp from Naples, the seedy cousin that took me to the over-the-hill prostitute, the chicken farmer on the train to Salerno, the farm lady that lived in the basement of my grandfather’s house, the cousin with the boat, and the two sailors that saved my life. Somewhere in between was my father’s uncle from Cosenza, and all the relatives that looked like they were going to lynch me in Regina, my father’s home town. But just as I was about to look for a pen or pencil to write with, I heard my mother scream and start to cry. When I ran out of my room, I saw her hugging and kissing a woman. The woman turned out to be a childhood friend my mother went to school with. They hadn’t seen each other since 1939 when my mother left for America. They continued to hug and kiss each other for the next ten minutes. While all this was going on, I noticed the outline of a teen-aged girl standing behind the woman. She was looking out of the front door when her mother turned to introduce her to us. I must have looked like a fool when my eyes met hers. She was the most beautiful girl I ever saw. She was my age, and had very long black hair that flowed down her back like the morning mist of a mountain waterfall. She also had big brown eyes, thick black eyebrows, and beautiful rosy cheeks and lips. She wore very elegant clothing that hid the true shape of her body. She was, in short, the perfect Italian girl. My mother first introduced me to her childhood friend, then her daughter. I knew I had to be polite and seem interested, so I shook her hand and told her I was pleased to meet her. All the while, I was waiting to be introduced to her daughter. My eyes had finally recuperated from being traumatized at the sight of the naked over-the-hill prostitute the night before, so I began to really examine all the beautiful features this girl possessed. When I was finally introduced to

her, I gently shook her hand and walked behind her as we made our way up the marble stairs to the formal parlor. For the next three hours, my mother and her friend told each other the story of their lives. Ironically, both got married at the same age. Her husband originally came from a small town called San Giovanni a Piro, and when her daughter was born, they moved up north to Milan. They began taking summer vacations a few years ago, and made it a point to spend time in Scario. They missed the feast this year due to a prior commitment, but planned to stay two weeks nevertheless. I found out they had rented a small villa just outside of town, and planned to spend a lot of time at the beach. I quickly realized how I would be spending my mornings for the next two weeks.

CHAPTER 23

When it came to courtships and affairs of the heart, Italy was twenty-years behind the United States. Although no one would it it, marriages were still arranged in 1967. The Age of Aquarius hadn’t arrived in Scario just yet. If two people did like each other, they had to abide by a set of rules with roots all the way back to Medieval times. A couple could never be alone for more than a few minutes, and one’s reputation had to be protected, especially in such a small town where everyone knew each other. Making matters worse was the fact that parents would never tolerate any unwanted surprises like pregnancies out of wedlock. If that occurred, the family would be disgraced for life. Italy, after all, was a Roman Catholic country. Birth control was out of the question. Even if the opportunity to make love was available, extreme caution had to be exercised. Like it or not, these were the things that raced through my mind as I helplessly gazed at the new object of my desire. Since my hormones were running wild for the better part of the last three years, I knew I had to tread very carefully. I was well aware of the fact that my romance with the girl from Milan had to be totally discreet. Anything short of that would have been disastrous. I knew the only option I had was to consult with an expert on the subject. For some reason, the first person that came to mind was the over-the-hill prostitute. Why not, I asked myself. She was clearly an expert in this area, and had more years of experience on the subject than years I was alive. So I decided to ride my grandfather’s bike to her house once my mother’s friend left. That opportunity didn’t present itself until an hour later. But when the cost was clear, I walked down into the basement where the old farm lady lived and took my grandfather’s bike out of a closet. Then, I went next door to the gas station to fill the tires with air. Fortunately, my grandfather was inside the house getting ready for supper. I was permitted to skip supper from time to time, so it didn’t come to me as a surprise that I wasn’t missed by anyone that evening. Tires

inflated, I hopped onto the seat and made my way to consult my new found mentor. But, then something dawned on me. I realized the language barrier might be a problem. Undaunted, I rode as fast as I could, and arrived at her house in little more than a half-hour.

CHAPTER 24

I knew I should have studied Italian before I arrived. A millisecond after I walked through the door, she began to disrobe. When the seedy cousin introduced me to her the night before, I was very embarrassed to say the least. The room was dimly lit, and all I could see was this woman lying on her back wearing nothing but white undergarments. But, now she was completely naked and waiting for me to undress. I don’t how I did it, but somehow I was able to convey the message that I wasn’t here for private lessons. To the best of my ability, I began to explain that I needed some advice about how to flirt with an Italian girl. What happened next was totally unexpected. The over-the-hill prostitute began to speak to me in English. She told me very few people knew she was fluent in English. She became fluent during World War II when the American and British forces made their way up the coast of Italy. At first, she tried to convince me that it wasn’t worth my while. There was no way her parents would allow their fifteen-year old daughter to become involved with an excitable fifteen-year old teenage boy from America. Logistics alone would eliminate any chance for success from the start. But, then I noticed her heart soften a little as she covered herself from the waist down. I got the feeling I had just witnessed a resurrection of emotions from deep within her soul. Surely, she had to experience the same emotions I was feeling at some point of her life. I got the sense these emotions became buried deeper and deeper with each customer that walked through the door over the past twenty-five years. After a long pause, she told me the only thing I could do was be myself. Act natural, she explained. If the young lady was interested, she would find a way to let me know. Then, I did something that surprised her. I thanked her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She had answered my question better than anyone else could have. When I opened the door to leave, I was greeted by none other than the seedy cousin. At first he had a surprised look on his face, but then he smiled at me and gave me a nod of approval. I’m sure he thought I came back to take care of

unfinished business. I decided to let him think what he wanted, and left it at that. As I rode away, I wondered if I would ever see her again. For some reason, I hoped someday I would. After all, she was kind to me, and gave me good advice. When I went back to Italy three years later, I found out she ed away. When a customer refused to pay her, a fight ensued. She was stabbed in the heart and died instantly. It turned out to be a heart of gold.

CHAPTER 25

When I woke up the following morning, I realized my moment of truth had arrived. I quickly shaved and showered, and met everyone in the kitchen for breakfast. Breakfast wasn’t an Italian custom. But, my grandfather made it part of his daily routine because he enjoyed it so much while he lived in the United States. My grandfather was one of six brothers, and had one sister. One brother died when he was a young boy, and his only sister was the one that met us in Naples. She was the one that just lost her son. My grandfather started a shoe-shine and hat-cleaning business when he arrived in New York in 1939, and eventually met my father because his future son-in-law delivered his mail. One day my mother was standing outside the shop just as my father went in to deliver the mail. After he asked my grandfather who she was, the courtship began. They got married two years later. My brother was born one year later, and I was born a year after that. I really missed my brother, and wondered what he was doing back in the States. But, all thoughts of him had to be put on hold because today was the day I would follow the over-the-hill prostitute’s advice. After I finished my breakfast, I asked for permission to leave. I even told everyone where I was going and who I was hoping to meet. The only reaction I got was from my sister. She looked at me and laughed. With my pride intact, I peddled my way past the chapel of St. Ann in the direction of one of the nicest beaches in town. It just so happened to be near the villa the family from Milan was staying in. I brought a towel with me, and quickly claimed a spot practically in the middle of the beach where everyone would be visible. Moments later, my heart began to beat faster. The family from Milan arrived. But, there was someone else with them. What I saw next broke my heart. A tall, blonde-haired Italian male in his late teens got out of the car and escorted their daughter to the beach. They were holding hands, and at one point they even hugged each other. I was devastated. I was a victim of unrequited love, and was full of despair. I had visions of spending the next two weeks being

myself and courting this girl. But now, the dream simply vanished in thin air. My tenth-grade English teacher was a great man. He taught us that there is a fine line between fantasy and reality. I really respected and ired my tenth-grade English teacher, and was hoping I would be in his eleventh-grade class when I returned to school in September. But now, I had more pressing issues to deal with. I decided to leave the beach and lick my wounds where no one would see me. It took a lot of bandages that day to fix my bruised ego and aching heart.

CHAPTER 26

For some reason, the door to St. Ann’s chapel was open. I was feeling down, so I decided to go in and maybe say a prayer. Just as I sat in the front row, the keeper of the chapel came over to me to say hello. He was a little person. He stood no more than three feet tall, but had a heart bigger than Texas. He often brought partially burned candles from the chapel to my grandfather. He was my grandfather’s godson. It was really hot outside despite the fact that it was only about nine-thirty in the morning. But, the chapel had to be about ten to fifteen degrees cooler because it was built out of stone. That’s why they always celebrated mass in the chapel as early as possible. By mid-afternoon, you couldn’t go near it. And if you did, you felt like you were inside a pizza oven. For some strange reason, going into the chapel was the best thing I could have done. It didn’t take me long to forget about the pretty girl from Milan. After all, who was I to think she would be interested in me in the first place? Then I thought about what my favorite English teacher said about fantasy and reality. It made perfect sense to me. That girl’s relationship with the tall, blonde, northern Italian was not reality. It was fantasy because it wasn’t going anywhere. He was there to make the daughter look good in public. Italians are all about show. They won’t hesitate to put on a show if they want or need to. It was also fantasy because they were pretending to be someone else, not themselves. That made me think, once again, about the over-the-hill prostitute. I’ll bet any amount of money she somehow knew the pretty girl from Milan wasn’t going to be interested in me. I was too genuine, too modest, and too shy to impress her. I should have figured out that impression was everything to her family. Even though her mother seemed modest and down to earth yesterday, that didn’t mean she was that way all the time. You should have heard the way she was speaking to her husband on the beach. Then, you would have understood what I was saying without exception. Before I left, I looked up at the statue of St. Ann and said thank you. Many years later, I figured out it was probably her that got me past my little emotional

setback and feeling of being rejected. Then, I realized mass was about to begin. I decided to stay and participate rather than walk back to my grandfather’s house. It was one of the best decisions I made all summer. As I looked around, I realized I was the only male besides the priest, altar boy, and the keeper of the chapel. When I turned my head back towards the altar, none other than the pretty girl from Milan sat next to me. I realized that day that there were such things as miracles, and that being yourself is without a doubt the only way to be when you tried to impress someone. When the mass ended, the pretty girl from Milan shook my hand and gave me a hug. After she left the chapel, I never saw her again. I could try to find her, though. I had to that I was dead, and that I could visit a person or place by just thinking about it.

CHAPTER 27

It really didn’t take me too long to get the girl from Milan out of my head. Before I knew it, the two weeks had ed, and the family left Scario and went back to Milan. It was now the middle of August, and in two weeks we would be heading back to the United States. Policastro Bussentino was the town next to Scario. It was the town most clearly visible at night along the coast. In fact, the part of the Tyrrhenian Sea that Scario was on was known as the Gulf of Policastro. The river Bussentino ran through the town and emptied into the Gulf. It was quite picturesque, and a favorite spot for campers. My favorite cousin lived in Policastro Bussentino. His house was on top of the town, and the view of the Gulf was spectacular from the balcony that surrounded the main part of the house. I hadn’t spent much time there, so I decided to spend one day exploring the historical sites. One site in particular was a look-out tower that dated back to the twelfth-century. During the Medieval Age, these stone look-out towers would warn the people along the coast of any invasion from the south. A fire would be set inside one tower as a signal to the next tower that something was amiss. Because the town was in walking distance from Scario, I didn’t bother riding my grandfather’s bike, or for that matter, take the bus. Surprisingly, every time a car approached me, the driver would stop and offer me a ride. By now, most of the people in Scario knew who I was, and went out of their way to help me if they could. I think the only person that probably wouldn’t have offered me a ride was the seedy cousin. I had avoided him like the plague, and I think he knew why. Time seemed to faster and faster as the number of days left in Italy grew smaller. Even the weather started to change. One morning, I was awakened by the sound of something I hadn’t heard in almost two months. It was rain. Apparently, the humidity had built up so much that the sky could no longer contain it. The rain poured heavily for twelve hours, and left all of the streets flooded. I enjoyed watching the rain from the balcony in the kitchen of my

grandfather’s house. Every so often, you would see a tremendous lightning bolt on the other side of the Gulf. At night, the lightening would put on a show like the fireworks display at a feast. It was a beautiful sight, and something I never forgot up to the day I died.

CHAPTER 28

As our time in Italy grew shorter and shorter, I began to take notice of a change in my mother. I realized that these final days in Italy were the last days my mother would ever spend with her father. It must have been very difficult for her to come to that realization. For that matter, so did everyone else in the family. As a result, we started going to what I called farewell dinners almost every night. Each night leading up to our departure, we were entertained by a different aunt or uncle. Sometimes, they had us over their house. Other times, we would meet at a restaurant for one final meal and celebration. Unfortunately, my grandfather was too weak to come along. He also seemed to change a little. I’m sure he realized this was the last time he would ever see his youngest daughter. My mother and my aunt could not have been more different. My aunt was six years older than my mother. She was a gentle soul who had a kind heart. She had one daughter, and worked in a sweat shop in Brooklyn to make ends meet after her husband, my godfather, died. Her daughter grew up to be a beautiful woman and married a wonderful man. They had two daughters. The youngest was my goddaughter. Shortly after my cousin married in 1964, my aunt returned to Italy to care for her father. Three years later, we were reunited. Ultimately, she made it back to America. But, at the moment, her role in life was to care for her father. My mother, on the other hand, was an outspoken woman who never hesitated to let you know where she stood. In many ways we were like oil and water because, like her, I had a rebellious streak inside of me. When I brought my future wife home in 1970 to meet my mother and father, I got the shock of my life. After I got home that night, we had a big argument. My parents wanted me to marry an Italian girl, and it took me a whole year to convince them that the girl I brought home a year ago was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Sometimes I wondered what all the commotion was about. Life was too short, in the final analysis, to waste on petty differences and grudges. Now that I was dead, I understood this. I wasted a lot of time over the years on very trivial things, and wish I could have bought back all that time and put it to good use.

Most people, like me, don’t learn that lesson until it’s too late. It’s a shame. We all could have lived a much happier life.

CHAPTER 29

The only other thing that was left for me to do before I returned to America was to see the feast in Policastro Bussentino. It was now August 22nd, and we were scheduled to depart on the Rafaela four days later. This feast lasted only two days, and like the one in Scario, ended with a spectacular fireworks display. My favorite cousin lived with his mother in Policastro Bussentino at the time. His brother, whose wife died in childbirth several years later, sister, and brother-inlaw lived there as well. They were considered the most venerable family in Policastro Bussentino, and treated me with the utmost of kindness. Prior to my death, I had gone back to Italy an additional fourteen times. Every time I went, I was treated like royalty by this family. In 1992, after an absence of twenty-one years, I returned to Italy with my wife. My favorite cousin’s mother was still alive. She was ninety-one years old, but had the mind and spirit of a twenty-year old. I was really glad to have been able to see her one last time. She ed away a couple of years later. My vacation was now coming to an end. Like the last firework at the feast, every day seemed to have a finite feel to it. Every day, I would say goodbye to someone else or be asked by someone when I was going home. Even though it was rhetorical question, they asked it anyway because they were sad to see I was leaving. It’s then you realize who liked you and who would miss you. The cousin with the boat probably took my departure the hardest. We had developed a genuine friendship, and he even wrote me several letters over the years until I returned in 1970. The night before I left, I ate dinner over his house. Before we left, I gave him my snorkel and mask as a going-away present. I never saw anyone so grateful. He hugged me and started to cry as I walked out of his house. The baker also seemed sad that I was leaving. He got accustomed to seeing me in the morning when I went to buy bread for my grandfather. The keeper of the chapel also said he would miss me. He actually came to my grandfather’s house the day we left to say goodbye. Even the caretaker of my grandfather’s farm and the owner of the gas station were saddened by my departure. Both died before I returned in 1970.

I started packing my bag at ten-thirty that evening. I knew I had to get some rest because we were scheduled to leave the following morning at four o’clock. Just before I went to sleep, I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. To my surprise, I saw my mother standing on the balcony looking out at the water. I knew my mother was depressed because we were leaving the following morning, so I decided not to say anything. There wasn’t much I could have said anyway.

CHAPTER 30

I used to have a sick feeling in my stomach every time I left my aunt’s house in Brooklyn. I suppose that used to happen because I had such a good time. I felt the same sick feeling when I woke up the following morning. I had packed the night before, and was all ready to go by four o’clock. A car pulled up exactly on time. Everyone walked downstairs with their bags. Then there was silence. I suppose no one wanted to be the first to say goodbye. I had never felt so sorry for my mother. Without saying a word, she put her arms around her father, kissed him several times, and got into the car first. Then my sister and I said goodbye. I think the only person that started to cry a little was me. My grandfather was very strong right up to the moment the car started to pull away. Sitting in the back seat with my sister, I turned my head around to get one last look at my grandfather. He seemed very dejected as my aunt helped him inside the house. Five months later he ed away. One day in January of 1968, my father came home from work and told my mother the news. Apparently, my aunt sent a telegram to the post office where my father worked. When I got home from school, I found my mother and father sitting on the sofa in the living room. She had the telegram in her hand, and was trying to compose herself. I learned later that he died in his sleep. I think I might pay him and my grandmother a visit soon. Why not? I had the ability to go back in time because I was dead. The road in and out of Scario ran right along the water. At certain points, the water was no more than ten feet away from the road. At night, all the towns along the coast glittered. It was a very pretty sight indeed. As we made our way to the main highway, my mother introduced me to the driver. He was a second cousin who worked in Naples. He had volunteered to drive us to Naples several days ago when we met him at the home of my mother’s aunt. He was actually a police officer for the City of Naples, and would often come home to Scario on weekends. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard who he was. I was grateful the seedy cousin wasn’t the driver. For all I know, we might have stopped at the over-the-hill prostitute’s house along the way.

The main highway in Italy is called the autostrada. It took about an hour to get there, but once we were on it, we made very good time. I kept on turning around to look out of the rear window. I was trying to get one last glimpse of Scario, but eventually it was no longer visible because we were too far inland. I now had to rely on my memory until I returned someday. I then decided to close my eyes and get some rest. We arrived in Naples about four hours later.

CHAPTER 31

Naples was a city characterized by what I called organized chaos. When we arrived at the pier, there was no one to direct us where to bring our bags or process our tickets. After a few minutes, however, I found an Italian Lines representative. He showed us where to go, and within a half-hour we were in our cabins. Just before I boarded the ship, I took a look at the ground to see my final step on Italian soil. Now I belonged to the high seas, and the Rafaela. Rumor had it that she was two inches shorter than the Michelangelo, her sister ship. It didn’t take long for me to notice that she wasn’t as well kept as the Michelangelo. Crews can make a tremendous difference when it comes to maintenance. One of my dearest friends was a waiter aboard one of the Greek ocean liners. He would tell me the same thing. One day, he decided he didn’t want to work on an ocean liner for the rest of his life, so he left his ship and began a picture framing business. If there ever was a success story about a self-made man, it was his. He and his wife made me feel like part of the family. It’s too bad I only knew them for three years before I died. Nevertheless, we had about three more hours before we began our voyage back to the United States. I was a little worried about my mother, so I walked over to her cabin and asked her if she wanted to come with me to one of the observation decks. A few minutes later, the three of us were standing on the port side of the ship looking out at the bay. I think I did the right thing by asking my mother to me. I’m sure her father was still on her mind, and any distraction was a good one for her at the moment. We started to identify landmarks to keep our minds clear. You could see Mt. Vesuvius very clearly on one side of the bay, and Capri on the other. I always dreamed of visiting Capri, and finally did so with my wife in 1992. The Naval Base was also nearby, but the U.S. Fleet had left port about a week ago. We were just about done surveying the Bay of Naples when an announcement was made that lunch was being served. I was starving at this point, so the three of us wasted no time getting to the dining area. At least they didn’t serve us rabbit. Our first meal on the Michelangelo was rabbit. When the waiter served us that night, my mother told us it was chicken. My sister and I

never knew the difference until years later when my mother itted she tricked us. She used to do that to us a lot when we were little and didn’t know any better. That night I met my roommate. He was from Miami, and he had travelled to Rome with his mother to stay with his relatives. I had a lot more in common with him than I did with my Chicago roommate, so I decided to invite him to come along whenever I got involved in some sort of activity. I was now only nine days away from being back home.

CHAPTER 32

The first day out of port began with a spectacular sunrise. The weather was sunny and warm, so I decided to go outside and stand on one of the observation decks to see what was going on. It was six o’clock in the morning. For some reason, I really didn’t sleep that well the night before. My emotions were torn between saying goodbye to everyone in Scario and looking forward to seeing my father and brother for the first time in two months. I looked toward the sunrise in the direction of Scario, but all I saw was the brilliant sun rising, and water. We didn’t have to make as many stops on the return voyage. The ship had a scheduled stop in Gibraltar, then straight on to New York. I guess it was planned that way because we were travelling against the currents in the Atlantic. By making fewer stops, we could make up time and still arrive in New York on schedule. I got the feeling the return trip would be less eventful. After breakfast, I decided to walk around the ship to see how many people I could find my age. I was surprised to find only a handful of teenagers aboard. When I first boarded the Michelangelo, I immediately met at least a dozen kids my age. I don’t think I slept more than a couple hours a day for the entire voyage. I really enjoyed their company, and did everything with them. Most of them were from California. I found them to be very different than kids my age back in New York. My roommate was a pretty decent person. We did a lot of things together to the time, but nothing crazy like the kids I hung out with on the Michelangelo. Still, if it wasn’t for him, I would have really been bored. But, I also wasn’t to be with my mother and sister as much as possible. I knew she was feeling a little depressed, so I tried to entertain her as much as I could. I even tried to play ping pong and shuffleboard with her. Instead, I wound up playing with my sister. She would always complain that I didn’t do anything with her, so I gave in and took her around with me to make her happy. My roommate was the same age as I was. I had always wanted to go to Miami some day because I heard the beaches were really spectacular. Actually, I wound up going there many times in my life. The last time I was in Miami I had a very

interesting experience. I decided to go there to escape the cold weather on Long Island. It had just snowed twenty-six inches, so I booked the first flight I could to get out of town. I fell in love with the city the first time I went there in the mid-nineties. When I arrived in Miami that day, I was shocked by the weather. The air temperature in Miami was not much higher than the temperature on Long Island. Undaunted, I decided to make the best of it. Despite the chilly air, I was happy to be there until the contents of my suitcase spilled into the road as I climbed into my cab. It was too late to do anything about my clothes, so I checked into the hotel and watched a Miami Vice rerun. The following morning I decided to take my muddy garments to a laundromat. I was always an early riser, so when I came down and asked the concierge where the nearest laundromat was located, he looked at me rather inquisitively. Surely, I didn’t travel one-thousand miles to wash my dirty clothes. Nonetheless, he gave me directions, and off I went into the twenty-eight degree air to find the laundromat. The establishment was located on Washington Avenue between 5th & 6th Streets. Little did I know I was about to experience something I would never forget for the rest of my life. The sun had barely risen when I opened the door and made my way to the vending machine that dispensed little boxes of soap. I used these little premeasured boxes of laundry items back in the days I didn’t own a washing machine, and felt just as inept in making my selection as I did years ago. Fortunately, the attendant came to my rescue and chose the right product for me. After feeding the soap and washing machines several dollars like the slot machines at some smoke-filled casino, I began to wash my soiled garments. I then walked over to a table towards the rear of the laundromat where a row of plastic chairs were conveniently positioned for its patrons. As I made myself comfortable, I noticed on the table across from the chairs a magazine about, of all things, creative writing. Much to my surprise, it was in almost pristine condition. There was only one other person in the laundromat at the time, and at first glance he didn’t appear to be the type that would read such a periodical. I made the assumption someone had left it behind, so I began to read an article about ten ways to be a better writer. Just as I finished the article, the man made his way toward me. He was in a wheelchair and had a flexible cast on his left leg. He was my age, but looked quite a bit older. He had long, curly-

grey hair, and was wearing a well-worn safari-style hat, blue-jeans, and a lightcolored vest. The man turned out to be a freelance-writer and owner of the magazine. He also worked with the homeless in Miami. He was the most downto-earth person I had met in a very long time, and deserved a medal for his comion and concern for society’s less fortunate. He told me he traveled down the road of misfortune that was paved by alcohol and drug abuse for many years, and recently began devoting his life to helping others by doing volunteer work in an attempt to keeping them away from that destructive path. Our conversation came to a sudden end as the whirring sound of my clothes dryer dissipated in the cool Miami air. I shook his hand, thanked him for letting me read his magazine, and left the laundromat. As I walked back to my hotel room, I couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty. Here I was complaining about the cold weather spoiling my vacation. I don’t think the homeless would have shared my concern.

CHAPTER 33

Several weeks ago, my mother received a letter from my father just to let her know what was happening back home. I was preoccupied with the girl from Milan at the time, and really didn’t pay too much attention to what she said about it. I did recall, however, that she said something about my brother buying a car. He had gotten his driver’s license before we left for Italy, so it didn’t surprise me that he would buy a car as soon as he could. I thought the car he bought was pretty cool. It was a convertible, and had a three-speed manual transmission. A couple of years later when I was having some dental work done in Brooklyn, I drove his car into the city. I had just bought a new car, and didn’t want to take a chance of having it stolen or damaged in any way. The neighborhood the dentist was located in wasn’t the safest on the planet, so we decided we would switch cars whenever I had an appointment. I had a great time driving that car because I liked cars with manual transmissions. Actually, I was a pretty good driver. But, I drove very fast. When my father drove me to pick up my new car at the dealership, the first thing I did after he left the showroom was take my car onto the Robert Moses Bridge to see how fast it went. I got it up to one-hundred and fifteen miles an hour, but had to let off the gas pedal because the front end of the car was starting to lift off the ground. Even though that frightened me, I still raced my car whenever I could. Later on in life, I slowed down quite a bit. It got to the point that every other car on the road ed me. One day not too long before I died, I decided to see how slow I really drove in comparison to all the other drivers. I was visiting my sister for a couple of days, and the night before I came home, we watched the movie Secretariat. When I got to the Throgs Neck Bridge the following morning, I decided to pretend I was in a horse race. The toll booth became the starting gate, and all the cars became horses as their drivers paid the toll and left the plaza. Three cars immediately cut me off, and I quickly found myself behind the rest as I made my way onto the bridge. Even though the start was pretty intense, the race really got serious when all the horses, I mean cars, made their way onto the Long Island Expressway. I was curious to see how many cars would me, so I decided to go exactly fifty-five miles an hour in the slow lane all the way to Exit 70. That decision turned out to be a dangerous one. Just as I got onto the Expressway, it began to

rain heavily. But that didn’t deter my fellow jockeys from exceeding the speed limit. As I took my position in the right lane, two cars sped past me on the left, and one ed me on the right using the shoulder as a lane. I felt like I was in the middle of a stampede as I accelerated to the speed limit. Car after car sped past me like thoroughbreds outpacing a nag. Instead of dust, they left behind a constant spray of water causing my wipers to strain in the deluge. A sub-compact car pulled up within a foot of mine, and then jumped in front of me without signaling. As I ed Exit 39, I read a sign that said Traffic was moving well to Exit 51. That’s all the other drivers needed to see. Truckers had a field day with me. Streaking past me in a merciless display of brute strength and determination, I felt like Pegasus without wings. Then at Exit 51, I noticed the same sub-compact that ed me a short while ago. It pulled up lame, courtesy of the Suffolk County Sheriff. But even an overhead sign that read, Caution: Reduce Speed, Construction Ahead did little to slow down the pack. Traffic began to thin as I got to Exit 68. I had been ed by every car on the road. But then my big chance came to pull ahead of a car. I began to gain ground on a 1994 White BMW 325i. Yet, just as I was about to it, the BMW exited the Expressway at Exit 69. Unlike Secretariat, there was no come-from-behind finish for me today. But that wasn’t important. Getting home safe was all that really mattered. I just hope I didn’t offend all the other jockeys by only going the speed limit. I guess I went from being a totally reckless driver in my youth to a slowpoke later on in life. At least that’s what all the other drivers in the world were telling me.

CHAPTER 34

We were scheduled to arrive in New York the day before Labor Day. That didn’t give me and my sister too much time to get ready for school, but who was complaining. I was a member of the Deer Park High School Marching Band, and we were scheduled to march in the Labor Day Parade that morning. Even at that early age of fifteen, I wondered how many Americans truly appreciated the significance of Labor Day. As I got older, I began to get the sense that many people on Long Island seemed to have lost sight of its true meaning. I’d be willing to bet today that the average man or woman on the street probably doesn’t know what Labor Day is all about. I learned in school that Labor Day was created by the labor movement, and was dedicated to the social and economic achievements of the American workforce. It was a tribute to the contributions workers made to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country. Sadly, Labor Day became known over the years as the last day of summer where everyone had one last barbeque before returning to work or school. But, I always knew better because I came from a labor family. My immigrant grandparents were tailors and seamstresses, my father was a letter carrier for the United Postal Service, and my mother worked in the school cafeteria. Back then, I Labor Day as a true celebration of the American worker. We truly believed the greatness of our country was born on the backs of its workers, and took pride in our union affiliation. I enjoyed marching in the Labor Day Parade with the high school band down Deer Park Avenue. This purpose of the parade was to exhibit to the public the strength and esprit de corps of the trade and labor organizations of the community. We would listen to speeches by prominent citizens and politicians, and then participate in some kind of festival-like celebration. Far more emphasis was placed on the civic and economic significance of the holiday back then. As a child on Long Island, these traditions and rituals helped me understand who I was. They also went a long way to help define who we were as a people. Together, they created an identity we were all proud of during a time where our

country was still growing and being a part of the labor movement was honored by most citizens. However, the whole perception of Labor Day has undergone a drastic change in recent years. Because mass displays and huge parades proved problematic, we became limited to a few remarks by leading union officials and politicians on radio and television. The average worker’s involvement in the celebration became limited to what he or she saw on the news that night. Yet, I was still looking forward to marching in the parade when I got home. My parents and grandparents deserved recognition for all their hard work and effort, and I was going to make sure they got it.

CHAPTER 35

The return voyage home seemed to take half the time it took going to Italy. You knew you were close to land when all of a sudden birds started to appear. We were seven days into the voyage when suddenly seagulls started following the ship in. I guess the most exciting moment came when we spotted a school of dolphins swimming just in front of the ship. They had a habit of riding the wave created by the ship’s bow. It reminded me of the flying fish I saw near the Azores. Nevertheless, by the eighth day, you could smell land. The air seemed less salty by comparison. I suppose the first time I saw America again was when we made our entrance into New York Harbor. Unlike the day we left, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The water was very calm, and when we ed the Statue of Liberty, everyone stood on the port side of the ship to get a glimpse. Even though I was born in the United States, I still had chills as we ed the majestic statue on our way up the Hudson River. I wondered what my mother had thought when she first saw the statue in 1939. While we were all proud of our Italian heritage, we were even more proud to be Americans. While I was in Italy, I considered myself an American. And when I got home, I thought of myself as being Italian. I guess I had the best of both worlds. I was the first to spot my father and brother as the tug boats gently guided the Rafaela into her mooring. It took a little over an hour to maneuver the ship into its position alongside the pier. While this was taking place, I kept on waving to my father and brother. Our arms were so tired, we could hardly carry our luggage once we finally disembarked. My mother and father hugged and kissed each other as soon as they met. My father didn’t wait for her to get to the end of the gang plank. He walked at least half way up to greet her, and caused a minor traffic jam as a result. I obediently waited my turn, and was greeted with a kiss and a couple of pats on the back. Then he hugged and kissed my sister, and we all descended together. My brother was waiting for us at the bottom of the plank. After we all said hello to each

other one more time, we loaded the car with our bags, and off we went. For some reason, I didn’t turn around to look at the Rafaela one more time. I was content to be home, The first thing I noticed when we finally got home was my brother’s car. It was parked in the rode in from of our house. I never realized how everything looked so different compared to Italy. The trees, shrubs, and general appearance were totally different. When I walked into our backyard to see my father’s garden, I was waiting for the chickens, goats, and pigs to appear. None came. Then I turned toward the house to see if there was a caretaker of the garden, but none appeared. Finally, I looked over the garden fence to see the water, but instead I saw the parking lot to the high school I would be attending in two short days. I then realized I was truly home.

CHAPTER 36

It was now Labor Day. My brother and I got up early, ate breakfast, and walked up to the high school. As we were putting on our marching band uniforms, I was greeted by a lot of my friends. They hadn’t seen me since June, and many said I looked very different. In fact, I had lost some weight, and had to pull my belt as tight as I could to keep my pants from falling down while marching in the parade. Even my band director said I looked good. Next to my tenth-grade English teacher, he was someone I really respected and ired as well. He took a genuine interest in me, and I will always him fondly. He was still alive when I died. I felt like the luckiest kid on earth when I found out I had the same teacher for eleventh-grade English. I earned the highest grades I ever did that year in school, and wondered if my trip to Italy had anything to do with it. A lot of my teachers, including my English teacher, said I had matured. My personality changed quite a bit. I stopped trying to be the class clown, and took on a very serious demeanor. Of course, I went on to finish high school, then graduated cum laude from undergraduate school, and earned my graduate degree two years later. I was very fortunate to begin my teaching career right out of college, and thirty-three years later I retired from teaching. I really didn’t know what to do with myself the first day I was home from school. But, eventually I began to do volunteer work, and became a prolific painter. I remained very close to my brother and sister right up to the end. They both had beautiful families, and I was very proud of both of them. It’s now been forty-five years since I first visited Italy. I’m sure all the characters that made up my Italian drama are long gone by now. Even though life can be cruel at times, I learned that the best thing we can do with ourselves while we are alive is focus on the positive things in our life. There are too many people in this world that would try to hurt us, including family . These were the people that had to be avoided at all cost. Another thing I learned in life was about kindness. No good deed went unpunished. Unfortunately, you had to think twice about helping someone because invariably the good deed would come back to haunt you. The thing I disliked the most in life was ingratitude. I spent a

lifetime helping people, and never expect anything in return. In the end, I wasn’t perfect, but I was a lot better than most.

Part III

CHAPTER 1

I woke up a little later than usual the following day. I heard the birds g, and the sound of children playing. When I finally got out of bed, I made my way into the bathroom. Still bleary-eyed, I tried to see what I looked like in the mirror. All of a sudden I realized I was alive. I hadn’t died at all. It was all a dream. My neighbor hadn’t found me lying face down on my back lawn. There was no massive heart attack. I wasn’t cremated. My ashes weren’t scattered in the ocean. I wasn’t dead. I didn’t have the power to see anyone I wanted, or visit any place I wished. Just to make sure, I pinched my arm and felt pain. I was back to being just another person. Even though I was alone at the moment, I started looking around to see if anyone else was in the house. So, I decided to take a look around. The first place I went to was the garage. My car was parked in its usual spot. No other car was in the garage. Then I opened some closets. Everything looked just as I thought it would. Finally, I walked outside. Everything looked the same. I came back into the house and made myself a cup of coffee. About a half-hour later, I went back outside to do some work in the garden. Maybe a little exercise would make me feel better, I thought. Then, I would be able to figure out what happened to me. Suddenly, I heard a voice. It was my neighbor. He was going to the store and asked me if I needed anything. I said no thank you. Then I asked him what day of the week it was. He looked at me strangely and told me it was Saturday. I stayed outside for about an hour. Then, without warning, I became very tired again. So, I put my tools away and went back inside the house to rest. After a few minutes, I fell into a very deep sleep. I woke up a few hours later to the sound of a door being slammed shut. After that, I heard footsteps in the kitchen. Then I heard footsteps in the center hall. For some reason, the footsteps sounded very familiar. A few moments later, I heard the sound of a closet door closing. Finally, I heard the footsteps on the stairs that led to the second floor. But, then I realized it was only the television. No one else was in the house.

Then my mind started to wander. I started to think about why I remained alone all these years. Maybe I thought my life would go back to the way it was before things went bad. Back then, everyone told me to get on with my life because that would never happen. Maybe I should have listened to them. I might have been a lot better off. Maybe there aren’t any easy answers when it comes to life. Sometimes things just happen. I was no different than a lot of people who had terrible things happen to them. It was about time I accepted that fact. Several weeks ago, I attended a funeral mass for a second cousin. I decided to sit in the back of the church and try to go unnoticed. As I left the church, I was greeted by relatives I hadn’t seen in many years. They were relatives on my mother’s side. I loved these people very much. They always treated me with kindness, and when they kissed me hello, I became quite emotional. They reminded me of the happy times we once had. But, now I had to move on. Those times were gone forever. I thought I knew myself. I used to think I was an intelligent person who achieved a lot of good things in my life. For the most part, that was true. But, I also made a lot of mistakes. In the final analysis, my life was like a melodrama. It had its good and bad parts, and its highs and lows. Three days later, I came up with a plan. I decided to go away for a while and visit places I had never seen. I would experience new things, and meet new people. Hopefully, I would learn something about them and myself at the same time. I had nothing to lose. I had to try something. It sounded like a pretty good idea. At the moment, I was on a road to nowhere.

CHAPTER 2

I always liked to travel because I was always interested in meeting new people and exploring new places. Travelling was a lot of fun. I was never shy about trying something new while I was away from home. Travelling was a good way to get your mind off of things. But, I never thought of travelling as a way of learning something about myself. I was always very confident and comfortable with myself, so I didn’t necessarily think I had to learn anything from strangers. That was a big mistake. Instead of taking the opportunity to learn something new about myself, I just enjoyed the moment at face value, then went on to the next experience and made the same mistake all over again. One opportunity after another went by without any benefit. I made sure I wouldn’t let that happen this time around. I decided to make China the first stop on my personal road to enlightenment. A good friend of mine told me about a tour company that was very reasonable. They offered a ten-day tour that visited Beijing, Xian, and Shanghai. It sounded like a good deal to me, so I made the arrangements, and left for China two weeks later. The morning I left, I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to give myself any reason not to go. I was tied down to a lifestyle that basically had me trapped. I felt the chains of my physical and emotional confinements loosen the further I drove away from home. I arrived at Kennedy Airport an hour later, parked my car, and took the shuttle to the Air China terminal. Since you couldn’t smoke inside the terminal, I decided to have one last cigarette before entering the building. I would have to wait seventeen hours before I could smoke again, so I smoked the cigarette right down to the filter. I then walked over to the check-in counter, got my boarding , and began to make my way through security. I didn’t mind all the new security regulations imposed since 2001, and felt the people at the airport were doing a great job of keeping everyone safe. I successfully made it through the metal detectors, put my belt and shoes back on, and treated myself to a cup of coffee before I made my way to the departure gate. As I drank my coffee, I began to take a good look at the people that were walking by me. It was the first

time I really studied people. I was amazed at how wonderfully diverse they really were. I saw things about them I never saw in the past. I felt pretty good about that. I was off to a good start.

CHAPTER 3

Sometimes I would judge people before I got to know them. I would just look at someone and make an assumption that many times was not true. I probably missed meeting a lot of very interesting people because of this. I wound up sitting next to an elderly Chinese man for the entire flight. He wasn’t clean shaven. His hair was messy. It looked like he hadn’t changed his clothes in a while. I began to wonder who he was, and what force of Nature or twist of Fate put him next to me. I suppose I could have asked the same question about every enger on the plane. I never wondered about things like that in the past, but now I began to imagine who they all were. I actually enjoyed doing that. It consumed a lot of time, and before I knew it, we landed. It took a while to get off the plane. It seemed like we sat on the tarmac for days, but in reality we began disembarking after only fifteen minutes. We were greeted by soldiers from the Chinese Army. They were all very young, handsome men. I guess the government picked their best looking soldiers for airport duty to make a good impression on foreign travelers. After a few minutes, one of the soldiers led us into a central processing room to have our ports checked. I’ve always been a very patriotic person, and when I handed my port to the inspector, I felt very proud that I was an American. The inspector, though, smirked at me when I asked him to stamp my port. I thanked him nonetheless, and then I made my way with the rest of the tour into another waiting room. After a few minutes, we were greeted by our tour guide. He seemed like a really nice man, and had just begun his tenth year as a guide with the company. About ten minutes later, we went into the baggage claim area to retrieve our belongings. I’ve never seen a baggage claim area like it before. Chinese soldiers with drug sniffing dogs were everywhere. Many of the soldiers were carrying weapons. Despite the very strong military presence, I did feel very safe. Shortly after I collected my baggage, I made a beeline outside to smoke a cigarette. It was over eighteen hours since I had a cigarette. Only smokers know how difficult it is for someone to go eighteen hours without a smoke.

Much to my surprise, it was quite cold when I finally made it outside. But it was a beautiful sunny day, and I was very excited to begin my journey. But first, I had to sit down. I almost fainted from the buzz I got smoking that cigarette. A few short moments later, a beautiful tour bus pulled up alongside the curb where I was sitting. It had our tour company’s logo on it, so I climbed aboard and took a seat in the second row. Then everyone else climbed aboard. I said hello to every one of them as they got on. I’ll bet most of them thought I worked for the company.

CHAPTER 4

Our tour guide had a good sense of humor. But underneath that jovial exterior was a very shrewd businessman. I actually liked the guy from the start. He knew when to speak, and he knew when to be quiet. That’s why he kept his comments brief once the bus left the airport. He knew we were all exhausted. Before leaving New York, I sent the tour company’s Beijing office an email requesting permission to leave the tour for one day so I could be examined by the head of the neurology department at a world famous hospital in Beijing. I thought it would be a good idea to do this. I had read this doctor was doing research into the use of acupuncture for Parkinson’s patients, so I was very happy when I learned the tour guide went ahead and made the arrangements for me. It took about a half-hour to get to our hotel. Shortly after we arrived, we were given our room keys and given the opportunity to rest before we left for dinner. Since I had slept well on the flight over, I decided to take a shower. Then I left my room and began to walk around the grounds of the hotel. The hotel was quite beautiful and resembled a museum. It was full of Chinese art. The lobby had stunningly beautiful pieces of pottery and fabulous paintings. As I made my way to the garden, I decided to introduce myself to a fellow tour member. He was smoking a cigarette in the designated smoking area. He was on vacation with his mother and sister, and came from a small town in Indiana. We got along right away, and decided to have a beer in the hotel bar. A few minutes later, we were ed by his mother and sister. I learned they were all on vacation because the family was awarded a lot of money in a wrongful death lawsuit involving the father. Time really seemed to stand still for me. I was thousands of miles away from home in a country I knew very little about. But even though I was still alone, I was really happy I had already made some acquaintances. On the surface of things, the family from Indiana seemed very genuine. They were honest, hardworking people who lived a simple life back home. They decided to make the best of a tragic situation involving the father by taking a vacation together. That

impressed me the most. Despite their loss, they were still together. They didn’t decide to do things alone. They still considered themselves a family. It was obvious they loved each other very much, and believed the father was still with them. It made me think about my own family. When my mother died, we remained a family by staying close to our father. In many cases, a mother’s death causes the family to splinter and drift apart. That wasn’t something my brother and sister wanted to see happen, so we carried on as best we could despite our tragic loss.

CHAPTER 5

I never expected Beijing to be the way it was when I left New York. I expected to see a very conservative city under the strict control of its Communist government. Instead, I found the city to be extremely modern with none of the typical signs of a Communist regime. Beijing underwent a major transformation several years before I went there. Most of the old buildings had been torn down. They were replaced with very new and modern structures. Capitalism had replaced Communism. You would hardly think it was a city run by socialists. The facelift was done because Beijing was about to host the Winter Olympics. With that in mind, every effort was made to make Beijing the most modern city in the world. Of course, it was all done to impress the world when the Winter Olympics began. Sometimes, their efforts to make Westerners feel right at home were comedic. Before we boarded the bus to go out to dinner, my friend from Indiana asked me if I would take a walk over to a Western style steakhouse that was located right across from our hotel. When we walked into the restaurant, we were greeted by a hostess that wore a cowboy outfit complete with a six-shooter and a ten-gallon hat. It seemed the hat was bigger than she was. She did her best to make us feel welcome, but had a hard time speaking to us because the hat kept on sliding over her eyes. We told her we were just looking and left a few minutes later. We got back to the hotel just in time. We were seen crossing the road as the bus started to leave. I apologized to everyone for being late. About a half-hour later we pulled up to a restaurant that specialized in Chinese dumplings. A line of people stretched around the building. They were waiting to get in. But we had a reservation, so we walked right past everyone else. The hostess was quite pleasant, and told us we were in the most famous dumpling house in all of China. Some people looked a little skeptical, but I took her word for it. At least she wasn’t wearing an oversized ten-gallon hat or waving a sixshooter at us. I must it she was on to something. The food was really delicious, but the best was yet to come. Just before we were about to leave, a birthday cake was brought out for a person sitting with his family and friends on the other side of the room. Suddenly, the group began to sing the birthday song for this person in Chinese. Without any hesitation, everyone in my group ed

in. After we finished singing, the Chinese gave us a round of applause. It turned out to be one of the nicest moments during the entire tour.

CHAPTER 6

We arrived back to the hotel just before midnight. Our guide told us we had to be ready to leave by 6:00 A.M. We were scheduled to visit Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City, so I decided to go right to bed. I was really anxious to visit Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. When we left the hotel after breakfast, I began to think about the student who stood in front of the tank during the student uprisings in 1989. It was one of the bravest things I ever saw, and I couldn’t wait to stand where he stood eighteen years ago. Unfortunately, we found out that the square was closed to tourists when we arrived. The government closed the square for security reasons several months earlier, so I never got to stand where history was made almost two decades ago. We spent about three hours inside the Forbidden City. I found the experience quite fascinating, but nothing prepared me for what I was about to see. After we ate lunch, we made our way to the Summer Palace. I was very interested in the Summer Palace because the property was beautifully landscaped. It was quite crowded for a weekday, and there was barely enough room to walk on the paths that meandered through the grounds. Half way to the palace, I came across an elderly woman sweeping up garbage that had been thrown on the ground. She had to be in her mid-seventies or early eighties. She wore what appeared to be a government issued uniform of some kind, and a white kerchief on her head. At her feet was 100 Yuan Note. It was probably worth more than she was paid in an entire month. She made no effort at all to pick up the bill, even after the crowd ed her by. I was amazed at her honesty. Under no circumstances was she going to pick up the bill and put it in her pocket. She was waiting for its rightful owner to claim it, and appeared to be guarding it until the person who dropped it returned. But I had another idea. After everyone left the area, I picked up the bill and walked over to the woman. I gently took hold of the woman’s right hand, and put the bill in it. I will never forget the humble look she gave me. After a few moments, she placed the bill into her pocket. A tear flow down her right cheek. I often think about this woman. I learned an important lesson about humility that day.

CHAPTER 7

When we arrived back at the hotel, the tour guide informed me that the head of the neurology department at the hospital wanted me to be at his office at 9:00 A.M. The tour guide had already arranged transportation for me. I had to be in the lobby by 8:00 A.M. He said I had to give the driver at least an hour to get me there because I would be travelling during the height of the rush hour. My tour guide was right. The traffic heading downtown was extremely heavy, but the driver made it in forty-five minutes. After I paid the fare, I walked into the medical center and went up to the information desk to announce my arrival. A moment later, I was greeted by a hospital and a government official. Both wanted to know why I wanted to be examined by this doctor. I told them I read about his work with Parkinson’s patients, and thought it was a good idea to meet him while I was in Beijing. They seemed a little skeptical at first, but then they led me to an exam room. As I sat there with the hospital and government official, I couldn’t help noticing how plain the exam room looked compared to the ones in the United States. There was very little equipment in the room, and the furniture, which consisted of three folding chairs and a metal desk, had to be over fifty years old. I must have looked at the clock on the wall at least a dozen times until the doctor finally arrived. During the entire time, the hospital and the government official sat there with blank looks on their faces. I have to give the Chinese a lot of credit for making due with very little. This doctor was an expert at achieving results despite the lack of equipment at his disposal. When he finally arrived, he asked me if some of his students could watch the examination. I told him I didn’t mind, and a few minutes later, several interns marched into the exam room. I must say the entire experience was very interesting. The doctor began his examination by testing my reflexes. After each test, he dictated notes to his students. He also told his students how I was being treated for the disease in the United States. They all agreed that acupuncture wasn’t an option for me. Instead, I was told I was being overmedicated and that I needed to regulate my diet and

exercise more rather than take a lot of drugs. After he concluded the examination, his students shook my hand and thanked me for allowing them to participate. Just as they were about to leave the room, another walked in with a camera in his hand. After a few words with the government official, he asked me if I would allow him to take some pictures. I told him I didn’t mind, and invited his students to be part of the photo shoot. The photos, I was told, would be used in the medical center weekly bulletin. Before I left, I asked the government official how much I owed the doctor. At first, the government official said I owed him ten dollars. But then he changed his mind and said the examination was free. As I left the medical center and made my way back to the hotel, I started to think about his students. I was glad I allowed them to participate. In all likelihood, I was the first Westerner they ever examined. That alone made the experience worthwhile.

CHAPTER 8

The next day we left for Xian. I was told this was the ancient capital of China, and the home of the famous Terra Cotta Warriors. The bus ride took about six hours. We made several refreshment stops along the way, and ate lunch at a really nice restaurant on top of a mountain an hour outside of the city. I always enjoyed riding on a tour bus. It was a great way to sightsee. It also gave me the opportunity to become acquainted with my fellow travelers in a relaxed atmosphere. On the way to Xian, I introduced myself to two men that were sitting right behind me in the third row. One was a pharmacist from San Francisco, and the other was a computer engineer from Silicon Valley. They were college buddies who hadn’t seen each other for a number of years. I was probably the only person travelling alone. As a result, I had to pay an additional four-hundred dollars for a private room. Actually, I didn’t mind paying the surcharge for a private room. It was nice being able to come and go as I pleased without worrying about a roommate. Since I never slept well away from home, I would often leave my room in the middle of the night and walk around the grounds of the hotel. We finally arrived in Xian around 2:30 P.M. The temperature outside was just above freezing, and it was raining lightly. We had to walk about a quarter of a mile to entrance of the museum. By the time we got there, I was practically frozen from the cold, damp air. Making matters worse, the conditions inside the museum were no better. I might have enjoyed the experience a lot more if the weather was better. I spent a lot of time looking for a warm place to defrost, and wound up missing some of the tour guide’s discussions about the clay warriors. I don’t think I was ever happier when we finally checked into our hotel that night. The hotel was truly luxurious, and my room turned out to be something resembling a presidential suite. The first thing I did was take a hot bath. Then I thought about the street sweeper at the Summer Palace. I’m sure she never complained about working outside on a cold, damp day. She was probably grateful to have a job much less complain about the working conditions. Yet, here I was taking a hot bath in a five-star hotel and feeling very guilty that I had

complained about the weather. It made me think twice about my own priorities. Moments after I got out of the bathroom, the doorbell rang. It was the guy from Indiana. He asked me if I wanted to him for a beer at a local bar he found out about that catered to American travelers. I told him I would be glad to, and got dressed as fast as I could. I was in the mood for a little excitement.

CHAPTER 9

I’m not a drinker. I might have one beer or drink when I go out, and that’s it. I was never the kind of person that could sit at a bar and drink all night either. That wasn’t my thing. Yet, I was clearly in the minority because bar hopping was a popular pastime back home. The guy from Indiana apparently was an expert at this sort of thing. My curiosity got the best of me this time around. Actually, I agreed to go because I had never been to a Western-style bar in the middle of China. That opportunity doesn’t present itself every day. I was also curious to see what the local patrons were like and how they would behave. I couldn’t wait to see if they were dressed like cowboys. Too bad the steakhouse hostess didn’t live nearby. She could have worn her outfit and fit right in. The guy from Indiana had also recruited the pharmacist and the computer engineer to come along as well. He also convinced his sister to us. She, in turn, asked a woman from Mexico to the group. On the way out, we asked the tour guide if he wanted to us. He graciously declined. By the time we left the hotel lobby, there were six tourists in our group. The lounge was very unique. It resembled a cross between Rick’s Café Americain from the movie Casablanca and the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars. And if that wasn’t enough, it was Karaoke Night. There were hardly any locals in the bar. Three men and one woman were seated at the bar. All the tables were empty. When we walked in, the proprietor greeted us by saying we could sit wherever we wished. Actually, it was a pretty nice place. The décor was definitely Western. Someone turned on the jukebox as we put together two tables and took a seat. The first song we heard was On the Road Again by Willie Nelson. Two hours later, we had consumed four pitchers of beer and a seemingly endless amount of peanuts. I drank only one glass of beer, and probably ate more peanuts than I eat in an entire year. The time ed very quickly. It was now 11:00 P.M. In Xian, that meant it was Karaoke time. The bar had

filled to capacity, and we found ourselves surrounded by local patrons dressed in Western style clothing. Some of the men wore cowboy hats. Some of the women wore bandanas. The first contestant chose to sing a Chinese rendition of Gene Autry’s song Back in the Saddle Again. Actually, he sounded a lot like GeneAutry, but with a distinct foreign accent. And for that matter, so did all the rest. Each contestant did their best. In the end, first prize was awarded to a local farmer. It turned out to be a fun evening with newly made friends that were a joy to be with.

CHAPTER 10

I’m glad we didn’t stay out too late last night. In fact, when we walked back into the hotel lobby shortly before midnight, our tour guide was sitting in a chair by the front desk. I guess he didn’t want to turn in until all the tour were ed for. He really was a very considerate and caring person. The next stop on the tour was the one I had been really waiting for. I considered the Great Wall one of mankind’s most astonishing achievements. I was also very impressed with the fact that it was visible from space. I also wondered how many people worked on the wall, and who did the most work. Actually, the bus travelled on a road that ran parallel to the wall. Much of the wall we drove alongside was in disrepair, and many miles of it was hardly recognizable. Most of the stone walls in New England looked better than many miles worth of the Great Wall. Nonetheless, when we arrived at the main entrance gate to the government – built visitor center, everyone on the bus let out a collective sigh. Understandably, the visitor center was constructed adjacent to the best stretch of the Great Wall. In anticipation of the Winter Olympics, the government spent a fortune repairing the wall. I must say they did a great job. I probably walked a mile with my mouth open. I was overcome by the absolute grandeur of the wall. But, what I never expected to see was a panoramic view of the countryside. I was captivated by the beautiful trees and shrubs, and the rock outcroppings that made a nice contrast to the stone edifices that occasionally interrupted the flow of the wall. I was also impressed by the number of Chinese families visiting the wall. Young children were running everywhere. It was nice to see them having such a good time. It was also nice to see how close these families were. Family was everything to the Chinese. Half-way up a steep stretch of the wall, I paused to take some pictures. I was met at that point by a husband and wife who were retired teachers from New York. He introduced himself and his wife to me at JFK just before we left. Like me, they were tired from the climb, and chose to sit and just enjoy the view. Of all the pictures I took on the tour, he took the best one of me standing on the Great Wall. I’ll always be grateful to him for that picture.

Walking down the wall to the bus seemed a lot easier. About one-third of the way down, I was approached by no less than a dozen street vendors. One in particular was selling Beijing Winter Olympic hats. He was a young boy no more than eight or nine years old. He told me they were one dollar each. I bought ten hats from him. I figured I would give them away as gifts when I got home. Something dawned on me as I got on the bus. The hats I had just bought were identical to the official Winter Olympic hats I saw for twenty-five dollars each in a sporting goods store near my home. I now had to worry about the Nike police arresting me at JFK for bringing into the United States knockoff goods.

CHAPTER 11

Our next stop on the tour was Shanghai. Shanghai was China’s largest city. It was the city I was most interested in because of its reputation as a mysterious and colorful place. I was also interested in Shanghai because it was a global city with influence in all phases of commerce and technology. It was also a major financial center and the busiest container port in the world. Shanghai is located in the Yangtze River Delta in eastern China, Shanghai sits at the mouth of the Yangtze River in the middle portion of the Chinese coast. The municipality borders Jiangsu and Zhejiang Provinces to the west, and is bounded to the east by the East China Sea. Once a fishing and textiles town, Shanghai grew in importance in the 19th century due to its port and was one of the cities opened to foreign trade by the 1842 Treaty of Nanking which allowed the establishment of the Shanghai International Settlement. The city then flourished as a center of commerce between east and west, and became the undisputed financial hub of the Asia Pacific in the 1930s. However, with the Communist Party takeover of the mainland in 1949, the city’s international influence declined. In the 1990s, the economic reforms introduced by Deng Xiaoping resulted in an intense redevelopment of the city, aiding the return of finance and foreign investment to the city. We must have spent ten hours on the bus to Shanghai. The long bus rides were starting to bother some of the tour , but I really didn’t mind it at all. I wound up sitting with my bar mates. We all had a lot of fun the night before at the Xian western bar, and became good friends for the remainder of the tour. I always believed trust was the key ingredient behind a good friendship. I learned very quickly that the people I was with were very trustworthy people. All of them gave me the benefit of the doubt from the first day. That’s something you don’t necessarily get in New York. More times than not, you had to prove yourself over and over again before someone would trust you. I didn’t think that was fair, or necessary for that matter. One of the first things I had to do was restore my faith in people. I didn’t want to continue living a life characterized by

doubt and skepticism. I wanted to trust others do the right thing, and remove all negativity from my life. I had to go from the road to nowhere to the highway of happiness. My change in attitude had an instant effect on my outlook on life. I felt like someone took the weight of the world off of my shoulders. When we finally arrived that night, I was really impressed by the sight of the beautifully lit commercial buildings that were visible in the distance. The hotel turned out to be the best one yet. I guess it makes sense to save the best one for last. And if my last room in Xian was a presidential suite, then the one in Shanghai was fit for a king. But even I had to it that the travelling was getting to me. So, after I got my room key, I went right to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, and I was exhausted.

CHAPTER 12

We all met for breakfast the following morning at 8:00 A.M., then boarded the bus for the Bund. The Bund was the waterfront area of central Shanghai. When we arrived there shortly after 10:00 A.M., our tour guide brought us to the boardwalk. We were given two hours to walk around and enjoy the harbor sights. I immediately teamed up with the family from Indiana, the pharmacist, the computer engineer, and the Mexican girl. One of the prettiest sights along the waterfront was the Chinese junks sailing up and down the river. They were beautifully juxtaposed against the modern commercial buildings along the shoreline, and gave the overall scenery an added charm. The boardwalk itself was full of street vendors selling their goods. Many sold the typical tourist items such as hats, t-shirts, CD’s, postcards, and camera supplies. The time ed quickly, and before we knew it, it was time to meet the other tour at the bus. Once everyone was on the bus, we were taken to the old part of Shanghai for more sightseeing and lunch. Our tour guide told us to stay as close to him as possible. Getting to the restaurant required walking down some long, narrow, winding streets. If the group spread out too much, it might be hard to see him. Of course, I was at the end of the line, and before I realized it, I lost sight of the tour guide. Fortunately, I wasn’t the only member to lose sight of the group. The Mexican girl made the same mistake that I did, and now she was lost along with me. Actually, I became a little worried. When I was a child, I watched an old Laurel and Hardy movie where both men were kidnapped and taken aboard a ship bound for Shanghai. I imagined being dragged into some alley, bound and gagged, and taken off to Mongolia to be a servant for some ancient warlord. But then, reason and sanity prevailed. I had the tour guide’s cell phone number, and about ten minutes later we were rescued by him. Once again, I apologized for causing him any inconvenience. When we walked into the restaurant and ed the rest of the group, the family from Indiana, the pharmacist from San Francisco, and the computer engineer from Silicon Valley poked some innocent

fun at us. They thought we went back to the Western bar in Xian for more Karaoke. Actually, that wouldn’t have been such a bad idea. After lunch, we were brought to a botanical garden not too far from where the bus was parked. Not much was in bloom, but it was still a real treat for me. I love flower gardening, and Chinese gardens are, in my opinion, some of the most beautiful in the entire world.

CHAPTER 13

The following morning I got up at 5:00 A.M. I got dressed, ate some breakfast in the restaurant, and decided to take a walk once the sun was up. I am usually very good with directions, so I took note of several landmarks by the hotel and began walking down the road. About a mile away I came across something very interesting. It was now 7:00 A.M., and in the distance I heard music. As I got nearer, I saw a group of about fifty senior citizens exercising. They were doing Tai Chi. This was the very form of exercise the doctor recommended I do to help my balance. I was absolutely amazed at the way the people were exercising together, so I stood by the road and watched them for several minutes. All of a sudden, an elderly man came over to me. He took my hand and brought me over to the group. When the music resumed, he said something to me in Chinese and began to show me what to do. For the next half-hour, I followed the Tai Chi master as best as I could. But, I didn’t want to be late again for the tour bus, so I thanked him and made my way back to the hotel as quickly as I could. I think I would have stayed there all day. I couldn’t believe how kind the Tai Chi master was. Nobody seemed to mind my participation despite the fact I didn’t know what I was doing. It turned out to be another one of those moments you could not have planned if you tried. It was a moment of pleasure made possible by a random act of kindness from a total stranger who lived thousands of miles away in a society completely unlike my own. We spent our final day in Shanghai doing some shopping. But then it was time for me to head on to the next destination. The night before I left China, I sat in the hotel lobby and thought about the trip. I became friendly with a family from Indiana, a pharmacist from San Francisco, a computer engineer from Silicon Valley, a Mexican girl, and two retired teachers from New York. I also had the pleasure of meeting a number of interesting Chinese. I became acquainted with a great tour guide, a head neurologist, his student interns, two hospital s, a government official, a cowgirl hostess, a young souvenir salesman, a Tai Chi master, and a street sweeper. They were all

wonderful in their own way. But the one that impressed me the most was the street sweeper at the Summer Palace. She was the epitome of innocence and humility, and is someone I will never forget for as long as I live.

CHAPTER 14

I earned my Master’s degree at Iona College in 1976. My mother was sick at the time and too ill to attend the graduation ceremony. It was too bad she couldn’t make it. Mother Teresa was the keynote speaker at the commencement exercise. My mother considered her a saint. It was sunny and mild on Graduation Day. I drove from my home in Fishkill to New Rochelle in about an hour. I arrived about thirty minutes early, so I was able to get a seat on the aisle close to the podium where Mother Teresa was going to deliver her speech. My two-year old son was with me. My son was dressed in a little brown suit and wore a white tie. When Mother Teresa entered the auditorium, everyone stood. Just as she was about to me, she noticed my son. She walked over to me and took my son from my arms. Then she blessed him and handed him back to me. I could not hold back the tears. That was one reason why I decided to go to India. I signed up for a ten day tour that went to New Delhi, Jaipur, and Agra. The flight to New Delhi from Shanghai took about seven hours. I took Air India. The plane was extremely comfortable, and the service was outstanding. I was also very happy to be there because the weather was totally different. It was broiling hot in India. I practically froze in China. I always ired people from India. I was fascinated by the history and culture, and couldn’t wait to see and experience it first-hand. Right away things were different from China. When we disembarked, we were not met by a platoon of Indian soldiers. Instead, I encountered throngs of people. People were everywhere. You could hardly move inside the Air India terminal, and making my way to customs was a challenge. Going through customs was a lot easier than China. Everyone spoke English, so if you had a problem, at least you could ask someone for help. It took less time to get through customs, and the inspector did not smirk at me when I asked him to stamp my port. As a matter of fact, he put a lot of ink on the stamp and opened my port to a blank page so there would be no competition from any other country. With port in hand, I then made my way to the baggage claim

area. It had to be over one-hundred degrees in the baggage claim area, but I didn’t complain. I love the heat and the humidity, so it didn’t bother me at all. While I was waiting for my bag to come out of the chute, a woman approached me wearing the yellow tour member tag given to us by the company. She was a retired school principal from Michigan, and was making her third trip to India. She was traveling with a friend who owned his own dry cleaning business in Michigan. They were a really nice couple, and seemed to be very much in love.

CHAPTER 15

Once I had my bags, my new friends and I navigated through the throngs of people towards the exit where our tour guide was waiting for us. She was holding a very small flag with the tour company logo on it. She immediately said hello, checked my name off on a clipboard with everyone’s name on it, and politely asked me to take a seat while she waited for everyone else. To my surprise, she was from the United States. This was her third year as a tour guide with this company. It took about a half hour before everyone was checked off. We then made our way to the tour bus that was waiting for us. It was stifling hot outside. All I heard was people complaining about the heat. Maybe they should have thought twice about going to India. Nevertheless, I took a seat once again in the second row. This time I wasn’t able to greet everyone as they boarded because I wasn’t the first one on the bus. The school principal and the dry cleaner were seated right behind me. The bus ride to the hotel was a Sunday driver’s nightmare come true. I lost track of the number of times someone on a bicycle or motor scooter almost crashed into us. Actually, it was organized chaos on the roads. Every so often, we would come across a policeman standing in the middle of an intersection trying to direct traffic. I don’t think anyone paid attention to the traffic police. They were well-dressed in a white uniform with a black necktie and black shoes that were so shiny, you could see your reflection in them. Our driver was outstanding. He had nerves of steel, and a very pleasant personality. However, every so often he would open the little window on the left side of the driver’s compartment and yell something out of the window. The tour guide told me I really didn’t want to know what he was saying. I took her word for it and left it for that. More and more it looked like the wild, Wild West. Finally, after an hour of hair raising maneuvers and narrow escapes, the driver pulled into the hotel parking lot. Everyone on board gave him a round of applause. I could tell this group was going to be a lot of fun. When we walked into the lobby my eyes almost popped out of my head. In the

center of the lobby was a huge mosaic vase. It must have stood eight feet tall, and was certainly the most beautiful vase I had ever seen. A hotel employee came up to each of us with a complimentary drink. Too bad the guy from Indiana wasn’t here. Anyway, you could tell right away that things would be different in India. Within minutes we all had our room keys, there were no government officials keeping an eye on us, and everyone spoke English. It was around 4:00 P.M. when I finally walked into my room. Dinner was at 6:30 P.M., so I decided to make an important telephone call before it became too late. I had made arrangements to see a neurologist in New Delhi as well, so I figured it would be a good idea to let him know I had arrived. When I originally called him back in the United States, he was kind enough to return my call within an hour.

CHAPTER 16

The neurologist turned out to be a real saint in my eyes. He specialized in treating Parkinson’s patients at a special hospital in New Delhi. The hospital was named after a nineteenth-century philanthropist who built the hospital to help those suffering from neurodegenerative diseases. Only in his thirties, he had made a reputation for himself as one of the top neurologists in the entire country. I recognized his voice when he answered the telephone. He was happy I arrived safely to India, and asked if I could meet him at the hospital the following evening. I was only going to be in India for ten days, so I didn’t have much say in the matter. Of course, I agreed. He told me to be at the hospital by 6:00 P.M. First, he would examine me by having me undergo the usual reflex and mobility tests. Then he wanted to send me to a lab to have a brain and cervical spine MRI. Finally, he would consult with me when I came back to New Delhi the night before I was scheduled to depart India. It sounded like a good plan to me. I was very pleased with the arrangements we made, and met up with my new friends from Michigan in the hotel lobby at 6:00 P.M. Unlike China, we would eat all of our meals in the hotel we were staying at for convenience purposes. I also thought we were doing so for security reasons. India has a history of sudden uprisings and civil skirmishes. Tourists have been targeted in the past. The tour company knew this and wanted to avoid a possible problem. Tourist buses were the terrorist’s favorite target. It was easy to attack a bus. So the company kept bus time down to a minimum. Dinner was a buffet with a nice variety of foods to choose from. I decided to sit with the Michigan couple who, in turn, invited a couple from Canada to us. They were actually from Quebec City. They owned several gas stations in the city. They were married for twenty-seven years and were still very much in love. I had now bonded with two couples that were very much in love. Suddenly, I became very conscious of the fact that I was alone. No one was to blame for this. I was my own worst enemy. I was alone because I refused to accept reality, change certain things about myself, and then move on. But, now I was reprogramming myself by learning from others. I decided to stay close to these

two couples. Obviously, they had a formula for success. It was a formula I wanted to learn more about. After dinner, I decided to go back to my room and just relax. Just as I was about to step out onto the balcony in my room, I read a warning sign that said to beware monkeys. Apparently, monkeys in India were quite skilled at stealing objects like cameras, jewelry, and wallets from hotel rooms. Many of them were taught to bring back goods to their trainers. That was all I had to know. I kept the sliding doors locked, and before I left the room, I looked through the peephole to make sure there were no monkeys poised to break in.

CHAPTER 17

Brazen monkeys aside, we visited the twelfth-century hand carved Kutab Minar, the Birla Temple and the India Gate after breakfast. The temperature was at least ninety degrees by 9:00 A.M., but I wasn’t complaining. When we drove back to the hotel for lunch, most of the tour looked like they were about to melt. I thought India was a very diverse country. There was an infinite amount of things to see and experience. Unlike China, India seemed to operate on its own without strict government supervision or intervention. I liked that very much. That’s why I felt so comfortable there. Everyone went about their business without any fanfare or commotion. Yet, no matter where you went, everything was very lively and colorful. When we first arrived, I noticed that there was a McDonald’s restaurant about a block away from the hotel. I was curious to see what was on the menu since cows were sacred in India. So, I decided to take a walk over. When I entered the restaurant, I was surprised to see it was full of high school students. They were all wearing school uniforms. The boys and girls had on blue shirts and blouses with black tros and skirts. They were all seated very quietly eating their lunch. I decided to buy a yogurt. As I walked away from the counter, a student offered me his seat. Several others did the same. I couldn’t believe I was being treated so courteously by total strangers. I thanked them for their kindness, and made my way back to the hotel. We took a tour of Old Delhi that afternoon and visited the memorial of Mahatma Gandhi. Then we visited the Jamma Masjid, India’s largest mosque. Finally, we saw the Red Fort, built in 1648. I was impressed with everything, and couldn’t get over the vibrancy of the people. Everywhere you looked, life was going on at a frantic pace. Yet, people in general seemed very happy to be doing what they were doing. Children, in particular, seemed to be happy all the time. Maybe they understood the secret of happiness I had long sought, especially in the past eight years. When we finally got back to the hotel, I had only about an hour to get ready

before I met the doctor at Sir Ganga Ram Hospital. I told my tour guide earlier in the day I was going to meet him for a consultation. She thought it was a great idea, and understood how important it was to see him. Unfortunately, I would miss the official welcome dinner she was giving. The hospital was located only five kilometers away from the hotel, but it took about a half-hour to get there. Fortunately, I arrived on time.

CHAPTER 18

The hospital was located on a tree-lined street in a residential section. It reminded me of some of the old hospitals in New York City. It was built with stone, and took on the appearance of a museum rather than a hospital. The doctor made me feel welcome from the moment I met him. He was all alone when I made my way into his office. He started by asking me a few questions about the medication I was taking, and what forms of therapy I had received. He seemed to take a very genuine interest in my well-being, and began his examination by having me walk up and down the hallway outside of his office several times. After a few minutes, he told me the lab down the street was waiting for me. He wanted me to have a brain and cervical spine MRI done immediately. After he received the reports, he would me to discuss the findings. Then he called an assistant into his office, and instructed him to escort me to the lab. I was very impressed with the doctor. He had a pleasant demeanor, and was very confident he would able to help me once he received the lab results. He gave me his business card, and wrote his home phone number and cell number on the back of it. After we said goodbye, his assistant walked with me to the lab about two blocks away. I must it having a brain and cervical spine MRI was not exactly high on my list of favorite things to do. I was grateful that I wasn’t claustrophobic. I had to remain perfectly still for twenty minutes. If I moved the slightest bit, the technician would have to start the process all over again. Fortunately, I was able to complete both MRI’s without a hitch, and left the lab at 9:00 P.M. The technician was kind enough to call me cab, and before I knew it I was back at the hotel. When I entered the hotel, I noticed the welcome dinner was still going on. I decided to stop in and say hello to the people that were still there. To my surprise almost everyone was still in the dining hall. The tour guide came up to me and asked how everything went. I told her everything went fine, then I ed the couple from Michigan and Quebec City. They also asked me if everything was

all right. I thanked them for their concern, then I got myself something to eat. Frankly, I was very impressed with the items on the menu. But, I decided to play it safe. I had a cup of fruit cocktail and a cup of coffee. We were leaving for Jaipur tomorrow afternoon, and I didn’t want to eat anything too heavy the night before a travel day. Before I opened the door to my room, I ed to look around and make sure there were no monkeys waiting to ambush me. Seeing the coast was clear, I opened and closed the door as fast as I could.

CHAPTER 19

The following morning we left New Delhi for Jaipur. Jaipur was known as the Pink City. It was famous for its exquisite buildings of rose-colored terra cotta. Jaipur was also the capitol of Rajasthan. It took about five hours to get there by bus. On our way to Jaipur, we stopped at a rest station to use the facilities and stretch our legs. Some of the tour weren’t feeling too well. They weren’t sure if it was a result of the heat or something they ate the night before. I felt really sorry for these people. The last thing someone needed was to get food poisoning, or some other malady. The rest stop was also where we came across a bus full of grade-school students. They were between the ages of seven and twelve years old, and were taking a day trip to some important historical sight. Like the high school students in McDonald’s, they were very polite and charming. I asked their teacher if I could take a picture of the entire group. The picture turned out to be one of my favorites during the entire trip. One young boy asked me where I lived. I told him New York, and then I reached into my pocket and gave the boy one of the new quarters the United States Mint had just released into circulation. He instantly became the envy of all the other students. Once again, I was amazed at the effect a random act of kindness could have on someone. It made me think about the street sweeper at the Summer Palace in Beijing. When we arrived at the hotel, the temperature had already risen to ninety degrees. The Golden Tulip Hotel was situated on the outskirts of town. It had a beautiful fountain in the middle of a circular driveway. Every so often, a sudden gust of wind would blow a light spray of water on you if you were standing close to it. It actually felt quite refreshing. Shortly after our arrival, we all got our room keys along with a complimentary drink. I was getting used to the idea of receiving something to drink every time we checked into a new hotel. That was a custom I thought American hotels should adopt. Jaipur did not have the monkey problem New Delhi did. I was very glad it didn’t because the view from my room overlooked a beautiful stretch of countryside. In the distance, you could see magnificent mountains. It was quite scenic, and the

air was very fragrant. Flowers were everywhere. The sweet smell made the overall setting that much more enjoyable. I was starting to fall in love with India. The sights, sounds, and smells were nothing like I had experienced anywhere else in the world. I had already met a lot of nice people, and was looking forward to what would turn out to be some of the most memorable travel moments of my entire life.

CHAPTER 20

It was now my fourth day in India. I was sorry to hear that several more people weren’t feeling well. I was warned not to eat any street food, especially fruits and vegetables, so I became extra careful now that some of my fellow travelers were falling by the wayside. One couple from Chicago had to stay at the hotel. They wound up missing an entire day of sightseeing. After breakfast, we enjoyed a walking tour as well as a rickshaw ride in Jaipur’s old city. We spent some time at a local bazaar, and visited the Palace of Winds which was considered the landmark of Jaipur. After lunch, we ventured out of the city to Amber Fort, the ancient capital of Rajasthan. We saw the Temple of Kali, the Hall of Victory, and rode an elephant to the hill where the Amber Fort was situated. I was particularly interested in visiting the Temple of Kali. I the first time I saw the movie Gunga Din with Cary Grant. The movie focused around a murderous cult that worshipped the goddess Kali. I thought I heard Gunga Din’s voice when I entered the temple, but it was probably just my imagination. Riding an elephant up a very long hill was also something I will never forget. It was fairly easy getting on the elephant, but I almost fell off twice. When it was time to get off the elephant, I almost fell forward as the animal lowered its head towards the ground. I smelled like elephant dung for the rest of the day. While I was at the Temple of Kali, a young Indian boy no more than eight years old kept on trying to sell me a package of post cards. He was quite charming for his age, and was unusually persistent. I told him I really wasn’t interested in purchasing post cards, but changed my mind when he told me about his family situation. He said his father suffered a terrible accident working on a farm. His left leg was crushed when a tractor turned over in the field he was tilling. His mother died several years ago, and he was now responsible for earning money to feed his younger brother and sister. I did not believe him at first, but then I found out later he was actually telling me the truth. A guard outside of the temple knew his father, and told me the child’s story was true.

I felt terribly guilty, and spent practically the rest of the afternoon looking for the boy. Just as we were about to leave, I spotted him crying on the side of the rode. I happened to be walking with my friends from Michigan and Quebec City, and quickly told them the story. We all decided to walk over to him and buy the postcards. The other of the tour saw us, and walked over as well. By the time we were finished, we bought everything he had. I gave him an extra five dollars, and told him I was sorry I doubted him. The people from Quebec City also gave him some money. Before we left, I posed for a picture with him.

CHAPTER 21

I’ve always been an emotional person. That’s why I was so moved by the encounter with the eight year old boy. While I am sure there are many others like him in India and around the world, I was deeply affected by the sight of him sitting in the road and crying. If I could have adopted him and his siblings, I would have. That may seem impulsive to some, but that’s the way I’ve always been, especially when it came to children. The more I thought about him, the more I realized I came from a country that was, for the most part, oblivious to the tragedies that exist in other parts of the world. Here was an eight year old boy trying to figure out how to his family. I don’t know any eight year old boys back in the United States that had such a responsibility. I cannot fathom what it would be like to be the breadwinner for an entire family at that age. Yet, as sad as I was about the whole experience, I was glad I was given the opportunity to do something positive, however small it was. In the past, I’ve paid the price for being too idealistic and altruistic. Eventually, I got tired of the criticism and stopped following my generous instincts. But, then I learned that I was allowing negative thinking people to ruin by desire and ability to be kind to others. That’s something I should never have allowed to happen. Yet, it’s never too late to do the right thing, even if you hadn’t done so for a long time. It was one of the things I corrected over the past year, and I am very happy that I did. That’s also a reason why I started doing a lot of volunteer work, especially with senior citizens. I felt for elderly people that were abandoned or placed in nursing homes because their family wanted nothing to do with them, and vowed to do my part and bring a little joy to them in their final days. In a way, I learned a valuable lesson from the eight year old boy. It was a lesson in humility, much the same as the one I learned from the street sweeper in Beijing. After dinner, my friends from Michigan and Quebec City invited me to them for a walk around town. I thought it was a great idea, and decided to them. Jaipur had a lot of nice shops. I wanted to bring back something for my neighbor’s little daughter, so I asked the ladies to keep an eye out for something nice for a four year old girl. We must have walked five miles looking in store

after store. Finally, we came across a children’s clothing store. I wound up buying a very cute Indian dress, and had it wrapped in a nice paper with a bow attached. By the time we got back to the hotel, we were exhausted. Before I entered my room, I took one more look around to make sure the monkeys hadn’t followed me from New Delhi.

CHAPTER 22

We left Jaipur the following morning and began the three hour ride to Agra. On the way, we visited Fatehpur Sikri, once a glittering capital that was later abandoned due to a scarcity of water. I particularly enjoyed the red sandstone palaces. About half-way to Agra, we came across a wedding party traveling along the highway. It resembled a wagon train, but instead of wagons like the kind you would see in an old Western movie, it was a caravan of carts transporting the wedding party, their guests, and even the band to the place the wedding would be held. The carts were brightly painted in an array of intense colors, and adorned with all sorts of decorations. It was a party on wheels. We were really impressed at the sight of this. There was nothing like it in the United States, so we asked the tour guide to stop the bus so we could get out and take some pictures as the caravan of carts ed us by. The bus driver had no objections, so we pulled over onto the shoulder, got out of the bus, and waited for the wedding train to catch up to us. What happened next, in my opinion, may have been a once-in-a-lifetime experience. As the caravan of carts caught up to us, the band began to play a lively tune. Everyone descended from their carts and started dancing on the highway. At first, we were all dumfounded. Then, without hesitation, almost every member of the tour, including myself, ed in the party. Even those suffering from food poisoning only a day or two earlier started dancing wildly on the highway. Some cars pulled over as well, and we were ed by total strangers. This went on for at least a half-hour. We then boarded the bus and continued on our way to Agra. I don’t think I will ever experience another moment like that for as long as I live. Even though we were foreigners, we were treated like family by being allowed to share with the soon-to-be-newlyweds their happiness and joy. It was as much a celebration of life as it was a celebration of love. Our tour guide explained that the wedding party was actually honored that we chose to stop and offer our well wishes. I would have given anything to be a guest at the wedding.

The sun was beginning to set as we reached the outskirts of Agra. Clearly, this was the highlight of the trip for me. When we finally arrived at the hotel, we were greeted by an army of servants, and given a very delicious and refreshing drink. The Jaypee Palace Hotel was practically within walking distance to the Taj Mahal, and was beautifully appointed with gardens, fountains, and even several swimming pools. It was truly a magnificent hotel, and my suite was absolutely magnificent.

CHAPTER 23

We all do stupid things. I’m no different than anyone else. We’re only human. Most of the time, however, we could have avoided doing stupid things if we only stopped for a moment and thought about what we were about to do. Sometimes that’s easier said than done. I woke up at 4:00 A.M. the following morning, took a shower, and went outside for some fresh air. Like all the places I had been to in India so far, the air had a perfume smell that was unlike anything I had experienced in any other country I had been to. While standing outside, I was greeted by the doorman. He was just reporting to work. Before he went into the lobby, I asked him if the hotel had an ATM machine. He said it didn’t, but there was one located in a bank about a block away from the hotel. After I thanked him, I started walking towards the bank. Just as he said, there was an ATM machine just inside the front door. Unfortunately getting into the bank was a bit of a problem. A man was sprawled out on the floor with his back up against the door. At first, I tapped on the door hoping he would wake up. When that didn’t work, I got his body away from the door by forcing it open. The man never flinched. He was out cold. I then completed my transaction, and had to step over him to leave. I would have given him some money if he was awake, but the thought never crossed my mind because of what happened next. As I exited, two men saw me and started following me as I made my way back to the hotel. I didn’t want to appear to be frightened, so I just kept on walking and didn’t look back. But as I continued down the road, I started to hear their footsteps. They were gaining ground on me, and I was still about one hundred feet from the entrance to the hotel. All of a sudden, a man came out from behind a dumpster. It was the doorman. He was throwing out some garbage, and was heading back to the lobby. When the two men saw the doorman, they turned around and started to walk the other way. Without knowing it, the doorman saved me. He asked me if I found the ATM machine, and if I had any problems using it. I told him everything was fine, and dropped the subject. We chatted for a few more

minutes, then I went back to my room. I was glad to hear at breakfast that the sick of the group were feeling fine. It would have been a shame for them to not see what I considered to be the most beautiful thing ever created by mankind in the entire world. Everyone was extremely excited as we boarded the bus for the short ride to the Taj Mahal.

CHAPTER 24

The Taj Mahal is a shrine dedicated to love. It was built by Emperor Shah Jehan to enshrine the remains of his Queen Mumtaz Mahal in the 17th century. The white marble mausoleum is perfectly proportioned, and includes two identical mosques on either side of it along with magnificent gardens and reflecting pools. It is truly the most magnificent structure I have ever seen anywhere in the world. I found myself at a loss for words when I entered the grounds for the first time. The sheer grandeur of the structure took my breath away, and I marveled at the colossal proportions of the edifice as I stood looking from a distance at its shimmering beauty in the morning sun. I was overcome by emotion as I thought about the emperor’s devotion to his wife, and wondered if I would ever have the opportunity to love a woman with the intensity Emperor Jehan loved his wife. As I entered the mausoleum, I felt very conscious of the fact that I was alone. This was a place for two people to feel the power love possesses, and share a romantic moment together. It was the perfect location for them to express their love and renew their devotion to each other. Unfortunately, I was unable to fully appreciate the true intensity of the experience because I was there on my own. As I walked the grounds in total awe and amazement, I enjoyed watching couples walking hand and hand, and occasionally giving each other a kiss or a hug. I felt happy for them, and began to think about the couple we met on the highway just a day ago. They seemed to be very much in love with each other, and imagined they would be visiting the shrine as part of their honeymoon experience. I wish I had the same opportunity. We spent the better part of the morning at the Taj Mahal. Then we made our way back to the hotel for lunch before proceeding on to the Agra Fort and the spice market. Suddenly, I began to realize time was running out for me in India. We would be returning back to New Delhi tomorrow afternoon, and then I would see the doctor tomorrow night to find out the results of the MRI’s. I decided to call him later on in the evening to see when it would be convenient for us to get together.

But for now, I thought the best thing for me was to relax. The couple from Quebec City wanted to take it easy that evening as well, and invited me to them for a drink at poolside. It seemed like a perfect way to end a wonderful day, so I agreed to meet them after dinner at 7:00 P.M.

CHAPTER 25

Just before dinner, I called the doctor to set up an appointment for tomorrow night. We agreed to meet at his home at 7:00 P.M. Our tour guide said we would be back to New Delhi no later than 5:00 P.M. That would give me time to freshen up and have something to eat before I left the hotel. Dinner was very enjoyable. I really enjoyed the vegetarian offerings, and tried some very unique items I had never heard of before. Unlike some of the tourists, I didn’t have a problem with the local cuisine. I always thought that was one of the most enjoyable aspects of visiting a foreign country, and wasn’t shy about trying new foods. After dinner, I met the French Canadians at poolside. They were really a nice couple. We exchanged addresses and telephone numbers, and promised each other we would stay in touch. I even offered to have them as house guests if they ever came to New York. They appreciated the offer, and said the same to me if I ever went up north. The following morning we took a ride on the famous Shatabdi Express train to Jhansi. Then we continued to Orchha by bus, and stopped in Khajuraho to look at its splendid temples. Just as our tour guide predicted, we made it back to New Delhi just before 5:00 P.M. I took a quick shower, and met the group in the dining hall for something to eat at 5:30 P.M. The doctor lived in a beautiful section of New Delhi. The single-family homes resembled the kind you would see in the English countryside. Getting there was an adventure because I left the hotel at the height of the rush hour. Making matters worse, my driver turned down the wrong road and had to backtrack several kilometers before he was able to correct his mistake. He was very apologetic for making the wrong turn. I told him not to worry about it. I really didn’t mind. I was enjoying the scenery. I got the feeling he was worried I wasn’t going to pay him. I guess that happens in India sometimes. It would never happen in New York. The cabbies in New York often make wrong turns. Unless you know the difference and say something, your ride often takes twice as long as it should.

We finally found the doctor’s house at 6:58 P.M. I was glad I wasn’t late. To my surprise, he was standing in the front yard waiting for my arrival. He actually walked down to greet me as I got out of the cab. Then he offered the cab driver a bottle of water. The cab driver graciously declined and went on his way. I thought that was really kind of him. The doctor then escorted me into his home. I was brought into the main sitting room of the house, and offered something to drink by a house servant. Moments later, he came back with the MRI reports in his hand. He told me the brain MRI revealed an ischemic mass on the front right lobe of my brain. He explained this type of mass could be a problem, but I didn’t need to worry about it for now. He also said the cervical spine MRI revealed I have a degenerative condition called cervical spondylosis. Specifically, several vertebrae had compressed over the years. This caused the disks to press outwards close to the spine. He told me this was a serious matter, and suggested I keep an eye on it by having a cervical spine MRI done every year. The doctor also recommended that I gradually reduce the amount of Parkinson’s medication I was taking. He said he would fax his findings and recommendations to my neurologist back in the States. Overall, I could not have been more pleased with him. When I left his home two hours later, I was glad I had made his acquaintance.

CHAPTER 26

Sadly, my time in India had come to an end. After breakfast, I took the shuttle bus to the airport. I said my goodbyes to the couple from Michigan and the French Canadians, then made my way to the South African Airlines check-in counter. I had decided to make South Africa my next stop, and was looking forward to spending the next ten days traveling in a new continent. As I made my way through the terminal, I suddenly heard a female voice cry out my name. It turned out to be the voice of one of my former students at William Floyd High School. Thousands of miles away from home, I was recognized by a graduate of the class of 1992. She had become a pediatrician, and was returning to the United States after doing volunteer work for a month in Calcutta and Bombay. I couldn’t get over the fact that she spotted me among the mass of people at the airport. As I sat at the gate waiting for my flight to Cape Town to board, I started to think about some of the people that made an impression on me while I was India. On top of the list was the eight year old boy selling the postcards. Then came the neurologist from New Delhi, followed by the doorman in Agra, the homeless man by the ATM machine, the two would-be robbers, the high school students at MacDonald’s, the newlyweds on the highway, and the couples from Michigan and Quebec City. It was quite a diverse list, and each one had affected me in a special way. The flight to Cape Town now began to board. I took one last look at the Indian countryside as I entered the tunnel leading to the plane. For some reason, I had the feeling I would come back to India someday. If I did, it would be with someone special. I desperately wanted to revisit the Taj Mahal, and would only do so if I was with a person I was in love with. I promised myself that would be the only way I would go back. The flight to Cape Town went without a hitch. The weather was very sunny and hot when we landed. Our tour guide was an older gentleman with a very strong African accent. He looked like he just came from a safari. He wore the traditional green safari clothes with a wide-brimmed safari hat. Central casting

could not have done a better job. He was quite jovial, and took a liking to me immediately. After our group boarded the bus to make our way to the hotel, he asked me if I would assist him on occasion with some clerical matters. I said I would be glad to assist him. The Protea President Hotel was located across the street from the water. It was truly a five-star hotel with all the amenities one could possibly want. As we entered the hotel lobby, we were once again greeted with refreshments. We had just enough time to freshen up before lunch was about to be served, so I quickly made my way to my room. When I opened the door, I was overwhelmed by the panoramic view I had of the ocean from the balcony. I got the feeling I was going to have a great time, and felt I was off to a good start.

CHAPTER 27

I got the feeling from the very start that the group of people on this tour was going to be a lot of fun. I nicknamed them the Wild Bunch because they were so boisterous. These people were willing to try almost anything, and they let you know it. Among them was a California Night Court Judge, two college professors, a wonderful African-American couple from New Jersey, a former professional wrestler, and two nurses. They were all fabulous people. I also never saw a group of people bond so quickly. It seemed like I knew these people for years. That’s how well we got along. The judge was my favorite. He also was alone. We became friends right away, and did almost everything together. The two nurses were also fun-loving people. They came from Connecticut. On several occasions they teamed up with me and the judge. We made a potent foursome. Cape Town was a spectacular city. There was no other way to describe it. It was the cleanest city I had ever been to, and everything was conveniently situated which made it real easy for tourists to get around. Public transportation was inexpensive and friendly. The people were very friendly. Crime was very low. The weather was perfect. I hit a homerun when I chose this tour. After lunch, the Wild Bunch got on the bus for the short ride to Table Mountain. It was called Table Mountain because it had a flat top like a table. Our guide tried to talk about Table Mountain, but his voice was drowned-out by the group. When we arrived, everyone was given a ticket to ride the cable car to the top of the mountain. It took about fifteen minutes to get to the top. After I climbed out of the cable car, I had a Parkinson’s moment. I felt a little dizzy, and my balance was off a bit. I usually don’t tell people I have Parkinson’s disease, but this time I thought it would be a good idea to let the judge know since he followed me around like a puppy dog. I figured it would be a good idea to let someone know since we would be doing a lot of climbing on this tour. After I regained my faculties, we walked over to the viewing area. We were treated to a panoramic view of the city and the bay. After we left Table Mountain, we took a tour of the Malay Quarter and the city center. Then we

went to the waterfront area to hang out. That evening, the tour guide hosted a welcome dinner. After dinner, almost everyone in the Wild Bunch went to the lounge to hang out. I finally got back to my room at 2:30 A.M., and fell asleep without taking my clothes off. I was exhausted.

CHAPTER 28

The following morning it was breakfast as usual. The Protea President Hotel provided the Wild Bunch with a fabulous buffet. It was going to be a long day, so I decided to eat a little more than I usually do for breakfast. I sat with the judge and the couple from New Jersey. We were later ed by the two nurses. They were a hilarious couple. I found out they didn’t make it back to their rooms until 4:00 A.M. After breakfast, we boarded the bus for a memorable full-day excursion to Cape Peninsula. We drove for hours ing steep mountains, secluded coves, and vast beaches en route to Cape Point which was located at the southern tip of the Peninsula. We made one stop before we arrived at Cape Point. It was a beautiful fishing village called Hout Bay. The weather was absolutely perfect as our bus pulled into the visitor center. The sky was clear, and the sun shone brightly as we followed our guide into the visitor’s pavilion. We were greeted by at least a dozen souvenir peddlers. They were all very friendly and didn’t try to force anyone to buy something. In the distance, I could hear the sound of a steel-drum band playing a reggaestyle song. I like reggae music, so I decided to walk up the hill to get a better glimpse of the band. The band had five , and as they performed, they danced in perfect syncopation. One of them waved to me, so I walked closer to them. All of a sudden, I found myself dancing with the five performers. It was great. Then I was noticed by the couple from New Jersey. They ed in as well. The judge was next, followed by the professional wrestler and the two nurses. The group had now grown to twelve people. After the performance ended, we heard applause from the bottom of the hill. The rest of the Wild Bunch gave us a thunderous ovation. We gave each other highfives, put some money in the band’s collection basket, and made our way back to the bus to more applause and laughter. The Wild Bunch took advantage of the moment and made the most of it. I was amazed at how spontaneous we were. This spontaneity would repeat itself throughout the entire tour.

The fun didn’t stop there. Some of us poked some good-natured fun at the judge’s dancing techniques. He took it in good stride. Others said I resembled some of the dancers. I responded by saying I could have been related to some of the band , but I would have to do a little research into the matter. The tour guide just sat there and smiled. He was happy we knew how to have a good time. It was now close to 12:00 Noon. We decided to stop at a local restaurant for a small lunch before making our way to the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve. I had the specialty of the house.

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The house specialty was pancakes. They were huge. The restaurant had at least thirty different varieties. I had the ones with blueberries. I wish I could have tried them all. They were about two inches thick, and they were delicious. The Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve is one of the prettiest places I ever gone to. The reserve was rich with flora and fauna. As we entered the reserve, I was amazed at the amount of animals walking about. Baboons were everywhere. They seemed oblivious to our presence, and hardly flinched as the bus moved slowly past them. We also spotted rheboks and Cape Mountain Zebras. But, my favorite part of the excursion was the stunning views of the coastline where the Atlantic and Indian Oceans met. I was very impressed with the crashing waves and beautiful cliffs. So was everyone else. In fact, it was so spectacular that we all made a beeline to the water. To get there, however, was a bit of a chore. You had to step over mossladen rocks that were very slippery and uncomfortable to walk over. But, the effort was worth it. Once we made it to the sandy part of the beach, we started beachcombing. A lot of us found some very interesting shells. I was more interested in the huge pieces of kelp that washed up to shore. I draped one piece around my neck and had the judge take a picture of me. It had to have been ten feet long and weighed fifty pounds. It’s one of my favorite pictures of me in Africa. Then something really bizarre happened. One of the nurses decided to take a swim. As she walked into the water, a big wave knocked her off her feet. Down she went as the undertow started to carry her into the next wave. Before you knew it, the couple from New Jersey went to her rescue. The husband ran into the water and dragged the poor soul out just as another wave was about to crash upon them. We all applauded his heroic rescue, and nicknamed him Tarzan for the remainder of the tour. However, our tour guide wasn’t amused. Several tourists drowned a month ago when they went for a swim. That was the last thing the tour guide needed to deal with. Nevertheless, Tarzan and the two nurses were the butt of jokes on the bus as we

drove to our next destination. Simon’s Town was located about ten miles down the coastline, and was famous for its Penguin colony. Penguins weren’t my favorites, but I did enjoy watching then dive off rocks like syncopated swimmers into the rolling waves of the Indian Ocean. After that, we made our way to the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. I couldn’t believe the variety of indigenous South African flora, and really enjoyed the hour we spent there. At 4:30 P.M., the Wild Bunch climbed back into the bus. We were back at the hotel by 6:30 P.M., just in time for dinner.

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The following morning we were given two choices for the day. The first option was a shopping excursion. The second was a trip to Robben Island where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned. I chose the trip to Robben Island. The temperature had risen to 90 degrees by the time I boarded the ferry from the Mandela Gateway along the old waterfront in Cape Town for the forty-five minute ride to Robben Island. Upon my arrival, I was greeted by a soft-spoken man. He introduced himself as Prisoner # 58, and quickly explained that he spent five years in prison with Nelson Mandela from 1986-1990. You could have heard a pin drop as he recounted the horrors of his imprisonment. After we completed the tour, I decided to stay behind hoping to have a private conversation with him. Within a matter of moments, I found myself sitting under a tree with him and some of his friends. As I began to ask him some questions about his years on Robben Island, he quickly interrupted me, and in a gentle tone asked me if I had ever met Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Regrettably, I answered no, but quickly added that I grew up during the civil rights movement in America and considered Dr. King a national hero. He responded by saying Dr. King was an inspiration to him during his years of imprisonment, and rightfully remains to this day a symbol of hope and freedom to all South Africans. He was also very quick to add that we mustn’t ever forget the sacrifice Dr. King made for the cause of freedom and equality. In all, our conversation about Dr. King and the civil rights movement in America lasted about thirty minutes. When it was time to leave, he hugged me goodbye as if I was a member of his family. As I rode the ferry back to the Mandela Gateway in Cape Town I realized how lucky I was to meet this man. But then I began to think about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Even though I never met him, I felt his comion and heard his message of hope as a young adult during the 1960’s. Dr. King truly changed the course of history, and we should never forget the sacrifice he made for all Americans and peoples around the world.

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It was now time to leave Cape Town. I really enjoyed Cape Town, but was looking forward to the next destination. Unlike China and India, there were three times as many places to visit on this tour. I have to hand it to the tour company. They kept you hopping. After breakfast, we took a short flight to King Shaka International Airport on the Kwazulu Natal North Coast located just outside of the bustling port city of Durban. We then traveled by bus to a charming resort village named Salt Rock. The village was famous for beachcombing. The beach was well known for its golden sand. Just before our tour guide escorted us to the beach, he warned the Wild Bunch not to go swimming. The water temperature was only about fiftyfive degrees, and the water was shark-infested. Everyone suddenly looked at the two nurses. Tarzan told them he didn’t do sharks. We all laughed, then made our way to the beach. We weren’t disappointed. The beach was absolutely spectacular. The sand was truly golden, and the mist from the crashing waves was quite refreshing in the ninety-degree heat. The water was very beautiful as well. In some spots, it appeared azure-blue. In other spots, it was turquoise-green. It changed colors and shades as the waves relentlessly attacked the shoreline like a constant bombardment in a wartime battle. After our brief visit to Salt Rock, we traveled northwards through canefields and timber plantations to Zululand. I only knew one thing about Zululand. It was where the Zulus lived. I also recall watching a movie about the Zulus when I was a teenager. So, I was really interested in meeting a real, live Zulu warrior. But, first we had to go through Zulu customs. Our hotel was totally different from any other I stayed at up to now. It was called the Hluhluwe Hotel, and it was located on the grounds of the Hluhluwe Game Preserve. It resembled something you might find on the grounds of Disneyworld. It was designed to mimic the hut-like structures one would associate with Africa, but with all the conveniences of a modern five-star hotel. There was only one major drawback. The place was full of monkeys. They hung out in the trees. No

matter where you went on the grounds, monkeys weren’t far behind. That freaked some people out, and made me a little anxious as well.

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The first thing on the agenda the following morning was breakfast. It was a typical buffet style breakfast. The only difference from the other buffets was its location. It was indoors rather than outdoors. The monkeys were really aggressive. You couldn’t leave your meal unattended for more than a second if you were outside. Some of the Wild Bunch decided to ignore the warning and ate outdoors. They paid the price. Monkeys jumped out of the trees like superheroes snatching food items faster than a speeding bullet. These primates were so brazen, even Tarzan had a banana stolen right out of his hand. We were now about to do what everyone eagerly awaited. We were about to go on our first game drive in open safari vehicles. The vehicles were modified jeeps. They carried eight engers comfortably. I sat next to the driver, the judge and the two nurses sat in the second row, and the professional wrestler and the couple from New Jersey, heretofore known as Tarzan and Jane, sat in the back row. The rules were simple. If anyone saw game, you had to tell the driver to stop. The driver had a rifle draped over his shoulder. Shortly after our jeep caravan entered the preserve, the professional wrestler spotted an elephant. It was a very large male, and was not too far away from a female in heat. When he saw us, he let out a thunderous cry. We barely had enough time to take some pictures before the driver took off. The last thing anyone wants to do is upset a male elephant while he’s trying to be with a female. I was the next person to spot some game. As we turned down a narrow road, I spotted a lion resting under a tree. I told the driver to stop, and wound up no more than ten feet away from the beast. I neglected to tell the driver what I saw, so he pulled over to the left not knowing he stopped right where the lion was located. Then something terribly frightening occurred. There were three females along with the male lion. One of the females was no more than five feet away from me. Startled, she got up from her prone position, let out a growl, and then slowly started walking away. The male and the other females followed suit. While this was happening, everyone was yelling and screaming behind me. The

situation was so precarious, the driver had to take his rifle off of his shoulder just in case one of the lions attacked me. When the rest of the Wild Bunch heard what had happened, I received a round of applause. As far as I was concerned, I was glad to be alive.

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After our morning game drive, the Wild Bunch boarded the bus to Zululand. About fifteen minutes later, we arrived at Damazulu Village to experience the everyday life of the Zulu tribe, renowned for its warrior culture. We witnessed traditional customs such as tribal dancing, spear making, and a ceremony of beer drinking. Too bad the guy from Indiana wasn’t here. We were then treated to a special Zulu lunch. While the Wild Bunch ate lunch, I decided to walk over to the hut that belonged to a Zulu fortuneteller. When we met her earlier, we were told she was a clairvoyant, and was famous throughout South Africa for her accuracy in predicting the future. This was a perfect opportunity for me to try to find out something about my own future. As I approached the hut, I was met by a young Zulu girl. This young girl spoke English. I asked her if I could see the fortuneteller. She went into the hut, and a few minutes later she came back out to tell me the fortuneteller agreed to see me. I truly felt honored, and when I entered the hut I was told to take my shoes off and sit on a rug that was prepared for me. The young girl acted as my translator. The first thing the fortuneteller did was to take a bag of shells and cast them on the ground in front of her. Then she began to chant, and finally she began to talk to the young girl. She said I was destined to live a long life. She also said I would never be poor. She said anyone that tried to harm me would be punished. Time, she said, was on my side. I was very humbled by her, and thanked her over and over again. Just as I was about to say goodbye, I heard my name called. It was Tarzan. He was looking for me because the bus was about to leave. I was very quiet on the bus ride back to the hotel, and when we arrived I went directly to my room. Now I know why I came to South Africa.

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We spent the rest of the day relaxing in the lounge. Everyone had a story to tell. Even the monkeys looked interested. I held onto my glass of soda as if my life depended on it. The following morning it was breakfast as usual, then a short ride to the tiny Kingdom of Swaziland. We spent about an hour shopping for souvenirs at a colorful market, and watched an interesting presentation on basket weaving. But, our main destination this day was Kruger National Park. To get there, we drove through the beautiful countryside of the province of Transvaal. At one point, we stopped to take pictures of a huge canyon that resembled the Grand Canyon back in the States. Kruger National Park was considered to be South Africa’s premier game sanctuary. The terrain was very diverse, and exceedingly beautiful. We finally arrived just before lunchtime. The Protea Kruger Gate Lodge was located near the park’s gate, and like our last hotel, was full of monkeys. Yet, these monkeys didn’t seem as aggressive as their cousins down the road. Nonetheless, I made sure my windows and doors were locked at all times. The following morning we went on an open game drive in search of the park’s many residents including the Big Five; lion, elephant, buffalo, rhino, and leopard. As the drive began, we spotted two hippopotamus, dozens of giraffes, crocodiles, and zebras. We were also treated to a number of very beautiful birds, snakes, and various other small animals. While we didn’t find any lions, we did spot several elephants and buffalo. The highlight, however, was when the professional wrestler spotted a leopard. It was the first one spotted in several weeks, and we all were able to take some great pictures of the female as she walked by us with something in her mouth she had just caught. The Wild Bunch bestowed the title of bwana on the professional wrestler as we exited the park. He certainly earned his fifteen minutes of fame that day for spotting the leopard. After lunch, we returned to the park for another open vehicle safari. The temperature had reached close to one-hundred degrees. This made it very

difficult to spot any big game. Like humans, animals do their best to avoid the heat of the day. We saw a couple of giraffes, and that was it. Dinner was very enjoyable under the light of a full-moon. Afterwards, we all retired because the bus was scheduled to leave at 6:30 A.M. the following morning. All in all, it was one of the most enjoyable days I had in a very long time.

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The Wild Bunch was on the road again. This time we were on our way to Mpumalanga, formerly known as the Eastern Transvaal. We were treated to panoramic views of the wild countryside and unparalleled views of densely forested mountains, valleys, rivers, and waterfalls. Around 10:00 A.M. we arrived at Blyde River Canyon, one of the greatest spectacles of Africa. We then went on to Bourke’s Luck Pot Holes, a place of African legend containing bizarre holes cut into rock by powerful river erosion. We also relished sweeping views from God’s Window before arriving in Pilgrim’s Rest, an old gold mining post. We spent some free time exploring the town. I enjoyed, in particular, the beautifully restored old corrugated iron houses. Our last leg brought us to Sandton, a flourishing suburb of Johannesburg. It was the commerce and diamond mining center of the region. Time was running out in Africa. We were down to our last full day before heading home. I decided my next tour would be Egypt, so I began to mentally prepare myself for the next part of my personal odyssey in search of real happiness. In the morning, we went on a tour of Soweto. We learned a lot about South Africa’s turbulent past and the hope for a brighter future. Soweto was a sprawling metropolis on the outskirts of Johannesburg. We visited Freedom Square and learned a lot of interesting facts about the struggle for freedom. We also visited Nelson Mandela’s home and Pretoria, the istrative capital of South Africa. At 6:30, we celebrated one last time by having a farewell dinner. We feasted on a traditional South African buffet. No monkeys, fortunately, were present. Unlike the China and even the India tour, I really felt sorry I had to say goodbye to so many fine people. I remained friendly with the judge, and even kept in touch with the couple from New Jersey. The two nurses and the professional wrestler were a lot of fun to be with. All in all, I learned a very valuable lesson from them. Life is too short to eat burned toast. Every day is truly a gift from God. I had to stop accepting less than the best. Instead, I had to reward myself for being the kind-hearted, generous person that I always was. God willing, only then could I experience life as it truly was meant to be. I needed to exit the road

to nowhere. When I took a cab to the airport the following morning, I thought about the fortuneteller’s predictions.

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I didn’t know it at the time, but Egypt turned out to be one of the most dangerous trips I ever went on. I got the feeling it would be a bit precarious when I arrived in Cairo. There were people in plain clothes carrying weapons in the airport everywhere you looked. It wasn’t until I boarded the flight to Hurghada, a prosperous resort town on the shores of the Red Sea, that I felt at ease. It was 1:30 P.M. when we arrived at the airport. Our tour guide met us at the gate and quickly escorted us to the baggage claim area. As I entered the area, I saw an old familiar face. A colleague of mine and her friend were waiting for their bags. She was an English teacher at William Floyd, and her friend was her neighbor. They both lived in Shoreham, and decided to take advantage of a last minute offering by the tour company. They saved a bundle of money, and were very excited to be in Egypt. Needless to say, the three of us stayed together throughout the entire tour. After we got our bags, we boarded the bus and made our way to the Fort Arabesque Hotel, situated on one of the most beautiful stretches of the Abu Mahang Bay. The hotel faced the sea, and afforded spectacular sunrises and sunsets. Our tour guide was a certified Egyptologist. He was quite friendly, and was dressed in desert garb which gave him an added aura of authenticity. I became quite friendly with him during the tour. He was an honest, down to earth man that was a walking encyclopedia when it came to Egypt’s history. Along with him, I became friendly with a college from Amherst. She, too, came to Egypt with a neighbor. They had just become empty-nesters, and were looking forward to an adventurous vacation. It didn’t take much time for their wish to come true. After I checked into my room, I decided to take a walk around the grounds and get a look at the amenities the hotel had to offer. It was spectacularly beautiful, and had no less than a dozen individual gardens to peruse. I then decided to ask the Shoreham ladies to me for a swim. I was amazed at the salt content of the Red Sea, and how easy it was to float in the water. I grew up believing salt water was good for your skin, so I stayed in the water for a good hour. The water

temperature had to be at least eighty degrees, but I didn’t mind at all. It was still refreshing considering the air temperature was at least fifteen degrees higher. That evening we attended a wonderful welcome dinner. The group seemed to be a bunch of really nice people. They weren’t anything like the Wild Bunch, but they were still a great pleasure to be with. After dinner, I hung out at the lounge for a little while. I decided to call it a day at midnight.

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The following morning I decided to go snorkeling. Schools of very colorful fish and magnificent corals were everywhere. It was very easy to tread through the water because of the high salt content. In the afternoon, I explored the sandy beach of Sharm el Naga, famous for its glorious and easily accessible coral reef. It was located only a few yards off shore. That evening, I decided to do some shopping in the local bazaars with the ladies from Shoreham and the college . I’m not much for shopping, but I did enjoy all the colorful goods that were for sale. We got back to the hotel by 10:00 P.M., and sat in the lounge for about an hour. Once again, I decided to call it a day by going to sleep at midnight. After breakfast the following morning, we boarded our bus for the three hour drive to Luxor. Before we left, our tour guide spoke to us about the dangers of travelling through the Egyptian desert. The only way to Luxor was by a highway that was the scene of some terrorist activity in the past. He recommended that we leave the first five rows of the bus empty in case we were attacked. Apparently, terrorists developed a bomb made out of a jelly-like substance that stuck quite well to windshields. One recent incident took the lives of ten people. They were seated in the first five rows of the bus, and never had a chance. As soon as he was done advising us, everyone in the first five rows left their seats and moved to the back of the bus. I moved to the first row, and began a pleasant conversation with the driver and the tour guide. Two hours later, our bus rendezvoused with two pick-up trucks with machine guns mounted in the bed of each vehicle. I thought my life was over when one pick-up truck came over a sand dune on the right, and the other pick-up truck flew over a dune on our left. They were hired by the tour company to escort us into Luxor. Some people were visibly upset by this, and felt we should have been warned about the pick-up trucks in advance. I didn’t mind at all. I was glad they were on our side. As our bus entered the city, things got even scarier. Perched on platforms at every intersection were of the government militia armed with machine

guns and rifles. Periodically, our bus was pulled over so the undercarriage could be checked for hidden bombs. At one checkpoint, we were herded off the bus so the authorities could check inside the bus. The atmosphere was very tense. Even I began to feel a bit worried. Our hotel wasn’t really a hotel at all. It was a luxurious Nile River boat. I couldn’t believe my eyes when we pulled up to it. It was at least one-hundred feet long and three floors high, and was comfortable and spacious. That evening, I stood out on the main deck to see the magnificent sunset. As the sun set on the Nile River, several stars appeared along with a full moon. Actually, the whole setting was quite romantic.

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We had breakfast the following morning, then boarded the bus to make our way to the Temples of Karnak and Luxor. They were the greatest cities of ancient Egypt. Once we arrived, we began our visit by walking along the Avenue of the Sphinxes and among the pillars of the colossal Temple of Amon Ra. Our guide was fabulous. He was truly an encyclopedia of ancient Egyptian history, and made everything we saw practically come to life. Later on that day, we made our way to the Valley of the Kings on the West Bank of the Nile. I was very impressed with the grandeur of the river, and the amount of activity on its shores. The Nile was the source of life for the Egyptian people for thousands of years, and a beautiful sight to behold. The Valley of the Kings was absolutely fascinating. Generations of Pharaohs and royalties were buried here in tombs cut into sheer rock. It was blistering hot when we arrived. We immediately proceeded to the very impressive Deir El Bahari mortuary rock temple of Queen Hatshepsut, an architectural masterpiece built against the backdrop of a looming cliff face, and the Colossi of Memnon, two huge seated statues of Amenhotep III guarding the valleys. I suppose my favorite sight turned out to be the tomb of King Tut. We had a choice of going into either Tut’s tomb, or the tomb of King Ramses. I chose Tut’s tomb because I was more familiar with his legacy. I was amazed at the tomb’s construction, and was very glad I made the choice I did. We arrived back to our floating hotel around 5:30 P.M., just in time to freshen up for dinner. On the way back, our bus was stopped for inspection by the local militia no less than five times. Despite the inconvenience, it was an enjoyable ride. I really enjoyed the sight of camels and water buffaloes juxtaposed against the striking desert and tall palm trees in the horizon. Just before dinner, I walked over to the starboard side of the river boat to ire the sun that was about to set in the Egyptian horizon. Before I knew it, I was spotted by a young boy in a small flat bottom boat that was selling some scarfs and other linen goods. I couldn’t help thinking about the eight year old boy back

in India as he paddled his way alongside the river boat. Speaking very good English, he showed me what he had for sale. I decided to buy a couple of scarfs for my sister, and even gave him a few extra dollars as a tip. He was very appreciative of my generosity, and as I watched him paddle away in the Egyptian sunset, I wished him the very best in life. He could not have been more than ten years old.

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Our river boat began sailing towards Edfu overnight. After breakfast, we disembarked in Edfu, and went on a tour of the Temple of Edfu, a Greek-built and beautifully preserved monument to Horus, the falcon – headed son of Osiris. It took about two hundred years to complete and has helped fill in many gaps of knowledge about the Pharaonic architecture that it was inspired by. After lunch onboard, we docked at Kom Ombo where in ancient times, sacred crocodiles basked in the sun on the river bank. We took a short walk to visit the unique temple that was dedicated to the falcon and crocodile gods. We also stopped at a colorful local market. That evening, we set sail toward Aswan. Abu Simbel was quite enjoyable. After a short flight from Aswan to Abu Simbel, we visited fascinating sandstone temples. These Nubian Monuments consisted of twin temples carved from the mountainside during the reign of Pharaoh Ramses II. After we flew back to Aswan, we savored the beauty of the Nile on board a felucca, a traditional Egyptian sailboat. We sailed around Elephantine Island, once the center of modern Aswan. Afterwards we returned to the river boat for a farewell to the Nile cruise dinner. The following morning, we disembarked from the MS Nile Symphony and visited Aswan’s massive High Dam which controls the Nile and is a major source of hydroelectric power in Egypt. Then we boarded a motor launch to the island of Agilika to visit the temple of Isis. This temple was transplanted from the submerged island of Philae. We also visited the famous unfinished obelisk. Afterwards, we flew to Cairo, and checked into the Cairo Marriot Hotel & Casino which overlooked the Nile and was surrounded by lush gardens. Compared to all the hotels I stayed at so far, this hotel was by far the most exotic. It had the look and feel of ancient Egypt. But, for some reason there seemed to be tension in the air the moment we checked into the hotel. A bomb went off in downtown Cairo a day ago, and tensions between the government militia and the anti-Mubarak protesters had escalated considerably. I wondered if we would be witness to a historic overthrow of the Mubarak government while we were in Cairo. That would be a first for me.

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The big moment had arrived. After breakfast, we went on a guided excursion to the most famous of all sites in Egypt; the Great Pyramids of Giza. These amazing monuments have stood for forty-six centuries and are considered one of the Wonders of the World. In addition, we enjoyed a close up look at the enigmatic Sphinx, a feline character with the body of a lion and the face of Khufu. Also known as Cheops in Greek, it was carved from a single stone, and lies just before the Pyramids. It would be an understatement to say the Pyramids were spectacular in every sense of the word. Constructed by Egyptians, our tour guide was quick to point out that the Pyramids were not built by Hebrew slaves as depicted in the movie The Ten Commandments. My breath was taken away at the sight of these giant structures, and I tried my best to comprehend the scale and scope of their construction. Next to the Taj Mahal, I had never seen anything so magnificent in the entire world. Afterwards, I decided to the Shoreham Ladies on an optional tour to Memphis and Sakkara. It took about an hour by bus to the oldest capital of Egypt. When we arrived, we saw the colossal statue of Ramses II and the alabaster sphinx of King Tutmosis III. We went on from there to visit the Sakkara step pyramids, including the famous Step Pyramid of Zoser. It was a lot to take in. By the end of the excursion, my brain was practically fried by all of the information our fabulous tour guide gave us. By the time we got back to the hotel, I could barely move. Climbing pyramids, monuments, and temples was something I wasn’t accustomed to. Yet, for all the aches and pains that followed, I was quite pleased with everything. That evening, I ed the Shoreham Ladies and a few other of the tour and visited the casino that was inside the hotel. It wasn’t anything like the casinos back in the States, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. I had only been to a casino in Atlantic City once in my life, so I wasn’t familiar with all the games. However, I did enjoy playing the roulette wheel. For some reason, the number twenty was on my mind, so I put ten dollars down on the number. To my

surprise, the number came up.

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My time in Egypt was coming to an end. This morning, we visited the Egyptian Museum. A local expert introduced us to the priceless antiquities of King Tut’s tomb. After a two hour stay at the museum, we went to the colorful Khan El Khalili bazaar for some last minute buying of unique souvenirs. We spent the remainder of the day browsing in the many shops that filled the bazaar, and then we made our way back to the hotel for one last dinner in Egypt before flying off to the next destination. While almost everyone returned to the United States the following morning, I chose to continue my personal odyssey by continuing on to Southeast Asia. Ever since I saw the movie The King and I, I always wanted to visit Thailand. I was also interested in seeing South Korea, and figured while I was there, I would also include Japan in my journey. There was a special reason why I wanted to see Japan. I also considered adding Europe to my travels before returning to the United States. I had never been to England or , and I figured they would be nice places to visit along with Italy, the country of my own family’s origin. I was especially interested in visiting . When I retired from teaching, I began to paint. I really loved the Impressionists. Of course, Claude Monet was my favorite. Being an avid gardener, I was very interested in Monet. But Manet, Degas, Renoir, and Cezanne were also favorites. I really wanted to visit the Louvre to see as many of their paintings as I could. England excited me because I taught literature for thirty-three years. I wanted to visit all the historical sites as well as Stratford-on-Avon. Frankly, I planned to visit England in the past, but for one reason or another, the plan fell through. This time I wouldn’t let that happen.

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There was something different about Thailand. Something I really never expected. Thailand seemed to be a country that lived in two worlds. One was the real world characterized by the daily need to survive. The other was a fantasy world. You could do practically anything you wanted. The people of Thailand were some of the hardest working people I ever met. The work ethic was emphasized in every home at an early age. While conformity was not carved in stone, most of the people I met told me children are raised to help provide for the family. They are expected to contribute whatever they can to the family once they are old enough to work. Everything was right out in the open in Thailand. China and India certainly had their crowded cities, but Thailand had Bangkok. In my wildest imagination, I never saw anything like it. People, along with cars, buses, trucks, bicycles and motor scooters were everywhere. It was organized chaos to the tenth power. Thailand was known as the Land of Smiles. Its capitol, Bangkok, was situated on the banks of the Chao Phraya River. When I arrived, I was immediately greeted by the tour guide and taken to the Century Park Hotel. Just as our group arrived at the hotel, news came that a major earthquake had taken place in Japan. A giant tsunami followed, resulting in the devastation of countless towns and villages along Japan’s northeast coast. At first, details were sketchy, but as the news reports started filtering in, it was apparent that Japan had suffered widespread devastation and loss of life. I watched television in solemn anticipation all night to get more information. Since Japan was one of my destinations, I felt it would be a good idea to keep abreast of the situation. The following morning we attended a special orientation breakfast, then went to visit some of the outstanding Buddhist temples in Bangkok. The first place we went to was Wat Trimitr with its invaluable five-ton solid gold statue of Buddha. It was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. Then we saw Wat Po, which featured the colossal one-hundred and fifty foot long Reclining Buddha. We also visited the White Marble Temple which is generally considered the finest example of Thai architecture.

After a very pleasant lunch, I took a ride on a canal boat with a few of the tour . I met a nice gentleman from Philadelphia and a couple from New York. It was their third trip to Thailand, and they knew a lot about the culture. When we got back to the hotel late that afternoon, we learned that the devastation in Japan was far worse than originally predicted. Yet, what happened next was something I hope I never experience again.

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It was 7:00 A.M. the following morning. I had just finished getting dressed and was about to go down to breakfast. Suddenly, everything started to shake. At first, I thought I was having what I call a Parkinson’s moment. But, then I realized I wasn’t losing my balance because of the disease. I was losing my balance because of an earthquake. The earthquake measured 6.5 on the Richter scale. It lasted for about thirty-five seconds, but seemed to go on like an eternity. As I stood in my room, the first thing I noticed was the window curtains swinging side-to-side. The ceiling lamp was also swaying back and forth, and the lights began to flicker like a cheap light show at a concert. I became a bit nauseous, and held onto a door until the shaking stopped. Aside from a few things falling on the floor, there didn’t appear to be any serious damage in the room. Nonetheless, the fire siren went on, and moments later, someone in the hallway yelled for everyone to get out. The hotel management decided to ask everyone to evacuate just to play it safe. The earthquake was centered hundreds of kilometers away in the Golden Triangle Region where Thailand, Burma, and Laos meet. Several years earlier, a major earthquake occurred in southern Thailand resulting in considerable damage and loss of life. This earthquake was minor in comparison, but still strong enough to warrant an evacuation. Finally, we were allowed back into the hotel an hour later. I didn’t make a big deal about it, and went directly to breakfast. After breakfast, our group visited the colorful Damnoen Saduak floating market. To get there, we had to board a rice barge. I was glad I wasn’t on one of them when the quake occurred. Afterwards, we visited the Rose Garden, and then we made our way to the Grand Palace, where Kings formerly resided. I was pretty tired when we returned to the hotel that late afternoon. The temperature had to have been close to one hundred degrees, and the humidity was extremely high as well. I was close to itting I had met my match. I really like the heat and humidity, but this was over the top, even for me. Our guide told us it’s like this every day. I think I was the only one that didn’t

complain. That evening after dinner, I went back to my room to watch television. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched news reports of the devastation in Japan. Then, I realized it was decision time. I was scheduled to be in Thailand for three more days, and had to decide whether or not to skip South Korea and just go to Japan, or stick to my plan and see both. I decided to sleep on it until the following morning.

CHAPTER 44

Over the next few days, we ventured into some of Thailand’s most fascinating regions. They were rich with culture, history, and stunning landscapes. In Ayutthaya, the ancient capital, we saw a bronze statue of Wat Mongkol Borpith and the three ancient pagodas at Wat Phra Sri. Then we went on to Lopburi to view the magnificent stone carvings of Phra Prang Sam Yod, as well as the Monkey Temple. With all due respect, I had enough of monkeys for a lifetime. But, I must it the temple was extraordinarily beautiful. We also drove past beautiful rice paddies, and eventually made our way to Phitsanulok, the gateway to Northern Thailand. We visited the Bronze Case Factory, and saw how Buddha Images were made in an authentic way. Our tour guide was excellent. When we drove to Sukhothal to see the famous ruins of the thirteenth-century first capital of Siam, he gave us a lot of very interesting background information. We visited the Textile Museum, and continued on to Sri Satchanalai, the northern outpost town of the Kingdom of Sukhothal. Built by King Ramkamhaeng, we also visited an ancient ceramic kiln before proceeding to Lampang. Our trek north finally brought us to the Golden Triangle, the confluence of Thailand, Burma, and Laos. Lampang was famous for its narrow streets and traditional horse-drawn carriages. We visited a local village that specialized in making paper and ceramics, and then we departed for Phayao, a rural lakeside town. From there, it was on to Chiang Saen which was situated on the border with Laos. We even got to take a short boat ride on the Mekong River. I hadn’t heard much news about Japan, so I decided to make arrangements to fly to South Korea for a day or two, then on to Tokyo. It took about eight hours to make it back to Bangkok. Fortunately, the weather cooperated. While it was excruciatingly hot outside, the bus air-conditioner worked perfectly. I sat next to a woman from Philadelphia. She was a really nice person, and told me the story of her life on the way back to Bangkok. Sadly, her husband left her after thirty-one years of marriage for another man. At first, she didn’t know what to do. She spent the first year after he left her trying to save the marriage. He

wasn’t interested. In fact, the only thing he was interested in was a divorce. His new partner got his divorce that same year. He, too, had been married for over thirty years. She finally gave up trying to salvage the marriage when her husband told the judge he didn’t love her anymore. It was that simple. He threw away thirty one years of marriage without feeling any remorse. Ironically, her husband’s partner left her husband about a year later. I wonder if her husband ever wished he could turn back the hands of time. Whether he did or not, he wasn’t interested. Sometimes, the grass isn’t greener on the other side of the fence.

CHAPTER 45

When it came to helping people, I was always the first on line. For as long as I could , I put other people before me. A number of years ago, I helped a very sick child from my mother’s home town in Italy get medical treatment in the United States. When the September 11th disaster occurred, I volunteered to help out by serving coffee and donuts to rescue workers from Salvation Army canteen. Once I retired, I volunteered my time to help others with Parkinson’s disease. I taught painting classes in nursing homes, and auctioned many of my paintings to raise money for medical research. I spent only two days in South Korea. It was a pretty simple visit. I hired a cab driver in Seoul to give me a private guided tour, and then I left for Tokyo at 7:00 P.M. on the second day. When I arrived, I took the train to Tokyo. The airport was quite a distance north of the city. It would have cost me a small fortune if I had taken a cab. I had two reasons for visiting Japan. The first was to do volunteer work. The second had to do with my father. In January of 2007, my father told me he wanted to go back to Japan to visit a man he befriended in Yokohama while serving in the U.S. Army as part of the occupation forces. He was my father’s age, and he lived just outside of Yokohama in the town of Chiba. I thought it was a great idea, and before more time ed, I took my father to get a new port. We were all ready to go, but suddenly my father became ill. He was diagnosed with mesothelioma in July, and died in September of that year. I never forgot the promise I made to my father. Even though it took me four years, I finally made it. But, now I was overcome with the desire to help the earthquake and tsunami victims any way I could. So, I checked into a hotel once the train arrived. I woke up at 8:00 the following morning. After breakfast, I went to the national headquarters of the Japanese Red Cross Society, where I met with the director of operations from the International Department. Shortly afterwards, I was introduced to an officer from the Office of the President. Both women explained that the Red Cross Society was not done with their disaster assessments, and

could not accept my offer to do volunteer work at the moment. Undaunted, I gave them my card, and told them I would call them every day while I was in Tokyo to see if there was anything I could do. It was difficult for me to have a really good time knowing what had happened. I felt very frustrated that I wasn’t helping out in some way, so I decided to take the train to Chiba the following morning to start looking for my father’s friend. The ride took about forty minutes. But when I got off the train, I realized I had made a huge mistake. It was Sunday, and all the government offices including the post office were closed. There was no way I could possibly find my father’s friend, so I got back on the next train to Tokyo, and went directly to the Red Cross Society. Once again, I was told there was nothing for me to do.

CHAPTER 46

The following morning I visited the Japan Tower and Shiba Garden. But just as I was about to leave my hotel room, everything began to shake. Ten minutes later, I learned Japan had just experienced a 5.5 magnitude earthquake around the same area as the one a week earlier. A tsunami warning was also posted, but fortunately a short while later it was cancelled. I had nothing really to do, so I decided to take a walk. On my way, I stopped in to see the two women at the Red Cross Society Headquarters. Once again, I was told there was nothing for me to do. When I got back to my hotel room, I turned on the television and learned that the radiation in the air had risen quite a bit. In addition, I heard the situation at the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant had worsened, so I decided to allow reason to prevail, and began making arrangements to leave Japan. Later that day, I stopped by to say goodbye to the two women at the Red Cross Society Headquarters. Then I went back to my hotel and began to pack. After I finished packing, I took a short nap and left my hotel around 2:30 P.M. I wanted to beat the evening rush, so I got on a train and headed towards Narita Airport. Several stops later, a man boarded the train and took a seat right next to me. He appeared to be around my age, and had a familiar look about him. He bowed at me as he took his seat, and moments later tapped me on my left shoulder as I was looking at my port. He then asked me in very broken English where I came from, and why I was in Japan. I tried to explain that I came to do volunteer work. For the next ten minutes, we tried to communicate with each other as best as we could. At one point, I opened my suitcase and took out a hat that had the word Volunteer on it. I hoped it would help explain what I was talking about. Then I did something spontaneous. I gave the man my hat and one of my business cards. At first he seemed a little reluctant, but eventually he agreed to keep the hat. He began to write his name and address on the back of my business card. As he handed me the card, he pronounced his name. It was Kohei, and he lived in the town of Chiba. Suddenly, every hair on my body stood up on end. But, before I could say anything, Kohei got off the train. As the train pulled away from the station, he bowed to me one more time. Something told me this man was related to my father’s friend.

Too bad my visit to Japan wasn’t more productive. I wish I could have done more for the Japanese people in their time of need. And, of course, it was a shame I didn’t find my father’s friend. But, on the other hand, maybe the trip was a success after all. I learned a lot about Japanese culture and tradition in the few days I was there. And most importantly, I learned how courageous and determined the Japanese people are, especially in the face of adversity and despair.

CHAPTER 47

I arrived in London the following morning at 7:00 A.M. I decided to take British Airways because they had frequent flights to Paris and Rome as well. It just seemed like a good idea to use the same airline. It would be easier, I thought, to coordinate my schedule with one carrier. I decided to stay in a hotel that was centrally located to all of the tourist attractions. In order to get there, I had to take the train. When I boarded, I noticed everyone was absolutely quiet. Unlike trains in the United States, the people on this train didn’t say a word. I found out later this was the result of terrorist attacks. People were very wary of the possibility that something could happen at any moment, and they chose not to talk because they didn’t want to be distracted in case something did happened. When I arrived at the Green Park station, I had to walk two blocks to get to my hotel. It was a small but charming hotel located within walking distance of many tourist attractions. After I checked in, I decided to do a little sightseeing. It was brutally cold outside, so I wore my green London Fog winter coat. Ironically, it was the warmest coat I had. I amazed at how much ground I covered that afternoon. I went to Westminster Abbey, Parliament, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, London and Tower Bridges, the Globe Theater, and hired a cab to take me to Stratford-on-Avon. I had a pleasant dinner by myself in a quaint pub, and actually paid a truck driver to give me a ride back to London. He dropped me off five blocks from my hotel. The following morning I took the train back to Heathrow. I got on a commuter flight to Paris, and checked into a hotel at 11:00 A.M. Then I did the same thing in Paris as I did in London. I bought something to eat, then went sightseeing. The Eifel Tower was the first thing I saw, followed by the Arch de Triumph and Notre Dame Cathedral. I even spent about two hours inside the Louvre looking at Impressionist paintings. From there I went back to my hotel for dinner, then I went for a walk down the Champs Elysees and did some window shopping. About five blocks down, I came across a café. Two men and a woman were seated outside despite the bitter cold. As I walked past them, they asked me if I

wanted to them. I thought about it for a second, then I pulled up a chair. The three were American expatriates living in Paris. They were artists, and shared a loft in the Latin Quarter. One of them poured me some brandy and asked me where I came from. I explained I was an artist as well, and was on an extended vacation that brought me to Paris twelve hours ago. They were really nice people, and I sat there with them for about an hour before making my way back to my hotel. My day trips to London and Paris were a success. I found the people in both cities to be very pleasant, friendly, and helpful. But, tomorrow I would be flying to the country of my origin. Even though I had been there over twenty times before, I was still excited about going to Italy. It was the last place I would go to before returning to the Unites States.

CHAPTER 48

I always enjoyed flying into Rome. The mere sight of the Italian coast would excite me as we made our descent into Fiumicino Airport. I felt very much at home in Italy, and knew my way around the country like the proverbial back of my hand. I was able to get through customs and find my bags in less than a half-hour. Then I took the subway to the Central Station, and walked about five blocks to the Hotel Palatino on Via Cavuto. It was a four-star hotel only two blocks away from the Coliseum and the Forum. I had been there several times in the past, and enjoyed the first class service. The last time I was in Italy alone was 1970. That was only three years after my first visit with my mother and sister in 1967. I only planned on staying for two days. I hung around the hotel for the remainder of the morning thinking about people from the past. Sadly, a lot of people were gone since that first visit in 1967. I learned to live life to the fullest from these people. No one could predict how much time we had, so you had to treat every moment like it was your last. Most of the people I met on my voyage had the same attitude. That afternoon, I decided to take a walk over to St. Peter’s Square. It took about a half-hour to get through security, but finally I made my way inside to say a few prayers. Years ago, you were able to walk right into the church. There were no security checks. But times have changed. Acts of vandalism, and terrorist activity and threats made it necessary to tighten security. Like many of the airports I went through, St. Peter’s looked like a military facility. Soldiers with machine guns were everywhere. It didn’t make me feel safe. I was sorry it had gotten that way in the past forty-five years. I got back to the hotel a little late. I stopped to buy a few things including a tourist magnet for my sister. She liked collecting magnets from around the world, so whenever I went somewhere, I always brought back a magnet for her. In fact, the entire left side of her refrigerator from top to bottom was full of magnets I got her from around the world. I loved my sister and her family very much.

CHAPTER 49

The following morning I decided to go back to Vatican City. I stood on a line for two hours just to see the Sistine Chapel. No matter how many times I go there, I am amazed at its beauty. From there, I went on to the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, and the Coliseum. But, it was now time to go home. I was away from home for over a month, and felt I had travelled enough. I learned a lot, and considered myself a better person as a result. I was looking forward to seeing my family again, and I was anxious to start painting and working in my flower garden. These were activities that brought me great joy. When I boarded the flight home the following afternoon, I thought about the Zulu fortuneteller. I reminded myself of something she said. Time was on my side. My flight arrived in New York about an hour late. After I got my bags, I got into my car and began to drive home. When I finally arrived home, everything seemed O.K. About an hour later, the doorbell rang. It was a process server. I was served divorce papers by my wife. I the process server being almost apologetic as he handed me the envelope. The law had changed six months ago, so it was only a matter of time before this happened. Frankly, I wondered what took her so long. I figured she would have filed the day after the new law was signed into effect. Unlike the first time around, I made every effort to resolve the matter as quickly as possible. So, I retained an attorney from Garden City to settle the matter as amicably as possible. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried to be fair and reasonable, no settlement was reached. In June, I asked the judge for permission to put the house up for sale. I figured this was something that could be done even before a final settlement was reached, and I succeeded to find a buyer in only three weeks. My son tried to interfere with the sale of the home by telling the broker my wife wasn’t going to sign any contracts unless she received half of my pension. I was embarrassed by my son’s behavior. Needless to say his threat went nowhere, and the closing took place in early September without any problems. While I was waiting for a closing date, I found a nice studio apartment in Manhattan. I wanted to move to Manhattan when I retired, so now was my opportunity to fulfill my dream. Once the contract was signed, I signed the apartment lease. I began to bring my belongings into Manhattan, and by the time the closing took place, the apartment was ready. One of the first things I did was paint in Central Park. The first day I painted in the park was very exciting. At

least one-hundred people looked at what I was doing. I wound up having a number of interesting conversations with other artists that were walking by. I also started doing volunteer work. On Monday nights, I volunteered to feed the homeless at a church on Lexington Avenue. I also became a volunteer for the Central Park Conservancy. I was a Master Gardener’s Assistant, and was assigned to a team that met on Wednesdays.

CHAPTER 50

In many ways, moving to Manhattan took a lot of courage. I went from a very small town on Long Island where I practically knew everyone to a city of over eight-million people. Slowly, I started to make new friends and acquaintances. My life was now in its third and final phase. The first phase encomed the first twenty-one years of my life. This included my childhood and my adolescence. The second phase spanned the next thirty-nine years. This included my marriage and my professional career. And now, my final phase was just beginning. It would take some time before it became well-defined. I really had no desire to get involved with another woman in Manhattan. To begin with, it’s very expensive to live in Manhattan much less wine and dine someone on a pension. My health also posed a problem. Every time I told a woman I had Parkinson’s disease, the woman lost interest almost immediately. Women my age don’t want to get involved with someone with a serious illness, and even if they did, it wouldn’t take long for them to change their mind. Frankly, I couldn’t blame them. I lived twenty more years. I stayed in the same apartment the entire time, and was very fortunate to have several really good friends in the building. I don’t know why, but the older I got, the earlier I woke up in the morning. Every once in a while, and for no apparent reason, I would think of my wife in the dim light of the day. I continued to paint, and donated my best work for auction to raise money for medical research. That gave me a lot of purpose and satisfaction in life. I also continued to help feed the homeless, but I had to stop volunteering for the Central Park Conservancy. I could hardly walk, much less pull weeds and rake leaves. A couple of days before I died, someone asked me what was the most important rule to follow in life. I thought of my answer almost immediately. Help others before you help yourself. It was a rule I followed from a very early age, and one that brought me great happiness throughout my entire life.