Friday, December 25, 2015
She wanted to stay in a fancy hotel before their departure to their Florida honeymoon the next day, but he insisted that they stay in the hotel above Penn Station, saying that due to the coming storm, they would not otherwise get out. She wasn't happy about it, but she relented.
The next day, they woke up to a city blanketed in snow: the historic blizzard of 1947. She loved telling this story, which always concluded with her saying, "After that, father always knew best." They got out. Others were not so lucky.
Their first anniversary after he died, in December 2002, was especially difficult. But we made the best of it. Diane and I went with her to Sardi's, followed by the show "Movin' Out," the Twyla Tharp dance piece set to Billy Joel's music. It was snowing hard; we each took one elbow and dashed with her through Shubert Alley (connecting 44th and 45th streets) to the theater, arriving soaking wet. The rain washed away at least some of the sadness. We tried to dry off in the handicapped bathroom, with my mother and her cane leading the way. We sat orchestra right, close to the stage. I was afraid the show was too loud, but it was actually a good distraction.
When other companies began copying them, we little girls walked around the city looking for "knock-offs." I remember asking the occasional woman wearing such a pin if I could see the back and asking where she got it if it didn't say Mylu on the back. I don't think I am making this up.
The other night I dreamt I went to our apartment building looking for my parents. But when I got there, I knew they were gone. I cried, aching to see them.
You can't complain when your parents lived well into their 80s. But that doesn't make you miss them any less, especially on special days like this.