Letting the mind settle in allowing it to pour forth thoughts worth sharing is sometimes a bit tough. There are plenty, perhaps too many, reminding me of opening the refrigerator door, staring in declaring your starved, but not seeing anything worth munching on. Perhaps trying a few "bites of each" would suffice the moment.
The decision to sell Fred's News was not arrived at easily. Equally as hard, leaving eastern Connecticut, a place we had called home all of our lives. During the past three and a half years we have been visited by many of our friends, receive daily reports via an early morning phone call from one, "talk" back and forth through the usual social media channels and receive calls or emails from others inquiring about a former Fred's News family member. Perhaps the most difficult phone call I have made was to my dear friend Edna. Although I thought I had prepared my mind for what I knew I was going to hear, the words still haunt my memory days after being spoken. "Edna it's me, what happened to Art?" The silence said it all, the heart wrenching sound of my friend's voice, trying to find the right words, not wanting to say them, hoping to awaken from her nightmare. With controlled emotion, Mrs. G. managed to say, "Art died this morning."
I wanted to be there for her, letting her know we care, we share her pain, Art was our friend. More importantly, he was a quiet private man, who was very much an observer. A man with a wickedly dry sense of humor, who always tried to make sense of it all. Proud of his accomplishments, his family and grand kids, Art always seemed preoccupied with his thoughts, reminding me much of what my Memere called a "ponderer".
Art had views and opinions yet he was a great listener. He would offer advice in the form of questions, yet my favorite "Grandpa" story will always be "Grandpa are we there yet?" "When will we get there?" was the continual questioning from the backseat peanut gallery of grand kids. "When the car stops and the doors open we will be there!" That always put a stop to further whining and questioning.
Art is not the first friend we have had to say our final good byes to, yet it is perhaps the hardest. Mr. Bill and I spent almost every Saturday and Sunday evening with Edna and Art. We have watched there grand kids arrive and grow, we have shared their happiness as well as their pain, we have known this moment would one day arrive, we were not prepared but then is one every ready for that final moment. Acceptance comes with time, we will remember the fun moments, they are numerous. A Christmas party with Art donning red suspenders and a matching bow-tie announcing "the women love it!" Perhaps it will be the re- emergence of THE picture: Art and Mr. Bill's feet, perfectly outfitted with white socks and sandals, much to his granddaughters' anguish, or the memory of shopping in Manhattan on raw freezing rainy December day, Art running up behind me much like a super sleuth on a mission, "did she tell you anything she wanted, has she seen anything today, please be sure to tell me!" he blurted out, "I want to buy her something special, she loves jewelry" he said with that twinkle in his eye only Art could get when he was on a mission to buy something for HIS Edna. Memories like this last a lifetime, Art we will miss you but...."The car has stopped, the doors are open." Look down my friend on your lifetime, the legacy you have left, help them all to cope, to understand their pain, they miss you, perhaps they feel there is so much they never said. Ironically, they didn't need to, you knew but it was always nice to hear. Look down my friend, you have given them many memories, that will last their lifetime as well.
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