London in New York

Now That You’re Not Here Mother

The summer sun is fading as the year grows old
And darker days are drawing near
The winter winds will be much colder
Now you’re not here

I WATCH the birds fly south across the Autumn sky
And one by one they DISAPPEAR
I wish that I was flying WITH them
Now you’re not here

In the days since my mother’s (Virginia Bernadette Saunig-Roche) departure I have found myself listening more on my iPhone to the musicians, bands and singers whose tunes remind me most of her, especially to what I recall her listening to while I was growing up in New York City. The sun of Indian Summer shines brightly during Fashion Week in my hometown but for me, it seems like Autumn has already passed and “all the leaves are brown and the sky is gray”. The sound of The Mamas and the Papas radiated through our home in the late 60’s and early 1970’s whenever my parents had company.

In the quiet of the night or in the relaxing moments when she briefly seemed to have a moment to enjoy “The Good Life”, and truth told those moments were rare for her in the early days given the demands of raising four boys. But even so, whereas many preferred Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra, my mother, ever the purist, preferred the crooning of Dean Martin. And that was fine with me because I never tired of watching Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin films. Yet at that point, I hardly realized how serious a singer he was until my mother reminded me so. Just the other night, I was making some Pork Chops Pizzaiaola so appropriately playing in the background, the sound of Dean singing “when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie that’s amore” bounced off the kitchen walls and I just pictured my mom’s smile filling the room sipping on a glass of Chianti while she put the final touches on a meal that usually had our mouths watering for hours before we, meaning my brothers and me, actually got to sit down and consume it like a hungry pack of wolves.

Today at work I had to fight back tears which left my eyes perpetually moist throughout the day as memories of her at various stages of her life filtered through my brain in a random non sequential order. I hear Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons reminding me, especially since I am in the mixed company of folks at work, to “Walk Like A Man.” And I chuckle on the inside remembering how she had to pick me up off the ice several times during trips to skate in Central Park.

Today, however, I found myself quite moody and definitely blue so it was rather appropriate to dial in the Moody Blues in the early afternoon. And immediately, memories of a Christmas in my adolescence flash in my brain. The earliest gift of music I received from Santa Claus (i.e., my mother and father) was an album from the Moody Blues. The first song I recalled listening to repeatedly was “Nights in White Satin.” It was the first musical band that I developed an affinity for and still listen to a great deal even today. As the seasons change and during the midst of fundamental societal shifts, the lyrics seem to have continuing applicability.

The Moody Blues speak to me.

Isn’t life strange
A turn of the page
Can read like before
Can we ask for more?
Each day passes by
How hard man will try?
The sea will not wait

You know it makes me want to cry, cry, cry -
Wished I could be in your heart
To be one with your love
Wished I could be in your eyes
Looking back there you were, and here we are.

Isn’t love strange
A word we arrange
With no thought or care
Maker of despair
Each breath that we breathe
With love we must weave
To make us as one
You know it makes me want to cry, cry, cry

And even so I have so many questions still, Mom,

It’s not the way that you say it
When you do those things to me.
It’s more the way that you mean it
When you tell me what will be.

And when you stop and think about it
You won’t believe it’s true.
That all the love you’ve been giving
Has all been meant for you.

But I know that you would tell me mother:

Why do we never get an answer
When we’re knocking at the door?
Because the truth is hard to swallow
That’s what the wall of love is for.

And that is why I will forever love you. On days like this when I feel quite weak and

I’m looking for someone to change my life.
I’m looking for a miracle in my life.
And if you could see what it’s done to me
To lose the the love I knew
Could safely lead me through.

I know that miracle will come soon. It always does…..

I know you’re out there somewhere
Somewhere, somewhere
I know I’ll find you somehow
Somehow, somehow

The mist is lifting slowly
I can see the way ahead
And I’ve left behind the empty streets
That once inspired my life

Reflections of Loss on 10th Anniversary of 9/11
xxxx

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Today on the 10th Anniversary of 9/11, as I sat in front of the television watching the 10th Anniversary Memorial event(s), a part of me wished to be in Lower Manhattan along side my friends from the Voices of September 11th who were at Ground Zero at the 9/11 Memorial Opening in the World Trade Center and thereafter a Memorial Luncheon at the New York Marriott Downtown.

Given tight security in Lower Manhattan on this day, that it was a day of remembrance and reflection and that I also had some of my own reflecting to do about the recent loss of my own mother (Virginia B. Saunig), the state of our nation and my desire to grasp what is truly happening in our city and our country a decade after the attacks of 9/11, solitude was my guide. This was not a day I wanted to observe and write about as a witness in the company of those who were were mourning, some of whom I know. I did not want to be a journalist or taking photos in the presence of my friends and given the many complicated and unresolved thoughts I have about this day I felt it most respectful to watch from a distance and spare critique or analysis of the process and the politics that led to this day. That would be saved for a later day.

As I watched the ceremony and witnessed some of our most precious citizens giving tribute to their loved ones, it brought me to thoughts of my own mother’s recent passing. While my mother did not die in a horrific terrorist attack destroying the Twin Towers, what I saw today in the brief speeches by members of the families of victims during the reading of the names as well as in the quiet times I have spent in the company of those friends from the Voices of September 11^th who have shared with me about their loses is that we grieve but also learn and evolve from those that leave us. Maybe it is no coincidence that I have had the opportunity to meet a truly spiritual lady in author Bonnie McEneaney who lost her husband, Eamon McEneaney in the attacks of September 11th. Bonnie wrote the book “Messages: Signs, Visits, and Premonitions from Loved Ones Lost on 9/11” which I have read and referred to as a reference at certain points, especially in recent days. It is a book I recommend to anyone who is introspective about the loss of a loved one.

And then I thought of my mother praying with us every night at bed time:

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
If I should live for other days,
I pray the Lord to guide my ways.
God bless…….

At the end of that prayer we gave a special blessing to selected members of our family, special friends who were suffering and our pets. And were she here today, I know that she would have led me in prayer for those families who lost someone on that fateful day.  And maybe we would also have uttered a special prayer for some special friends from the Voices of September 11^th, including Bonnie McEneaney and other members of the McEneaney family who invited me into their lives and shared their personal stories and their humanity with me. These people who were strangers to me on 9/11 have made me feel more connected to the soul of this city, our nation and my own mother.

As I lay me down to sleep
This I pray
That you will hold me dear
Though I’m far away
I’ll whisper your name into the sky
And I will wake up happy

Sophie B. Hawkins song As I Lay Me Down had been playing in my head over the last couple of weeks since my mom’s passing. Though the lyrics of this song always bring tears to my eyes, it still results in a smile fighting through the tears, much like the sun fighting through the clouds. In the reflection inspired thereby I arrive at the sense that she is there, feels my pain and she comforts and consoles me because she always wants me to wake up happy. I close my eyes, whisper her name and reflect on all the lessons that she provided to enable me to sustain myself. And every time I do, I remember something else. It is then that I see her smile, feel her warmth. My mother lives and speaks to me in my dreams, guides me in my thoughts and steers me in my expression; proving that a mother can still love you even in her physical absence and wanting for me what I have not always wanted for myself, to achieve more, to execute a life’s passion but to recognize the beauty in the people that can also help steer your ship when maybe you feel uncertain or lost. Ok mom, game on.

It then occurred to me that just maybe all those who whispered the name of their loved ones today whether at 9/11 Memorial Opening Ground Zero, Flight 93 National Memorial in Shanksville, Pennsylvania or in Essex County, New Jersey did so because they want nothing more than to wake up happy.