Left the house in Portland at 6:15 am. The flight to Philadelphia was uneventful and I arrived at 3:30 pm, on schedule, fully expecting to rendezvous with the Milwaukee family members around 6:30.
There was a message from them on my phone. I called my brother, to learn that bad weather in Milwaukee had delayed them to the point where it was impossible for them to make the 8:30 to Elmira, the last flight of the day.
Over the next four hours, there were innumerable calls among us and friends and family already in Elmira. Schedules and options changed every half-hour, as more delays were announced, throughout the entire air-control system.
There was a magic hour, around 7:30 pm, when it seemed possible that the delayed arrival from Milwaukee would still be over a half-hour before the delayed departure of the Elmira flight. Feeling happy and assured, I had a very tall beer in the noisy bar, and settled into that comfort zone, where everything appears to be worked out in the best possible way.
Not to be. My phone rang and they were still in Wisconsin, thwarted by bad weather. Finally, I heard that they could make it to Rochester that night, and would drive to Elmira in the morning, the funeral having been pushed back from 10:30 to noon.
At that point, all I could do was wait and watch my departure slip farther and farther away, as the hours passed. I boarded the flight around 10:30 pm (two hours late), and a half-hour later, was descending to my frozen home-town, in which I had not spent any significant time since 1970.
Amazingly, my bag showed up and the complementary cab soon arrived to whisk me to the Holiday Inn. The driver was a young, pierced dude, who was happy to describe in detail the horrendous job situation in Elmira. We drove through the frozen, snowy streets I had not traveled for many decades, my remembering the landmarks along the way, him pointing out where certain places from my memories were either unchanged or obliterated. It was surreal.
He had gone to the same High School I attended. I was Class of ‘69 and he was Class of ‘96.
I knocked on my cousin Steve's door around 12:30 am. He and my cousin Carolyn had arrived together earlier that evening, he from Orlando and she from Phoenix. Steve and I chatted for a while. Allen called from a motel in Rochester around 2 am – they made it!
Steve and I settled into a night of very unsettled sleep. I drifted in and out, but had the sense of spending hour after hour, lying there while Steve snored. Curiously, Steve reported exactly the same sleeplessness the next morning.
Wednesday, Dec 17th 2008
Up at 7 am. Shaved and showered, then headed to the restaurant for some coffee and breakfast. Carolyn joined me (coffee only) as we got caught up on our lives and families. It turned out to be just about the happiest, most relaxed episode of the entire trip.
The three of us checked out and drove in their rental car thru the slushy, familiar streets, past their old house, and then to the synagogue.
This was a building that played a central role in my childhood. I spent many hours each week there, for my first 17 years. It was a true time-warp.
I found my 16 year-old self and my mother in several places in the many collages of historical photos, that my old optometrist had prepared some years ago. Memories and ghosts popped up with every glance.
I asked the office manager if there was a piano in the building and she said it was in one of the classrooms. Not only did it turn out to be the same classroom where I first learned Hebrew as a very young child (an event which, I believe, led directly to my lifelong facility with languages, both computer and human), but, as I expected, it was the very same piano that my parents had donated to the synagogue back in the early 60’s (the plaque was still there), and upon which I had played my first public piano performances, for an endless series of holiday skits and synagogue events over those years.
Soon, guests, friends and the funeral guys arrived, with Dottie’s casket. I was reintroduced to many folks I had not seen in 35 years, many of whom were as shocked to be seeing me again, as I was in seeing them again.
Here's a cell-phone photo of four old jews (Steve, Allen, Billy and me):
One of my old friends from elementary-thru-high school came by (we had been communicating off and on over the past few months, have been reconnected via Classmates.com), and we had a fine, but brief reunion. We had both experienced recent losses. I am so happy to have had those moments.
Mom's casket, simple and tasteful, was wheeled into the sanctuary and covered with a nice blue embroidered cover. I spent several long minutes with my hand on it, in that quiet oh-so-familiar room, again totally surrounded by ghosts.
Finally, it was time for the service. My brother and cousin Steve spoke at length. It was dignified and heartfelt, and the stories told nicely reflected the character of the woman. My little anecdote took two minutes max, as I intended.
We left for the cemetery - a line of ten or so cars. Across the river, slowly, along the white, slushy streets, to the old jewish cemetery, where so many familiar names are resting.
The service there was brief and moving, under gray skies and a hint of drizzle. We said Kaddish and we said goodbye, everyone adding a shovelful of dirt - a wonderful custom. I placed a small stone I had brought from Portland for that purpose on the marker that, for the moment, has only my father's name inscribed.
We lingered, but with an eye on the time. We visited other graves - grandparents and family friends. It was cold and overcast.
Our work there was done, for this visit. What had been a single grave plot for 26 years was now a double.
We got in our cars around 2:15 and headed for the airport and the 3:50 flight to Philadelphia that all six of us were to take. All cell phones went off at once. Flight cancelled.
At the airport, we improvised. Steve, Carolyn and I appeared lucky - there was one other flight to Philadelphia that *might* allow us to make our various connections. Allen, Ellen and Jeff bid us a hasty goodbye and sped off back to Rochester, where, three hours later, another Milwaukee flight was scheduled to depart.
I alerted Karen in Portland that it looked good for my arrival home that night, and got a beer and ate a couple of cookies that Karen had made a couple of days before. It was all going to be OK.
A half hour later - nope, another delay. They told me that, even if I got to Philadelphia that afternoon, there was no way I'd make the 6 pm Portland flight. I might make it home late Thursday. It was a tad depressing.
I lay down on the floor and closed my eyes for a few minutes, imagining spending the night in Philadelphia.
Another half hour later, though, came the surprise boarding announcement. An hour had been shaved off the delay. We would land in Philadelphia around 5:30 and, if I ran at full speed (and caught the shuttle to a different terminal just right), it was 'possible'.
We landed in Philly, I ran to the shuttle and pushed to the front of the crowd. Steve and Carolyn made the same shuttle a minute later – we stood together in the doorway, me poised for a mad dash.
Carolyn had, in the brief interim, heard from Ellen. They did make it to Rochester on time, but a mechanical problem came up and all bets were off. So near yet so far. They had the worst luck of all of us. As of this writing, I still don't know if they made it home yesterday.
When the shuttle stopped, I bade farewell to Steve and Carolyn and ran.
I ran up an escalator, around a corner and ran full-speed, thru concourse C, weaving my way through the crowds like a maniac.
About seven gates away, I heard the 'final boarding call' message and ran faster.
I made it with less than four minutes to spare, my chest heaving and my throat dry.
On Tuesday, I spent seven hours in the Philadelphia airport; on Wednesday, seven minutes.
A long, unreal flight through the dark, bumpy night. Landed in Portland around 9:30 pm, on the same day I had helped bury my mother. How could this be?
Karen was waiting for me at the curb with the dog. My bag is still in Philadelphia, but I don’t care. I went to bed.
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Late update - 11:30 am Thursday
Just talked to Allen and Ellen, as they were pulling into their driveway in Milwaukee, almost 24 hours after we watched them drive away from the Elmira airport.
They did make it to Rochester, but were on an overbooked flight, which they missed. They were placed on a United flight, but it had a defective tire and was delayed. They switched to a Delta flight (to Atlanta!) but that had a defective door-latch and was cancelled. All efforts to get out of New York State had been thwarted.
They ended up spending the night in Rochester, getting up at 4 am and finally arriving in Milwaukee a short time ago.
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Final update: 6:15 pm
My bag, last seen at the US Air counter in Elmira 18 hours ago, is now with me again.
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