My “Uncle Vic” died last week. I put that in quotation marks because he wasn’t a blood relative. He was my dad’s best friend. I lost my dad four years ago and now that Uncle Vic has died (he was 91), it feels like another piece of my dad is gone. Uncle Vic got sick about 10 years ago and I remember thinking how devastated my dad was going to be if he died. Who knew what the universe would have in store …

My siblings and I went to the wake and funeral. Shared a lot of memories with my “cousins.” Our families grew up together. My mom was best friends with my “Aunt Peggy.” The only solace I take is that the Fab Four, as we called them, are together again.

One: “You Were Always on My Mind”

The day started with a call letting me know that your vital signs indicated you were nearing the end. Much to my surprise, in the midst of the pandemic lockdown, they said I could see you one more time. I ran and caught the bus to the hospital. It was like entering the Twilight Zone. That normally hyperactive place was silent, the locked doors mocked by a deadly virus that had already snuck inside.

Suited up with protective gear from head to toe, they led me to your bed. You looked so peaceful. Someone had placed an iPad on your pillow and it was playing your favorite country music including Patsy Cline and Willie Nelson. I had thirty minutes to reminisce about our thirty-three years together. I laughed as I remembered some of the capers we got caught up in. I guess you recalled them as well because the heart monitor occasionally fluttered, chuckling on your behalf.

The time flew by and eventually they signaled me that the time was up. As I gave you a goodbye kiss on your forehead, the sound of Willie Nelson crooning “You were always on my mind” floated out of the iPad. Yes, indeed, you will always be on my mind.

***

Two: 3:15pm

“Hi Ed, this is Becky at the hospital. I’m sorry, but we still have to return Jody’s personal items to you.”

Just a few hours earlier, Becky had called me with the unwanted news that you were now at peace. Your fight against COVID-19 was finished.

Now, late in the afternoon, I headed to the hospital to retrieve the few worldly things you left behind. Outside the locked doors, I called the nurses station to let them know I was there. A few minutes later Becky appeared with a small plastic bag inscribed with your name. Inside was your watch and the ring that matched the one on my finger. I slipped the bag into my jacket pocket and made the journey home.

It wasn’t until a few days later that I remembered that plastic bag. I opened it and took out the ring. I slipped it onto my finger next to my own ring: a reminder of the union of our spirits.

Then, I slid out the watch. I noticed that it had stopped at 3:15 PM. I was taken aback. That was the time that Becky had called me to let me know that you had passed.

Back then, I thought that was the time my world, our world had come to an end. Now, four years later, I see the time on the watch as a new start for both of us. We are still together. You are present guiding me as I work to tell your story and to keep your memory alive. The ring and the watch still stay close with me reminding me of how we loved each other and the life we shared together.

Four years ago today at 5:20 pm I would get the phone call that would change my life forever. I can still hear that nurse’s young voice, not having had experience telling people over the phone the dreadful news: Your husband coded and you aren’t allowed to come to the hospital to see him one last time.

It has taken four years to try and move forward and focus on love and our life together instead of that horrible day. Four years to keep your memory and voice from fading. You were a part of me for 40 years. That love will never fade.

Mike was raised by a single mom. But he was the one who all those years took care of his brothers and sisters with financial advice and a lot of emotional support. He was the one they called when things weren’t going well for them. And he continued this with me, his kids, many friends.

The saddest part of his life is we now have eight grandchildren and only one has a slight recognition of him. The others were too young, and Mike, more than anything, couldn’t wait for grandchildren. But he only knew two of the eight.

Every time I hear of a New York City train incident I think of Mike. He worked for 40 years at the New York City transit authority as one of the chief financial officers and he probably would be appalled at what is going on in New York City. Even though he didn’t live in the city, he loved it.

We just had Easter which makes me remember how one year Mike started a tradition when our kids were little of leaving chocolate eggs coming down the steps into the living room where their Easter baskets would be. This way, when they woke up, they could see the Easter bunny had come and they would then collect the eggs. When they got older, the 5 of them would scream and run to see who got the most eggs. We still do this and now those who have their own house have continued this silly tradition. As for me, I say too much candy for me to eat.

I am coming up to four years since my husband passed away from Covid—heartbreaking everyday. However, I met a wonderful woman named Marlene Bandfield who lost her brother Johnny, four years ago today, April 11, 2020. She has been my support for the last four years. I could not have made it without all the people who lost someone to COVID, those who understand and have not left my side. Thank you to all of you.