Monday, November 05, 2007


Pablofisherman died October 7. It will take me a long time to get used to that. We shared parents, a sibling, and a home for the first six years of my life, after which he went off to join the Navy and became an almost mythical figure for the next fifty years (!), with occasional visitations for major family events: bar mitzvahs, weddings, and funerals. Pablofisherman never married or had children. He had one long-term female companion but they drifted apart about ten years ago.

There were many family speculations about why he was so reclusive, and now it will remain a mystery. When he fell ill (literally: he took a fall seven years ago and lay unconscious in his home for many hours before a neighbor became suspicious and thankfully called the police), it became my responsibility to make decisions for him. Even though I lived eight thousand miles away, I was fortunate to have the Internet and a physician relative in place to be able to supervise his care. He returned to himself, but was not able to return to his home, and he spent his last seven years wheelchair-bound in a variety of "facilities," first at the expense of the Veterans' Administration and subsequently private.

I took these last seven years as a challenge to get to know him better, not so much out of any deeply felt bond as out of curiosity. To be honest, I was trying to learn what he and I shared and how we differed as much to know myself better as to know him better. Somewhere along the line I got the feeling that I had "broken his code," and could pretty well predict how he would react to various events. It didn't stop me from trying to get him to learn to use the laptop that I got for him, even though I failed on that one.

Coincidentally, about a week after P.'s death, the husband of a friend of mine died after a brief illness. En route home to Tel Aviv, I stopped in New York for a few days to pay a condolence call on her. Here were two men of the same generation, and the effect of their loss on those left behind is so different. In one case it's a mystery, in the other, a tragedy. Or maybe the other way 'round?


Anonymous said...

Dear Savtadotty,
My thoughts are with you.

Udge said...

{{{ savtadotty }}}

Lioness said...

It's good to have you back, Savtadotty. I hope being back makes everything a bit better.

Savtadotty said...

Tamarika, thank you for staying connected.

Udge, punctuation never felt so good!!!

Lioness, Being back lets the healing begin. To rejoin the local circus is both diverting and restorative. I had no idea when I moved here how much I would gain.

Tamar Orvell said...

yehi zichro l'vracha. lots to (continue to) ponder. and for now, the circus is in session! bring on the dancing and daredevil acts;-)

Savtadotty said...

Tamar, You will be missed at today's Soup Salon as the circus recommences :-)

ppb said...

I am so sorry for your loss.

Chancy said...

I too am sorry for your loss.

I remember something that Pablo asked you a few months before he died.

"Are there enough lifeboats"

and you assured him that there were plenty.

Claude said...

Dorothy, so sorry for your loss. Hugs and kisses.