As you may recall, when we left off I was completing the last-minute preparations for my departure to sunnier, warmer climes for a hard-earned, albeit too brief, holiday. Although I was intending to regale you with stories from the West Coast and the beautiful island of Kauai, instead I restart with this account of my return trip home.
***
After touching down, I had planned to chivalrously stand by while Robyn, who at this late hour was on the street outside the baggage claim area with several heavy, over-laden pieces of luggage that I was tasked by her to drag around paradise and back, awaited her prearranged taxi ride to her home in the suburbs. Once she was safely on her way, I would then catch a train to the city. Our joint adventure still front of mind, yet at this moment all I seemed capable of thinking about was how incredibly cold and blustery it is where we live. Eventually, chivalry be damned, I informed Robyn that I needed to warm my bones, turned tail, and briskly stepped back inside the airport through automated doors .
By about 9 p.m. I was on a less than half-full train heading to my stop. I simultaneously dreaded walking home from the station in the unrelenting cold but felt the slightest tinge of excitement about the prospect of being home soon. Given my warm weather destinations and sensible baggage constraints, I hadn’t brought a heavy coat along with on this trip, taking a calculated risk that I would get by without one. Now I was facing harsh elements wearing only a few thin layers, consisting of a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt, a wool sweater, a sleeveless North Face goose down vest, a woolen beanie and a pair of slightly insulated gloves from Eddie Bauer. The temperature was 13 degrees although the stiff breeze made it feel much colder. A freezing rain that had fallen earlier in the day had hardened in the cold, glazing over on the sidewalks and crossings, reflecting the streetlights.
I tried to ignore the cold by thinking about my imminent reunion with beloved pup, Lola, and looking forward to her enthusiastic welcome home after our separation. However, as I neared home, I was also a bit anxious whether I was about to encounter a wide swath of puppy destruction. In the bitter cold and wind, I removed one glove, fumbled for my keys, located the key for the front gate, inserted the key and tried to turn it. The lock was frozen. The gate to my domain remained closed to me. So near, yet so far.
I called John, who lives upstairs. He had been alerted to my approximate arrival time by Mont. John did not answer his phone, so I sent a terse and desperate text. Again, no immediate reply. Seeing that my next-door-neighbor’s front gate to be slightly ajar, I walked into his yard, then had to clamber over the wrought iron railing of my front staircase to reach the safety of the front porch. Meanwhile, my luggage sat unattended on the sidewalk outside my fence. Fortunately, I succeeded in unlocking the gate from the inside.
I retrieved my luggage from the sidewalk and set it down on the porch. I unlocked the outside door and entered the vestibule. I then gingerly inserted the front door key, bracing myself for the explosion of mad puppy love awaiting me on the other side of the door. To my surprise and momentary disappointment, Lola barely lifted her head off the chair where I could see her comfortably sprawled. Slowly and to my mind somewhat grudgingly, Lola stirred in acknowledgment of my return.
I stepped into my place with trepidation, expecting to find evidence that Lola, perhaps out of sheer boredom, had chewed and destroyed a throw pillow, or eaten a piece of one of my valuable Persian rugs, or implanted large and indelible paw prints on my white bed spread or the cream-colored living room couch. I was pleasantly surprised and relieved to discover she had done none of these things. I thought to myself, “Splendid dog.”
***
As I entered the kitchen, I did a quick double take when I saw that my kitchen sink was sitting inside a cabinet below the granite countertop.
I was quite certain the sink had been intact when I left.
Before retiring to bed, I reached out to Eddy, the general contractor who several years earlier had performed the major renovation of my current living space.
Back then, Lee and I had been residing in the upstairs unit. We liked our neighborhood so much we decided we would “age in place,” as they say. Our practical solution was to relocate our home from the second floor to the first, eliminating most stair climbing.
Eddy came by early the next morning. In fairness to Eddy, he did not install the sink or the granite countertops. Rather, we had subcontracted these items to a stone fabricator referred by the architect based on our limited budget. However, as a general contractor, Eddy’s job was to oversee the entire project.
This morning, Eddy carefully inspected the scene with an expert eye to determine the cause of the disaster. He concluded the contract fabricators had installed the sink using substandard and inadequate mountings, and too few, to support both the weight of the sink and the attendant plumbing, and also determined they had skimped on the epoxy. He opined that, over time vibrations caused by our day-to-day use of the garbage disposal probably had loosened several of the connections, eventually resulting in the instant kitchen calamity.
Over the course of our eight-month renovation, Eddy came to know Lee well. I merely wrote the checks, while Lee took on the major responsibilities for the project. I could see that she was fully engaged with Eddy and his guys. Despite lacking any formal training, Lee intuitively had an eye for spotting the most subtle, though still important, construction issues, things I not have noticed or considered in a million years. She had an innate sense for how the disparate pieces of this large undertaking should fit together. By project’s end, Eddy would say, only half kidding, I think, that he had a place on his team for Lee if she ever were interested once she retired from her full-time day gig as an administrator in city government. And it probably didn’t hurt her chances that from time to time she would surprise the guys with delicious baked breakfast treats.
The following day after I met with Eddy, he dispatched Martin, a master craftsman whose skills Lee and I came to greatly admire. Martin had been the lead member of Eddy’s team on the project; the other highly skilled workers took their direction from him. Seeing Eddy and Martin once again gave me confidence things were under control. That morning Martin and an assistant efficiently and quickly disconnected the sink from its plumbing and removed the garbage disposal. Before departing to attend to his current project, Martin said I should expect Eddy’s stone fabricator to come by later in the day and reinstall the sink. He did. The following morning another long time member of Eddy’s team, whom Lee and I also had gotten to know way back when, arrived with an apprentice to reconnect the plumbing and disposal.
Between Eddy’s expertise and his manpower, this repair, which I otherwise would have grappled with for days, if not longer, while at the same time pulling out my hair, was completed in just 48 hours.
***
Seeing them once again, my mind had been flooded with snapshots of the construction project – the ear-piercing racket of old structures being demolished and noisily removed from the premises to a dumpster, which had revealed hidden face brick from a bygone era, some of which our architect happily was able to salvage and utilize; peering into the basement through the exposed floor joists; looking behind wall studs where new wiring was expertly strung and connected to new electrical boxes; hearing the high-pitched whirring of a power saw or the “thwack” of the pneumatic hammer that could fire nails faster than any man (save perhaps John Henry himself), could pound them by hand; and everywhere thick layers of drywall and plaster dust that stuck to our shoes and clothing like pollen sticks to a bee.
Finally, the place stripped down to its essentials, we then had to put it all back together: newly installed or freshly refinished hardwood floors throughout (except for the bathrooms, of course, and the wall-to-wall carpeting that Eddy installed in our bedroom at Lee’s insistence); new custom windows everywhere; modern lighting fixtures with energy efficient ceiling fans and fancy wall switches, recessed lighting, even several original light fixtures that we removed and brought down from the second floor unit; the cleverly designed and space saving side-by-side his and her bedroom closets; a second bathroom incorporated within the bedroom, replacing what once-upon-a-time had been a food pantry in the old kitchen; a new outdoor wooden deck and railing. As Summer arrived, the unmistakable odor of fresh paint signaled that our project was nearly finished. Shortly, Lee and I moved downstairs, proud of the results and pleased at last to have created the place where we would grow old together.
***
About six months after moving into these new digs, Lee was diagnosed with cancer. On July 2, 2020, she slipped away quietly in her own bed in the bedroom of the home where we had planned to grow old together.
***
For reasons I can’t explain, and don’t fully understand, I feel sadder this past week, since returning home from holiday to find my sink collapsed, than I have felt in many months, and this includes our long deferred and emotional celebration of Lee’s life at Deer Tick Manor late last Summer. Now, in the span of less than one full week, I think I have shed more involuntary, sad tears than at any time in recent memory.
Yet I firmly believe I am trending in a positive direction. Robyn and I have been together over a year. Our connection feels strong. In fact, later today I am introducing her to Lee’s brother, Paul, his wife, his two sons, and their wives. My core group of close friends remains intact, thankfully. Indeed, a primary motivating factor behind my recent travels was to attend the wedding of one of their children. I have both added several new friends and taken steps to reconnect with several old ones. Relationships within my own small family are healthy; these days I am especially close with my two adult nephews.
However, I am not so hubristic as to believe that I can ever outrun my grief over Lee’s death. And the truth is, I would not want to even if this were possible. My grief has become a part of who I am. On most days I am good at tamping it down, but nonetheless, as this past week once again has proven to me, grief can be humbling and full of surprises. You can never tell when it is going to jump up and suddenly, without warning, bite you hard on the ass!