Reincarnation & Making Closure
SEPTEMBER 14, 2020
My mother always joked that when she died she wanted to be reincarnated as a French Poodle living in a Jewish household. I always thought it was hysterically funny. Interesting that no one disputed her joke. My father never said that’s ridiculous there is no such thing as reincarnation. Instead they were many examples of the spiritual world in my household. Especially from my father.
He was always having a dream, a feeling or a premonition. One time they were going to a summer wedding, and my dad said he dreamt that the bride fell. My mom laughed at him, she was used to his dream declarations. Later that night, when they came back from the wedding, we found out that my mom fell! She was wearing a light cream-colored dress.
My dad shaved every day with an electric razor sent to him by my Poppy Al, his father-in-law. Whenever the razor wasn’t working properly he say to my mom, Jude, we’d better call your father. I have a bad feeling. Every time it turned out to be correct. My grandfather had a stroke. My grandfather fell. And each time the razor wouldn’t work until after the calls were made. It was super-weird but something they both accepted as “matter of fact” - the literal definition of that expression.
My dad was so superstitious, that he had a hard time committing to doing things much in advance. “Let’s see, he always said, let’s wait for the weekend to decide, let’s see what happens by the weekend.” Many times, he would shake his head no saying he didn’t have a good feeling - we shouldn’t go there. And then there were just as many times where he would say, “Yes let’s go!”
Sometimes we’d pack the car and head to “Vegas” where he was in superstition to the 10th power mode.
Standing well behind the ropes and behind him at the black jack table, I could see I was bringing him good luck. His stack of chips was growing. I’d stand like a statue, watching, he’d barely acknowledge me except to see my out of the corner of his eye. He knew, that I knew not to move. My special good luck powers were working, until the dealer said to him with a nod towards me, “is she yours, she’s nice.” My father’s relaxed demeanor snapped to anger, looking like he might kill the dealer for making such a crude remark about his teen daughter.
Cigarette hanging from his mouth, he cashed out and we walked across the Casino to play Roulette. Once again, I stood behind the ropes and behind him as he played roulette. A game of chance and intuition.
My parents always played the same numbers; our birthdays, their anniversary and a lucky number 26. It was fun to watch! Guess red or black coming up next, I was learning to feel the feeling and not to think the answer.
After years of being a heavy smoker, my dad did not get lung cancer but he did get cancer.
Towards the end of his life, his first cousin Marvin came from New Jersey to say goodbye to him. They were more like brothers. The kids and I went over to see Marvin and to spend the afternoon with him at my dad’s. They reminisced. They told us crazy stories of shenanigans from years ago. And we all laughed till we couldn’t breathe. Especially them.
On the way home, my daughter got very upset and said to me, “why are Poppy and Marvin just acting like everything is OK?”
I explained to her about having closure and saying goodbye, and that Marvin came to say goodbye to his dear cousin. And how they were connected from early childhood on, and their way was through laughter, memories and not tears. I explained that having the opportunity to have closure with someone when their death is around the corner, and to be able to say your goodbyes and reminisce and laugh is a blessing for all.
The next day my daughter told me she wanted to “make closure” with Poppy. And she wrote him a heartfelt letter. And at the awkward age between girlhood and womanhood, my daughter sat with her Poppy in the big chair and read him her love letter. My dad wept as she read to him. Expressing her love and all her favorite things about him. I was not that brave.
That prompted his grandkids to do the same; and one by one they “made closure”. What a rich life when your grandchildren love and adore you enough to tell you so before you die.
We had a soft-spoken male caretaker stay at the house when my dad lost the ability to walk. I would stop in and sit with my dad, as much as he would permit, the end was getting near. Even then, sitting in the kitchen and doing art while he was in the other room, me just trying to be there with him--annoyed him. What are you doing in there? he’d shout. Nothing dad I’m just painting. Well, don’t start rearranging the cabinets. (For the record I have never rearranged his cabinets).
A couple days later I was sitting with him in the family room, his eyes resting closed. Suddenly he chuckled and said to me, do you see them? See who, dad? Grandma and mom, and the others; do you see them? And then he said never mind, bubby, you can’t see them. And then he smiled to himself, once again resting his eyes closed.
I have the same eyes as my dad; the same shape and the same hazel color. In the mirror, I can see my dad in my own eyes; in the best of ways and sometimes in the worst of ways. When I got ready to leave him that day, hovering over his face for a forehead kiss, he again reassured me, with what had become his standard goodbye; Don’t worry bubby, I am okay, watch how you go. Okay dad I said, I’ll see you tomorrow.
He died that night.
For weeks I looked for signs of him. Only once I have I ever seen him. It is not a vivid memory. It was evening and out of the corner of my eye he materialized, he was there, in my home, sitting in a chair. It was a sideways flash of energy - lasted a second. I gasped, my heart pounding. But it was him.
I’m sure he just stopped in to check on me and the kids. And maybe to show me he was okay. Hi dad, I said out loud. Thanks for coming to see me and the kids. We miss you Dad, and we are all okay. Give my love to mom and the others. Watch over the kids, Dad.
And come back to see me anytime.
###