We shared this neighborhood for several months while the apartment across town was undergoing repairs. Once the renovation was completed, we often returned for theater.
Burt lamented that his address had changed from 555 West 42nd Street when mgmt put the front entry on W43rd. [Note that they have given the address to the ensite theater, see below.]
Soon after we met, his address changed again from the 500 block in midtown west to the 500 block on E72nd.
While he had my apartment refurbished, I moved into his rental and enjoyed the pool and amenities and walking to the pier with him.
We were in the heart of Bway so both Bway and off-Bway theaters were a really just a hop away.
Yesterday was a chance to go back for a revisit. I went to Theater555 (it housed the Pearl Theatre for a while as I recall, and under a different name) to enjoy Breakin’ NYC.
Like the apartment on East 72nd, this one was pretty far from the subway. I took the bus. And going home I walked along 8th Av to the favored M31.
Let me guide you through the map of pictures at the top of this bit of nostalgia.
After we left this Bway nabe, we found ourselves here often . We were avid theater goers, and the Signature Theater, Playwrights’ Horizons, and Theater Row brought us back.
Starting with the top photo left, this little motel was a home of gay pride. Now, it appears to have taken on a Hudson Yards identity.
Photo 2 is a tribute to the caprices of mgmt. (Full disclosure, not the same mgmt that elected to change Burt’s address back in the day.)
Pictured 3, 4, 5, are all The Little Pie Company, now 40 years old, a youngster in 1990. We were not regulars back in the day, but we were always fans.
On this occasion, I went for that elusive strawberry-rhubarb pie [despite a warning from my friend BW that its season was Apr-May.] Photo 2 is cherry Montmorency now in season and tart enough to be a proper substitute.
Going up 8th Av, there are snaps of building and traffic up to the 57th St stop where I caught my homeward bound bus. Some of the buildings and restaurants I passed were new to me but it all felt familiar. It’s pretty much just as it was when Burt and I walked up the Avenue.
Burt understood that when I bought him yet another hat, or one more shirt, it meant I loved him.
It’s the heart is a materialistic muscle approach but I did buy him colorful garb out of love. I wanted him dressed in nice shirts or hats he loved. I knew the hats [especially] would please him.
Burt was canny enough to know that the books I made for him for birthdays, other special occasions were also tokens of love.
That’s more like it. Your words of love mean that you love me.
It’s all true. Things, words, they all show how much I love you.
After my dream of us in a gazebo, I awoke to your vivid absence. It was startling and maybe it will be startling for ever not to have you here by my side.
Maybe, it’s startling because in so many ways you are here, by my side.
There are moments in my grief that I just want Burt back. I wish he were here. It’s an ache in my bones, my heart, behind my eyes.
I know it is just grief and missing him, that hurt I am feeling. He’s better off, given the progression of his illness.
It was time. But, I am wishing we could go out somewhere together, maybe for dinner or to a concert. Wishing, although he really could not go out even for the ice cream he wanted that Saturday back in December.
I’ve mentioned that Burt had a period in which he exercised his anger and aggression. It was due to his aggressive behaviors that we were introduced to mild doses of Seroquel.
In his case, the drug made him sleepy and I could dodge his attacks more easily. It did not calm or quell the aggression.
His aggressive behaviors were mild and this phase lasted a short while.
I worried ahead of the events and felt lucky that his aggression was mild and manageable.
It’s a real worry and I had heard of spouses with extreme rage who posed constant danger to everyone around them.
Early on, because he was prone to anger, I worried Burt would rise to that level when dementia struck. I was thankful that he did not, and grateful that most of our journey was relatively easy.
I don’t want to downplay the possibility. Nor do I want to raise the level of alarm.
Be prepared. I have mentioned that I secreted our knives to a closet after Burt brandished one over my head. He had every confidence he wouldn’t hurt me but that incident unnerved me.
Anything can be a weapon, of course, and Burt’s weapon of choice had been his shoes.
He threw them at the wall when frustrated, but one had gone just over my hair line. Burt was again confident in his aim; he said so.
I don’t think we should cede the responsibility of our pwd’s aim to their control.
You don’t want someone who has delusions, or hallucinations to have access to a deadly weapon.
If you have firearms in your house, disarm them; give them to law enforcement if you can; get them off your premises, or at least lock them up securely and out of harm’s way.
Be prepared, but don’t anticipate. You may never experience any violent episodes with your loved one. Or, if you do, they won’t be extreme or last long. Minimize the possibilities. Take control here, just as you had to with finances and healthcare.
You will understand if I say I am sorry. It’s the disease, not your darling.
Burt in dementia was clearly and increasingly vulnerable. His losses were evident, yet, through it all, he maintained a resilience that served him well. I thought I was steering the ship but my captain somehow kept his hand on the rudder. We bobbed through troubled waters with Burt somehow maintaining an even keel.
I say his resilience served him well, but really I benefited from his willingness to stay strong and tough when and as long as he could. I believe with all the leap of faith in me that he knew where the end was and went on to the end courageously in his own time. I wish him a safe harbor after his travails.
The changes this disease brings!
As the disease goes on, you realize that there’s a sense of rapid acceleration. Every day feels like something changed and many – not every- changes are a challenge.
Burt was often a new man, a different man one morning to the next.
Confusion when it rampaged made the differences more pronounced. I had time, and the resources he had lost, to adapt.
Burt’s illness left me a more compassionate person. I had to cut him all the slack in the world; in part, because it was best practice for dealing with someone with dementia; it was also out of a recognition of his fragility.
Burt was vulnerable and I took it upon myself to care for him. If I was to look after him, I had to do it out of a place of caring. I am thankful that I found that place in myself.
We are not tough guys in a knife fight, you know. We are all human and need each other’s kindness to thrive. Burt helped me find that better part of me.
Abandonment/Surrendor
We were chatting before our writing session came together. One thing led to another and that was the Tarot, The Hanging Man, Le Pendu.
It’s a rakish card, actually, suspended feet hung up, but quite at ease. It’s actually The Hanged Man, and ironically or forebodingly it’s about letting go. Surrender.
Surrender does not equal giving up. It is not about abandoning the project that is life. Surrender is the ease of acceptance.
Abandonment plays its own part in getting us to acceptance. We abandon, let go, but we don’t give up, and find ourselves able to surrender.
