Grief is not something you want to fix. I mean, I feel as if I am frequently trying to fix my saddness. It’s illogical. And not something I really want.
Sorrow is an irrational passage. Grief is a process that like other life experiences yanks us in all directions and often doesn’t make sense.
Mourning will take me as long as it takes and unfold as it will.
Burt was not an extravagantly flamboyant flirt. He did it on the qt so he could keep plausible deniability.
He wasn’t ashamed of his actions but he liked his flirtations under the radar.
He always flirted, in a quiet what do you think way.
Years ago, in what I’ve been calling the before, Burt told me that our neighbor JL told him to stop flirting with his wife. An off hand no drama confession, as if I hadn’t noticed.
In the years we’ve lived here with dozens of the best neighbors, he met women in the laundry room. He took offense when one of his laundry friends told him she’d tell her husband he was flirting with her. He harumphed this at me, but I was willing to bet on the way it went; very unlikely he hadn’t.
He flirted with all the pretty young doctors, his occupational therapist, his at-home dentist, his psychiatrist. He lamented not marrying his aide, he told me.
In the last decline, one of the things I missed most were his flirtatious connections with the new nurses who came in for evaluations. I anticipated his turning up the charm, but he no longer could.
During the early Capgras days, he flirted with me, thinking I was a new girlfriend. I heard lots of his life stories lots of times.
The first day I told him we were married and he said, you’re very nice but I don’t remember you, it was a gut punch. You come to ride with those punches.
I did not prepare an obituary for Burt. Not even for the May 3rd memorial celebration of life.
Who he was is laid out in the pages of this blog, even though you’re meeting him during his journey in illness.
I have sprinkled memories from the before among my posts. Some of you knew him when, but let me introduce you to Burt.
In memorium.
Burt was a Brooklyn boy who spent his early years with Paul, whom he met in shop in grade school. When a teacher sent home a note that Burt and Paul were fighting in class, his mom said “Oh no, they’re best friends.”
There were others in their circle and I think they created a “gang” called The Falcons. In highschool, Burt made friends with a guy who was popular because he photographed the football team. I think this was the burgeoning of the celebrity follower in Burt.
The family spent summers in the Catskills, in those days called the mountains.
Actually, before that, Burt and his mom, spent Christmas in Atlantic City.
His dad came over to enjoy the special New Year’s breakfast. Burt liked playing the arcade games there.
In the summer, his dad, would come up on weekends. Burt loved playing catch with him.
His mom came from a family of six and the three sisters were close. She and Burt shared the bungaloo with a sister and her family. There were aunts and cousins around.
Burt worked in the summers, as he did afterschool. He was a soda jerk and once served Henny Youngman a plate of scrambled eggs.
One year, after his boss failed to pay him as promised, he took off for home. His cousin’s best friend introduced him to her sister, on the grounds he was too young for her. That’s how he met his first wife; their marriage lasted 24 years and resulted in a family of four. The children were perfectly spaced, boy/girl/boy/girl.
Burt happened upon his beloved career in the stock market by accident, at the recommendation of a friend. The notable facts about this friend was that he was also in a band, and that he dressed like the bandleader for his job as a Wall Street “runner.”
Burt took the “ask and learn everything” approach to his new job.
He changed positions and moved from company to company, always securing a better place. He always spoke of how much he appreciated the mentors he met along the way. There were many who took him under their wing, charmed by his curiousity. He was eager to find out how things worked.
He rose from messenger to clerk to options specialist.
He worked in all aspects of the industry, even having a stint on the Exchange floor. He loved it all.
When we met, 35 years ago on May 3rd, Burt was working for Josephthal, an old line firm since defunct.
I have little understanding for how options are traded, despite lots of schooling from him.
I had answered a personal ad from the New York Press and Burt called me on May 1st; technically, you might say that phone call was when we met.
Our first date was at a bar called Tramps, on 21st Street across from my office. My work history is much more ecletic than Burt’s, but ultimately, we wound up working together. Our little mom and pop was a front office for volunteer driven organizations; we provided customer service to members.
The ad I answered misstated his age, but pretty acurately listed his interests. They aligned with mine, as far as theater and walks in the city went.
Burt had started his theater-going at the behest of his revered first therapist.
The first show he attended was The Music Man with Robert Preston. Until he bought us a ticket for Love Letters, he had mostly only gone to musicals or one man shows like Jackie Mason. Our theater going would prove to be wide-ranging. Burt came to love the ballet as much as I did. During his illness, he expressed a wish to go see a performance; I think I was wise in not fulfilling that wish, but I also regret the decision.
In mentioning Jackie Mason, I thought of Ed Sullivan and was reminded that Burt and Paul would often try to get into his Sunday show. Jackie Mason was, incidentally, one of the celebrity sightings Burt enjoyed over the years. Paul Schaeffer, another connect-the-dots to The Ed Sullivan Theater, was another with whom he’d chat.
[I have recounted the lengths to which Burt went to meet up with entertainers he admired in other posts.] I loved it when he had a long conversation with Sutton Foster during an intermission; she was audience not performer. When Marisa Tomei starred in Marie and Bruce off Broadway, our front row seat meant that she and he were knee to knee at one point; she waved, one of those cute finger waves, at him as she left the stage.
Burt had his eccentricities, his issues, and quirks. Some he carried through his dementia. There were challenges for both of us, especially in those last years. Through it all, he was funny, caring, interested and interesting.
It’s unclear what I expected to happen once he was gone. I miss him more than I ever thought possible.
I had a great time, Burt. Thank you, wish you were here, but I understand. hugs and kisses, Tamara
I knew how much I loved him. I didn’t know how much I’d miss him.
I went to my 🤞penultimate 🦷appointment over a long haul.
There will be days like these.. the line is from a rock n roll song. My mama said… it goes on… and it is only a caption, not the whole story.
More to the point, those of us who are mourning know that there will be bad days and better days. Sad days and better days or better days and sadder ones.
This soon after Burt passed, just two months and 2 weeks, I miss him so much and so often, that finding him as I did in the video is both a shock and a joy.
There was the letdown after the festival that was May 3rd. The celebration of life is in part a finality, and that’s sad. There is in fact no finality to celebrating Burt for me. I handed him his lifetime achievement award but I still cherish him for all of my achievements he has supported. I am better for knowing him.
The letdown is that feeling of deflation after you’ve been propped up by all your peeps; after you have been in great company; now, in the aftermath, you are alone to feel that he is gone.
The video is one way in which he is not go. In it, he speaks to all the idiosyncracies I loved in him. It’s a short 6 minutes but it encompasses that much.
I stopped at the site of Burt’s birth place; Manhattan General was a maternity hospital which Beth Israel acquired and converted into living spaces. We had gone by it once, serendipitously, many years ago. I took Burt’s picture with the plaque then. I took a picture of the plaque yesterday.
Ah, memories.
Recently when R and I were reminiscing about Burt, she said that when she started working with him, he always sat in front of the TV, planning shows for us to watch.
He had been doing something like this for a long time.
Before Lewy, he picked out our evening’s entertainment from the FIOS guide and we would enjoy a couple of hours later in the day. By the time R came aboard, he’d make his picks but we seldom viewed them.
My treasure trove from these days is just the first page of a notebook. It’s covered with his selections from “Today” the 10th through Wed the 23rd. They were in slots from 8pm to 10pm. It could have been in late 2023 when R first joined us or 2024. Seeing his handwriting is my big find for the day.
This find was not as spectacular as the video. In the video, Burt is eating his cake and drinking his latte in the breakroom of the rehab.
He finds the latte too much so he wants to share the drink from now on. He suggests a cappucino because, although he likes lattes, I prefer a cappucino.
He also must have offended the CNAs in some way, because he reminds me of his apologies to the staff. He always wanted to patch things up!
It dawned on me as I described someone as “yes, Burt loved him” that I had said that or something like about alot of the people we met or knew.
Burt found many friends over the years, especially as he slipped into dementia. He liked people and this came back in a kind of karmic circle.
My raingear did not stand up to the rain this afternoon. Coming home, I was soaked through.
Burt would have ordered me to take a warm shower as soon as I walked in the door. Good advice.
Noodling around my video cache, I found a 6 minute video in which Burton is speaking.
We are snacking at the rehab. It’s dated April 2023. He is sweet and really enjoying his sweets.
Among the dialog is his request I bring one cappucino instead of the latte. I say “But you like latte.” Burt gesturing as he speaks: “There’s two people involved here.”
Tears of happiness at finding this short treasure. I am thrilled.
May I suggest to those of you still caring that you take some videos when you can. It’s a little past two months since Burt passed and this is a treasure and a huge gift. Hearing his conversation for that 6 minutes was such a balm.
Burt’s journey has ended. My journey continues without him. Or perhaps by dint of remembrance, with him, just kind of looking out for me.
Like he always did.
Part of my portmanteau now is recording what was. Both the orts and the epic.
I know my friends expected me to tell tales of Burt at the party of celebration on the 3rd. I could have but I am not great at the extemporé story. Fortunately, there are frequent triggers.
At Saturday’s celebration, I was privileged to have my memory shaken by hearing some of the remembrances of others; by a tribute to Burt from one of my besties whose help when things were muddiest is always at top of mind; by the presence of new friends and old, of neighbors.
For instance, I had forgotten how often Burt came to pick me up from the gym until our friend MS said she met him in the lobby so often that she was sure he had a membership.
Another friend came home with me from the party; she got to hear that May 3rd, 1992 was as warm a Saturday as the one this year.
She also got to hear about the little horse, a Saratoga souvenir Burt bought for me. And on the day of the Kentucky Derby!
Hey, a horserace is a horserace.
Speaking of horse racing or riding, SW told me a story I had not heard.
She said she was decked out in a new outfit, featuring a pair of rhinestoned boots and feeling all fashion-plate. Burt, who, make no mistake, adored her, blurted “Are you going horseback riding?”
I have to admit that the lack of filter didn’t just come with dementia. Burt aligned blurting with honesty. His form of transparent affection, perhaps?
Burt’s friends in the room at our party knew him at different stages in his story. I think they were able to share how, where and when they met him. And as my friend L said retell some of Burt’s “pearls of wisdom;” she had appreciated.
The party for Burt on our 35th anniversary was a treat. There was so much loving energy in that room that we all knew he was there.
It was unnecessary but I had prepared a little ice breaker based on the Burt approach.
He made friends in our building both before Lewy and after Lewy. Many of them were there for this celebration.
Before, [probably before], he would ask you if he met you in the hall: “Do you live here? What do you do?”
After Lewy, he would invite new neighbors over to my surprise and dismay. The dismay, mind you, not over having company in but over my being unprepared to hostess.
We’re going to try his approach to get to know each other now, I announced. Ask and Invite is the getting to know you game I asked our friends to play in Burt’s memory.
By the time I introduced this plan to the beautiful crowd gathered for him, it was clear everyone was already practiced in it. The room buzzed with conversation.
Just the kind of party made for Burt: people and food. I want to thank all the people who joined us on this special day. [And to those who were, like Burt, there in spirit.]
The food, prepared by the folks at the pizza parlor ristorante was excellent. And abundant. I chose the spot for its convenience [to me]; it’s up the block. Dress and walk over.
Italian Village also comes with this memory: Thrilled by his 84th surprise birthday party [2023], which was at home, Burt wanted to treat me for lunch the next day.
He used to go to Italian Village with his aides a few years back so Italian Village was where he was taking me. Close as it is, those 2 long avenues were a punishingly hard walk for him with his walker.
We sat in this back room where we now held a remembrance for him. He ordered scrambled eggs and french fries and ate only a little of whatever came.
Over the years, we had shared many meals at restaurants throughout the city. We didn’t go out often once he was ill, maybe just three times in all. Always at Burt’s urging. And it was here at Italian Village that we shared our last restaurant meal.
Well, not quite last, if we acknowledge as we do that Burt was there and we had a hell of a party. In his honor.
this is our life