(for prosperity's sake, the happenings of July 3-4, 2005)
We only got as far as the Yonkers Ave. exit off the Major Deegan, before I was convinced it was the right thing to do. Oh, convinced isn't the right word. I knew that seeing my late grandmother's best friend Estelle was the right thing to do. What I didn't know was how I might handle going back to Riverdale for the first time since losing Dad.
I have such a funny relationship with the place that I spent such a limited time in, yet left such a great impression on me. From visiting Engine Company 52 to the goodies at Mother's Bakery, every small memory of Riverdale stays with me in a bigger way than many of my years growing up in West Virginia. And of course, most of this being influenced through my relationships with my parents and their parents (both sets of grandparents lived within 4 blocks of each other in RIverdale at one time), and their own history with NYC. In any case, going back to Riverdale was going to be an emotional struggle for me in both the joy, and now sadness that I assumed it would evoke. But Estelle was still there, and for my own sake, my kid's sake and for doing the right thing, I got off at Yonkers Ave. and headed west and then south on the Henry Hudson.
Estelle lives on 231st Street. The apartment building hallways still have pretty much the same smell that they have had for the past 30 years. A combined odor, I assume, from the many years of cooking smells wafting out of apartments and making their mark on the narrow halls of the building. But for whatever reason, the overall smell doensn't change much and it's as familiar to me as was the smell of my grandparent's old building on the other side of the HH at 236th Street. (3rd Floor, apt. 3A). Note to E & D: The playground equipment is gone.
Our visit came as a big surprise for Estelle. (We had lost her phone number and had been unable to get a hold of her son who lives in the general area). Despite her recent loss of full vision and the screeching feedback from her hearing aid, she was so thrilled to see the kids as well as us, it was just a great thing. In her well-kept apartment, there are so many photographs of family. On her dining table alone, she must have several dozen photos of her own family. And to the right of that, a bridge table overflowing with photos of my Italian cousins, Isabella and Liam since birth, and of course, a picture of Dad with Mary Ann, his second wife. When I saw that picture, a small tear was the only external mark of the lighting bolt of grief I felt. And just like lightning from the sky, the moment rolled away with Liam's squeals of excitement as he discovered Estelle's L-shaped sofa, and what a nice diving surface it made.
(I'll have to continue this later since the Liam's now awake and there's work to do as well.)
Posted by robdesign at July 6, 2005 07:22 AM | TrackBack