Farewell to Matt

I just clicked on his Facebook photo which showed a pensive bald-headed man with beard sitting in his kitchen, head bowed. Almost seemed like he was in mourning...of himself. He died in the hospital last week at age 47, wrung out from his battle with lymphoma. "There wasn't enough morphine in the world," said his mother, "to stop his pain."

I pulled up to his mom's house in Maple Glen, where the memorial would be held. Couldn't find a parking space on the street but I slowly drove round the cul-de-sac where two young girls were playing basketball. I yelled out the window: Is it okay if I park here? I didn't wanna block their game.

They said Yes.

"I know you!" I said. "You're Nina."

I'd seen her photo on my friend's refrigerator.

I'd just come from a NAMI meeting in Glenside where they were trying to get rid of all their food at the end of the meeting. They gave me brownies and pumpkin bread. I ate all the pumpkin bread on the ride to Helene's. Listening to a talk on How Cognitive Therapy can be of Help for Psychosis sure works up your appetite. My, that bread hit the spot.

Nina, would you and your friend like some brownies?

They took em and I said, Just put the extras back in the backseat.

I lugged in a homemade rye bread and added it to the heaps of food in every single room of the house.

I met so many interesting people. When I first began talking to the first person I met, an artist whose name I can't remember, I was talking in my usual cheerful voice. The artist's voice was hushed, however, even tho he had a bottle of beer in his hand. I realized you weren't sposed to be happy, so, abashed, I went to comfort myself with lemon squares.

At the lemon square table I met two divorced women who swore they "weren't going to settle." My neighbor Patrick and I just had a talk about what makes for a good relationship or marriage. I shared these qualities with the two holdouts who are waiting for their prince. BTW, I did say to them, There's lots of good men out there.

Here's what men want, I said, and not necessarily in this order:

sex
food
conversation

Then Helene, Matt's mom came into the room and saw me.

You're here! she said. Your mom's food is entirely gone.

Then she disappeared and so did I, wandering into the light-filled dining room. Usually one of Aaron's jigsaw puzzles is on the table. Instead...more food. I popped every raw veggie into my mouth I could see, to counteract the lemon square damage.

"Hi, my name is Ruth, I'm a friend of Helene's" was my standard line and the way I met other people. She and I met when I worked at Art Matters magazine. I apprised people of the current state of the mag, if they didn't know. Someone mentioned the name of Burton Wasserman -- good ole Uncle Bertie as I used to call him -- and thought how marvelous it'd be to see him again. Retired art professor and critic at Art Matters.

I was fired from Art Matters in 1984 when I had my nervous breakdown. Manic-psychotic episode. Helene remained my friend throughout, tho two friends I'd made thru Art Matters dropped me.

And don't say, well, then, you don't need Doris Brandes or Mildred Goldberg. This is called rationalization. I liked them! Loved Doris, in fact, tho I've stopped loving her now that she's dead. The woman in purple.

Helene and her husband Aaron were out on the back deck. What a lovely day for the funeral. It's a huge deck. We often eat out there. We prop open the screen door and make several trips. I sit so I can look at the little forest beyond her house with the babbling brook and birds flying all over.

A tall woman named Sarah was massaging Helene's feet. I stood over her cuz I didn't feel like sitting down. She was drinking a beer and had a nice buzz on. I met a no. of her friends I'd never known before including a sculptor friend Ruth Davis who told me she doesn't sculpt anymore cuz she's too old. That made me really sad, tho I didn't say so.

When the tall woman stood up I asked her height: six foot three and a half. Her kids are taller than she is.

By now, of course, people were laffing and having a merry old time. Someone gave Helene a book of photos of Matt. She started looking at em and then pushed them away. "I can't do it right now," she said.

Helene is a woman who knows what she wants. And does what she wants. When I called her the next day to see how she was, she said, The phone hasn't stopped ringing. I can't talk now except to say, "Manufacturing Depression by Gary Goldberg."

Then she hung up.

What's a gal to do? Look up the book, of course. Like me, Helene HAD bipolar disorder but no longer has it. See! I'm not the only one. She still sees her psychiatrist tho for check-ups. Look, she doesn't mind driving down to Penn, God bless her.

I took two beer bottles home -- they were beautiful with American flags on em -- Stoudts Beer form Lancaster County - and I'll put a few of my backyard jonquils in them and stick them in the front window. Bring another bottle across the street to my neighbor.

Jonquils are a variety of daffodils.

Spring is Nora's favorite time of year. She likes the tender green buds on the trees.