Remembering Gary
I’ve noticed that my younger brother’s public persona –sweet, kind, caring, dutiful, considerate, and upbeat--always upbeat—is well on the way to becoming Gary’s eternal identity. There’s no question, of course, that Gary radiated these positive qualities in every encounter he had with another human being living in his neighborhood.
Whether he was walking the family’s dog, flinging a newspaper toward a subscriber’s front steps, picking up groceries at Centerra, sitting in Starbucks savoring his free sample of coffee each day, Gary “always had a grin on his face and something sweet to say to whoever he ran into,” is how my oldest sister, Judy, remembers him most vividly.
I have a vivid image of my brother, too, but it doesn’t square at all with his public persona. It’s an image of Gary slumped on a wooden chair in my mother’s kitchen, sobbing uncontrollably, after mom informed him that “for a lot of reasons” (which she didn’t explain) they were going to have to separate. She was going to move out of her home in Glenview and in with her youngest daughter, Melinda and her family, living in Libertyville. He was going to move in with her oldest daughter, Judy, divorced and living on the edge of downtown Calgary.
Gary didn’t want to go. “Please! Mom! Don’t do this! DON’T MAKE ME GO TO CANADA! I WANT TO STAY WITH YOU!”
Mom began sobbing, too. “Gary. Please don’t cry! I’ll come up to see you…A lot! I’ll be spending so much time in Canada you’ll get tired of seeing me.”
It was wrenching to witness. I walked out the back door of mom’s kitchen, sat on the cold sidewalk steps outside and wept.
That was the last time I saw my brother, almost 15 years ago. After that, all the images of my happy-go-lucky brother in Canada began pouring in – mostly via the internet—mostly from Judy making sure all of us who waved goodbye to Gary in Glenview could see for ourselves just how much he loved living with her in Canada.
No doubt my younger brother did enjoy living with Judy and her boys in Canada. Afterall, she treated him like her favorite son, and spoiled him rotten. Gary became a fixture at Tim Hortons chain of restaurants and every pie shop, ice cream parlor, pizzeria, and coffee emporium within walking distance of Judy’s home in Calgary. And, yes, everybody came to know him. And everybody came to love him.
But the person Gary didn’t see much of again – despite her promises-- was mom. She made a few trips. But, before long, she grew too old and suffered too many illnesses to travel internationally. She and Gary eventually settled into way of staying in touch by spending a few minutes over the phone each evening, pretending they were getting along just fine without seeing each other at all.
Mom: “Hi, Gary. You okay?
Gary: “Everything’s going good, ma. Couldn’t be better.”
Mom: “Are you happy Gary?”
Gary: “Oh, ya, Ma. I’m very happy. Got lots of stuff to do here. How about you?”
Mom: “Yes, Gary, I’m happy. Melinda’s very good to me.”
Truth is, of course, they missed each other—badly. Whenever I mentioned Gary’s ever-widening separation from her, mom’s voice would turn melancholy. When I asked Gary if he missed mom, he’d either pretend he had to get off the phone or go silent until I switched subjects. The night before his death, Gary, absent his usual grin, startled Judy with words he hadn’t expressed in years. “Judy,” he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about mom lately. I really miss her.”
All of which explains my reaction when my sister called to inform me that my younger brother had suddenly died of a heart attack the next day. After the initial shock, I felt jubilation.
Celestial images began pouring into my head of mom and Gary having the time of their lives together inside the Pearly Gates, hanging out with their deceased friends from the fancy restaurant where they worked together for years. Now, they could drink coffee, munch on donuts, ice cream and coconut pie all day and all night if they wanted to, just like they liked to do when they lived together in Glenview.
Afterall, an unlimited supply of coffee, donuts and other savory goodies were Gary’s version of heaven. Now that he’s there and mom’s with him, I have no doubt Gary really means what he would say to mom every night over the phone: “Ma. I’m very happy here.”
