One Way to Bring Them Back

Panasonic VR Goggles :: Original Photo-Panasonic

I have a lot of questions I wish I’d asked my folks. Sometimes I don’t remember the answers to the ones I did ask, so I’d like to revisit those, followed-up with a barrage of spin-off questions. There isn’t a comprehensive list, but there’s a growing list and as I get older, it gets longer. How did each of them cope with catastrophes, like when siblings died, and how did each family find their way through it? How did my mom manage the hardships of wheat farming in Central Montana? Did she and her siblings explore the nearby Highwood Mountains often? What were the group critiques like when my dad was in architecture school? Were there design themes that stood out? When did they both discover their passion for the arts? What courses did my mom enjoy in music school at the universities? What songs did she sing at her final recital and how many? How did they manage the lean times while parenting five kids? What time of year was it when they first met? What was the weather like? What time of day was it? Was it love at first site, or did it take time? Did they take hikes in the Bridgers? Have they reconnected with siblings on the other side — their mothers and fathers? Is there another side? Have you visited my dreams and sometimes while I’m awake? Were you there while I painted during that pre-dawn morning? It felt like you were in the room because I walked towards my computer and saw a picture of you appear as part of my screen saver loop. Were you with me while I drove east through North Dakota during a nighttime blizzard?

So, even though they’ve both passed, all of their ‘known’ history, their data, including passions, accomplishments, disappointments, and desires, can be loaded into a virtual reality program where sophisticated algorithms will process, anticipate, estimate, and fill in any data gaps, then generate an interface that will put the three of us in a space together. Something like the holodeck on Star Trek: The Next Generation. I imagine sitting with them somewhere familiar, like on their deck under the giant willow tree, the cabin porch at Seeley Lake, or the lodge in the White Mountains.

Because if their data, my data and our shared data is merged, our conversation might feel real, it might be like they’d returned. I’d be waiting with my VR Goggles on, a recorder and a legal pad for taking notes. In addition to answering my long list of questions, they could tell me how they’re doing and what it’s like where they are. Maybe then I’d never concern myself with what happens after death, because they would know, and they would tell me If it’s a space filled with light, something infinite and nest like at the same time, or confirmation that his outstretched arms actually did have hands made of roses. After our long conversation, maybe even hours, and before they left, my mom and I could hug and laugh and I could look into her eyes for as long as I wanted. I might feel my dad’s hand rest on the back of my neck, like when he felt close, or proud, or wanted to help mend a disagreement between us. I think it would feel like nothing had been lost.

Songs :: Mercy Street by Peter Gabriel, We Watch the Stars (Berlin Sessions) by Fink, Dear Mama by 2Pac, You’re Missing by Bruce Springsteen, and Wynter’s Promise by Kirk Franklin

© C. Davidson

I Still Remember

Hollyhocks :: Photographer Unknown

We used to have some elderly neighbors that lived three houses south of us on the same side of the street — Susie and Lavi. They were a little shy, mostly kept to themselves but were always very warm whenever we interacted. They’d lived in their house for many years before we moved onto the block and for many years after. Their house was a modest single story one-bedroom home painted mint green with white trim and a detached two car garage that was slightly bigger than their house. Their backyard was filled with a large, luscious vegetable garden, a lot of flowers and an elevated deck attached to the rear of their house where you’d often see them sitting, sunning and sipping refreshments.

After two years of waving to each other and exchanging pleasantries, one early fall day they invited me to stop by their house. “We want to show you something.” Later that afternoon I knocked on their front door and both of them greeted me. I stepped in and after we had a brief conversation, I slowly scanned their living room in awe. It looked like a combination of a folk-art museum and a children’s playhouse. There was a shelf about six feet off the floor on three sides of the room filled with beautiful cookie jars and other colorful collectibles, and on the floor lining the same three walls, were large wooden doll houses — each was unique and about the same size. There were at least ten or twelve of them visible. Each one had two to three floors, with highly detailed exterior treatments, like multi pane windows, shutters, window boxes with flowers, hand cut cedar roof shingles and detailed paint jobs. The interiors were completely furnished with things like lamps, chairs, tables, magazine racks complete with miniature magazines, throw rugs, bathroom fixtures, including small toothbrushes and even a mounted roll of toilet tissue, and kitchen fixtures like countertop appliances, cups, plates, silverware, tablecloths, and house plants throughout. Everything was hand crafted in exquisite detail. The front panel of each house was removable so you could view and interact with the entire interior. They explained that they had crafted the houses from scratch over decades and had hand painted almost all of the cookie jars and other collectibles. Lavi and Susie had a secret. They were under the radar artists and artisans, and they were making magical things.

I commented on how amazing everything was and asked them a bunch of questions including why they wanted to show me all of this. Before answering Susie made me promise that I wouldn’t tell anybody what I saw besides my wife. I told her I wouldn’t. They worried about people knowing what they had in their house. Then she told me that they wanted our daughter to have one of the houses if that was OK — that she should come by with us and pick one out sometime soon. Eventually we did go to their house together and she did choose one.

Early the following spring, I saw Lavi walking from his house to his garage. I wasn’t able to get his attention that day and hadn’t seen either of them outside much which was unusual. After a couple of months, I mentioned to my wife that I hadn’t seen Susie or Lavi working in their garden. Eventually I asked our next-door neighbor about them and she said that sometime over the winter Susie was admitted to a memory care facility. Apparently, she’d been struggling and was beginning to put both of them at some risk. Lavi couldn’t manage anymore and he needed help.

Eventually Lavi and I did connect. We saw each other outside and he waved me over one cool afternoon. He told me that Susie wasn’t living with him anymore. “She’s losing her memory. She’s in a facility and it’s my fault,” he said. He got emotional and I wasn’t quite sure what to do, so I reluctantly reached out and gripped his shoulder. I didn’t know if that was going to be OK. He’s a stoic Norwegian Minnesotan and sometimes his generation of men pull back and retreat during moments like this, but he didn’t, so I just kept my hand there. Susie was the love of his life and he couldn’t take care of her anymore. They each had to give-up huge parts of themselves forever. I know what grief feels like, but I don’t know what that feels like and I don’t think emotional survival is guaranteed when that kind of loss happens. Lavi lived alone in their house for only a year, or so, after Susie left. He eventually sold it and moved into a small apartment for senior residents close to where we live. Occasionally we visited him while he lived there. When he saw our daughter and one of her friends, his eyes lit up. Sometimes when the girls were occupied with whatever activity or treats Lavi provided them, he would talk about Susie and his visits with her, and how she was growing more distant every day.

As our daughter got older and grew out of the doll house, it stayed on our front porch for a while before we passed it along to a young girl on our block who our daughter babysat for. After she grew out of it, they returned it to us, and we passed it on again to some new neighbors and their daughter. I think Lavi and Susie would have been happy knowing that what they created together still has a bright life. The house they lived in has had a couple of owners since they left too — it feels very different now, but if I concentrate, I can still picture them working methodically in their garden, or sunning on their deck, partially obscured by the huge hollyhocks and other large country flowers that gently swayed in the breeze between us.

For Susie and Lavi

Songs :: The Beginning of Memory by Laurie Anderson, It’s for You by Lyle Mays and Pat Metheny and Coral Room by Kate Bush

© C. Davidson