Back from Pittsburgh

It’s been a week from hell.

Exactly a week ago, on Sunday, Movie Dictator and myself got into our car and went off to Connecticut. I had an interview there the following day. The trip took only 1.5 hours and we spent the rest of the day exploring the towns in this semi-rural area, known as “Quiet Corner” of Connecticut. We checked out Manchester, which seemed eerily deserted. We drove to Glastonbury, which looked expensive and lacking any sort of town center. We drove to Hartford, which looked kind of nice in the lights of the setting sun. Some old building and sculptures (men on horses). Finally we made our way into West Hartford, which seemed nice enough.

The next day, I had my interview. It started at 9 am went on until 9:30 pm, which was when the dinner ended. It was a lot of fun! All the faculty and students were lovely, enthusiastic, kind, funny. It just seemed like a great place to be. I think I did well, but there’s just no way to know for sure. All I can do right now, is keep my fingers crossed and wait.

The moment the dinner was over, though, my cell phone rang. It was my father calling to tell me that my grandfather passed away. My grandfather had been at a hospital for the past 3 weeks. He was 89 years old and his heart had been failing. On some days he was given 50% of survival, on other days, 5-10%. We didn’t know what to think. On Monday he got worse, and by the end of the day, he was gone.

I considered driving to Pittsburgh directly from Connecticut, but my father talked me out of it – Pittsburgh was in the midst of a serious snowstorm. Instead, Movie Dictator and I went downstairs and got drunk. I was feelings exhausted and miserable.

What can I tell you about my grandfather? He was great. He was funny. He was fond of practical jokes. He was about to turn 90 this summer, though in reality he was only 88. He had added a year to his age to get into a Naval Academy. He had one son and two daughters; 6 grandchildren, and a bunch of great-grandchildren. He’d had 4 wives, though most of his life he spent with our grandmother. They met at a hospital: he was critically wounded, she was his nurse. She nursed him to health. Reader, they married each other. Their first daughter was born in 1943, while Leningrad was under siege. My grandfather defended Leningrad. He was a captain of a minesweeper. In 1945, he was sent to Alaska, where he became a captain of an American battle ship. He fought against Japan. Then he came back. In 1953 during the last round of Stalin’s purges he was forced into an early retirement. It could have been worse. My other grandfather (my dad’s side) didn’t survive 1953 at all.

Next morning, we went back to Boston. On the way there, we drove through the town of Willimantic, about 8 miles away from the university. I instantly fell in love with it. It seemed both rundown and up-and-coming. It had a character and charm. Also, a food coop, yoga studio, and a Polish breakfast place. Still, we agreed not to count the unhatched chickens or – to use a Russian expression -- not to split the skin of the unkilled bear.

Back in Boston it was time to run errands, pay bills, buy airplane tickets, and pack. For various logistical reasons we decided that I would go to Pittsburgh alone. The following morning I got up at 3:30 am and headed for the airport. The flight was several hours late—they had to de-ice the plane several times and then wait for a better weather—but it eventually took off. I was lucky. It was the last plane to Pittsburgh that day, all the other ones were canceled.

At the airport in Pittsburgh, I was supposed to wait for my brother-in-law and drive home with him. Unfortunately, his connecting flight from Chicago got canceled, and so I had to get a cab again.

Pittsburgh was cold and sunny and covered in snow. A real winter wonderland, with big white snowdrifts, snowed-in roads, and the tree branches silvery with ice. (And Movie Dictator was missing it all.)

My sister arrived the morning before. My brother-in-law that afternoon. The funeral was the next day.

We spent much of the week talking about my grandfather, telling stories, looking at his old pictures. He used to be stunningly handsome. In his last days, mostly unconscious, he thought he was a captain again. He was on his ship, tough and powerful, scolding the slackers, giving out commands.

The funeral was on Thursday. The ceremony -- fairly quick: a couple of speeches by the relatives (me included), a speech by the rabbi (why can they never remember the name of the deceased, the only name that is important?). Fortunately, the rabbi kept the prayers to the minimum. We drove to the cemetery. It was another beautiful and freezing day. We were given paper packets of earth. A few more words of Kaddish, and then it was all over.

The rest of the week was spent on clearing my grandfather’s apartment (not a trivial thing, since my mother wanted to keep everything and my father to throw everything out), visiting family and friends, entertaining visitors. Every day we were up until 1 or 2 in the morning, I was -- and still am -- exhausted. But it was also good, the way our family came together. It made me realize a bunch of things about my relationship with them – but that’s a subject for a whole other posting.

And now is the best part: I’m home, with the Movie Dictator, and I can finally relax, catch up on e-mail, and sleep.