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Of Time and the City
Eulogy
This is a non-movie story, and if that's not to your liking, tough. A Catholic service is being held for my recently deceased sister Laura on Tuesday, 3.15, in Southport, Connecticut. I can't be there so I decided to write a little remembrance, which somebody will hopefully read to the congregation. I tapped it out this morning:
When she was young, before her mid-teen years, my sister Laura was very much in the game. She had a high IQ -- higher than mine, I recently learned -- and was quick and alert. She told and got jokes, and was animated, energetic, playful and full of pep. She had a wonderful laugh and had, until the end of her life, the most beautiful smile I've ever seen.
As a young girl she was sometimes feisty and scrappy. One of my vivid early memories is coming home from elementary school one afternoon (I was in the first or second grade) and telling my mother, who was lying on her bed, about something good that had happened -- a good grade, a pat on the back from my teacher, something along these lines -- and Laura, who was standing next to my mother's bed, saying, "So what?"
My mother rebuked her, angrily, but what Laura said was the mark of a sharp, spunky, intelligent and competitive person. She'd listened to my classroom story and decided it was unexciting or unremarkable or inane, and, consistent with the nature of all young siblings who want to put their sisters or brothers in their place, instantly voiced a disapproving judgment.
I was never as close to Laura, then or later in life, as was Tony, our younger brother, but I've never forgotten this impression of her -- a girl who had opinions and gumption and intelligent judgment to spare, and who gave as good as she got.
Sadly, that side of Laura never matured, much less developed. She became afflicted in her mid-teen years with schizophrenia and never left the ground, much less spread her wings. Most of her life, sadly, was about coping, about holding on as best she could and getting by with a measure of dignity. She lived in her heart and her mind, but not, truth be told, very much in the present.
A few days ago I heard a writer or journalist of some distinction (I forget his name) say that Ireland wasn't about the present or the future, but about the past, over and over. As she got older, that was Laura through and through.
She was occasionally a scrappy, sometimes contentious person, but she was mostly quiet and gentle and meditative. She had a good heart, which is to say a better heart than mine. She cared deeply about spiritual matters, and one aspect of this is that she became a Catholic, as I recall, sometime near the start of this century. Her day-to-day life was about what she could do within the margins of her affliction, a cruel hand that was dealt to her at birth, but her inner life was sometimes enormous and deep and radiant.
Laura and I shared a trip to Europe in the early summer of '03. I picked her up at Nice Airport during the closing days of the Cannes Film Festival. The next day Laura came to a screening with me of Clint Eastwood's Mystic River, which showed at the Grand Palais. The next day we rented a car and drove east and southeast into Italy, and then to a small town in Tuscany called San Donato. The proprietor of the b & b where Laura and I stayed for two or three nights is a woman named Elisa Prati, who chatted with Laura a lot and loved her company. In the years since (I've written Elisa often and stayed there last year with my son, Jett), she has asked me how Laura is, and has said more than once what a beautiful person she is.
During our stay in San Donato Laura and I went to an outdoor backyard dinner -- about 8 in the evening -- at the home of an Italian chef named Matthias Pommer. There were six or seven of us, and candles on the table and the sound of crickets and a wonderful earthy aroma from the nearby vineyards. That moment was probably the most peaceful and settled and serene of our entire Italian visit.
For the truth is that Laura, despite the wonder of our being in Italy and experiencing all these new sights and flavors and absorbing all that culture and history, spent about a quarter of her time there -- our time in the car mostly -- going over her problems and unresolved feelings about her life, mostly about things that had been hurtful or gone wrong for her in her teens and 20s
The second best moment -- or perhaps the best moment of all -- happened in Rome, when Laura was sitting behind me on a dark blue scooter as we drove all through the city, sometimes getting lost but eventually finding our way, zooming around the Collisseum and through the Villa Borghese and all the campos and piazzas. As we started out I remember speeding along the main throroughfare that ran along the Tiber river, and hearing Laura going "woo!" as we went under a bridge.
We stayed on that road for two or three miles, and then we turned left on a bridge and crossed over the Tiber and turned left again to head back to the center of the city. And all of a sudden we saw Vatican City on our right and Laura said, "Jeff, Jeff...the Vatican! There's St. Peter's!" I pulled over and we decided then and there that Laura would visit the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel on her own and that I would return to pick her up at this very spot, three hours later. And she took off on foot and I pulled back into traffic.
As I rode along I smiled about the reemergence of the old Laura. A sharp, spunky, intelligent woman who'd seen the Vatican out of the corner of her eye and decided right then and there. A woman of gumption, vision and intelligence who knew what she wanted, made a quick judgment for the better, and who gave back to Rome as good as she got.
Posted by Jeffrey Wells on March 22, 2008 at 11:32 AM
comment #1
Mgmax
says ...
That was really lovely, Jeff. Best wishes to all your family in this trying time.
Posted by Mgmax
at March 22, 2008 11:46 AM
comment #2
Spicer
says ...
Jeff, my thoughts and prayers are with you and your family. My deepest condolences for your loss.
Posted by Spicer
at March 22, 2008 11:46 AM
comment #3
Breedlove
says ...
Very sorry for your loss, Jeff.
Posted by Breedlove
at March 22, 2008 11:53 AM
comment #4
DarthCorleone
says ...
My most sincere condolences to you and yours once again.
Thank you for sharing this very touching and sobering piece of your personal life with us.
Posted by DarthCorleone
at March 22, 2008 12:00 PM
comment #5
Mr. Blood Vessel
says ...
what an amazing beautiful letter.
my most sincere condolences to you and your family jeff.
if it's any consolidation, she's the reason why it's so beautiful this weekend.
Posted by Mr. Blood Vessel
at March 22, 2008 12:05 PM
comment #6
Goulet
says ...
Wow. This is one of the most beautiful things you've ever written. Sorry for your loss, wish I could have known this amazing and complex person.
Posted by Goulet
at March 22, 2008 12:13 PM
comment #7
cjKennedy
says ...
That was beautiful Jeff. You've honored your sister's memory by sharing it through the prism of your own perspective. I didn't know her, but your words were touching.
My condolences for your loss.
Posted by cjKennedy
at March 22, 2008 12:13 PM
comment #8
AbeGoldfarb
says ...
Beautiful. Tough but vulnerable. Unsentimental but soul-deep moving. Picaresque but very specific.
Jeff, you're a hell of a writer, and this is the finest honor you could have done a loved one. If she could read it, she'd no doubt be delighted.
And it's obvious from this, your heart's no small thing.
Posted by AbeGoldfarb
at March 22, 2008 12:18 PM
comment #9
christian
says ...
You brought tears to my eyes, Jeff. A perfect tribute.
Posted by christian
at March 22, 2008 12:20 PM
comment #10
MAGGA
says ...
My condolences. I know there's really nothing that can be said by anonymous people on the internet that will make much difference, but for what it's worth, your site, due to its honest and personal nature, makes us take this personally on some level, as if it happened to a close friend. And regardless, this letter would make it personal to anyone. Bautifully written and honest.
Posted by MAGGA
at March 22, 2008 12:22 PM
comment #11
Pinko Punko
says ...
I'm glad you will always have that moment on the scooter in Rome. Thank you for sharing it with us. Condolences, Jeff.
Posted by Pinko Punko
at March 22, 2008 12:26 PM
comment #12
Edward
says ...
What can I add that's already been stated...Beautifully done.
Posted by Edward
at March 22, 2008 12:26 PM
comment #13
musealien
says ...
What a beautiful piece of writing. And what a lovely way to remember someone.
Condolences.
Posted by musealien
at March 22, 2008 12:36 PM
comment #14
kingofnails
says ...
I'm very glad you posted this, Jeff.
Posted by kingofnails
at March 22, 2008 12:38 PM
comment #15
62Lincoln
says ...
If it's any consolation, the religion in which your sister believed now has her in a much better place, completely unencumbered by the disease which made her life so difficult. God bless her and your entire family.
Posted by 62Lincoln
at March 22, 2008 12:43 PM
comment #16
Nick Carroway
says ...
Just to echo everyone else -- a beautiful piece, Jeff. Evocative and honest. I imagine that, in the years to come, that scooter ride in Rome will play over and over in the cinema of your imagination and memory.
I am deeply sorry for your loss.
Posted by Nick Carroway
at March 22, 2008 12:49 PM
comment #17
CinemaPhreek
says ...
To "play Jeff" for a moment, I found the opening ("and if that's not to your liking, tough.)" sorta undercut the sentiments. Why go there? The rest was lovely.
Posted by CinemaPhreek
at March 22, 2008 1:03 PM
comment #18
Arizona Joe
says ...
You describe Laura as a study in dignity, given her illness. She lived within the "margins of her affliction," but sought a spiritual place where a person can find solace from marginalization, anxiety and lack of peace.
That shows unusual insight and coping, and I am sure Laura was as bright as you say.
The trip to Europe was a wonderful gift to your sister. God bless you, Jeff.
Posted by Arizona Joe
at March 22, 2008 1:08 PM
comment #19
D.Z.
says ...
I'm glad you were there to help her cope with her problems, Jeff. R.I.P.
Posted by D.Z.
at March 22, 2008 1:12 PM
comment #20
MilkMan
says ...
Sorry for your loss, Jeff. At least once a day I pray for my sister's death, but your writing has made me think twice about doing that today. God bless.
Posted by MilkMan
at March 22, 2008 1:57 PM
comment #21
petehowell
says ...
That is a fine piece of writing, Jeff.
We all should have such a great send-off.
My condolences to you and your family. You
are in my prayers.
Posted by petehowell
at March 22, 2008 1:58 PM
comment #22
scooterzz
says ...
very nicely put ...... a shame you can't be there to deliver it yourself... condolences again to you and yours.....
Posted by scooterzz
at March 22, 2008 2:29 PM
comment #23
businesstoolz
says ...
Deeply sorry for your loss Jeff. Incredibly well written eulogy and a great way to honor your sister. The Internet constantly gives us the illusion of relationship. We think because we post in comments and blog that we actually know each other. The truth is we don't. Talking with people online is not the same as riding around Rome on a scooter with them and experiencing life together.
Posted by businesstoolz
at March 22, 2008 2:34 PM
comment #24
iamwhoiam
says ...
This was very moving. I'm sorry for yout lose.
Posted by iamwhoiam
at March 22, 2008 2:36 PM
comment #25
Bocephus
says ...
That was very touching, I don't know how I'd cope if I lost one of my sisters, but I hope I can muster words as heartfelt as these..
Posted by Bocephus
at March 22, 2008 2:40 PM
comment #26
dangovich
says ...
Glad you got to share that time together in Italy. It's hard for adult siblings to spend time together, especially when they live in different parts of the country.
Posted by dangovich
at March 22, 2008 2:52 PM
comment #27
nemo
says ...
I have distant cousins who are twins. One of them developed a successful career as a producer for NPR. The other developed schizophrenia in his early twenties, and had difficulty ever keeping a job or a relationship. It's devastating to see the difference in their lives.
Your sister had two terrible blows of bad luck. But she was fortunate to have you as her brother.
One of the things I admire about how you've developed your career is not only the way you arrange your work to take you for extended periods every year to great places on our planet, but how you share that travel with your sons and your sister. It sounds as if the trip to Italy, especially that ride through Rome and the visit to the Vatican, meant a lot to her.
Posted by nemo
at March 22, 2008 2:59 PM
comment #28
redmond
says ...
Beautiful, Jeff. Thank you for sharing. My compliments to your writing and to everyone here that responded with maturity and dignity. Condolences on your loss and hold on to those memories.
Posted by redmond
at March 22, 2008 3:01 PM
comment #29
Circumvrent
says ...
I can only echo what my fellow commenters have said: that was absolutely beautiful, Jeff. You and your family are in my thoughts.
Posted by Circumvrent
at March 22, 2008 3:08 PM
comment #30
Mr. Muckle
says ...
That's my kind of touring -- just wandering around when, oops, there's the Vatican. Remarkable.
Posted by Mr. Muckle
at March 22, 2008 3:40 PM
comment #31
frankbooth
says ...
A close relative of mine is a manic-depressive and possible borderline personality. It's very hard to deal with, and one of the reasons is that she spends a great deal of her time hashing over past injustices and talking about all the people who wronged her (the 3 a.m. phone calls about the devil get old, too.)
If your sister was well enough to go to Italy, that's something positive. It may have been rough for you at the time, but I imagine you're glad now that you did it. I'll bet it meant a lot to her.
Great post, and I appreciate your honesty in not whitewashing her personality.
Some people will never find peace in this life. Not a happy thought, but it's true.
Posted by frankbooth
at March 22, 2008 4:07 PM
comment #32
Chicago48
says ...
If I am asking an ignorant question, forgive me. But didn't you just come back from Connecticut? Is it too much to fly back out and attend the funeral. Or -- at the least ask that a web cam be @ funeral so you can watch the funeral, and maybe speak to the attendees.
Just my thoughts.
Posted by Chicago48
at March 22, 2008 4:35 PM
comment #33
brendan
says ...
I am going to plan a trip with my sister when I see her tomorrow. What a wonderful memory Jeff. Rome is truly there for all of us to share. Please take care and thank you for sharing.
Posted by brendan
at March 22, 2008 4:42 PM
comment #34
filmfestivalgeek
says ...
Nicely done, Jeff. A very warm, intimate remembrance. I believe she will finally find peace where she is.
Posted by filmfestivalgeek
at March 22, 2008 5:13 PM
comment #35
Mikeb
says ...
Really sad for you. Loved your piece though. What a nice way to remember your sis and to share her with us. I think it may be my favorite piece of writing of yours.
Live Clean
Mike Binder
Posted by Mikeb
at March 22, 2008 5:44 PM
comment #36
actionman
says ...
Wow, that was amazing Jeff. I have a sister and I can't imagine losing her. You wrote something very personal and very passionate...she'd be extremely proud of what you wrote. I am very sorry for your loss.
Be well.
Posted by actionman
at March 22, 2008 6:35 PM
comment #37
Stephe96
says ...
Beautiful words and a beautiful tribute...
My deepest condolences, Jeff.
Posted by Stephe96
at March 22, 2008 7:13 PM
comment #38
lipranzer
says ...
My thoughts and condolences, Jeff. That was a heartfelt tribute.
Posted by lipranzer
at March 22, 2008 8:41 PM
comment #39
Major Calloway
says ...
Jeffrey, that was as lovely as it was saddening to read. Thank you so much for sharing this with us. Just before the holidays my wife lost her younger brother, who had also spent years battling schizophrenia, to an accident at far too early an age. It is my sincere and earnest hope that in your inconsolable pain and distress you are nevertheless able to find a source of solace and comfort.
This is a completely obvious and - given the context - potentially crass observation, but I feel compelled to voice it. . . Despite being (mostly) strangers here, it's likely that many of us will now find future viewings of a particular classic film to be imbued with a new and somber association:
"Rome! By all means, Rome. I will cherish my visit here in memory as long as I live."
"I don't know how to say goodbye. I can't think of any words."
"Don't try."
Posted by Major Calloway
at March 22, 2008 9:28 PM
comment #40
romeoisbleeding
says ...
Beautiful writing.. beautiful thoughts. My prayers are with you and your family.
Posted by romeoisbleeding
at March 22, 2008 9:46 PM
comment #41
Pablo Villaça
says ...
Beautiful, Jeff. Simply wonderful.
Posted by Pablo Villaça
at March 22, 2008 10:06 PM
comment #42
Noah
says ...
Thank you for sharing this Jeff. It's too bad that it had to be spurred on by such a tragedy, but it's a beautiful piece of writing.
Posted by Noah
at March 22, 2008 10:13 PM
comment #43
LADODGERS23
says ...
A great piece. Sorry for your loss
Posted by LADODGERS23
at March 22, 2008 11:30 PM
comment #44
Howlingman
says ...
Beautifully written, Jeff.
Posted by Howlingman
at March 23, 2008 6:15 AM
comment #45
giantman
says ...
Jeff, I'm just back on-line after a few days and discovered this beautifully written and heart-felt eulogy. My sincere condolences to you and your family during this difficult time. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Posted by giantman
at March 23, 2008 7:01 AM
comment #46
SpinDozer
says ...
My sincere condolences.
Posted by SpinDozer
at March 23, 2008 3:08 PM
comment #47
nola
says ...
brought tears to my eyes this Easter Sunday. what a moving and beautiful tribute to your sister.
Posted by nola
at March 23, 2008 7:47 PM
comment #48
Rich S.
says ...
The only thing I disagree with is your observation that you believe you were not as close to your sister as your brother. From your eulogy, it's clear that you were much closer than even you knew. But I agree that after a loved one is gone, we never believe we were close enough.
Again, I'm very sorry for your loss.
Posted by Rich S.
at March 24, 2008 8:32 AM
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