WE’LL NEVER SAY “GOODBYE” – my heart at its fullest.

…and this is a long one. Brace yourselves.
She burst into tears upon seeing me; she had thought she had missed the opportunity to say goodbye. Pam, of all people, was the last one I expected to cry at my farewell…not. She and I had had our share of tears with each other in terms of office troubles, but I was not expecting this well of waterworks. She had to go on home to take care of her young ‘uns, and 20 minutes in, had to go, thinking she would not see me again.
The long hallway begged to differ.
We embraced as we never had, and she knew full well that in the lobby, a slew of people had already assembled…she encouraged me to traverse the hall, and we bid a quick farewell. Quick is best, and we both knew that…and we also knew this would not be the end; just a temporary distraction from seeing each other every day. I knew I would miss her, but something was telling me…this wasn’t over yet. Not with Pam. I strode along, and as I turned the corner to enter the lobby, I heard that familiar echoing clink of the double metal doors on the opposite end of the corridor…that quickly she was gone…the first.
I opened the lobby doors.
I don’t suppose anyone was expecting me to enter from anyplace except for the main entrance…in fact, many had their backs to me in anticipation of my arrival; it was like the surprise party gone wrong – everyone suddenly turning around, re-acclimating themselves to my understated entrance. The hugs and hellos commenced and I was astounded by so many dear and familiar faces…young and old, theatre and non, family and friends, co-workers, colleagues…and a few recent newcomers into my life.
The lobby was already decked out for the Christmas Show at the theatre, and the theme continued with a long set of tables spread center with sandwiches and crudite, snacks and sweets, festively dressed in holiday decor. The Christmas tree was lit, and there was a piano and microphone set in place…hmm. The bar was open, and my favorite Grand volunteers were standing at the ready. Along one side, a miniature “shrine” was laid out, with scalped photos of me downloaded from my Facebook page, all framed in splendor, along with the quintessential photo of me: the one that was also on my goodbye cake…the “yes, it IS my job” photo of me bussing tables at The Grand’s Season Preview. As I continued hugging and saying hellos, I also found out why everyone was facing the main entrance: there was a sandwich board with a large-scale photo of me on both sides out on the sidewalk with an arrow pointing inside. I laughed out loud when I saw it…a frightening marquee, if ever there was. I was additionally giddy at the current art exhibit on the walls of the acrobatic Three Little Bakers…my face had been cut and pasted into almost every one of them, and taped over the face of the unsuspecting Bakers…odd to see me in black and white unitards…haven’t seen that since college. I was filled with mirth.
My heart was particularly touched when I saw our Vice Chairman of the Board, and the Co-Chairs of Board Development appear, with hearty congratulations and best wishes. They three are some of the closest colleagues I have had on the board, and I was touched that they came…we laughed and recounted many a tale – of old and new regimes—and they each in their own way stated how they wondered how The Grand will go on without me. I assured them it would, because they would be the ones to see to it. I encouraged them to proceed to “the shrine” and drop a note in my “memory box”…a large colorful box brightly on display with paper and pens nearby. The only thing I asked of anyone coming to my farewell: let me take my memories with me. Everyone seemed to be in compliance.
And then I noticed a figure dressed in black, her strawberry blond hair resting gently on her shoulders; she was sipping a glass of wine. Laney was not expected. In fact, she and I had had some words about my leaving. But I had hoped against hope we would mend…that’s what friends do…they can fight, and tell it like it is…and then…move past it. Laney and I seem to have that kind of strength in our friendship. She is one of my “five little fingers.” By that I mean, there is a longstanding theory I have adopted ever since my father’s funeral. My brother Jimmy, his namesake, gave his eulogy, during which he relayed this perspective from my dad (one which, I unfortunately did not learn until he had passed): “If you have five good friends,” he said, flexing his thumb, index, middle, ring, and pinky fingers, “they will give you,” (here he reached out) “…a hand.”
Laney is one of my fingers. The index one, in fact. The maiden mother, the pointer in right directions, the pointer of shame, the pointer of emphasis and “listen to me.”
I had thought my index finger was “broken.” But here she was…reluctant, unwilling, reserved. I approached her softly, and we embraced. Unlike we’d ever have…it almost felt like it could not ever end…such strength, such depth, such emotion attached…it was surreal.
She did not wish to stay long, and continued to insist that “this isn’t happening.” We spoke intimately, and made peace. Spoke from the heart, and spoke truth. Again, I assured myself, this isn’t over yet. And with her trademark softest kiss in the world on my tear-lined cheek…she was off.
That was two.
But my finger felt better.
More hellos, more hugs…it was beginning to get crowded…I was not expecting this. My boss, Steve Bailey, arrived with his wife, Maryann, and their two Cairn Terriers in tow: Jack and Gracie (my adopted “kids”…I would sit for them often while the Baileys would travel to Florida or Montana…and exercise some discipline with them…they are not wonderfully trained – cause they’re spoiled – but they are responsive:) .
Jack and Gracie flitted about, obviously turned on by the smell of the food display, and searching for remnants between visits to my calves and scraping me in their traditional pawing at my legs. Steve and Maryann met me with quiet determination – knowing the inevitable, we all went on to mingling. Clearly, they were headed to the bar to improve their steely resolve.
Melissa zoomed in to me as I petted the doggies. She uprighted me and turned me in the direction of the main entrance to the lobby…asking me if I’d seen who had arrived. I was stunned. There he was, Damian, my best friend from high school, along with Ann Pinto McCarney, whom I’d known since we were 10, along with her darling husband Dean. All my worlds were colliding. But in a good way. I could not believe my eyes. We embraced as if it were yesterday. Oh my, how time goes by. They knew so many others in the room as well that I knew they were in excellent company, and I promised myself I would catch up in moments…again, best laid plans. I was stupid not to dedicate every precious moment I had to them. No regrets, Patrick, no regrets. Here they were…wow…what an honor.
I spent a goodly amount of time with the Robsons, David and Sonja, and their daughter Ingrid…whom I’d not really seen since 1995 (well, Ingrid wasn’t part of the equation back then). David, a playwright, and Sonja, his actress wife, and I had done work together to Christen City Theater’s Pub Plays in “the old days.” Our tour de force was Christopher Durang’s Naomi In The Living Room…my first real excursion at drag (and my last!). We were briefly interrupted by board members from another theatre at which I worked, New Candlelight…Sue and Tom Hornung…I was so very surprised and delighted at their arrival…what a compliment. And how enthusiastic they were, despite my loss as a fellow board member.
And then: Mother arrived.
With big brother Jimmy in tow…I was glad they’d endured the weather and the half-hour trek from outside Philly to come down to lil’ ol’ Wilmington. Famished, she immediately grabbed a sub sandwich and a plate, took a seat, and chowed down as I got her a VO Manhattan. Mother’s not shy; there’s a reason she goes by “Auntie Mame.” (“Felize”…her other nickname, is another story entirely.) She handed me a card and then another card from my Godmother Aunt Bernie…and said, “Now don’t spend it all on pizza.” My mom knows how obsessed I am with pizza. She doesn’t hesitate to remind me; and I don’t hesitate to remind HER that pepperoni pizza is the best of the best when it comes to representing the four Food Groups: meat, dairy, bread, and veggie. True?
[Editor’s Note: Please substitute the word Pizza in the above paragraph with “Beer.” But the Pizza thing is true, too.]
The Robsons joined us at our table and Jimmy and Mom (a bit out of their element with “theatre folk” as they always are) actually engaged in great conversation with them…I suppose Ingrid Robson, a darling beauty, their daughter, helped break the ice. Soon Melissa joined us (my middle finger, the “rebellious” one who just simply tells me like it is, or just tells me off), and then, Steve Bailey took the floor by taking the mic. I gathered it was now “showtime.”
Steve was sturdy as he awaited silence among the cast of characters assembled. He was endearingly gracious as he attested to my years of service at The Grand, but I was moved when he started to talk about where I was off to. “Patrick is going to a place where he can truly follow his heart and his passion for the theatre, something The Grand cannot offer him here, and he is daring to take that chance to go and follow his heart” was the general gist of it…but I was really taken with the fact that at this very moment, he truly understood me. Understood my choice, my motivation…Steve – finally – “got” me. He raised his glass, along with the rest, in an unexpected toast to my future…I was beginning to well up.
“And on with the show,” Steve continued, handing the mic to Melissa, as my dear friend Steve Weatherman took to the piano.
I was not prepared for this. I dashed to the bar for “A Slice Of Pizza.”
Melissa Joy Hart, ever the professional Cabaret Artist, began the first in a series of dedication songs. I don’t know where she found the strength…she and I have a tumultuous history…the stuff of bestsellers (and it will be)…but lo and behold, she belted out “Listen To My Heart” (our song forever) with finesse and flair and I was on the first of my series of waterworks. I had never heard such gusto come from her…it reminded me how much I am attracted to her talent…which is the understatement of the year. My best friend gave me the greatest gift of all…her heart…and I embrace it daily. “Listen to my voice, and it will tell you everything: all about the life, that’s just about to start, so if you want to know how much I love you, listen to my heart.” I’m always listening.
Not that she could be trumped, but if there was ever a gift of love coming at me, it was next: Melissa (Bernard) Dammeyer, my pioneer with City Theater. Melissa is an actress. Got that? ACTRESS. She doesn’t sing…but this night, she did…and she stepped up, singing what has become City Theater’s theme song, “Young At Heart”…quaking lyrics in hand, trembling in her voice…it didn’t matter…this Melissa was singing, actually singing…just for me…and she later said, it was ONLY because of me that she did that. It was a double whammy…freely given with love. “And here is the best part; you have a head start; if you are among the very young,…at heart.” Never were words more true.
I was surprised at the next performer…my first love, Michael Gray…we go a long way back…and we have an unending connection that defies comprehension…even ours. A creative connection, a brain drain, an understanding: he thinks something and I know how to make it into words – or a picture. I laughed at the intro to his song, “Anyone Can Whistle” (we’re both Stephen Sondheim whores, and this show is the one we always promised we’d do together, …cause NO ONE does it…best laid plans, ah well…story’s not over yet). He sang the title song with his sublime baritone, and all the wasted time with him (or so I’d ever thought) was worth every second. You never forget your first love. Michael and I will always be connected. “Maybe you could show me, how to let go; lower my guard; learn to be free; maybe if you whistle…whistle for me.” I definitely will.
I continued wiping tears as I hugged his rippled figure…there is not one in my life who has the strength to break my back the way Michael does…and then, adjusting the mic to her her 4’11’’ stature, stood Karen…duly dubbed “small but mighty” by me. She is the pinky. (Jury’s not out on this amongst the fingers, but I know my own hand.) The one that somehow keeps the others connected. Not an easy task…which is why she is small but mighty.
I knew the music immediately…again, “our song.” “Trust The Wind” is especially important to Karen and Me…she is a triple Air sign…it’s an astrology thing…but she and I get it, and that’s all that matters…she is in many ways, wind beneath me (differently than Melissa, my Air polarity…again, I digress) and Karen knows how important this song is to me…sometimes you just have to trust. And that’s what I was doing…it was a truly blessed gift from her to lend her voice to its message…again, I was waterworks. “I know wherever breezes blow, wherever winding rivers flow, I’m going where I need to go. I can TRUST the wind.” I have, and I do.
But no one could prepare me for the last presentation. Genevieve (Gen, my Anam Cara, my spiritual soul connection) was suddenly in the lineup. I didn’t see her arrive; I just saw her suddenly there. I heard the first few chords of her song and was shocked to stillness. The one I had asked her to learn so many moons ago: “Ship In A Bottle” …I thought it would be a good audition song for her soprano and her belt…an eclectic mix that she has, not unlike Melissa. I turned to one side, realizing that Steve and Maryann Bailey were right at my side, watching…watching…watching me watching her. I moved closer to them. Maryann put her arm around my waist and held me fast. The tears just didn’t stop, hearing the lyrics of “a little boy sailor…taking his chances on the wind and the sea.”
I was a fucking mess.
I was asked to approach the mic, to give a “speeeeech….speeeeech”…not exactly my thing, but I conceded.
Jack licked at my heels as I started speaking…thanking everyone (many of whom I’d not even said hello to yet, and arrived mid “Cabaret”). I didn’t have many words, except of thanks to The Board and The Staff of The Grand…to everyone who made the evening possible, my five little fingers…to friends, old and new, and with thanks for their support and encouragement this night…and I quickly closed (cause I am NOT a speech maker) with a quote from my friend Steve Weatherman, the man who had so graciously dedicated his piano talents to each song that night…he and I had had a discussion about this whole huge transition and how serendipitously all the elements fell into place: the job, the apartment, the whole new life. He had turned me on to a quote by Goethe: “Act courageously, and you will attract mighty forces.”
It was the last thing I said to everyone. I encouraged everyone to act courageously. And then…the party continued.
It was time to turn to my Ring Finger. Sue Werb. She had arrived with all of my closest professional colleagues in the Special Events Industry.
But she and I go way deeper than that. She is my mother, my sister, my friend, my coworker, my heart…my…words can’t say.
She is the Ring Finger. My commitment. To love. To know that love is possible. My protector, my maternal instinct, my provider instinct…my teacher. There really just aren’t words. She is so much of my hand all rolled into one fiery, fierce fist…(make a fist and see for yourself which finger hits the palm first)…there is just nothing else possible without love. She knows that. As do I. She totally represents that to me.
And I will miss her greatly. But if I went on about her, she’d be embarrassed…so I shall honor that.
After some time, Mother and Jimmy said goodbye, thanking me for knowing how much I was loved and how many people cared about me; Jimmy later said to my mom: “I’m sorry I never saw more of his shows…he’s done good.” I don’t begrudge this. Jimmy and I are just fine; there is always something inherently connected between the oldest and youngest of siblings.
Mom and Jimmy seemed to start the trend: the period of goodbyes.
They started to waterfall over me, and there is too much to recall; who they were, what they mean, how they impacted my life…there just aren’t words…and time is fleeting; which is why I asked them all to contribute to the “memory box.” That was the point. To remember. To take each of them with me.
There were photos, relegated to “respective theatre companies only” that I had worked with…there was my roommate, Karin, and her friend Sarah, with whom I’d spent the last year bonding with, only to have this bond severed. There was Bee and Denny and scores of friends…how lucky was I.
There were goodbyes with Ann and Dean and Damian…my best friends of all time and all years. The Robsons gave me a collective hug (including Ingrid, who gave me multiple memories in my box…having only just met her).
Things were winding down.
I was pulled aside by Steve Bailey near my memory box, and he wanted a moment alone. He didn’t want to leave things to chance when I would open his “memory”…which he promptly handed me, a slick, 10 x 1 inch neatly and tightly wrapped gift…I was befuddled at his insistence.
As I opened it, he started to speak, saying he was looking for the “right” thing to give to me…that he really didn’t quite know, but he was standing at his dresser and this came to mind…the gift of time. It was at that moment I had unwrapped the package, like Charlie from the Chocolate Factory, looking at a golden ticket. There it was: his Prized Wittnauer Watch…his favorite…black leather band and gold encrusted with diamonds…rectangular in shape…I was reminded of the ghetto “claw watch” I got from Dave & Busters with Jen and her brother Don in Irvine…which, remarkably, had just STOPPED working that night, otherwise I would have worn it. Steve is a collector of watches and I know how much this particular one means to him; for him to pass it on to me was a generational, intimate, moment…this was one of his babies. I was an unexpectant heir to his fortune.
I looked at him with tears in my eyes (and my eyes only, he wouldn’t have stood for otherwise)…he embraced me with a half armed hug…his style…and he too had reticent tears in his eyes as he said with a choked up voice…”you take good care of that.”
Not knowing how to respond, I said, “I will. Time’s on my side now.”
He and I, duly parted now, looked at each other one last time. He went off to wrangle Jack and Gracie.
And I was left with a series of more goodbyes. But not before a last “hello.”
Tom Shade, my longtime friend, my City Theater director, muse, and confidante, had just arrived….he’d missed the festivities, but there he stood…in line as I bid my farewells over and over again…just to say hello.
It was an exhaustive wait for him, I am now certain…the photos, the posing, the long goodbyes…Tom has always been patient. It has always been his strength…especially when dealing with me. I was enthralled by his presence…I mean…presents. His presence WAS a present.
I had one more goodbye to say as he waited, scruffy beard, tousled hair…the Tom I know and love. I was wondering where his wife and children were, but, from Towson, MD, I’m sure it would’ve been a hike.
Steve Bailey was waiting with the dogs off to one side of the lobby…I had a lovely redhead in front of me, Steve’s wife, Maryann, who, whether she realizes it or not, is the start of my “second set of fingers to give me a hand”…she is class with a capital C. And we have grown close these last two years…for a lot of reasons…none the least of which is: we both have taken care of the same School Boy lo all this time…we share the same heartache, heartburn, heartlift.
She couldn’t believe it as much as I could, that this was a last hug. She held fast to me with her Taurean stability. I couldn’t let go either. “It’s only California” we agreed…for someone who goes to Ohio, LA, Montana and Florida…it was a simple solution to wipe our tears. She did however walk away from me with her own full teary eyes…she turned her back and I watched her pull her hand to each side of her face to wipe her tears…I know Maryann has the strength within her to move past all this. She and I and Steve have been through worse.
Tom was waiting…and it was only fitting that he and I connected once again as the event breakdown occurred. Tom and I quickly caught up, but the scenario was subsiding…and there were a few guests waiting up the block at The Exchange, a local pub that has survived the Wilmington Renaissance and has actually thrived…I am optimistic for Wilmington in this regard.
I watched as the staff of GOH cleaned up…it was weird not to be part of that. I was accustomed to cleaning up after myself…this time, however, it was all taken care of. I hugged Melissa, saying I would see her later up at The Exchange.
And then Small But Mighty was reluctantly nearby for me to say farewell as she tidied up the lobby. There is something to be said about 6’1” hugging 4’1”…it’s a good fit. Karen was, I dare say, flummoxed, that “this” was “it.”
She held fast to me, and I to her…neither of us wanting to trust the wind. But we knew we must. With some strength, from God Only Knows Where, we were able to let go…nah, probably a better term is: let be.
I walked past the Almighty Grand Opera House for the very last time, up to The Exchange, where a bit of an AfterParty awaited.
I had a Relocation Pod still to pack, but each moment was now precious. Time. My new friend. Was now on my side.