The Oppenheimer Report 5/7/18

My mom, circa 1962 at our home on Chapin Pkwy.

What is it they say about the best laid plans? Saturday morning there was a service in Buffalo to commemorate the passing of my best friend’s father, “Big” Bob Miller. I was going to attend that ceremony come hell or high water; I did not anticipate gale force winds. I figured I’d head down to Shauna’s mom’s place in Toronto Friday evening before dark, thus ensuring that I was a little closer to Buffalo for the 11AM service on Saturday. I thought I was being very forward thinking, but Mother Nature had a different plan. Around 4:30 Friday afternoon, we had some strong wind gusts, which only lasted a short while, but did major destruction. Old growth trees  toppled over, power and telephone lines went down, and it was a real mess up here. In fact, the winds were so strong that Hwy 11, and my direct access to Toronto, was closed for a few hours due to debris and fallen power lines. Our power went out, and later in the evening we lost our phone lines as well. I’m sure there were a lot of people crying “Why Me?” Friday night. I was very concerned about leaving my sick and home bound wife alone in a power outage. Murphy’s Law. Thankfully, we have a good generator. Eventually, I did make it down to Toronto, albeit a lot later than I had planned.

Driving down to Buffalo, early Saturday morning, I was hit with a mild panic attack, similar to one I’d experienced before my 35^th high school reunion. My memory is terrible these days, and I was about to see a lot of people I hadn’t seen in a long time. Would I remember their names? I have not been to my hometown in at least three years, and a lot can change in three years. It was strange crossing the Peace Bridge. Short of several old friends with whom I keep in touch, I was not familiar with my city anymore. Even the access to the city from the bridge was different. I got lost in my hometown.

The service was well attended, and a fitting tribute to Big Bob. There was no insufferably long mass, the speeches were just the right length, and there was just a good vibe in the room. I got there early and sat near the front, because I was feeling asocial, but wanted to make sure I heard all the speakers. To my surprise, the person who sat down next to me was an old friend and his wife, whom I had not seen for over 25 years. Jerry Miller lived on my street when we were kids, and he is the offspring of one of the three Miller brothers who lived on the same block. I had not seen him since shortly after he and his wife were married, and it was wonderful to see them both. We’d lost touch but old friendships never really die. Later, at the reception, I saw and caught up with a lot of old Buffalo friends, and even remembered many of their names. The re-connection felt good.

I don’t know why I’m having these anxiety attacks. It might be the chaos, lies, and spin blowing around on the news like a torn flag. Maybe it’s the swift passage of time, made more evident by the visible changes in the faces of the friends I rarely see. Their eyes speak volumes about changes that I was not around to see. Maybe it’s simply that, as I get older, it becomes so glaringly apparent how completely out of control of everything I am. I have been struggling with depression over the past few months, and I fear I am losing my ability to connect with others. Attending this funeral was important for me, likely more important than it was for the family of the deceased. I woke up the next morning, back in Katrine, a little wired from the residual effects of driving for 14 hours (we rarely go anywhere but to the doctors these days). I walked outside to survey the damage from Friday night’s wind storm. I think I’ll be using the chain saw today. I can only react after the storms have passed. One day at a time.

  - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED