"Miss You Desperately"

"Miss You Desperately" was how Noreen often closed her letters and e-mails. I'd say "to me" but I suspect that whoever she wrote to, someone a long way off, geographically, got the same closing. Still, it always seemed so personal to me. Made me feel significant. She was the only person I have ever known to use such a phrase--whether she made it up or adopted it I don't know--and I loved it.

I think about Noreen often. She became a friend when she was engaged to, and then married Gary, with whom I had not only attended college, but shared that bonding experience of our then student run radio station, WFUV, Fordham University, New York.

One of the parties I used to have in my father's Bronx apartment before I left home for Califoria

They married in the late 1970s, and my life's journey took me to California only a few years later, so over the years I saw far too little of her, something I still regret. Yet though rare, and too brief, my encounters with her were always a joy. Our conversations--I particularly remember one when she and Gary came to California and we were on the boat to Catalina--were deep, and satisfying. She had encountered breast cancer personally. I had encountered it in the loss of someone, my mother, to its virulence. So maybe that was part of the bond. There was, also, her particular thoughtfulness, different in kind, from the ordinary. She just was one of those special people you are privileged to meet. I was privileged to meet.

I said I think of Noreen often. Every day, explicitly, or implicitly, as I pass this framed item in my living room.

In 2002, when I made one of my trips to New York, I stayed at the Algonquin Hotel in Mid-town. Back in the 30s, the hotel had been the haunt of various literary figures, Dorothy Parker and Robert Benchly among them, the glitterati literati of the age, known as the Algonquin Round Table. So many quips from the members of that group wended their way into our social consciousness. I was enamored of the place and I so enjoyed my stay there, sipping apple martinis in the lounge, as Mathilda, the house cat sniffed luggage and flicked her tail on the concierge desk, as I ate heartily in the dining room as it appears above, capped with dinners nearby at Sardi's before a Broadway show. I shared my joy with everyone. But it was Noreen who so clearly absorbed my joy, for one day, for a birthday or holiday, I no longer remember which, I received the item above in my mail. She had taken a postcard of the dining room of the Algonquin, provided it an expensive frame and a brass like label to enhance the image. It's not the only thing in this room worth more than money to me, but it is one of the most treasured. The emotional and personal effort in so small an item with such importance to me has always impressed me in a place only a very few have reached.

I think as I write, of an evening, perhaps it was that same year 2002, I can't place it for sure, when Noreen, and Gary, and Len and I sat on their amazing terrace of their home in Westchester, New York facing a lush backyard, and just talked and laughed--their dog was barking furiously at some bug on the floor, and their son, Casey, was practicing his pitching moves silently while we watched--and it was just, well, nice. Surely there would be more of these moments.

Do you know, no I don't think I have told many people this, that Noreen used to call my father and check in on him in conversations he thoroughly enjoyed after I moved to California? She wasn't the only one kind to dad after I left--Len and Andrew were his companions on the stormy night as he waited for his delayed plane to leave for California, when eight months after I moved, so did he. But it was the unique nature of her kindnesses that impressed me, warmed me.

Both Dad and I have stars named after us somewhere in the carpeted skies, courtesy of Noreen. I just love that.

Everything she did, even if it was a small card, seemed personally made, and well considered for the recipient.

In the summer of 2010, I was on one of my visits to New York. It is always hard because the stays are short, and the number of people I hope to see, and not insult by a failure to connect, is disproportionate to the time available. But I had called Noreen to suggest lunch or dinner. She initially declined, and I remember being confused by what sounded like a disinclination to see me rather than a schedule conflict. Something seemed off. And then she called me again and said that she and Gary would be in Manhattan for a play, and while it would be very short, could I meet them at the Hard Rock Cafe in Times Square?  I was delighted.

And so we met, and I think I picked up the small check because I was so happy to see them, amid the crush and voices of tourists. She sent me a lovely thank you note I can't now locate, but am sure I have saved, somewhere. You would have thought I had given her dinner at the Ritz from the generosity of her words. Still, I had felt something was wrong when we met. And I hoped what I thought it might be was not the case.

I was down in Long Beach near the Queen Mary sometime later, the fall, 2010. She had visited Long Beach with me, and Gary and Len, and we had gone to a favorite restaurant of mine in the Long Beach Museum of Art. I wanted to remind her of that wonderful day, and so sent her a phone photo as I had lunch alone down there one day after a hair appointment. I think I was wishing she were there and we were having one of those too rare deep conversations.

Noreen died of the returning relentless cancer soon after.  I look at her still standing Facebook page from time to time. I am glad it is still there. I hope it will always be there in some form after all of us are gone. I regret that I don't stay in touch with Gary and hope that I, that we, will reconnect soon. I keep tabs on Casey, their son, through that same Facebook, who seems to be thriving. I imagine Noreen's delight.

I was going to write, "Noreen, I miss you desperately" but then I realized I feel her around me. And then I look at my beautifully framed postcard, and I am sure she is.