ON CLOSURE

Or a Lack Thereof
By Sam Perwin

My family has been spending summers in Wellfleet on Cape Cod for 55 years. My grandfather built a house there in 1959 for his wife and four children. It has been somewhat remodeled and expanded to accommodate the burgeoning clan, and come August, the house is inevitably filled with representatives from four generations. This past weekend, many of us gathered to bury my Mother's ashes in a cemetery there. My family isn't particularly religious, so there wasn't a burial ceremony of any kind. In fact, Jews don't really do cremation, but that's entirely besides the point. Burying her ashes in a place that meant so much to her and to us seemed like the appropriate thing to do - it also seemed like the time to do it should be August. That was our time there.

The view from our Wellfleet house at low tide. Not bad #nofilter

Being on the Cape this past week has been difficult. I've been shielded from a lot of feelings having escaped to Cape May for a job and then returning to New York briefly because Mom's presence isn't really in either of those places. In Wellfleet, on the other hand, she is everywhere. Not just physically - her things are, of course, everywhere - but she inhabits so much of my experience and memory of that place. Walking in and not finding her sitting in the kitchen at the top of the stairs hit me hard. There is no Wellfleet without my Mom.

Needless to say, no one in my family was particularly looking forward to the burial. What transpired was brief and lovely. My grandfather spoke about Wellfleet and its importance to my family. I read a poem by Mary Oliver  (and a huge thank you is due to my old friend Katie Vagnino, now a professor of poetry, for that suggestion). We did observe the Jewish tradition of throwing dirt on the grave, one I actually find quite beautiful, as though all who are present bury her together. We all take part in her death the way we all took part in her life. There's something supportive and wonderful in that. 

Many whom I spoke to in anticipation of this said it would bring some closure to the last 8 months, and I do suppose that's true. Seeing my mother's name on a headstone was emotionally jarring and downright awful, but it was, if nothing else, concrete. Literally. The first stage of grief in the Kubler-Ross model is Denial, and well, it's hard to deny much after that. In truth, there have been many many times over the last few months when I have to remind myself that she's not here anymore - that I can't call her, that I won't see her soon, or ever again. Her burial made those realities seem more permanent. Ultimately I know that's a good thing, but it doesn't make it any easier.

But in the name of closure, I do think this will be my last blog post on Mom for a while. As I wrote right after she died, I'm working on something a bit larger about this whole process. I'll save my thoughts and grief for that and get back to blogging about theater, politics, gays, and good old NYC. Mom would want us all to get on with our lives, and the best way I can honor her is by getting back to it.

SAM PERWIN Actor. Singer. Writer. Tall. www.samperwin.com
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Comments

[Erin Cronican]

Thank you for sharing your mother with us. You are loved.