Mourning Breakfast
Life has its stressful trigger points. Birth, death, new job, lost job, illness, clean bill of health, financial drawbacks, financial windfalls, great sex, birthdays, anniversaries, shiva calls and one we live through but don't always deal with trauma: Moving.
This morning at breakfast, as I headed over to the new house, with some personal items, prior to the BIG PACK tomorrow and the BIG MOVE on Friday, the excitement was tinged with mourning.
It is a happy occasion. Don't get me wrong. New home, new beginnings. But 19 years is a long time in any one place. Other than my childhood home, this is the longest stretch I've lived anywhere.
1974-1982, NYC. 1982-1987, Tenafly, NJ. 1987-1992, Back to NYC. 1992-1999, Montville, NJ. 1999-2018...that's the big one; Scottsdale, AZ.
Alot has happened in this home. Transplanting at a time when the Internet was still new. Most figured I was retiring as it was NOT a virtual world back then. So reinvention became the key to my successes, shortfalls in business. Four years in, I was a regular weekly columnist for the Arizona Republic and Co-Chairman of the Governor's Film & TV Commission, appointed by then-Governor Janet Napolitano and reconfirmed under Governor Jan Brewer. It was a heady time. People knew my name, my face and my opinions. I had started a new life. One downside was I was not in NY anymore. One upside was I was not in NY anymore. Scottsdale became my new home and Hope and I have shared so much.
But the elephant in the room can not be missed. Scottsdale is where my daughter Erica came to live in 2000-and die in 2001.
Alot happened here at 7687 Moura Drive. I mourned Erica. I mourned my Mom and Dad. I mourned lost friends, Dan Brenner and Larry Goldman, to name a few.
The first thing I took when we closed two weeks ago, was a little statue in my garden of a young child holding a rabbit. Erica has bought that. It was the first thing I transplanted, in my garden at the new house, keeping watch at the entrance. I also installed Mezzuzahs on the doorposts inside and outside. Part tradition, part faith and part, asking God, who was not on his watch on April 6, 2001, to look after us. Someone once said God doesn't cause accidents, death or illness but maybe gives us the strength to get through these things. I don't know. But I have gotten through it and now, I take Erica with us to the new house.
We had tons of parties, holiday celebrations, dogs (missing Latke), skinny dipping, lots of martinis, one rattlesnake and one bobcat. Not bad for the desert.
According to Arizona law, if you bury someone in your yard, you are required to disclose it to the new owners. I'm safe on that point.
A house IS a home. And it's hard to leave it. We did it bass ackwards. Bought a house before we sold this one. I was never one with a great business sense but I DID buy FB at $38.00 (It'll rebound they say...)
I am excited but mournful. And that's not so bad. Mourning is defined as loss or disappearance of something important. I will miss what happened here. The place it holds in my heart and in my mind.
Tomorrow night is our last night here. We'll probably go in the pool. And drink, of course. And toast.
And Friday, as I walk through this home for the last time, I'll go into Erica's room and say: "Let's go kiddo. We're starting a new phase." And that's where faith comes in. Her spirit lives on forever and I know she'll be at home. With us. As she will always be.
This morning at breakfast, as I headed over to the new house, with some personal items, prior to the BIG PACK tomorrow and the BIG MOVE on Friday, the excitement was tinged with mourning.
It is a happy occasion. Don't get me wrong. New home, new beginnings. But 19 years is a long time in any one place. Other than my childhood home, this is the longest stretch I've lived anywhere.
1974-1982, NYC. 1982-1987, Tenafly, NJ. 1987-1992, Back to NYC. 1992-1999, Montville, NJ. 1999-2018...that's the big one; Scottsdale, AZ.
Alot has happened in this home. Transplanting at a time when the Internet was still new. Most figured I was retiring as it was NOT a virtual world back then. So reinvention became the key to my successes, shortfalls in business. Four years in, I was a regular weekly columnist for the Arizona Republic and Co-Chairman of the Governor's Film & TV Commission, appointed by then-Governor Janet Napolitano and reconfirmed under Governor Jan Brewer. It was a heady time. People knew my name, my face and my opinions. I had started a new life. One downside was I was not in NY anymore. One upside was I was not in NY anymore. Scottsdale became my new home and Hope and I have shared so much.
But the elephant in the room can not be missed. Scottsdale is where my daughter Erica came to live in 2000-and die in 2001.
Alot happened here at 7687 Moura Drive. I mourned Erica. I mourned my Mom and Dad. I mourned lost friends, Dan Brenner and Larry Goldman, to name a few.
The first thing I took when we closed two weeks ago, was a little statue in my garden of a young child holding a rabbit. Erica has bought that. It was the first thing I transplanted, in my garden at the new house, keeping watch at the entrance. I also installed Mezzuzahs on the doorposts inside and outside. Part tradition, part faith and part, asking God, who was not on his watch on April 6, 2001, to look after us. Someone once said God doesn't cause accidents, death or illness but maybe gives us the strength to get through these things. I don't know. But I have gotten through it and now, I take Erica with us to the new house.
We had tons of parties, holiday celebrations, dogs (missing Latke), skinny dipping, lots of martinis, one rattlesnake and one bobcat. Not bad for the desert.
According to Arizona law, if you bury someone in your yard, you are required to disclose it to the new owners. I'm safe on that point.
A house IS a home. And it's hard to leave it. We did it bass ackwards. Bought a house before we sold this one. I was never one with a great business sense but I DID buy FB at $38.00 (It'll rebound they say...)
I am excited but mournful. And that's not so bad. Mourning is defined as loss or disappearance of something important. I will miss what happened here. The place it holds in my heart and in my mind.
Tomorrow night is our last night here. We'll probably go in the pool. And drink, of course. And toast.
And Friday, as I walk through this home for the last time, I'll go into Erica's room and say: "Let's go kiddo. We're starting a new phase." And that's where faith comes in. Her spirit lives on forever and I know she'll be at home. With us. As she will always be.
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