Every Day is Father’s Day (June 17, 2018)

It’s hard to believe that yet another earth’s rotation has caught up with us and found us all again celebrating Father’s Day. While it is fruitless to cram an entire lifetime of what you mean to us in one day-please bear with me as I attempt to do so, knowing full well that “every day is Dad’s day” in our hearts and our minds. Since you have been with us and beside us from the first days we wailed our way into the world….there are so many ways in which you have woven yourself into the books we read, the careers we chose, and the churches we attended. Your partnership with Mom was so complete that it is difficult for us now to determine which aspect of our lives was due to Mom’ decisions, and which to yours.

In any case this is a poor bargain, trying to enumerate everything you have made possible in my life and that you even made my life possible. How am I supposed to summarize the Sistine Chapel in a paragraph? I cannot redact this. Our story is that of countless meta- stories, involving vast numbers of people. Some of the scenes depicted are familiar, and some of them are not but we continue to discover and learn from them all.

From the time I drew breath to the time you said goodbye before I flew to Benin, I can’t imagine a time of my life without you. There was never a time when you weren’t supporting me in some way, even if it didn’t feel that way.

I can’t and won’t write all of these stories now because doing so would feel like a closing. There is no closing. there is no ending.

As we discovered when Mom passed it is never as if she were fully gone. Likewise, you are so much a part of every breath I now take. You are responsible for the breath I take.

Because even Mom’s passing (along with all of the other losses we have experienced) is ours. It is like the negative spaces in a painting where there is no color. The painting could not exist on any level without the blank spaces. The shared stillness is a level of understanding impossible without the passing of many decades. You have shown me the wisdom of silence and when it is right to retreat to it.

As my literature professor always said, “You do not have one story here; you have multiple ones and that is good and bad news.” Such is this Father’s Day message. I refuse to let it be contained into one day or event. We are ongoing, and I will add to our story and share it as it develops, as you share our family’s story with all of us.

I love you more than ever Dad, but surely not as much as tomorrow.

Small things

So it’s Sunday evening again and I sit among the flotsam and jetsam of Tuesday Morning shopping bags crammed with everything I took with me on my last move.  Which are not only my things but inexplicable random items from both my Mom and Dad.

In reality I was and am rummaging around for two rings I lost on my last move.  Part of me vainly hopes they will resurface…voila!  In the bedroom of the community do I was in for a few more ths.  But as three days and weeks drag by I have to face facts….they are gone. Gone lime the gold wedding gown band now somewhere in the Atlantic having been carried there by the currents of the Chattahoochee .  Gone like the ruby and diamond ring I lost in the Y swimming pool while doing  rehab after back surgery.  I guess you could say gold and rubies and I aren’t good for each other.

So instead I find a red velvet Christmas stocking we gave Dad last year during  his stay in a rehab facility after he nearly died of pneumonia, COPD exacerbation and delirium.  It’s empty except for a gold crown ornament and three probably rotten Hershey kisses.  It’s the kiss3s that undo me.

Such a little thing.  Like we think we couldn’t have given it to him.  Like the glass of wine we denied him at Mom’s Luau party during which she sat wordless and uncomprehending.  He not knowing the extreme fragility of his aging brain still so close to the memory care unit where women wandered into his room and curled up on his bed.  Where we had to use an electronic fob to check him out of the memory care elevator and on whose wall was a sign stating “for the safety of our residents please do not let memorycare patients on the elevator without a staff or family member.”

Every time we got on the elevator we all had to read that sign.

Then I find a little red tomato pincushion of Mom’s.  I can’t beat to look at it any more than I can beat to acknowledge that they have lived apart for over two years now. It can’t be helped.  He doesn’t want to move to her home, watch them wipe her chin and have one sided conversations with her.

Today we went to a car show. He and I enjoyed seeing the huge array of immaculate old.model T’s, Porsche, Ferrari mini Coopers, and on and on. How he felt looking at them and what he thought of them is anybody’s guess.  What memories of his youth….maybe one day he will share them.

But today after 45 minutes he was tired having walked less than 15 feet.  We sweated in the 90 degree heat waiting on our Uber. We had an excellent brunch and retired to his apartment so he could work on his novel.

The Sidney Berry Family Moves in certain number one Mildred and I are happily married and we lived in a little apartment located in her apartment at her parents house on Flora Avenue and began to dream of having our own home. We never thought it would happen so close to where we were living but it did. The vacant house was directly across the street. We wanted to buy it but there was a problem one had to be 21 years old to own real estate in Georgia. We solved that problem by having the house put in my father-in-law’s name. It was fun to paint and decorate This Old House and make it our home. Her parents also lived with us. A year later our first daughter Janice was born. It was an exciting time and we really felt like a family. We also began to feel a need for privacy. At about this time my good friend Bill Snell told me about a friend of mine who needed to get a place to live near to his school and sell his little house on North Columbia Place. I was interested I was introduced to the couple and we worked out an agreement where he could read me the house for the use of my space in the house where Mildred parents what accept the agreement. They probably accepted the deal and we made the move. What a wonderful feeling to be living with my own family and a practically new home. It was here that Mildred made her decision to have additional children in spite of her doctors and struction against anymore. When she decided this we knew that a larger home would be necessary. Fortunately a new subdivision named Belvedere part was being built near by off Columbia Drive and we were able to select a three-bedroom brick house that was under construction. The house turned out to be just what we needed to accommodate the birth of twins daughters Denise and Darlene. This birth was a difficult one because of a bleeding problem. I was already scheduled to be transferred to Memphis Tennessee as a field representative. I called my supervisor Gladys Gunter and explain our situation and offered my resignation what a wonderful surprise her response was. She cancelled the transfer and gave me a better job in Atlanta. We enjoy the Belvedere Lane house very much but soon realized a bigger house was needed to accommodate a family of five and located a three bedroom split level house for sale nearby on Betty Circle in Decatur. My career was going very well at that time and brought several promotions at the Civil Service Commission. I was a night student at Georgia State University pursuing a Bachelors of Business Administration and management. Needless to say, it was a busy time with the limited time for family. I received an accepted an offer from the US Centers for Disease Control and prevention for a position of personnel generalist, GS – 9. This position was exactly what I always wanted but doubted it could be. A time past as time passed the three young daughters and sometimes a living friend or so needed more space on their own private bedroom, so we begin for the search for this and found an ideal match on Rowland Road and nearby Stone Mountain Georgia. A brick split-level with four bedrooms, living room and family room downstairs. Life here was very good for wife Mildred and she enjoyed spending time with the girls. She particularly like driving them places in one of the several convertibles we owned. The daughters blossomed into three beautiful women and soon met their husbands to be. My career was CDC was very successful and I achieved the highest rating of GS-14 outside of Washington DC. I kept off that position with early retirement at age 47. Mildred was still enjoying her job with Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur and would delay her retirement to a later day. Meanwhile Rowland Road became a sprawling big place for only two people so I begin looking for another place to live. I found a nice little brick two bedroom house on Oak Valley Road and Decatur which was ideal. It needed some updating such as a new heating system and some cosmetic work but otherwise great for two people. I first Mildred was unhappy about leaving her big and beautiful Rowland Road home but soon settled in and loved of valley. I never realized at the time involved how much of a burden this lifestyle change was for my wife Mildred. Only a great love on her part kept that from happening. Several happy years past at Oak Valley when a good friend told us about an opportunity to purchase a mobile home on Pine Island which was on a 100-foot wide Canal. We were familiar with the properties having visited our friends the Griggs they are many times so we sold Oak Valley a move to Pine Island Florida. For me this was like a dream come true. I have always enjoyed fishing and boating another bonus was bike riding and you could travel for miles on your bike and never see a moving car. The fishing was great and most always meant fresh fish for dinner. On top of this we had our own oyster bed and could go there for a mess of oysters whenever we wanted.  I was so busy enjoying all of this that I failed to notice how difficult it was for Mildred. She wanted to live or her family would be nearby and on the island we enjoyed the Belvedere Lane house very much but soon realized a bigger house was needed to accommodate a family of 5 and located a 3 bedroom split-level house for sale nearby on Betty Circle in Decatur. My career was going very well at that time and brought several promotions at the Civil Service Commission. I was a night student Georgia State University pursuing a Bachelor’s of Business Administration in Management. Needless to say, I had limited time for family. I received and accepted an offer from the US centers for Disease Control and  Prevention for a position of Personnel Generalist, GS-14. This position was exactly

Anciens III


 Why did he go?  He had nothing to lose but his name. His mind would not let him stay. He had no way to get out in the world he once knew…

The song echoed relentlessly and his brain: “…turalurahley the turah loo rah loo is an Irish Lullaby….: he could see his mother’s grey eyes… Dorothy, he could hear her in her scratchy but soft voice singing this as she rocked him to sleep.

Why hadn’t they even sung a song? That was all he wanted. But even on their 70th wedding anniversary, the family couldn’t or wouldn’t sing to he and Margaret. It was he who had to suggest the song and then suffer the humiliation of singing it off-key and overly loud to the assembled party.

The only one who paid him any attention was a sweet three-year-old Maddie, she tried to imitate him. But his son had failed him once again. It would not be the first time he had  done so and certainly not the last.

Just because he wanted to live somewhere where he could hear birds singing on the porch… without having to watch the ninety-year-old woman with Alzheimer’s stare vacantly at arriving visitors… just because… a place where adults wore proper undergarments and not diapers… a place where a revolving door of staff called him “honey” or “sweetie” or any other inappropriate diminutive you might even use on your pet..a place where people called him by his proper name. Robert-damn it that is my name, Robert!  Its cadence was so sweet; so endearing…

He wanted to walk into a local cafe and have the friendly young girl behind the counter greet him: “…hello Robert what do you feel like having today?” He could then choose from a toothsome array of goodies.  Would he go for a sweet cinnamon roll? A simple chocolate eclair? Or would his tastes lean toward the more savory-a rich Gruyere and ham quiche…or a Bechamel and turkey Panini? The choices swam before his eyes and he realized he’d not had breakfast because he didn’t want to share it with Helen again.

He would usually have to eat with Helen and the euphemistically titled dining room where wheelchair stalls were coming and residents took interminably long to painfully push themselves along to get out of the way. More irritatingly and more often than not these sorts would get into long, incoherent conversations. Like what time is it now: at 1:54 they will come to get you on the bus and so nauseatingly forth. So it was into this environment he would push Helen; heavily in her wheelchair. Helen!… the image he thought of was Troy, and she had captured his heart long ago just as ruthlessly. The Platinum Myrna Loy mane, the ice cool blue eyes, those red lips and those legs! Helen stood 5/8 and weighed about a hundred and ten pounds in her prime.

Now Helen cried 8 days out of 10. Her platinum locks were shimmering white and no less abundant but they sprang out alarmingly from her head, like a shocked dandelion. Her hands trembled violently whenever she attempted to hold a fork or spoon. And she was proud, oh so proud. She did not want anyone to see this, so she masked her actions and took hours to complete a meal.  Their only other dining choice was the small apartment.  Here, Robert would break open a breakfast bar and brew a pot of coffee to entice Helen to wake up earlier, even though it meant he would have to summon a non-existent nurse to get her out of bed and get her dressed.   Helen hated mornings and rising to face the day became a war.  Lunch and dinner were longer versions of these scenes, and Robert had enough.

So, the first day of summer, Robert gave his wardens a 30 day notice he and Helen were moving back to their native Rochester from Tampa, Florida he expected his son to be unsupportive and unsympathetic. What he did not expect was Helen’s answer.

As he returned from the Assisted Living director’s office, he was astounded to find Helen waiting for him in the hallway in her wheelchair. She wore lipstick, her hair was tamed and her blue eyes shot ferocious bolts at him.  She held out what looked to be a letter to him. The paper shook and rattled and her unsteady grip. Robert stumbled and gasped aloud as you read what it said:

” You’re looking at me like I live here with you and I don’t!”

A tune from ‘Les Miserables’ suddenly entered his head…why now?…why could he remember these tunes and words with such astounding accuracy….when he couldn’t remember his own age accurately?

“There’s a grief that can’t be spoken- there’s a pain goes on and on- empty chairs and empty tables

Now my friends are dead and gone. 

There they talked of Revolution…

 there it was they lit the flame; there they talked about tomorrow 

and tomorrow never came. 

From this table in the corner, they could see a world reborn and they rose with voices ringing

 and I can hear them now 

the very words that they had sung became their last communion on this lonely barricade at dawn.

Oh my friends, my friends forgive me

 that I live and you were gone.

There’s a grief that can’t be spoken there’s a pain goes on and on.

 Phantom faces at the window, phantom shadows on the floor 

Empty chairs at empty tables where my friends will meet no more 

oh my friends my friends, don’t ask me what your sacrifice was for

 empty chairs at empty Tables where my friends will sing no more.”

And yet for the life of him he couldn’t read that book…the real story of it…anymore…the story was so convoluted..he’d read a paragraph and the words would blur beyond his vision..his very head would ache.

“WELL”?  She had barked rather than stated the question.  He looked at her, too shocked at the sound of her voice to answer.  “Where are you taking me now, and why won’t you stay with me?”

To Michael and MaryAnn

  • I remember when I showed you the picture of the butterfly I found.  You said immediately “swallowtail…Monarch”.  Then you went to get a book of some of the most beautiful butterflies I’d ever seen.  “I bought this book myself” you said…you were quite proud of it and you should be.  It is full of colorful treasure.

So this thank you is in no way anything that can capture the beauty of that day spent with you.  This drawing is only the impression of the original butterfly I found..if you could see how exquisite the original looked in comparison to the  poverty of this rendition of it would probably make you cry.  Yet in the end all we have left are our impression of things…and the impression may not include all that was in the original…but the impression and the memory still serve us.

The day we shared was full of beauty, laughter, relaxation, good things to eat.  Dad and John so enjoyed seeing each other.  They will again.  We will see each other again. Please accept this as a small token of our appreciation of that lovely day and thank you for sharing the butterflies!

Much love always

Denise and Sid

Sidney Berry, 2nd installment: The First Secret – WWII-1943-1945

At age 16 I quit my school activities in the 8th grade to earn money to help the family meet its many financial obligations and to feed all 9 of us. My action followed clear pattern that the oldest children with jobs would give most of their earnings to Mom and Dad to pay the bills. I already had a part time job at the A&P supermarket in Little Five Points when I left school. I was immediately promoted to dairy supervisor and a few weeks later to Assistant Manager. Opportunities at work were in abundance, even for a 16 year old like me, because most young men during the Spring of 1943 had been drafted or had volunteered to fight in WWII.

Shortly after my promotion I was contacted b the Fifth U.S. Civil Service Regional Office and offered a job a assistant messengers for a salary of $18,000 per year and I accepted. I liked working for the Commission and in a few months was promoted to Mail and File Clerk, GS-3 along with a nice salary raise. I was settling into my new job when it dawned on me how badly the U.S. was faring in WWII and how angry I was at the inhuman way Germany and Japan were treating us and most of the civilized world. My office was next to the U.S. Navy Recruiting Office and as I passed it several times each day, I became compelled to sign up.

I enlisted in the Navy and was assigned to Boot Camp in Bainbridge, Maryland. I didn’t know about the first secret at that time, but I did feel that my enlistment was a part of my reality: who I was, what I wanted to contribute to the world conflict. About four weeks into Boot Camp a special recruiting team came to interest us in joining them in The Navy CBs or Construction Battallion. These men touted the Seabees as the quickest way to see combat action and if we joined we would have a two week leave. The combined benefits were irresistible, so I accepted the offer.

Two weeks later I reported to duty at Camp Endicott, Rhode Island and began six weeks of advanced military and technological training.  The 63rd Battallion finished this rigorous training and was shipped by rail to San Francisco, California. I remember the heat on the train forced us to soak our t-shirts with water and put them on our heads. What air conditioning? Our journey had just begun, however, from there-we boarded our ship (name?) and departed on a 30-day voyage to Manila on Luzon Island, The Philippines.  Two days out from Manila, we heard the ship’s PA system announce that President Harry Truman had ordered our Air Force to drop an atomic bomb on Japan, and then the Japanese surrendered.  We Seabees then learned that our Luzon assignment was to have been the first wave of an American invasion of the Japan to seize airports and seaports, secure and repair them if necessary to ready them for the next Americans to land and operate all facilities.    By the grace of God, this did not happen, or you would not be reading this book right now.  In any invasion at that time, fierce and ruthless Japanese warriors would have destroyed our American first responders.

Wow-we had won WWII and I was ready to go home!  Wisely, our leaders decided to release us over a period of time rather than one giant dismissal.  I was not eligible when those with longer service left.  My previous assignment as a land based sailor no longer existed-and so I was assigned as Shipfitter 3rd class (equipment operator for cranes, bulldozers, etc.)  The USS Valor ARS 238 was in drydock at the Naval facility in Long Beach, California when I first boarded her.  We had repaired her and the crew was getting ready to leave the dry dock base and sail up to Puget Sound, Washington for permanent storage in our mothball fleet.


Oh my God, Sydney thought as she read “US Naval History in 1944″ and the stupefying feats of strength and valor that her grandfather had participated in.  150 Quonset huts in 5 hours!  A hospital in five hours!  One battalion deployed every other day for months!  An airfield in two hours!  Yes, he, Pop-Pop.  She looked over at him, eyes closed, seated and looking almost gnome-ish: small (5, 1” short as her!), wizened, gasping for air as he slept, rattling snores almost choking him.  The breathing was becoming irregular.  How many years had it been?  It had been at least four years since they had spent a Christmas together: a sad affair; the last one in Pop-Pop and Grammy’s home before the move to suburban Atlanta into an assisted living facility.  Grammy had been in a nursing home recovering from a broken hip:  poor Pop-Pop was rattling around in the four-bedroom home trying to make sense of his unwelcome bachelor life: refrigerated untouched leftovers from meals the girls had assiduously prepared, lots of Miller empties, his unmade twin bed littered with candy wrappers next to Grammy’s immaculately made twin.