Orphans

While I was in NY last week, I had a dinner with two college friends who stand alongside me in a very unique club.

We’re all orphans.

Not orphans like the little red-headed curly-topped kid at the top. None of us are running around with a dog, a bald guy, and some dude named Punjab. But, we’re on our own nonetheless. Only children whose parents have passed on to their eternal timeout.

We talked about our lots in life. The positives and the negatives of being sibling-less. As I look around my world, I realize that I have twelve such friends who grew up the same way I did. Forced to make your own lonely fun. Staging basement shows where you play all the voices. Being the only reason your parents need to adapt their schedules. Being the sole recipient of punishment because you have nobody else to point at and say “he did it.”

We’re a resilient bunch. None of us locked ourselves away in our attics to make pipe bombs. Nope, we worked harder to forge friendships with others. We appreciated those bonds that were formed with our pals in school or, in my case, “up the block.” If our parents weren’t going to bother to give us brothers and sisters, we damn well had to create them ourselves. Indeed, we relish our friendships more than others. We appreciate what we have because we know what we had not. And, oddly, we gravitate to one another. Only child and only child and only child. Makeshift families that are hardly makeshift at all.

Not all of my friends sailing in this special boat are orphans. But, those who are can understand the intricate dynamics that arise at the end of their parents’ journeys. Being the only one to get the midnight call when breathing is labored or simple steps have failed. Sitting in some nondescript emergency room. Alone with nothing but a year-old People magazine as your emotional support. That’s the darkness of a world when your brother and sister has the same name. "Nobody."

At the same time, when Mom and Dad pass on, your decisions on how to move forward---with funerals and beyond---are uniformly your own. You don’t have to fight with anybody over what time the burial should take place or what dress Mom should wear in the casket. Nope, you alone decide. 12 Noon and the blue one.

Perhaps, this is our just reward for being a parent’s sole offspring. Is it worth all the loneliness that precedes it? Who knows? A few years ago, a very good college friend of mine lost his brother at a very untimely age. When we were talking after the fact, he told me that, now, he was alone. Just like me.

Oh, no. Sorry. But you are not just like me. Because, even for one day, you had a sibling to share a moment with. To bitch about Mom or Dad. To argue about what TV show to watch. To be an actual voice on the other side of the room. Nobody can know our feeling except those who share it.

Indeed, I had a strange sensation when my father died. My thought, besides sadness and a bit of relief, was that I was going to be okay. Why? Because I still had one parent left. A reserve fund, if you will. But, when the second one goes, the sadness is impalpable. Your secret stash has been depleted. You are officially bloodline-less.

If being an only child made me what I am today, then perhaps it was worth it. Because I am not alone. I have friends. Many, many good friends. And, at the very least, I have those other “brothers and sisters.” Dolores, Djinn, Bib, Barbara, Amy, Larry, Bob, Patti, Ingrid, Gary, Lorraine, Dennis.

Dinner last night: Sausage pizza from Maria's Italian Kitchen.