The Best Day of My Life So Far: 2021

Thursday, December 30, 2021

Season’s Greetings (Ann, Brenda & Liz)

The New Year is right around the corner. We at Best Day hope you had a good holiday season, and we have a few more holiday stories to curl up with before 2022 officially starts:

Ann von Dehsen
11.30.2021
The Santa Secret
This year my 7-year-old grandson Max is having serious doubts about Santa’s existence. Back in October, he questioned me about the actual mail service to the North Pole and the likelihood of Santa ever really receiving his letter. Apparently, he’s been testing his theory out by writing to Santa 5x’s addressed simply: to Santa, North Pole, and putting them in the corner mailbox. Last week he came downstairs after playing in his room and said to his mom, “I don’t think Santa’s real- I was looking at my toys and games and they all say, ‘made in China.’” At this writing he has not actually asked his parents if Santa is real, but I’m sure he’s still doing his own undercover detective work. His mother, my daughter Kerry, was much more blunt about the Santa question when she was in 2nd grade. And it was asked one of the most stressful days of my life. It was moving day to a bigger house. The forecasted snow flurries turned into a major snowstorm, my then husband ended up in the hospital with kidney stones, the movers were 5 hours late and quite drunk as they slipped and slided on the icy, now dark driveway and laughed as we all watched my dryer slide down the hill into the woods. With the help of my brother-in-law and his wife we unpacked the essentials and put the beds together. Finally, I was able to get the kids to bed and had just plopped down on my own bed when Kerry came down the hall and announced, “I don’t think there is a Santa and I want you to tell me the truth right now.” And so, I did, then I cried thinking I probably should have discussed this more. But Kerry was fine and said, “Thanks! I knew it” with a smile. Then she climbed in my bed, and we fell asleep together. My daughter Rachel’s sons are 5 and 2. Both are all in for Christmas. However, last year, Paul, the 5-year-old had a temporary lack of faith. No in person visit with Santa were possible during COVID, but Macy’s offered a 1-1 visit with Santa and 2 elves over Zoom, so Rachel scheduled a visit. Paul was very quiet but eventually told Santa and the elves that he wanted a cement mixer truck. After the visit he turned to his mom and said, “I don’t think those guys were real.” Rachel assured him that they were, suggesting that maybe they just looked different on the computer. Paul seemed to forget about it, but on Christmas morning, the first toy he opened was the cement mixer truck and he joyfully exclaimed, “They were real, those guys were really real!” Rachel found out about Santa courtesy of her older sister who told her the tooth fairy wasn’t real. My future statistician/math specialist daughter used her powers of deduction to realize there was no Santa or Easter Bunny either. She recovered quickly when we assured her that yes, there would still be presents. As for me, my overly sophisticated 1st grade friend told me point blank there was no Santa and I was a baby if I still believed. But even today I still believe in the magic of Santa as witnessed by the chills and smiles I experience when Santa appears at the end of the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade. I’m convinced he is the real Santa.
Brenda Scantlebury
12.07.2021
Lunar Eclipse
About 4 AM on the morning of November 19, 2021. My niece, a friend and I were riding down Highway 95 South on our way to Virginia. Hampton, in fact. My niece’s son who is in the United States Navy, had been promoted. His new position is now Chief Petty Office. All of the candidates that were promoted were to be honored in a pinning ceremony. A call came to NeNe’s cell. The voice said, “look up in the sky, a lunar eclipse is occurring right now!” We looked and saw the moon overshadowing the sun. It is said that this kind of thing doesn’t happen very often. My mind looking back, remembering the Blood Moons that occurred not that many years ago. These wonderful events and occurrences speak to us. This is not just acts of nature but is what God the Creator has orchestrated to let humanity know that there are some things that God can make happen!

Liz Abrams
11.23.2021
The Mutt
My favorite pet, besides my German Shepard, security dog Pal who was on the job during the day when Grandmom babysat me (that story was submitted some time ago titled The 3 Musketeers). The Mutt became a family member when, mom waling home to 19th and Diamond from Broad and Lehigh factory job—Cohen Bros—the Mutt decided to be an unpaid escort. During those days my mother attracted many males who offered to walk her home. She shunned them, but for some reason she allowed Mutt to act as escort that day. Mutt walked her home to the door and went away. The next day and following days he became my mother’s official escort. My dad said, “Why you let that smelly mutt walk with you? He is dingy.” From that day on my mother brough the mutt inside, bathes him in our bathtub and fed him scraps from our table. Me, my sister and dad accepted him as a family member since Mutt was so loyal to all family members, especially me, since I was a poor eater of nourishing food prepared mostly at dinner. After several scoldings from my parents to “clean my plate,” the Mutt and I became partners in crime. I secretly fed the Mutt my dinner. All was happy, especially the Mutt and I became the Mutt’s official Mistress. And the Mutt never gave our secret away. I hope to see you in Heaven, Mutt. You were the only real friend I had in my adolescence. With Love, Liz

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have holiday stories then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

And don't forget to maintain contact with the older buds in your life. If you can't be there in person, please call them, email them, or message them on social media. And if they're using teleconferencing or remote events for the first time, give them a call and help them set things up. Check in on them to see how well they're getting used to these programs. Buy them a computer or an internet package if they don't have one of their own. It's a human right, after all.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Thursday, December 23, 2021

Home For the Holidays (José and Carolyn)

The Omicron variant is leaving a lot of holiday plans up in the air. Some of us are celebrating with as many people as we can before the lockdowns start again. Some of us are already hunkering down until the curve gets a little flatter. Either way, we've got lots of holiday stories from our older buds to keep that warm glow in your heart throughout the cold months.

José Dominguez
08.17.2021
My Best Meal
I want to use this essay to tell you about a quasi-perfect diner where I had the chance to be, and how a little of human stupidity ruined it. I have no criteria to evaluate, or perhaps I don’t like to evaluate or compare special moments of pleasure or happiness. Each moment is unique, in a way perfect per se. How to evaluate those special moments I have lived laughing, teasing, mocking, listening, solving world’s problems, joking, gossiping, bragging, all over eating food that occasionally served as an excuse to essentially enjoy the moment? I’m not saying that food is not important. But to eat per se, for me, it’s not a priority. Companionship is the complement for the indulgence of the moment, and for me one of the great pleasures is to share those precious moments with those that are flavoring, chewing, sniffing, digesting the same meal as I. Perhaps the proper name for that condiment would be “eater’s intimacy.”
Back in the year 1975 my brother Ramon, Maria and I were invited by Carlos, my youngest brother to eat Christmas diner in his apartment; Carlos had only being one or two years of married with Sylvia, and many details announced publicly important grievances in that marriage. Carlos as the youngest sibling and being the only and last companion of my aging parents, had capitalized before marriage the constant recreation of my mother’s good cuisine that she performed superbly. I could say he was permanently spoiled by good food. Mom had several special plates for each season, but for Christmas the traditional plate was stuffed turkey. I don’t know too much of cooking but I suppose each dish has its own challenges. Yet, perhaps, the biggest challenge comes from our crazy mind that loves to spoil the present moment with analysis, comparisons and evaluations. For my taste that dinner was perfect. The food was delicious. Ramon, who now is an impassioned Christian, in those moments was an amusing hippie. He entertained us with his everyday experiences more proper of a teenager. After a while Sylvia noticed that my brother did not say a word about the stuffed turkey and asked my brother, “Well Carlitos what do you think about the turkey?” Carlos answered, “Well it’s all right, but the best turkey I Have ever tasted is my mother’s turkey.” Maria and I look to each other expecting Sylvia's reaction because she was a very straight and temperamental woman. Then Sylvia screamed to him: “Well the next time you want a stuffed turkey you will ask your chingada madre (fucking mother) to please you!” And left the room in fury. I thought all was petty! To ruin a splendid moment by a foolish attachment. Ramon tried to minimize the incident telling jokes and saying to the audience “Well, for me this meal was splendid because of the food and the company except…for my taste, the only missing ingredient was a good marijuana joint.”
P.S. Sylvia and Carlos divorced a few years later.

Carolyn Boston
02.18.2021
Fun at the Lodge
Several years ago I was invited to go on a ski trip with my aunt to upstate New York to the Wallkill Ski Resort.
I had never been skiing and was excited to have the experience. When we arrived at the mountain, the snow was falling quietly and the air was hushed as the snowflakes fell to the ground. I loved the beauty of the mountain and the sight of avid skiers zooming past me. What struck me the most was that there were hundreds of young children among the adults who were skiing amazingly well on the ice. They almost looked like they were performing at the Olympics. My aunt and I went to the lodge to put on our skiis. The ski boots were difficult for me to manage because my ankles were weak.
We headed out to the slopes to get instruction on to manage the skiis and the poles on the ice. My aunt had been skiing many times and was familiar with how to maneuver the slopes. When we went out to start learning how to ski I had brought my pocketbook with me and my aunt said to me, “What are you doing with your pocketbook? You need to put it in a locker.” I said, “That's okay I'll just put it around my neck.”
As the ski instructor showed me how to step from side to side I demonstrated back to him what he had shown me. As I took another side step forward something happened. All of a sudden I started to move, and when I say move I mean move.
I was skiing down the slope in front of me so fast that it felt like I was going 90 miles an hour. I heard myself screaming at the top of my lungs. In a panic I started reaching for anybody to help me break my fall. All of my targets skied away quickly. Down the first slope I went continuously screaming and picking up even greater speed. I heard peals of laughter behind me plus a familiar voice, my aunt being the loudest. I started praying, calling on everybody in Heaven to save me. I heard a voice say, I don't know if it was my instructor, “Use your poles, use your poles.”
I kept saying to myself “I’m going to die, I'm going to die.” I started jamming the poles into the snow but I I pushed them so hard into the snow that they curved, I broke them. I couldn't use them, they were all curved and I was screaming, I was crazy. “I’m going to die, I'm going to die,” I kept screaming. The hysterical laughter got louder and louder behind me.
All of a sudden a cliff appeared a head of me. It looked ominous. I saw myself going over it and plunging to my death. I screamed loud in terror and lost my voice.
Suddenly, from what appeared a miracle. There was a barn or a small lodge ahead of me. I picked up supersonic speed, I saw two huge trash cans. The next thing that happened, I plunged head first into the trashcan, skiis sticking out of the top. Finally, my instructor and my aunt came to assist me out of the trashcan. The instructor tried to control his laughter and I saw the sides of his lips trembling as he tried to gain his control. My aunt was continuously laughing and doubled over holding her stomach. I kept complaining that no one would let me grab a hold of them to stop my fall. My aunt said, “Can you stop a speeding bullet?" I was in intense pain and when I arrived home I had turned blue, purple, yellow, brown and green on my buttocks and on my legs, and I said to myself, “I am never going back again.”
This story was one of my aunt's favorite stories and she told it every time we got together, when family got together for Christmas or whatever holiday. She said I was flying down the slopes, she said I looked like Snoopy with a little red scarf flying behind him. I still laugh about it, but that was my last ski trip.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Thursday, December 9, 2021

Liar, Liar (Frances & Eleanor)

I've been sitting on this post for a while and just looking for the right time to share it. Last December, Frances told a story about the serial liar who was dating her daughter, and this inspired Eleanor to write a story about her own brush with a pathological liar a week later.

Frances Bryce
12.10.2020
Who Is This Person?
My daughter was in a commercial for a dealership where she worked. The ad was shown in several places, which I never got to see but my family in different states did. A guy who saw the commercial made several attempts to find the person, my daughter, the person who appeared in the commercial. According to him he called the national dealership in an attempt to find out who she was. He said she sounded, looked and appealed to him. He set out to locate her and after that he was told an ad agency made all of the commercials for them. He spoke about his intention, he said that he would write a letter and request that the letter be passed on to her. She could then decide if she wanted to reply. He had no idea where she was located and what was her status, married or single. He received no reply.
He felt the need to pursue this to the end. He recorded the commercial and looked at it again He still had no received any reply from the ad agency about the letter he left. Later one evening the commercial, according to him, played again. He later decided to see if the commercial was for a dealership in the local area. So he made a similar request that he had made to the national agency and asking if they would give this letter and his number to her, and then she could decide if she wanted to call or reply.
So, she said she was very curious after learning that he had made several attempts to locate her, and a bit of flattery I suppose that someone would go to the lengths he had to contact her. She decided after a few days to call and she confirmed that she worked at the dealership. She did not reveal where she lived. He continued to call and then after a while she agreed to have coffee with him at the agency nearby. She said he talked about his life and the foster care kid that he was in the process of trying to adopt. He talked about all of the accomplishments he had made, where he had gone to school, etc. etc. He had a long list of assets cars, trucks property and so forth. I became a little suspicious and I just wondered, “Who was this person and what was his game plan?”
So, over time they went from coffee to meeting him for dinner. And then later that continued into what I thought was a relationship; but which I was very leery about. First, he called and then I talked to him and I had never met him. And the thing that bothered me most was that he talked too much. He had too many things for anybody who was that age. Houses in several places, cars, trucks, you name it he had it. So one day they decided they went from coffee to having dinner and she got dressed and she looked radiant. I was really concerned and hoped that he was real and not some kind of person that no one wanted to meet.
So as time went by and they dated a few times, he had agreed that they were going to go to Las Vegas and he asked her to pick up the tickets. She said she did, but then she cancelled that and told him to pick up the tickets himself. The story went on and then the day they were supposed to go to Las Vegas, she was going to meet him at the airport. She got a call to say that his grandparents were in a horrible accident and someone had been killed; I don't know if it was the grandfather or the grandmother. I was still very curious about this person and then I told my daughter, "Call him and tell him you want the name of the funeral home because you would like to send some flowers.” We did not hear from him then nor since.
I often wonder what was his game plan. I think that she had this feeling after awhile that he might be a pathological liar, but he was charming and they went out for dinner. You could tell that she might be interested in him, but I'm often weary of this kind of person who lies. And I knew he was lying because nobody, almost nobody could accumulate that many things in such a short period of time. That was the first clue, he talked too much. As we talked I would just say, “That's a lot of things for somebody his age to accumulate” or “Have you heard this? Why haven't you met any friends or he hasn't said anything about his friends or his family?” And that put her on alert.
I knew he was lying, I just knew it from the beginning from what he said he had done. You can never tell what the game plan is for these people, you know; you never know.

Eleanor Kazdan
12.17.2020
Who Is This Person?
A recent story, that was Francis’, reminded me of my first encounter with a pathological
liar. I was in my 20s and a member of a large choir in Toronto. I lived quite close to the practice venue, so I would walk there and back for our weekly Monday night practices. Sometimes I would walk home with other choir members. One of the young men always seemed to be going the same way as me. So we began walking together. Nick was quiet but charming and engaging. Over the course of a few weeks, he began to tell me about himself. He told me owned a horse farm in the South of France which he visited frequently. Initially, there was nothing definitely unbelievable in what he was telling me. However, over time, more details of his supposed family wealth and renown emerged. When the world famous guitarist, Andres Segovia, came to Toronto to give a concert at Massey Hall, he reportedly stayed with Nick’s family. I began to grow suspicious. A small singing ensemble that I was asked to join happened to include Nick who was a very good tenor and a good musician. We met at members’ houses.
One time we met at Nick’s house. I was curious about where he lived after all the grandiose stories. He lived with his mother in a tiny somewhat rundown house on the outskirts of Toronto. I wasn’t totally surprised and this confirmed my doubts. Over time, I had lots to do with Nick. He married a lovely young woman who also sang in the choir. I was briefly in a recorder ensemble with him. One week he didn’t show up. And the group organizer told me Nick had been asked to leave the group. I never found out why. A few years ago, I met another man, ironically also a musician, who had many grandiose stories to tell. It was true that he was an accomplished accordion player, since I heard him play. Having had experience with one pathological liar, my antenna went up when D talked about his musical career and other things. He had studied from a young age with the most famous accordion player in the USA, who happened to live in his neighborhood. He also said he had been a soloist with many world famous orchestras and his mother had played the organ with the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy. Very strangely, Andres Segovia was also a figure in his story. His brother had reportedly studied with this famous guitarist in Spain. To be fair, before writing this, I googled him, and came up with nothing to back up his stories. Not to say some of them aren’t true, but when everything someone says is a form of bragging and peppered with “the greatest”, “world famous”, and other superlatives, my pathological liar antennae goes up.
I just had a very good story that was just that, you were suspicious after a while of all the
grandiose stories, and wealth, and you know too much bragging right.

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds have stories about serial liars then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Thursday, December 2, 2021

All Good Things (Giulia and Karen)

I had just learned that last Tuesday was the last day our nurses will be joining Best Day. I thought they'd be Best Day fixtures since they regularly have story slams at Penn Hospital too, but a nurse's work is never done. We'll miss them, but we'll also have some opportunities to see them again. I know for a fact the head nurse Karen's been pushing her fellow nurses to go to The Moth, and I'm planning on bringing some older buds there myself.

We're posting two new nursing stories, but this won't be the only time you see our nurses stories. We'll be spreading them out throughout the next few weeks so you can see everything they wrote. But in the meantime, we want to give them a huge thank you for sharing their stories with us and being a part of the Best Day family:

Giulia Randazzo
11.9.21
Lessons From the 10^th Floor
Beeping. IV lines, monitors. Echos on linoleum floors. Sirens, wailing. Elevator dings - physicians flood into the halls.

There she was, cocooned amongst hospital-issue blankets. Only sign of life was the tuft of her white hair and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

My stethoscope clacked together, startling her - and I told her I was a student, a student of nursing. She told me her life, her past. I divulged too, eager to know her.

When I glanced at her chart, the words glared back up at me: Alzheimer’s. The first patient that I felt I knew - would not recognize me the following day.
It was so unfair - she had so much left of her life, and what a life she lived. And when she told me about living as a gay woman in the 50’s, how she ran a bar with her now-wife, her stories became illuminated in my brain. I could relate to her, know what she had been through. My heart ached when I knew that this moment we had would dissipate in her memories, like water falling through the fingers of cupped hands.
I returned the next day, bittersweetly excited to talk with her more, and sad that she wouldn’t remember our talks prior.

We had a good day - giving me life advice as I took her blood pressure, and making jokes when I assessed her neurological status. Still, my heart felt heavy knowing that she would never know her impact on me as a nurse and as a human being.

It’s time for me to go, I say. Fine wrinkles appear on her frail face. Oh no! she says and holds out her thin arms, and I grasp both of her outstretched hands. Gripping them tight, she looks me in the eyes and tells me words I couldn’t forget if I tried.
Thank you for being here.

To this day I don’t know if she remembered our short time together. Yet, my soul knew in that moment that this was one of those times that remind you of your decision to go into a field of caring for other people. I may not be able to nurse everyone back to health, but I can impact their whole health through nursing.

Karen Alexander

11.09.21

The Frozen Food Aisle
I knew I wanted to be a nurse starting when I was about 8 years old. I loved the show Rescue 9-1-1, and my mom’s home remedies book. It told me what to do in the case of extreme bleeding, as well as herbal cures for strep throat. I guess I wanted to be prepared. I’ve always enjoyed my work as a nurse in a hospital or clinic setting but those early days of learning skills for non-hospital setting are quite useful. It is sort of ridiculous actually when an overhead page goes out in a supermarket or an airplane. Nurses are used to having some supplies—oxygen, fluids, an IV—but none of those exist in the produce aisle of Shoprite.
About fifteen years ago, I was shopping for Easter dinner in a Shoprite when such an overhead page went out. “If there is a doctor in the supermarket, please come to Aisle 2.” This was a busy Philadelphia supermarket, and I was not a doctor, so I kept shopping. Again—“if there is a doctor or a nurse, it’s a medical emergency, please come to Aisle 2… it’s a baby.”

Well, my husband was with me, and he stared at me as I hesitated. At the time, I was working in a neonatal intensive care unit. I took care of babies all the time—so I needed to find Aisle 2.

I showed up hesitant, doubtful I could do much without all the equipment I was used to in the hospital. A one-year-old child was lying on the floor next to her mother, who was crying. I felt the child’s forehead—he or she was burning up. The child began to tremor—a fever induced seizure most likely, I thought. The mother was so upset, and I could do so little. I suggested we try to cool the baby down. Someone grabbed frozen peas, we wrapped bags of peas in a light blanket to safely cool the skin.
A significant crowd gathered around us. I told the mom she was doing a good job. The fire department eventually came and after what seemed like forever. I wished I could do more. I told the EMTs as much as I had observed and then wondered off into the crowd.
I don’t remember if frozen peas were mentioned on Rescue 911 or in my mom’s home remedies book. I did what I could with the limited supplies, knowledge and courage I had. Hope that everything worked out for that family.
As I went back to my cart and my husband, the manager of the supermarket found me. He looked me up and down, squinted his eyes and said something like, “Ehhh … thanks.” Then he slowly tore off 4 $1 coupons. I said, “OK. Thanks,” and walked away.

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds worked as doctors or nurses then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Thursday, November 18, 2021

New Nurses (Diane)

Great news, everyone! Remember the nurses who visited us in October? Well, Simmoune and Kaitlyn became regulars, along with their head nurse Karen...and they've been bringing in new nurses each week! Best Day would also like to thank Emiliana, Isabel, Danielle, and Giulia for coming to visit; we hope you'll become regulars too! Today, we're sharing a story from older bud Diane in honor of our nurses:

Diane Richardson
10.12.2021
Alzheimer’s Clinic
For years I worked for Bayada Nurses, an agency that assigns Medical Professionals to clinics in hospitals for temporary staffing. I would do vitals (take vital signs), assisted the physicians in exams, give injections, do phlebotomy (draw blood), EKG’s etc. The assignment could last one day if someone called out, one week or two if someone was going on vacation, or if someone left or retired it could be indefinite.
I’ve worked at H.U.P., C.H.O.P., Presbyterian, Methodist, even at Penn Towers. I’m often offered a permanent position, but not interested. Working for an agency, you make your own schedule. Mine was no weekends, no holidays, no Mondays, no work from X-mas to New Years. No summer months (unless they offer extra pay). When I turned down assignments, I would collect unemployment.
My husband was an automotive engineer. So, I worked not out of necessity but to do what I like or enjoyed doing. I went to school when I entered my thirties for a registered medical technician and signed with the agency which is the largest medical staffing agency in the country.
So, getting to my story. I was on assignment at H.U.P. Geriatric Clinic at 36th and Chestnut. As the Alzheimer’s clinic let out, a patient learning the clinic told me he left his hat. I asked what room he was in, and he said, “I forgot.”

If you want to transcribe for Best Day, then email us at info@bestdayofmylifesofar.org. You can also share our older buds' adventures by donating to Best Day, subscribing to our newsletter, sending a note to our older buds, or following us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. And if you or the older buds worked as doctors or nurses then you or they can submit stories through our portal right here. We're especially interested to stories from Black older buds, but we're always looking for stories from older buds of color, older buds with disabilities, LGBTQIA+ older buds, older buds of any gender or sex, older buds of any religion, and older buds who just plain break the mold.

Curated by Caitlin Cieri

Thursday, November 11, 2021

Nurses in the House (José and Eleanor)

Remember last month when the two nurses Simmoune and Kaitlyn came to Best Day and wrote a few stories. Well, they brought friends this week! Two more coworkers and their head nurse, and I heard they do their own medical themed Story Slams at Jefferson Hospital. Maybe we could do a crossover event, or we could all go to The Moth together?

It was great to see them back, and touching to hear them share stories of their work in the field. Many of them were about love and loss, and we want to get them transcribed as soon as possible. In the meantime, here are a few more stories from a few of our older buds about love and loss:

José Dominguez
11.01.2021
Alex and his Tribulation
At the age of 15 circumstances took us, Alexander and me, to meet at Chihuahua City. Both coincided at the Instituto Regional from Chihuahua at the third secondary grade. My father didn’t want me to study at our border city because there were no educational opportunities such as he desired for me and Alex was ejected from the capital city of Mexico since he was a precocious boy that wanted to get married at an early edge. In those days I had the tendency to meet all those students that came from out of town because in a way we shared the same destiny, meaning no family around and no parents in the vicinity. That's why we shared the all year in the same grade. Alex and I split at the end of the school year since he was again preparing to get married now with Carolina his new girlfriend; his father, a prosperous journalist and magazine owner decided to send him to London. Our lives developed independently but several times we met mostly in Mexico City, El Paso Texas, and Houston, and in a way, our friendship continued regardless of our lack of coexistence. Today at 77 years of age we interlace our lives speaking about the possibility to meet again one of these days. His wife, Mireille is 100% disabled. Even when I didn’t send him lots of emails, I keep him informed of my way of life and share with him the images so I have sent him lots of photos of Philly, of the parks I like, museums, the senior Center, the Moth contest at the World Cafe, my family, the Italian Market, etc. Suddenly two weeks ago he didn't respond to my emails, I didn’t dramatize his lack of answers since a long time ago decided not to interpret as offensive the silence and lack of comments or lack of response to any of my contacts. But suddenly I received an email that I will translate:
Hi!
I even have not answered you due to the current sad condition that my family and I are experiencing these days!!!
After 25 years of irreversible physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental decay, hopelessly the end of life is very near to Mireille!!!
I’m devastated!!
We have lived together for 60 years
I met her 60 years ago.....
When I recover a little emotional calm I will call you
In any case, when the inevitable event arrives I will notify you....
A friendly Hug,
Alex

My thoughts flew towards Mireille remembering her as a charming lady always welcoming me at her home always with a smile. So I responded
I am very sorry to hear the sad news about the ordeal that you and your family are living and it is explicable since Mireille always has been a great woman and a great person
Alex just answered:
Thanks

Eleanor Kazdan
11.07.2021
A Sad Week, Part 1
Death came to two friends this past week. Brenda and Loretta. Brenda was a beautiful, vibrant forty-four -year old. I met her when she was working as an acupuncturist at my son Adrian’s wellness studio. One day I saw that Brenda was offering a group hair sparkling session at the studio. I had no idea what that was, but thought it might be a fun activity to do with my daughter and daughter-in-law. Brenda expertly wove multi colored strands of silk into our hair. I became a fan of this fun way to spruce up my hair. I started going to Brenda every few months, sometimes with friends. Brenda was so cute, open and charming. She knew how to get to the heart of life. In no time at all she seemed like a best friend during our sessions. Her hair was curlier than mine and she wore it long and wild. After a time Brenda left Adrian’s wellness center and opened her own practice on the 24th floor of a medical building. Waiting for her to finish with an acupuncture client I would sip herbal tea and look out the window at a panoramic city view.
Soon after I started going to her she told me some devastating news. She had been diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. It was hard to believe that a young woman, so full of life and spirit had such a terrible illness. As the years went by Brenda still looked great, and her cancer was controlled by medication. She became a spokesperson for the organization “Living with Breast Cancer” and they made several short films about her cancer journey. I kept hoping that Brenda would be one of those miraculous long-term survivors. But about two months ago things took a terrible turn. The cancer had spread to every part of Brenda’s lovely body. Before things got dire, she underwent whole-brain radiation and chemotherapy. She lost her gorgeous hair. Her spirit was undaunted, though. I saw social media photos of Brenda in matching head wraps and long dangling earrings. And photos of Brenda out for lunch with her devoted sister Natalie. The disease won, though. We got the news that she had passed away. A moving, sad, and still joyous celebration of life was held. I still hear Brenda’s musical voice and feel her warm presence.
To be continued.

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Curated by Caitlin Cieri