Getting By

It has now been a week plus about ten hours since my loving friend Carolyn Kelly officially passed away. I say "officially" because the last few days, she was breathing but that was about it. Couldn't speak. Couldn't recognize me or anyone. Could barely move. There are all sorts of definitions as to when life ends but hers did well before the time on the Death Certificate, which was late Sunday evening.

As I keep telling everyone, I am fine. I have a ridiculously-long list of things I need to get done in the next few weeks but even without that distraction, I'd be okay. The last time a lady friend died on me, it was utterly unexpected, out of the blue. That one took me a while to work through because I had to start the moment I got the phone call. With Carolyn, I had eight months of being sure of what would happen and at least as many before that of thinking it was likely.

What I learned with the death of the first lady was that it was important to keep functioning. I'm writing here about what I found works for me. It might be different for you but just in case it isn't, let me tell you a story about Henry Fonda. That's right: The actor Henry Fonda.

Beginning in 1948, he starred in the Broadway play of Mister Roberts, written by Thomas Heggen and Joshua Logan (based on Heggen's book) and directed by Logan. It was a smash hit both with critics and theatergoers, and Fonda — who had the title role — stayed in it far longer than a star of his magnitude might have confined himself to one job. It was, he said, just too good to leave.

One day, Mr. Fonda's wife committed suicide. It was not wholly surprising. She'd been institutionalized and he'd just filed for divorce. Still, a man's wife of many years — the mother of his children — kills herself…you'd think that's got to immobilize the man for a while.

That's what the producers of Mister Roberts assumed when they heard the news that morning. They assumed Fonda would shut down for a while and, realizing their star's understudy was woefully under-prepped, they ordered intensive, all-afternoon rehearsals to get him ready to go on that night. They then called Fonda and said, "Don't worry. Take as much time off as you need." To their amazement, Fonda said, "I'll be there tonight to do the show."

And do it he did…a letter-perfect performance. After, people asked him how on God's Earth he was able to do that. He said, "I had to." He went on to explain that the great thing for him about Mister Roberts was the thing he especially needed that day: The stability.

He knew exactly what would happen from the moment he arrived at the theater (around 7:30) until he left (around 11:30). Other things in his life were falling apart but he knew exactly what would happen every minute of those four hours. He knew what to say, what to do, how to do it. He knew when he'd get a big laugh and precisely the time at the end when he'd get a standing ovation.

With so much of his life not working, he was clinging to the part that did work, the four hours every night that always worked, that reminded him he was good at what he did. He also knew that as rough as the performance that night might be, it was not as rough as the one he'd experience if he'd taken a couple of weeks off, then tried returning to the show. He wouldn't have the weeks of wondering if he could still do it.

I have this repairman who sometimes does work around my house. He was always honest, very good at what he does and super-dependable and he never stopped being the first two of those things. But a few months ago, I needed work done here and he began flaking on me — said he'd be here at 10 AM and didn't show up until 7:00 that evening. A few times, he didn't show up at all. He'd phone me from his van, tell me what street he was on and estimate he'd be here in a half-hour…and then never arrive. It was so unlike the guy.

When he did show, the work was done expertly and efficiently…and he even tried to charge me less by way of apology. I kept telling him, "I don't need a discount. I need you here when you say you'll be here." I explained to him several times about Carolyn and how I had to fit him in around the times I had to run over to the nursing home, which were sometimes unpredictable.

He apologized over and over and told me some of what he'd been going through. It involved an ex-wife who had turned, he said, vengeful and had seized every possible asset, including for a time the van he needed in his work. There was a custody battle over a five-year-old son and there was some drinking and other ugly things. For some reason, I flashed on the Henry Fonda story so I offered some advice that I think was sound and I'll pass it on to you in case it ever comes in handy.

I said, "Half your life is a mess. You can recover from that but it'll be ten times as hard if you fuck up the part of your life that's working. Your business is working and you need the stability from that, to say nothing of the income." He later told me it helped him a lot to think of it in that terms. In fact, he said that the very next time he came over to fix something and he arrived here that day…well, not on time but darn close to it. Close enough, at least.

People who've lost loved ones have written me this past week to ask how I'm getting through it. I think I'm just taking my own advice about protecting the part of your life that's working, no matter how difficult that may be. I'm pretty proud of that advice even if I did steal it from Henry Fonda.