First Movie

Here's a post I put up on my family blog.

I believe the first movie I saw in the theater was The Bear with my mother. I don't remember anything about the movie except that it was about a bear. It wasn't even the first movie I guessed at after putting "the bear" into IMDb. (The review of the first one, by Donald Williams, is pretty funny) It's only noteworthy because on Christmas Eve I told my daughter that Mamutė took me to my first movie, The Bear. What was it about? A bear. What did he do? Bear stuff, in the woods.

The first movie my daughter saw was A Christmas Carol with Jim Carrey as 80% of the characters. In addition to the story of my first movie, I had to explain basically the whole story to her beforehand, because I didn't think she'd get it quickly enough during all the Hollywood action. Too, I had to explain that it's just a movie, and she should close her eyes if she gets scared. And that ghosts are like monsters, they're not real (luckily she didn't ask me about the holy ghost). This was especially important because it's a 3D movie--she did bury her head under my arm several times.

We both liked it very much. She liked "at the end, when the man was nice." I was a little confused seeing the actors in multiple roles; I only knew that Jim Carrey had several of them, I didn't know all the actors did. But the acting was great, I laughed out loud several times. My greatest criticism is that there was too much action at the expense of story, I think. I have to read the story now to be sure.

So ends the worst year of my life. So far.

There are many candidates for the worst day of my life.  The day we learned Vaiva's cancer had recurred for the third time comes to mind.  But there were yet actions to take, an operation to arrange, doctors to see.  The day we learned the cancer had spread to the brain was much worse, because her cognition and responsiveness were impaired forever after. But even then, we were given hope by the doctors.  (They don't really know what they are talking about, by the way.)

The fear of the last trip to the hospital, getting the news that it would likely be a "terminal event," sending out the word that Vaiva had only a few days left to her.  The final destruction of hope, all bad, bad, bad. 

December 13, Vaiva's death, marked the end of her suffering as well.  She was a believer, and so it marked the beginning of her eternal life in heaven as well.  So, bad, but not really the worst day.

Death launches the ceremonies, the funerals.  They were marked by very poor weather, by innumerable small problems, but funerals have a momentum all their own.

The worst of day my life was December 24, 2008, the day we buried Vaiva in Vilnius.  That completed all my promises to her, and brought my life to a conclusion of sorts as well.

I'm living in the postscript now. I knew immediately that I would have great trouble constructing for myself a "post-Vaiva" identity. She knew it too, knew how tightly bound to her I was, at my core.  A year later, I am no closer to a solution to that problem.  For all practical purposes, I am lost.

The next year will be harder than the last.  Everyone else can move on.  I cannot, I will not.

"Vaiva prisimenant..."

At our memorial in Hartford, Gita spoke of growing up with Mama, singing, and so she suggested that we remember Mama through song.

Mama perceived Lithuanian songs as deeply textured, as having weave in time and space. We are the “singing culture,” and songs connect us into a single force. We are one people seeking to give and receive solace from each other. When a large group sings at the same time, it is a collective meditation.

Memorial in Vilnius

On Monday, December 14th, Mama's colleagues and I went to the grave at three o'clock. Some other people did too, and some had gone the day before. A memorial service was held at 5:30 and after that we watched the movie my father made. As I explained at the grave site in an ad hoc speech, I was not the one to organize the events. The difference between the 364th and 365th days is lost on me, but I'm glad that if others can get something out of it, they are kind enough to organize it for all.

I didn't mention at the time that I see her birthday as a far more appropriate day to gather and "remember" her (as if we didn't day dream about her daily). We're planning to start the tradition this coming summer.

The service was attended by many indeed, we were all surprised to see about a hundred people; nobody told a lot of people about it, but I guess each person passed it on to a couple more. President Adamkus was there in addition to most of the relatives off the top of my head, all of the colleagues I can think of and many I didn't recognize.


Afterward we watched the movie in the Jesuit high school joined to the church through back hallways. I had decided with only a few hours left to translate my father's speech and Whitman's poem; I wish I had had time to rehearse it more, but people told me I did well. It was a big hit: people were surprised that the movie was so well made, and many asked for copies of it.

Hammer Nail

What's it called, when you're a hammer all you see is nails? I was just looking for someone's address to send out a Christmas card. I typed in the last name and city into google and that brought me to this page.

One year

My beloved,  my Vaiva, died one year ago today.

My introduction to the DVD about Vaiva

At one time I had hoped to have a stirring address for Vaiva's memorial service.  I thought I might talk about carrying on her work, or my difficulties in coming to terms with her death, or something.  I was not able to do that.  Creating the photo essays was hard enough, something I kept putting off, but did finally finish.


Rather than the speech I hoped for, I simply explained the source for the name of the blog, then called for the DVD to be played.


December 6, 2009

Memorial service for Vaiva Radasta Vebra

Holy Trinity Church, Hartford, Connecticut

Introduction by James B. Gust

Thank you all for coming today, and thank you Sigita and everyone else who worked so hard to make this happen. 

When I started the blog for remembering Vaiva a year ago, I called it “Vaiva, my Vaiva.” The title was a conscious allusion to the Walt Whitman poem, “O Captain, my Captain,” from “Leaves of Grass.” That poem was about Abraham Lincoln, how he had steered the ship of state safely through the civil war, but was assassinated at the war’s successful conclusion.

Much the same sentiment, I thought, applied to Vaiva. Both as to how she contributed to the success of Lithuania’s re-emergence as an independent state, and her role for me. In addition to being a wife, mother, lover and friend, Vaiva was the hero of my life.

Here is Whitman’s poem.

O Captain! My Captain!

1 O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!	5
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;	10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,	15
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;	20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

I’ve prepared nine short meditations on Vaiva, and put them into a single 35-minute video. You’ll know it’s over when you see my name on the screen.

Speakers

Audience

Program

After the Mass, 100 or  so people gathered in the church basement.  A screen was set up, with a DVD projector, for the program I had created.

Metinės Lietuvoje

Mišios už aa. Mamą vyks gruodžio 14d.(pirmadienį), 17.30 val. Šv. Kazimiero bažnyčioje.

Per/po mišių, mūsų geras šeimos draugas Alvydas prižadėjo bandyti paleisti DVD, kurį mano tėvas sukūrė: tai bus tėvo kalba per metines Amerikoje ir 35 minučių klipų bei nuotraukų kompozicija su įgarsinimu.

Mielai kviečiame visus.

The Memorial Mass

Note the national flags by the altar.

Music before Vaiva's Mass

The wonderful singers came from a Lithuanian parish in South Boston, I believe it is St. Peter's.

Snow day

The view out the kitchen window when I got up this morning.

Just as with the funeral last year, snow would be a factor for Vaiva's Memorial  Mass.

Lokys, Liepa and Teddy scraped off the car.

 

The sun is just getting up, you can see the moon above the apple tree.

Memorial Mass today

As Vaiva's Memorial Mass is today, you might have guessed that it snowed last night, the first accumulation of the season. I don't expect the snow to be a problem, it's just a couple inches.

I have the photo montage ready for the program.  Finished it at about 11 last night, took until 2 am to burn DVDs of it.  I'm burning some spares this morning.  Here are the chapters:

Remembrance
The Immigrants
M.I.T.
First Contact
Twins Arrive
Vaiva's C.V.
In Country
At Home
Life After Cancer—One More  Moment


The DVD  runs 35 minutes.  Two of those chapters are videos that I made some time ago, and Lokys points out they drag in spots.  I agree, but it was not practical to edit them at this point.

I scanned about 60 old photos, which I will add to the blog over the next month.

"If you die, I'll be alone"

Lokys and I watched a recent episode of House on the Tivo.  This was the episode where Dr. Wilson decides to donate a portion of his liver to his friend/patient.  He asks House to attend the operation, which House recommended against anyway.  House refuses. "Why not?" asks Wilson.

Says House, in all seriousness, "If you die, I'll be alone."

The line jumped out at me.  Everything looks different through the prism of widowerhood.  Including television and things supposed to be entertainment.