“Bit by bit, putting it together…” ~ Stephen Sondheim
On this day last year, June 17th, two weeks before my dad died, I spent about six hours at my parents’ new assisted living apartment putting together two matching cabinets. A few weeks before, they had downsized from a two bedroom independent living apartment, in which they’d each had their own bathroom and plenty of space for their toiletries. I helped them to pick out and order the cabinets, one for each of them, to be assembled and placed just outside of their new bathroom, so they’d each have a new spot to put their stuff.
When someone dies, especially unexpectedly, somewhat unremarkable days/experiences can take on new value and meaning in retrospect. This has become one of those times for me, as after that I only got to interact with my Dad in person twice more before his death. Our second to last visit was the day before Father’s Day, with Bob and the kids, on Saturday, June 19th. The last time Dad and I were together in person was two days before he died, on Tuesday, June 29th. That day I drove Dad to some pre-op appointments (blood work and a COVID test), in preparation for the angiogram that he was scheduled to have on Friday, July 2nd (the morning after he died).
I hadn’t anticipated that it would take six hours to assemble the matching cabinets. I recall chatting and joking a lot with my parents during that time. They were very supportive (cheering me on) and appreciative, knowing that they weren’t really able to help me put them together (for a number of reasons). I recall at one point calling Sean and suggesting they consider Engineering as a possible college major, when I realized that someone had engineered the both impressive and complicated design and instructions for putting the cabinets together. Sean has always loved creating and building things with Legos and I wondered if they might enjoy engineering things for others to assemble and use.
Since this month began, I have reflected a lot on the last four weeks of my dad’s life. I do so intentionally at times, as well as find myself feeling off and then realize that my body seems to remember what my mind isn’t always initially aware of. Bit by bit, it helps me to process the experience of Dad’s death by looking through pictures, social media memories and other artifacts from this time last year. I am finding some comfort and healing, as I allow myself to review and piece together what happened, understanding it can’t/won’t change the outcome.
Dad died.
So much of who I am and the things that I love, including my appreciation for art and musical theater came from my mom and dad. They took us to the Art Institute of Chicago from the time my sister Meg and I were young to see beautiful and thought provoking exhibits, including A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte by Georges Seurat. That famous painting inspired Stephen Sondheim’s musical Sunday in the Park with George, which Mom and Dad also introduced us to. I could’ve sworn that they brought us to see a production of the musical in Chicago, however a quick Google search is making me doubt whether that is true. I’ll have to double check with Mom and/or Meg the next time we talk and/or dig into my containers of memorabilia and see if I can find a souvenir ticket or program from the show. I am fairly sure that at some point the musical was on TV, possibility PBS, and thus, I might’ve watched it that way?
The musical led me to be all the more fascinated by the pointillism painting style that Seurat used to create A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. During my spring semester abroad in 1996, after my schooling ended in London, my friend/travelmate and my first stop on our three-week adventure through France, Spain and Italy was in Paris. While there we went to the Père Lachaise Cemetery, where many famous people are buried, including Seurat. We found his grave and my friend took a photo of me in front of it, which I was excited to show my parents.
When Gail was born, my parents offered to continue their tradition of giving Bob and I a fine art picture, painting or print, in lieu of flowers, and we chose The Rainbow: Study for ‘Bathers at Asnières’ by Seurat. I loved that it had a rainbow in it, was created by one of my favorite painters and featured three children. The rainbow represented, to me, Gail being our “rainbow baby” and I saw each of our children (Sean, Molly and Gail) in the painting.
Circling back to the cabinets, which were a true labor of love for me during an already difficult and uncertain time in my life (and that was before Dad died unexpectedly two weeks later), it is bittersweet to know my dad barely got to use them. When the time came to determine where to hang or display the flag that we received at Dad’s burial on July 10th, honoring his service in the U.S. Army and as a Vietnam Veteran, along with his Army Commendation Medal (for creating a standard operating procedures manual for the personnel office that he worked in at Dong Ha), we weren’t quite sure where it might look best and opted to place it on top of the two cabinets. Ever since, as Dad used to joke about, how our belongings find their place in new homes, we may put something in a location temporarily and then, eventually, “it just goes there.”
As so often happens for me, I hadn’t put all of this together until I started writing and that seems fitting, on so many levels. I know that my dad, a lifelong journalist, would appreciate/appreciates my words and the connections that I have made here. And with that, I will leave you with the lyrics of “Putting it Together” by Stephen Sondheim from Sunday in the Park with George.
Bit by bit, putting it together
Piece by piece, only way to make a work of art
Every moment makes a contribution
Every little detail plays a part
Having just a vision’s no solution
Everything depends on execution
Putting it together
That’s what counts!
Ounce by ounce, putting it together
Small amounts, adding up to make a work of art
First of all you need a good foundation
Otherwise it’s risky from the start
Takes a lot of earnest conversation
But without the proper preparation
Having just a vision’s no solution
Everything depends on execution
The art of making art, is putting it together
Bit by bit
Note by note, working on projection
Lips, teeth, throat, looking for a moment to inhale
Keeping the emotional connection
Even when your fellow actors fail
Pointing at the subtext by inflection
Helping your director reach perfection
Even though you have a strong objection
To the way he’s handling the direction
Art isn’t easy
Every minor detail
Is a major decision
Have to keep things in scale
Have to hold to your vision
Even though you’re feeling apprehensive
That you’re looking bland and inoffensive
And you wish your wardrobe was extensive
Don’t forget that Spangles are expensive
The light, Love
A little to the right, Love
It isn’t very bright, Love
And must it be so tight, Love
Thank you, he does that every night
Beat by beat, losing inhibition
Head, hands, feet, trying to relax, but not too much
Trying to lay out the exposition
But without exposing it as such
Trying to perform but not audition
Trying to establish recognition
Trying to persuade the electrician
That he should destroy the competition
Art isn’t easy
Every word, every line
Every glance, every movement
You improve and refine
And refine each improvement
Bit by bit, putting it together
Piece by piece, working out the vision night and day
What it takes is time and perseverance
Dealing with details along the way
Dealing with Producer’s interference
Waiting for the Author’s disappearance
Filling up the holes with animation
Covering the flaws in the construction
Wiping all the scenic ostentation
Knowing it’s a “Macintosh” production
Working for a tiny compensation
Hoping for a thunderous ovation
The art of making art
is putting it together
Bit by Bit
Part by Part
Fit by Fit
Start by Start, Stride by Stride
Kick by Kick, Glide by Glide
Schtick by Schtick, Side by Side by Side by Side by Side by Side.
And that is the state of the art.
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