Setting a Time

Every summer, my mom, my sister, and I watch Beaches. It’s a classic tear-jerker starring Bette Midler and Barbara Hershey as two best friends from opposite coasts and opposite lives. Midler’s C. C. Bloom is a dynamic Jewish singer-actress from the Bronx and Hershey’s Whitney is a WASP whose family has been attending Stanford for four generations. At the end, Hilary dies of a long-running sickness. The shot right after—the best shot—is of a black car moving to reveal the funeral with C.C. standing in dark sunglasses as Whitney’s young daughter cries on a nearby chair. And without fail at this shot, every year, my mom says, half-sarcastically, “get the tissues!” and my sister and I reach to the nearby box and distribute. For ten whole minutes it’s perfectly fine to let the tears run down your face. No one can see you cry because everyone is watching the screen. Some could say this is artificial because the moment is made by a movie. But that’s the accessible thing about it, too. It’s a time carved out to let yourself somewhat go, and in front of other people.

Over the years, the family has been more open about emotions that spawn beyond tear-jerkers. Recently, I had special on my weekly radio show called Frank in Philly in honor of the Pope’s visit. The first hour consisting of Frank Sinatra and the second songs of the Philadelphia sound (a sub-genre of R&B and the beginning of disco). I was too proud of my concept to be shy of playing Sinatra. Not that Sinatra is controversial, but because my grandmother, Connie, died in February. Whenever I was playing golden oldies I called the genre “Your Grandmother’s Music” and she would request Sinatra’s “My Way.” I knew I had to play it. So I did. While it was playing, my sister texted in the family group text: "Connie." It was simple, and that was all that was needed.

This was a set time to be sad, and it wasn’t for a general sadness, but instead for something very recent. The healing of this is part of a project, in a way, of how to deal with my grandmother’s departure.