Our marriage ceremony was Saturday afternoon. As I mentioned, it was an intensely small and intensely loving affair. We cut short our dinner so that Cen, Robert, and I could dash into Arlington for Daniel's memorial service.
What a time that was -- the place was packed. There were two ministers, both close friends of D. Graham gave the eulogy, a long-but-could-have-been-longer portrait, full of love (and it was the love-him-as-he-was kind, not the adore-him-on-a-pedestal kind). Many people gave shorter speeches, trying to make sense of it all. There was some beautiful music (including the Ash Grove and the King of Love My Shepard Is, both, I learned, favorites of D), and poetry and other readings.
Truly a full day. I felt deeply at the service, and perhaps a little watery-eyed, but mostly quiet. In the last couple of days, however, I've noticed myself being a bit weepy, perhaps during those in-between moments. I've certainly been thinking a great deal of Daniel as I try to understand his absence. I feel like I've entered another stage of understanding.
Funny, two people asked me "whatever will we do without Daniel?" Clearly, the world is a poorer place without him. My answer, which was probably totally inadequate but the best I could do, was that we each incorporate a tiny piece of him -- we think about his good works and are inspired to continue them in whatever small way we can. It's our way of keeping him alive in our hearts, for as long as we can, or perhaps a way of keeping a small part of him within ourselves.
There is of course no sense to any of this -- his brief illness or his death -- but I do feel that my heart is slowly catching up with my head-full-of-facts.
I continue to hold his caregivers -- especially Graham -- in a special place in my heart. I know them all to be true heroes.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Sunday, September 26, 2004
surprise...
Well, this was indeed a day of joys and sorrows, in true Unitarian tradition. Today was Robert's and my wedding day -- we eloped right into the living room downstairs. Our friend Cen performed the ceremony, beautifully, I might say. We had readings from Rumi and Gibran and Sappho. Everyone present said something. We had champagne, and then we went out for Indian food. Very simple and small. Very loving and warm. The news is now public, but we'll probably make a more official announcement in the coming weeks.
I may write more about the day tomorrow.
I may write more about the day tomorrow.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
another completely random memory
Just remembered it this morning, in fact.
Daniel loved shiny things. For a while, Robert and I collected interesting shiny things, ridiculous little objects with no value and no meaning, as if we were crows. We had a spot for them in my car, in the otherwise unused ashtray. Perhaps it was our way of carrying a little bit of Daniel around with us wherever we went.
It's odd, isn't it, how these connections between people flow.
Daniel loved shiny things. For a while, Robert and I collected interesting shiny things, ridiculous little objects with no value and no meaning, as if we were crows. We had a spot for them in my car, in the otherwise unused ashtray. Perhaps it was our way of carrying a little bit of Daniel around with us wherever we went.
It's odd, isn't it, how these connections between people flow.
commitment ceremony, daniel
Four years ago Thursday, Daniel performed Robert's and my commitment ceremony. I was just rereading his words. He spoke of our committing to each other, marking a milestone along our journey together, while the larger community of friends gathered and friends not present made a commitment to us. He said:
So true. I am grateful to Daniel for performing our ceremony and managing to capture in words all that we felt on that lovely day. He will be in our hearts today, as present as he can be from his resting spot in Maine, as we experience the moments of rich reward and the moments of sorrow and loss, a great deal of life in one short day.
Friendships are the sacred threads that weave the web of life, and the ties of friendship can help to bind our seemingly fragmentary lives into something like whole things. Part of living in community, however defined, is supporting each other through all of the things life brings to us. Moments of rich reward, ... times of sorrow and loss, and everything that spans the spectrum in between. The everydayness and the extraordinary, the peaks and the sloughs. We all need one another in all of these times.
So true. I am grateful to Daniel for performing our ceremony and managing to capture in words all that we felt on that lovely day. He will be in our hearts today, as present as he can be from his resting spot in Maine, as we experience the moments of rich reward and the moments of sorrow and loss, a great deal of life in one short day.
Friday, September 24, 2004
words are coming
When I said that I didn't have words about Daniel, I meant that I had thought a lot about our last encounter, and I'd worked through much of it. Graham helped enormously with that process. And I was flooded with images of him, some horrible imaginings that came to me in the middle of the night, some peaceful connections while he was in the hospital, some of Daniel when he was healthier. But that was it.
Yesterday, I had some memories, mostly fun ones. We've spent at least one Thanksgiving, maybe more with him. For several years, we attended his seders -- fun affairs held on a convenient night, not dictated by the calendar. Daniel had an assortment of haggadahs (some of which Robert and I gave him one Christmas). We'd each take one or more. I usually took the "angry lesbian haggadah," which, depending on my mood was either dead on or hysterically funny, and one other one. Then we'd go around the table and read our section, and if anyone else's section was different, that person would speak up. The discussions were fascinating and I learned so much. (This is what you get when a bunch of former divinity students get together. What a great place to be a fly on the wall.)
We were privileged to spend time with Daniel at his family camp in Maine, a grand old house on a lake that itself has seen many tragedies. We spent mornings in our pjs in the kitchen and cooked huge dinners which we ate on the porch. Daniel's sister and mother are there; Daniel will be there as of today.
And Daniel had so many communities from which he developed friendships -- English dance, LCFD dance, divinity school, workplaces, the greater gay community, the Unitarian church, political action groups, and probably others. He was constantly finding friends and bringing them home, introducing them to other friends. And yet last night, during the early part of visiting hours, I recognized very few people. A wide net indeed.
And his stuff! Graham had books, Daniel had things (and many of them were large) -- many family heirlooms. He also had china; he wanted his every day china to match, so he had a lot of it, maybe 12 place settings. And I remember helping G&D pack their Morrison Ave house and then unpack in Wakefield. I did a lot of unpacking in the kitchen, but I concentrated on a generous built-in china closet in the dining room, artfully arranging items so they could be showed off. The next time I visited, the entire closet was crammed with twice as much stuff, and it's possible that more was in boxes. There's a storage room off the mudroom which contains vases; Robert calls it the vaseoleum.
Last night at visiting hours, I mentioned to D's brother-in-law, Jeff, (the new husband of D's angel-sister Rachel) that there's a huge community of dancers who would love to help. When Daniel was starting to get sick, he had started the process of selling his house. I asked Jeff how they were going to handle all the stuff, and he admitted that they'd need some help. I said that it would be healing for me, and possibly others, to help with the last packing. So perhaps I and other dancers will work on that in the coming weeks, when the family is ready to call us.
I'm still not making sense of it, and I know that. As Robert said, sometimes we'd see Daniel several days in a row (perhaps at a dance, then at a party, and he might drop by to visit). And then we wouldn't see him for months (though I did have a fairly regular email correspondance with him; I tried to have a phone corresondance, but he was rarely home). So, except for dance camp, it's as if we're continuing to have a normal relationship with him, minus the email. I feel that I'm entering into that new space, but am not quite there yet. Perhaps tomorrow night, the memorial service will help.
Yesterday, I had some memories, mostly fun ones. We've spent at least one Thanksgiving, maybe more with him. For several years, we attended his seders -- fun affairs held on a convenient night, not dictated by the calendar. Daniel had an assortment of haggadahs (some of which Robert and I gave him one Christmas). We'd each take one or more. I usually took the "angry lesbian haggadah," which, depending on my mood was either dead on or hysterically funny, and one other one. Then we'd go around the table and read our section, and if anyone else's section was different, that person would speak up. The discussions were fascinating and I learned so much. (This is what you get when a bunch of former divinity students get together. What a great place to be a fly on the wall.)
We were privileged to spend time with Daniel at his family camp in Maine, a grand old house on a lake that itself has seen many tragedies. We spent mornings in our pjs in the kitchen and cooked huge dinners which we ate on the porch. Daniel's sister and mother are there; Daniel will be there as of today.
And Daniel had so many communities from which he developed friendships -- English dance, LCFD dance, divinity school, workplaces, the greater gay community, the Unitarian church, political action groups, and probably others. He was constantly finding friends and bringing them home, introducing them to other friends. And yet last night, during the early part of visiting hours, I recognized very few people. A wide net indeed.
And his stuff! Graham had books, Daniel had things (and many of them were large) -- many family heirlooms. He also had china; he wanted his every day china to match, so he had a lot of it, maybe 12 place settings. And I remember helping G&D pack their Morrison Ave house and then unpack in Wakefield. I did a lot of unpacking in the kitchen, but I concentrated on a generous built-in china closet in the dining room, artfully arranging items so they could be showed off. The next time I visited, the entire closet was crammed with twice as much stuff, and it's possible that more was in boxes. There's a storage room off the mudroom which contains vases; Robert calls it the vaseoleum.
Last night at visiting hours, I mentioned to D's brother-in-law, Jeff, (the new husband of D's angel-sister Rachel) that there's a huge community of dancers who would love to help. When Daniel was starting to get sick, he had started the process of selling his house. I asked Jeff how they were going to handle all the stuff, and he admitted that they'd need some help. I said that it would be healing for me, and possibly others, to help with the last packing. So perhaps I and other dancers will work on that in the coming weeks, when the family is ready to call us.
I'm still not making sense of it, and I know that. As Robert said, sometimes we'd see Daniel several days in a row (perhaps at a dance, then at a party, and he might drop by to visit). And then we wouldn't see him for months (though I did have a fairly regular email correspondance with him; I tried to have a phone corresondance, but he was rarely home). So, except for dance camp, it's as if we're continuing to have a normal relationship with him, minus the email. I feel that I'm entering into that new space, but am not quite there yet. Perhaps tomorrow night, the memorial service will help.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Daniel has died.
Daniel Eaton Pentlarge
January 7, 1958 -- September 21, 2004
I don't have a lot of words right now. So I'll use what Graham wrote:
Shortly after 1:00 p.m. this afternoon, my former partner and closest friend, Daniel Eaton Pentlarge, died at Mount Auburn Hospital in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He was forty-six years old. The exact cause of his final illness and death is still under exploration; what is clear is that his body failed to mount an effective defense against a catastrophic fungal infection of the lungs.
Born in Boston, Daniel was a proud resident of Worcester until his adulthood, and a proud resident of Boston thereafter. Disappointed in his lifelong dreams of Unitarian Universalist ministry, he went on to become an important lay leader in every congregation of which he was a member. He frequently worked in social services, and had a special empathy for plight of the mentally ill; most recently, he was an administrator at Kurzweil Technologies.
I am glad that I had some part in introducing him to contra dance and English Country dance, both of which brought great joy to his life. Some of you may know Daniel as the author of "Be a Dance Angel," which is an important distillation of his strong views about the creation of community through social dance (CDSS News Mar/Apr 2004, #177).
Daniel was cherished for his compassion, wit, geniality, and intelligence. We are all impoverished by his death.
dance camp
Dance camp was lovely as always. The callers were superb, the music was wonderful. We were in a new place which was fine, but not spectacular. (And of course, the monsoon on Saturday made running between buildings a little tough.) But the real treasure was in the people, many of whom I"d never know if it weren't for our twice-yearly camps.
I spent a lot of time with G, Daniel's former partner. I've missed him a lot since he moved away. It seemed to me that we spent very little time talking about daily life stuff. Instead, we got right to the big stuff. (For one thing, he's part of the very small "inner circle" for Daniel, and has been visiting him from his home about 100 miles away.) I don't know if we said it all, but we said a lot. I'm quite pleased to see G standing on solid ground, making a new and important life for himself. I don't think I've ever seen him so peaceful, and that in the middle of Daniel's crisis.
I surprised myself by deeply feeling Daniel's absence at this camp. I realized that he's been such a big part of camp for several years now.
I also talked to David F, whom I've known for a while, to Andre, the brother of someone I know better. And Michael H, whom I've seen quite a bit but never conversed with. We had a marvelous conversation about his life work and how he can start doing it and where he might live that has meaning for him. And I talked to Dawn about travel, and a host of other people too.
All these people are dear to me, and the connections so important. I start out at dance camp feeling eager to go, but reluctant once I arrive. And then slowly, I open up, possibly through dance, until I'm in a loving space, one with fewer barriers than everyday life. When I leave, I'm often near tears at the thought of not having this for another half year or more. I still haven't figured out how to recreate that magic in daily life, but I'll keep working on it.
OK, gotta go swimming, so will leave off for now.
I spent a lot of time with G, Daniel's former partner. I've missed him a lot since he moved away. It seemed to me that we spent very little time talking about daily life stuff. Instead, we got right to the big stuff. (For one thing, he's part of the very small "inner circle" for Daniel, and has been visiting him from his home about 100 miles away.) I don't know if we said it all, but we said a lot. I'm quite pleased to see G standing on solid ground, making a new and important life for himself. I don't think I've ever seen him so peaceful, and that in the middle of Daniel's crisis.
I surprised myself by deeply feeling Daniel's absence at this camp. I realized that he's been such a big part of camp for several years now.
I also talked to David F, whom I've known for a while, to Andre, the brother of someone I know better. And Michael H, whom I've seen quite a bit but never conversed with. We had a marvelous conversation about his life work and how he can start doing it and where he might live that has meaning for him. And I talked to Dawn about travel, and a host of other people too.
All these people are dear to me, and the connections so important. I start out at dance camp feeling eager to go, but reluctant once I arrive. And then slowly, I open up, possibly through dance, until I'm in a loving space, one with fewer barriers than everyday life. When I leave, I'm often near tears at the thought of not having this for another half year or more. I still haven't figured out how to recreate that magic in daily life, but I'll keep working on it.
OK, gotta go swimming, so will leave off for now.
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