On Tuesday, January 19, 2010, one year ago today, Mrs. Artelia Jordan, my maternal grandmother, died after a long bought with Cancer. We would commit her body to the earth the following Monday, January 25, 2010. Between those two dates, I would perform in two staged readings for Maiuetic Theater Works, attend a read-though for the Anyone But Me web series... and help my mother, aunts and uncles plan a funeral for their mother.
Work had to be done.
Three days of racing around to handle what felt like every task that needed to be handled for my Grandmother’s wake and funeral, I remember sitting at my day-job very early Saturday morning, printing off copies of the program that would distributed at the wake the following morning. (I had been up the Friday night before until I don’t know what time formatting and re-formatting the program for each and every “make sure this gets in” e-mail and phone call that came in.) I looked at the clock on my desk phone, becoming frantic seeing that I was sure to be late for my 11 a.m. rehearsal. Leaving a message on my director’s phone in as a professional manner as I could, I said, “I’m sorry, but it looks like I am going to be 15 minutes late for rehearsal today. Uh, I am over here dealing with some...
“...my Grandmother died Tuesday.”“...so, uh, I’ll be there soon.”And I felt like I might “lose it.” But I quickly blotted my eyes with a tissue, inserted in an envelope the programs I just folded, and headed out.I got to rehearsal maybe 20 minutes late. My director walks up to me, gives me a hug, and offers his condolences. After assuring him I was okay, and after sharing the news with my cast mates and assuring them I was indeed okay, we sat at our music stands and got busy.Work had to be done.In the hour or so after rehearsal and performance, I sat and had a meal at BBQ’s. Waiting for my food to arrive, I’m found myself mesmerized by my “crackberry” and expressions of sympathy that were coming in via email, Facebook, and even Twitter. This might have been one of the few times I wished I wasn’t so “connected.” I eventually turned off the device, to focus on being focused, which at that moment meant feeding myself so I could push through these two readings over the next four hours.With one of my mother’s good friends at her side, they were present for both readings. I wasn’t surprised at the sight of her being there... she, too, was in need of a temporary distraction from life. And she did want to pick up the programs I printed earlier so she could bring them to the funeral home the next day. But at this moment, I wanted to guard and protect her, particularly since I knew one of my characters would deliver a beautiful, yet extremely sad monologue, describing his reaction to receiving the news that his mother had passed... from Cancer. I held my breath, opened my binder, and jumped in.Work had to be done.The reading was met with a standing ovation, and my mother was beaming. As my fellow readers dispersed, I walked over to my mother to hand her the oversized envelope with the programs. Assuming I would get a pass given the circumstances, I strongly urged her not to open the envelope. After a short “I know you ain’t trying to tell me what to do” stare and a spoken “Russell, I’m fine,” she opened the envelope and pulled out one of the programs, saw her mother’s picture on the cover, and started to cry. Time seemed to stop at that moment. My mother’s friend then jumped in to tell me how much she enjoyed the reading and that she was going to get my mother home, and that I need not worry. I was noddling my head in the affirmative, but starting to feel numbness creep into my body. I eventually made it to the subway, and to my house, and to my bed, and to my shower, and back to the subway, and back into the city for the Anyone But Me read-through the following morning. The work had to be done. I was more than spent, but the work had to be done. I can look back and laugh now, but New York City Transit could not care less about where you need to be on-time... especially on a Sunday. I arrive to the read-through twenty minutes late. I just made it in time to hit my cue for one episode and was “physically there” (thankfully) for the reading of the other episode in which my character appeared. But my mind was on the next 24 hours: running home to change, getting out to Queens for the wake, getting back home and getting just enough sleep to be alert enough for the funeral. Final act.Monday, January 25, 2010 greeted us with rain that could only be described as torrential. I wanted to arrive at the church first to make sure that everything was in order and offer thanks to the church staff that would officiate the morning’s events. Everything in order, the hearse arrives. But my family had not. Stifling a quick “but, of course” laugh, I told one of the funeral home staffers that he and I were going to get my grandmother’s body on to the dolly and into the church. And we did.The service was beautiful and fitting for a woman who lived life in service of her God. As my video camera captured the mass, I for the second time felt time stand still. But this time, I felt my body attempt to surrender, as my eyes welled up. Again, I had to focus on being focused, and pushed myself, as I knew that recording the mass and burial would be invaluable for my family members who could not attend. So at the church, I pushed on. At the burial I was “outside my body” as it were, filming it as a cameraman would his reporter’s story. I followed the casket into it’s final decent. I turn to my brother, whom I hadn’t noticed was staring at the proceedings without the benefit of an umbrella and was standing in clothes which were now thoroughly soaked. I walked up to him and gave him a hug in a way I don’t believe I ever have or have since. And he cried. After what seemed like an eternity, we returned to our respective limos to get back to the repass.Now it’s over. And the work has been done.And now it’s a year later. Today, I reflect. I remember. And to my Grandmother, I simply say: “Thank you... I miss you.”No work today. A cry, maybe. But no work.The actor hustle resumes tomorrow.
Work had to be done.
Three days of racing around to handle what felt like every task that needed to be handled for my Grandmother’s wake and funeral, I remember sitting at my day-job very early Saturday morning, printing off copies of the program that would distributed at the wake the following morning. (I had been up the Friday night before until I don’t know what time formatting and re-formatting the program for each and every “make sure this gets in” e-mail and phone call that came in.) I looked at the clock on my desk phone, becoming frantic seeing that I was sure to be late for my 11 a.m. rehearsal. Leaving a message on my director’s phone in as a professional manner as I could, I said, “I’m sorry, but it looks like I am going to be 15 minutes late for rehearsal today. Uh, I am over here dealing with some...
“...my Grandmother died Tuesday.”“...so, uh, I’ll be there soon.”And I felt like I might “lose it.” But I quickly blotted my eyes with a tissue, inserted in an envelope the programs I just folded, and headed out.I got to rehearsal maybe 20 minutes late. My director walks up to me, gives me a hug, and offers his condolences. After assuring him I was okay, and after sharing the news with my cast mates and assuring them I was indeed okay, we sat at our music stands and got busy.Work had to be done.In the hour or so after rehearsal and performance, I sat and had a meal at BBQ’s. Waiting for my food to arrive, I’m found myself mesmerized by my “crackberry” and expressions of sympathy that were coming in via email, Facebook, and even Twitter. This might have been one of the few times I wished I wasn’t so “connected.” I eventually turned off the device, to focus on being focused, which at that moment meant feeding myself so I could push through these two readings over the next four hours.With one of my mother’s good friends at her side, they were present for both readings. I wasn’t surprised at the sight of her being there... she, too, was in need of a temporary distraction from life. And she did want to pick up the programs I printed earlier so she could bring them to the funeral home the next day. But at this moment, I wanted to guard and protect her, particularly since I knew one of my characters would deliver a beautiful, yet extremely sad monologue, describing his reaction to receiving the news that his mother had passed... from Cancer. I held my breath, opened my binder, and jumped in.Work had to be done.The reading was met with a standing ovation, and my mother was beaming. As my fellow readers dispersed, I walked over to my mother to hand her the oversized envelope with the programs. Assuming I would get a pass given the circumstances, I strongly urged her not to open the envelope. After a short “I know you ain’t trying to tell me what to do” stare and a spoken “Russell, I’m fine,” she opened the envelope and pulled out one of the programs, saw her mother’s picture on the cover, and started to cry. Time seemed to stop at that moment. My mother’s friend then jumped in to tell me how much she enjoyed the reading and that she was going to get my mother home, and that I need not worry. I was noddling my head in the affirmative, but starting to feel numbness creep into my body. I eventually made it to the subway, and to my house, and to my bed, and to my shower, and back to the subway, and back into the city for the Anyone But Me read-through the following morning. The work had to be done. I was more than spent, but the work had to be done. I can look back and laugh now, but New York City Transit could not care less about where you need to be on-time... especially on a Sunday. I arrive to the read-through twenty minutes late. I just made it in time to hit my cue for one episode and was “physically there” (thankfully) for the reading of the other episode in which my character appeared. But my mind was on the next 24 hours: running home to change, getting out to Queens for the wake, getting back home and getting just enough sleep to be alert enough for the funeral. Final act.Monday, January 25, 2010 greeted us with rain that could only be described as torrential. I wanted to arrive at the church first to make sure that everything was in order and offer thanks to the church staff that would officiate the morning’s events. Everything in order, the hearse arrives. But my family had not. Stifling a quick “but, of course” laugh, I told one of the funeral home staffers that he and I were going to get my grandmother’s body on to the dolly and into the church. And we did.The service was beautiful and fitting for a woman who lived life in service of her God. As my video camera captured the mass, I for the second time felt time stand still. But this time, I felt my body attempt to surrender, as my eyes welled up. Again, I had to focus on being focused, and pushed myself, as I knew that recording the mass and burial would be invaluable for my family members who could not attend. So at the church, I pushed on. At the burial I was “outside my body” as it were, filming it as a cameraman would his reporter’s story. I followed the casket into it’s final decent. I turn to my brother, whom I hadn’t noticed was staring at the proceedings without the benefit of an umbrella and was standing in clothes which were now thoroughly soaked. I walked up to him and gave him a hug in a way I don’t believe I ever have or have since. And he cried. After what seemed like an eternity, we returned to our respective limos to get back to the repass.Now it’s over. And the work has been done.And now it’s a year later. Today, I reflect. I remember. And to my Grandmother, I simply say: “Thank you... I miss you.”No work today. A cry, maybe. But no work.The actor hustle resumes tomorrow.
- Russell
In Memoriam
Artelia B. Jordan
July 8, 1911 - January 19, 2010
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