So many memories.. tanning in the backyard( the pink swimsuit was worth the wait), meeting other Manilow fan club members who lived locally, buying eight Manilow albums at one time ( the ones Jill couldn't find in Norway- and getting an unforgettable strange look from the heavy metal record clerk), discovering popcorn at the movies ( no popcorn in Norwegian theaters), and learning Norwegian from a pro. All wonderful. But the best was yet to come: our long-awaited trip to New York City.
The highlight was strolling around the Statue of Liberty together, the towering Manhattan skyline across the sparkling bay, watching the small boats dotting the windy harbor. It wasn't the private time we dreamed about, alone on a romantic carriage ride through Central Park, a candlelit dinner for two and a show, but it was pretty cool.
The week before Jill's departure I was in the dumps, sneaking into the bathroom to be alone. A few times she noticed my misty eyes , hugging me and reassuring, "Be happy for me!" Yet I could see the sadness in her blue eyes too.
Mom made her famous spaghetti and meatballs dinner the day before Jill went home, as family dropped by, bearing gifts, bidding their farewells. Jill had become family that summer and we were all sorry to see her go. But she kept saying "I'll be back." I tried to keep it together inside.
That final evening we reviewed our summer, laughing and shedding a tear. It just didn't seem fair that we would be so far apart soon once again. Seeing other couples hand-in-hand at the mall or out to dinner reminded us what we had missed for so long. But it also made a cloudy, uncertain future look a whole lot brighter. There was so much to look forward to, and we had to be grateful for this time together. All good things must end, but only the summer was ending, not our love for each other.
We planned on meeting again the following summer. I surprised Jill by requesting a song on the radio late at night. And as we listened together the DJ played "Somewhere Down The Road," a romantic Manilow ballad about two people separated by fate, yet destined and determined to meet again. Like Manilow was singing for us and about us.
"And that was for Jill, love always from Greg. Thanks for a great summer.." said the dedication at the end of the song.
So there we were,sitting in JFK airport again, this time waiting for Jill to board her return flight home. An airline employee offered to take me aboard first, thinking I had a ticket. Wishful thinking.
Jill hugged Mom, then me, a warm hug as she whispered "I'll write back first. Thanks for everything. I love you."
I could've held her forever. In an instant she was gone. Suddenly I felt so lonely.
We watched her jet soar overhead. Its red tail a blur in the distance. Away went my heart, disappearing into the clouds.
Jill cried across the ocean. Oslo, even in late August, was already chilly and rainy when she arrived, the weather as dreary as her mood. The flowers I had sent ahead to her apartment helped to brighten her. It was a little reminder that I wasn't about to forget her, despite the distance once more.
The rest of the summer was spent missing each other. The guest room was dark and quiet now. In Norway Jill was showing her pictures of America and passing out gifts and souvenirs to her excited family and friends, who worried ( despite Jill's weekly calls back home, especially to her mother). But late at night, alone, her heart was empty.
It was strange to be back to pen pal status once again. It was good to get her first letter since we parted, so relieved when she felt the same way, her feelings not changed. Listening to "Somewhere Down The Road" would be hard for a while, but the warm memories of days to come kept us counting the days until our next meeting. It's not easy, being so far apart for so long. If the love is strong, it can work, I kept telling myself.
When she sent me pictures of our summer together- the Phillies game, New York City- it wasn't just a beautiful dream. The long winter days and nights on the horizon would melt away into next spring. There was always hope if we didn't give up.
Meanwhile, with my hard-earned Associates Degree proudly displayed on my wall, I took a deep breath and continued on. The new school year would bring exciting challenges, New faces, new classes, new experiences. Another year of student loans, crazy hours studying hard around classes and working, bouts with illnesses and loneliness. Thoughts of Jill kept me pushing on.
Now I had the feeling that nothing could stop me. That Bachelor's Degree was mine for the taking .I was more determined than ever to reach my goals.
A few things stood out during my two years at West Chester U. I joined a Disability Activist group on campus ( like I really had the time?), and we helped to make the university more accessible. I was helping myself while also helping others. Plus I had two internships to learn from.
My Junior Practicum I did at the Manor, where I had started volunteering. I did my internship three days a week, with full days of classes the other two weekdays. It was great working there, this time in a shirt and tie, counseling the residents I had grown to love. I worked with a fine Social Worker named Ellen, who was Director of Social Services at the time. She was pretty too, which made the experience easier. Most of all, she taught me the ins and outs of nursing home Social Work. She never forget that I was still a student, bound to make mistakes. She needed to be extremely patient in my case. I would learn something new every single day, even thirty years later.
Ellen was always smiling and in a good mood. That impressed me a great deal, How she could remain so upbeat and positive with so much sickness and sadness around her every day. She was a special person and I soon found out it took special people to do her job.
Although I couldn't do much of the documents , since I wasn't officially a Social Worker yet, I did a lot of smaller things around the office: copying, filing, stuffing envelopes, more or less the grunt work we all go through as we are learning. I was quickly learning the ropes about what it took to be a Social Worker in a nursing home setting. I attended meetings, like care plan meetings with families, and the morning stand-up meetings with fellow staff .I learned about teamwork and what it takes to work with others and how to be professional. How to be on time for work, dress nicely and be neat with my work, things I would never forget.
Ironically, I would supervised two students from West Chester down the road, and I could easily relate to their pressure, their stress, yet their eagerness to discover. I loved the work, my dream job, and found that nursing home Social Work was my niche.
Counselling residents and families would always prove to be interesting. Different cases daily to keep things lively. I would be on both sides of this fence in time.
I saw how hard the staff worked: the doctors, nurses and aides, who were the unsung heroes. I saw how the Administrator and Business Office worked behind the scenes to keep the place running. Often times we hear about nursing homes being "dives' and bad places filled with horrible sights and smells. But I could honestly say this wasn't one of them. Most importantly they treated the residents with great care and dignity. It was far different from being a volunteer, which is important work, but now I was seeing so much more. I had a better appreciation of nursing homes in general, happy and proud of where I worked.
The residents were very comfortable with me since they already knew me from my volunteer days. They trusted me, knowing I was in the same boat and probably had gone through many of the same feelings and events they were experiencing. So, my O.I. was an advantage for once.
I'll never forget Ellen's final piece of advice on my last day of the practicum. I thought she was going to lay some really long, deep theory on me, something serious and profound. Instead her advice was very simple and sweet.
"Don't ever lose your sense of humor," she said. "You'll need it."
How right she would be. No matter the situation one had to keep smiling to build up residents and families and in order to keep your own sanity. Life would go on, the sun would rise the next day, and all those other worthy cliches and sentiments. They told us in college that a typical Social Worker only lasts on average of four years in the field before burning out. Think of it- all that work studying and in a mere four years it all ends. The work was so emotionally draining. One had to be strong and always keep that sense of humor to survive.
I was determined not to be one of the casualties. I was a fighter but what lay ahead would test far stronger people than me.
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