Remembering Roses
Without any rhyme or reason, I decided to contact an old friend.
“Hi, is this Raymond Galasso?” Raymond was my best friend one time long ago. I used the internet to locate him and gave him an unexpected telephone call.
“Yeah, who is this?”
“This is your old friend, Jim Gossweiler. We were best friends in 1968-69 in the 4th grade at Stewart School in Garden City.”
“Er, that was over 50-years ago. Sorry, I do not remember you.” Raymond drew a total blank and pondered what crazy person was calling him.
“I remember you well, Raymond. I thought you were the coolest kid in class. I was small, dorky, and yet you were always friendly to me.”
This statement didn’t offer any solid, verifying information, but Raymond listened on. “Listen, I hear you. You say we both went to Stewart School. That don’t tell me much. Did we have any of the same friends?” Raymond was looking for proof.
“Victor Zaymore, Billy King, Robert Stravitz, Dottie Woodchuck, and Billy Ford.”
“Now, Billy Ford I remember. But I don’t remember any of the rest…or you.”
“I used to come over to your house. It was by the school. It had a detached garage. We used to ride your Suzuki dirt bike on the railroad tracks at the end of your street. Your mom bought you leather boots with big buckles so you wouldn’t burn your leg on the exhaust pipe.”
“I gotta be honest. It’s kind of scary talking to someone who knows more about my childhood than I do. You say we did all this together?”
“You need more? You had a pet garter snake. You kept it in a fish tank in your basement. You fed it frozen goldfish. You also had a small lizard with a blue tail.” I searched my memory for specific details that would prove I was who I said I was.
“I don’t remember the lizard.” Raymond chuckled, indirectly admitting he remembered his pet snake.
“That’s because it died only a week or so after you got it.” Raymond chuckled with bewilderment how this stranger’s voice could recount so much of his youth that for him was lost long ago.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, we used to watch the T.V. show ‘Skippy the Bush Kangaroo’ in your bedroom. You were the only kid I ever knew who had a T.V. of their own in their bedroom.” Raymond remembered the T.V. show, but sadly still did not remember me. He did, however, want to hear more.
“You got anything else?”
“Yes, I remember your mother. Her name was Rose. I was only eight at the time, of course, but I remember she was a beautiful woman. Tall. Dark eyes. Italian beauty. Super friendly. Whenever I came over, she would open the front door wide, see me, and with a huge smile say in a loud, womanly voice, “Jamie! Raymond, it’s Jamie…please come into our home!”
I told Raymond that I really liked his mother. She was always super nice to me. She used to “dress up” by wearing colorful, flower-pattered Mumu dresses (long, loose, flowy dresses worn by Hawaiian women).
Raymond was floating somewhere emotionally as a result of my phone call…almost a ‘deer in the headlights’ moment for him. “I tell you what. Give me your telephone number and I’ll call you sometime. Maybe we can meet up in New York City. I live in Florida now.”
“Sure! Good-bye.”
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“Jim….is this Jim Gossweiler?” The soft voice on my phone several weeks later was Raymond. Although I was convinced we’d never talk again, there he was…calling me.
Raymond quietly, plaintively asked, “Jim, can you tell me more about my mother? I want to hear everything you remember about her…every detail.” I thought it odd he’d be asking about his mother rather than about me or himself, but I plumbed the depths of childhood memory to give Raymond what memories I had.
“Your mom was ‘very Italian’ in her dress, manner, and interests. She was always happy. An amazing cook…your house always smelled like an Italian restaurant. She insisted on using only ‘genuine Italian’ ingredients in her cooking…she used to get her supplies from groceries in Little Italy in Lower Manhattan. She loved house plants. She had rows of them along her kitchen and living room windowsills.”
Raymond remained quiet while I recounted every last memory I could. There was no exchange. He just listened and then offered a quiet, “Thank you.”
I responded, “What for?”
“My mother passed away in 2018. Listening to you to talk about her…. recounting clear memories about her during the time when she was ‘my Mommy’ means a lot. I don’t remember you at all, but out-of-the-blue you’ve been able to recall memories and bring her to life again for me. No one…no one else anywhere…could have done what you’ve just done. Thank you.”
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God appears in our lives in many ways and employs us for His purpose. My “novel idea” to contact Raymond out-of-the-blue was no coincidence. God sent me to contact Raymond and talk with him about his mother Rose.
Memories are important things, and remembering someone we love who has passed away is one of many ways we can honor them….continue loving them. As Christians, we need to capture memories about the people we love in our lives while they’re still in our lives.
Love one another as I have loved you (John 13:34).
Do you have any Roses in your life that you need…want…to remember? I do.
JG