It was May of 1994.
I was leaving work at the newish and quite chic Leiner/Danes Communications offices on West 39th street, off to catch the subway uptown. Back then, I was living on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Led by a curious nature, I was taking a different route home each day, exploring the city by wandering down this block and that. And let’s face it, led by the way too many Nancy Drew mysteries and crime shows I’d consumed, knowing that you should switch up your daily route so you wouldn’t be followed. Or have your pocketbook snatched. (That’s Jersey Girl for purse or handbag by the way!) This was all before cell phones, and about a year after my mother died. This day, I ended up at the Vanderbilt entrance off of 42nd Street. There was a vey long line forming from the door running 40 deep to the west.
I asked one of the folks waiting what the line was for, and she told me it was a memorial to Mrs. Kennedy. Not sure what that might be, but called to join the others, I waited. It wrapped inside the main concourse. A tribute to her 1975 campaign to block the demolition of the historic building. The foyer now shines with a plaque and explanation. This day, it was only a lucite pedestal and the kind of book that looked to be thousands of blank pages. If you took dozens of dictionaries and stacked them high, this leather bound memorial book would come close in size.
You see, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, known as Jackie O to the many of us who admired and tried to replicate her iconic style, had died on May 19. She passed away in her sleep at her famous lower Fifth Avenue apartment, surrounded by family. She had been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma late the year before. I remember, because it was just after Mom died. Suddenly. And with no warning.
The day Mrs. Kennedy died was the first time I had this thought. When someone fabulous goes to heaven, would Mom be there to greet them and gain a new friend. You see, Mom was an incredible realtor and I have quite the imagination when it comes to the afterlife. When a celebrity dies, they go straight to Mom for their cloud in the best neighborhood. Maybe it overlooks a beautiful body of water. Or the best view of the people they love and miss.
The line slowly inched forward. One by one, each of us waited our turn, to write in the book. When I came upon the enormous white page, I decided I would leave a message to John and Caroline. As the children of someone so beloved, I thanked them for sharing their mother with the world. My wish for them was some time to just be her kids. Kids who had lost a Mom. I did add a PS about how my mother was inspired to wear the same big sunnies and even a pillbox hat and boxy shift at her 60s wedding to my Dad. In that moment I realized we were all just kids who lost parents. No matter how famous to the rest of the world.
As I walked on into the station with its domed Tiffany blue ceiling, I looked up to take in the stars and the heavens above and wished like hell that it was true. Imagine Mom playing cards with Jackie? Taking in a bit of bridge and canasta. Each time I am in Grand Central, I think of her. I am so very grateful that she saved that glorious building. That she inspired Mom’s personal style and in turn my own.
It often feels strange to grieve a public figure we’ve never met. Psychologists call this a parasocial relationship. We feel we know them and have meaningful memories with them, but it’s one sided. When we lose them, we can feel grief stricken, and also tap into some of our own past grief. I think today’s passing of Dolly Parton brought this all up for me. Just this week, I was glad to learn that Empathy.com was honoring grief awareness month in just that space with an art exhibition made by the memories of those we miss. In an email exchange with their publicity person, I was able to share this story. Such serendipity to have a memorial within this area dedicated to memorializing and honoring Mrs. Kennedy. It had me thinking of the book, and where it resides now. Got to wondering if it might be at the Kennedy Library. If John and Caroline got to read all of the stunning remarks. Reminded me of all the beautiful letters folks sent us about Mom. It is such a lovely thing to do if someone loses a loved one. Write them of a time they may not know about. It helped me to know my mother as even more than I imagined. And they also became keepsakes and guides for the future. And for my kids.
So this afternoon when my phone lit up with messages that Dolly Parton had died, I thought Ellen would once again be called to duty. I remember seeing 9-5 in the movies with her. Had to look up the release date to try and place us in time and turns out it was December 17, 1980. I was just 15, and Mom was a single working woman in a time where that was rare and that film and soundtrack became our anthem! Did you know that Dolly sat on set and “played” her acrylics strumming the beat while drumming up that incredible theme song? My youngest was born on 12.17 and that new wink made my heart smile.
Dolly, we will always love you. Jackie too.
