
Handwritten . . . from Heaven
A groan of surprise, utmost joy involving language
a connection to the garden of souls, oh,
when she entered, they knew she was there.
A note from Heaven, handwritten and stamped,
surpassing the ordinary, see and feel Love beyond —
believing is like touching the hand of God.
Transparency of devotion to touch mind and soul,
I sat, stared in silence, I trembled in awe . . .
Caryl, a client, my Chicago Mom,
a smile to follow her to the end of time.
Eternal love on the road in the sky to
the Swiss Miss in Scottsdale, Arizona,
who cherished her calls, as far as Europe,
wherever she was, to remain in touch
until the age of one hundred and one.
She adored her hair for more than 35 years,
once a week, every Friday at 10,
a know-it-all lady, everyone looked up
to see what she’d wear. Unique,
domineering, a bit loud, yet kind.
During an Illinois family visit, a haircut,
in the park in Glenview, Caryl’s idea to sneak out
in a wheelchair, ignore COVID visitor ban.
A faint chill in the air, no sunshine only clouds
at 98 she did not care — but her hair.
A last call on Friday, June 23rd, a voicemail
in Zürich, Switzerland, in the middle of night,
unaware of the 9-hour change of time.
I called back the next day, to explain.
18 days before she left — destination — Heaven.
She’d know my lifelong obsession of number 8.
A mind so clear to send one final momentous sign —
who mailed the note the day after Caryl died,
at the Classic Residence, the home for the old?
Melancholy surprise delivered by postal mail,
from Heaven — 4 days after I knew she was gone.
A sky full of memories — a handwritten note
before she passed . . . what words explain
a heart of gold — a love affair beyond hair?
I am holding an envelope, a return address,
marked Heaven? . . . knowing how much she cared.
In silence I weep.


Witha Y“
My name is Caryl with a Y”, a comment I listened to for over 40 years. Each time Caryl visited the salon for her weekly hairdo, I’d literally wait for when she met new clients, “It’s Caryl with a Y”. At social functions, if her name was not written with a Y she’d yell, “Caryl with a Y”! The importance of getting her name right Witha Y hit me with a ton of bricks many years later, like a slap in the face for not recognizing sooner that I had ‘one more thing’ in common with a lady smiling down from Heaven. Both our names are spelled with a Y. I felt guilty for not talking more about my obsession with a Y. My maiden name is Meyer with a Y. My cherished Father Erwin Meyer. In my youth, before marriage, I corrected constantly “It is Meyer with a Y”
When I stare at the note from Heaven, a butterfly, Witha Y, in turquoise — her favorite color — my knees buckle and a smile follows.
​


By the way . . . A moment of a lifetime to receive a note from afterlife — Heaven — from a rare lady known for her compulsive organization ability, attention to details, in charge of many Charity Balls and events for the Scottsdale Hospital, where she donated her time to the fullest. A norm for Caryl to order people around, at times too strong yet, she showed love when least expected. Written in 2024