The Summer Wind

Posted byKathy SimmonsPosted inDeath, friendship, Life, Loss, Relationships, SummerTags:, , , , , , ,
Joe and I at a friend’s wedding

He answered after the third ring.

It was not his voice I remember, but the strains of Frank Sinatra crooning in the background.

“The summer wind came blowin’ in
From across the sea
It lingered there to touch your hair
And walk with me”

And when he did at last speak, his voice was direct, suspicious, no-nonsense. “Yes, this is Joe. Who is this? I can’t hear a thing. Can you hold a minute? I just need turn the music down.”

That’s how it began. My fast and furious friendship with Joe Nephew.

My roommate’s mother, Joanie Johnson, who was good friend’s with Joe’s mother, made the introduction after discovering during a random conversation that we all lived in the same New York City apartment complex known as Stuyvesant Town. And, our apartments were just a block from one another! “Have you called Joe Nephew yet?” Joanie would ask me each and every time I saw her. “I know he would love to meet some new friends!”

One of seven brothers, Joe grew up in Garden City Long Island a stone’s throw from my own hometown of Manhasset, NY. We often spoke of childhood and our love of Jones Beach and Long Island. Though we both attended Catholic Schools, Joe, a devout Catholic, often attended mass mid week. He never wavered in his faith. I remember one Sunday, a friend of mine Sue, who was Protestant, decided to join Joe and me at Catholic mass. After mass Joe chided Sue having noticed she had received communion. He told her that being that she was not Catholic she should not have received. She responded by sticking her tongue out at him. He laughed and laughed but did not stray from his view.

Joe had a sharp wit and sometimes sarcastic nature but his stoic facade masked a gentle heart. I recall a story he told me of his frustration with a co-worker who one summer, suddenly began bringing her seven year old son Ronnie, to the office. As her boss, Joe tried to be understanding, but as the days crept into weeks his patience wore thin. Ronnie was a spirited young lad taken to shrieking in the office when bored and one day pulled the fire alarm causing further mayhem. Joe struggled with how to solve the dilemma as his co-worker was a single mother, yet knew the situation could go on no longer. He sat her down one day with the best of intentions determined to tell her she could absolutely no longer bring her son to work. But ended up instead meekly asking “Am I going to see Ronnie tomorrow?”

Though often appearing stern and serious to those who did not know him, he valued his friendships and family deeply. I recall a time he was distraught having argued with his best friend who also worked at his office and whose name, I cannot at the moment recall. But what I do remember was Joe’s absolute angst at their being at odds. At not being able to talk to his friend who meant the world to him. “We saw each other in the conference room today and ignored each other for the third day in a row,” he would tell me. “Just talk to him,” I would respond. You guys are acting like third graders..” And sure enough they next day Joe would tell me the “fight” was over. For Joe, righting that relationship was everything. He was a loyal friend.

One of our favorite neighborhood watering holes was Molly’s Shebeen on Third Avenue and 22nd Street where we would often meet after work. Joe loved Molly’s with its charming Irish bartenders, throwback wall juke box and best pint of Guiness in maybe, all of the city. Those simple days, perched at the end of the bar, listening to the chatter of the after-work happy hour crowd, the lull of the bartender’s brogue and the endless classic rock tunes while sitting alongside my friend Joe Nephew, is a memory I will always cherish.

The phone call from Joe came on a Saturday morning. I can still feel that place and time, as if it were yesterday. I can envision exactly where I was standing as I looked out the window of my apartment watching two young children gleefully leaping through the sprinklers in the green asphalt playground of the park below.

“I need to see you, he said. I need to tell you something. It’s important.” But rather than agree to see him in person, I childishly pleaded with him. “What is it Joe? Why Can’t you just tell me now? Please I can’t wait…”

I always regret making him tell me over the phone. He delivered his words steadily, clearly in that familiar, no-nonsense voice. “I am sick. I have Non-Hodkins Lymphoma. I think I am going to die Kathy.”

There is a beautiful Irish symbol of strength and peace known as an Irish Worry Stone. It is made of jade green, Connemara marble from Ireland. My Irish mother loved these stones and often brought them back as souvenirs for close friends. On her last visit to her homeland, she brought one back for Joe Nephew. When you stroke the smooth, cool marble it is said to bring calm and banish worries. After my beloved friend died, I visited his mother who was staying at his Stuyvesant Apartment. As we consoled one another she motioned for me to follow her into Joe’s bedroom. On his night table lay my mother’s Irish Worry Stone. I would like to think it brought him peace.

Thirty years have come and gone. But on certain days, I pause…

A Frank Sinatra song is playing.

And I remember him.

The Summer Wind

“Like painted kites
Those days and nights, they went flyin’ by
The world was new
Beneath the blue umbrella sky

Then softer than a piper man
One day it called to you
I lost you
I lost you to the summer wind”

Published by Kathy Simmons

I am an ex New Yorker who still misses the vibrancy of the city. I seek out the humor in every day life and relay it through my stories in the hope others will appreciate as well. I love to write about growing up with my fantastically unique Irish mother whose memory inspires me every day. Although she is no longer with us, her antics are an endless staple for my tales. I currently live in Connecticut with my husband, two sons and toy fox terrier Anabel.

40 thoughts on “The Summer Wind”

  5. Kathy, you have a way with words. Tremendous piece you wrote here and to end it with Frank Sinatra’s The Summer Wind.

    every life is a Life. i can’t accept the notion that lives come and go. i think it’s borderline irresponsible to label it that way. not when one moment with a person that you understand, or love, or cherish carries a universe of heavenly peace.
    Mike

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  12. Kathy, what a beautifully tender tribute to a friendship that time has never diminished. Your memories unfold so naturally that I felt as though I were sitting beside you at Molly’s, hearing Sinatra in the background and listening to Joe’s unmistakable, no-nonsense voice. It is often the smallest moments the shared laughter, the ordinary conversations, the familiar places that become life’s most extraordinary treasures.

    The image of the Irish Worry Stone resting on Joe’s bedside table deeply moved me. It speaks so quietly of love, comfort, and the enduring bonds of friendship. And the way The Summer Wind becomes a bridge between memory and the present is simply heartbreaking and beautiful.

    Thank you for sharing Joe with us. Through your words, he is remembered not only for the illness that took him, but for the loyalty, faith, humor, and gentle heart that defined his life. A truly touching remembrance that will stay with me long after the last note of Sinatra fades.

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  15. What a beautiful tribute to your friend. Certain songs do that to me as well, so many years after losing family members; if I hear Pink Floyd, my brothers are immediately in my mind, never far away.

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  20. It is fascinating how some memories fade like mist in the rain, while others linger forever like petroglyph on a stone ledge. You have carved such beautiful remembrances, what treasures you bare! Thanks for sharing. 🗿

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