Rocky River Park
They say that people live well into their eighties nowadays. Then my partner was deprived of at least thirty years. I so well remember the last months of his life. After his daily radiation treatments we enjoyed every second we had. Cleveland was a wonderful place to do just that. We went to parks and gardens and museums. We carried picnic lunches to the lake or along one of the rivers. We explored different neighborhoods and found new ethnic eateries.
Some of those places hold valued memories and I visit them often. Other places seem to have been so special to our time together that I cannot go back as I know I will break down. Over the past two years I have tried to reclaim some of those special places by going to them with friends. That way my last memories are of the joy I had with friends and not how I last was there with Beau. It is memory that ruptures the heart I have learned and only new memories mend it.
Beau had difficulty with stairs forcing us to live in exile in an inherited condo in Rocky River. There is very little in that suburb to interest gay men. After all, the citizenry of that suburb owe their existence to those who fled the city to get away from the likes of me. Rocky River Park is one of the few exceptions. This little park on the lake is captivating to anyone. I read somewhere that this park is among the most photographed places in our state.
Many days we would leave the condo to enjoy sitting on a bench swing overlooking dogs and owners running along the small beach. Beau was from Hawaii and that he so loved this park endorses its attraction. We used to slowly climb the many stairs to the upper level to sit at a table on the bluff until he just could no longer make the climb. At the upper parking level we frequently sat at a table and used a grill where I made teri beef, kalbi or huli huli chicken for him. We ate the Hawaiian way with rice, macaroni salad and kim chee.
This is a small park shared by all ages. Seniors sit on benches or bench swings, adolescents gather on the wall, and young marrieds run on the no-swimming beach with dogs and kids. It appears everyone has staked a claim to a particular section of this valuable real estate. Then come the brides and their attendants who displace anyone so the brides can pose for the photographer with a lakeside background.
On our last visit to Rocky River Park we sat at a bench close to the stairs leading to the bluff. He used a cane by then and although still so handsome, his face reflected his misfortune. A wedding party invaded the park. A bride carrying her shoes rushed around with the photographer. The six bridesmaids dressed in black stood with the tuxedoed young men drinking bottled beer in the parking lot. Soon the bride and her crow like attendants descended to our little section of the park demanding we move. I refused. The entire party ridiculed the two old gay men until Beau stood up and using his cane slowly walked back to the car. She had used the old her-special-day card. Today I went alone to Rocky River Park. It was a rainy cold day and the park no longer appears so beautiful to me. I thought of that bride knowing she can have sixty five more years with her loved one. That summer day was more my special day as unknown to any one, I had only five more days with my loved one. Dear bride, your day is only special to a few. The rest of us have our own precious memories to make.
I leave this beautiful park to unconstrained brides. I am back in the city and go to Edgewater Park where there is room for everyone.