Wednesdays at 10
This one's for you, Anita
Wednesday is a day I associate with someone of great personal significance. Her name was Anita, and she was one of those rare exceptions of a human being, a once-in-a-lifetime earth angel.
Yesterday, I received a letter from her daughter, Eve. She had sent some photographs, and I placed my favorite into an empty frame that had been gathering dust on a shelf, given to me by the late David Tang at the opening of his London store, Shanghai Tang. I took the photo below and sent it to Eve. She texted: ‘I know mom would just love that you have her in such a lovely frame. She would be so happy.’
My relationship with Anita started as doctor / patient. I met her in 2018 during an avalanche of misfortune, undoubtedly the hardest time I have ever gone through.
Anita was a Godsend. I found her by chance when my health insurance sent me a list of therapists in my area. I called the first five names on the list, in alphabetical order, and amongst them was Dr. Anita Bookey. As soon as I heard her voice over the phone, I detected a kindness and compassion that cannot be affected.
I arrived at the lady’s warm glow of an office a couple of days later. Above her spectacles, her eyes radiated wisdom, her lips pursed and knowing. She talked like a born and bred New Yorker, and I could see from the way she walked that she was elderly, perhaps mid-seventies, I thought. She settled into her armchair while I perched on the sofa facing a huge bookcase crammed with the works of Sigmund Freud.
After giving her a brief rundown of where I was at—unbelievably, she did not take a single note and was able to remember everything—she suggested that we meet two to three times a week. At the time, I was lucky enough to have a job at a behemoth of an American corporation with benefits that allowed me to see a therapist of her caliber.
I was in a state of deep despair and had lost all hope and reason to go on. During one of those early sessions, Anita told me that in her 45 years of practice as a psychoanalyst (before that, she was a schoolteacher), she had never worked with someone who had so many horrible things happening at the same time. It made me feel better to hear that. Each isolated issue was a challenge in itself, but all at once, the weight was unbearable.
Knowing how much I was suffering, Anita gave me access outside our appointments in her office. She told me to call her whenever I needed her, day or night. The time she gave me on the phone was given freely. During the Covid-19 lockdown, which I spent alone, we spoke every day, chit-chatting like old friends, bonding over our mutual love of dogs, writing, and meditation.
Even when I had nothing to say, Anita wanted to hear from me. She wanted me to know how much she cared and believed in me.
I was always respectful of her time, almost too respectful. Often I held back from calling, only to be reprimanded later: “Why didn’t you call me?”
At one point, I had a new puppy with behavioral issues. Gigi was given to me as a grief gift after my beloved dog of fifteen years passed away. I had a full-time job, and the puppy was making life harder, which was not the point of having a dog. She had an inordinate amount of energy and would not calm down. Anita told me to bring her to a session. Sitting on the floor, she calmly picked up my bouncing, yelping puppy. Within seconds, Gigi was asleep in Anita’s arms. It was an incredible moment:
Two years after Anita and I started working together, my life situation improved. By then, she was no longer charging me for therapy. She didn’t want my money, and we had grown so close that we still spoke on the phone almost every day. Some weeks, if I was busy, we would only talk once, always keeping our longstanding phone appointment on Wednesday mornings at 10 am. She told me this was important and it was something I looked forward to. Anita was my steadfast anchor, a great comfort, and the family I didn’t have.
I started dating someone after lockdown, and thanks to Anita, we got married in the summer of 2022. She was an integral part of our big day. Two weeks after the wedding, I found it odd when Anita didn’t pick up the phone on a Wednesday at 10. I knew she would call me back, and then the day got away with me. The next day, 8th September, the Queen of England died.
Upon hearing the news, it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard from Anita. She always called or texted back, especially as we had missed our weekly check-in the day before. I tried calling again. A man’s voice answered. Her distraught husband, whom I’d never spoken to before, broke the dreadful news that Anita had died in the early hours of the previous morning.
She was at home and simply woke up, got out of bed, fell over, and died. She did not have an illness; it was just her time. When her husband told me she was 91 years old, I was astonished. Anita had been working up until her dying day! If I had known how old she was, would I have cherished her more? Could I have cherished her more?
No. I loved her, and she knew it. The last words we said to each other a few days before she passed were: “I love you.” The last text I ever received from her ended with: “I love you both.” (My husband and I).
It’s important for the people you love to know you love them, especially when you don’t know if you will ever speak to them again.
The End came as a terrible shock to all who knew and loved Anita. I was contacted by her daughter, Eve, and invited to her memorial. It was one of the most moving occasions I have ever attended. A true celebration of life.
Anita was a Queen of Hearts, adored and treasured by many. Her capacity to love was exemplary. The room at the chapel was packed. Tears flowed. A famous cantor made us cry even more with a song of mourning for his friend. The sight of Anita’s beloved miniature schnauzer, Harry, being carried in her husband’s arms with forlorn, searching eyes was heartbreaking.
Several people spoke at the memorial, including the artist Audrey Flack, Anita’s best friend since they were eight years old. After the service, Eve hosted a lavish lunch at a quaint neighborhood restaurant, bursting with flowers and sentimental music. It was beautiful. Anita was beautiful. She made a difference.
Being without her in this crazy world does not get any easier. Grief is a rollercoaster, and there have been many moments of profound sadness, as well as moments of feeling angry with her—for dying.
At a recent gathering at Audrey’s home, a few of Anita’s closest friends and family members celebrated what would have been her 93rd birthday, which she happened to share with David Bowie and Elvis Presley. Of course she was born the same day as two superstars! Amongst a fortunate few, Anita was a superstar, too.
We took turns around the table to say what it was about our wonderful Anita that made her so special. There were many things I could have said, but above all, it was this: throughout those four precious years that I was lucky enough to know her, I knew that she genuinely loved and cared about me.
When the pain of living is so unbearable it feels like you can’t go on, to know that someone cares and is there for you is a knowledge that can (and did) save a life. Anita saved my life. She reminded me of who I was beyond all the stories and circumstances and what I was made of (more than I gave myself credit for).
She was the light that guided me through the darkness. Her presence during that horrific year-long depression (and the lighter years that followed) was one of the greatest gifts of my life.
The words printed on the back of her memorial program:
Like a Diamond
“She goes on forever. She’s going to shine forever like a diamond in the sunlight.”
- Tom Petty