The Faith and love I left, on St. Felix St.

By Glennz

24 years after losing his faith and family on September 11th, an ER doc returns to Brooklyn seeking closure

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glennz
• Release date: Apr 22, 2025
• ISBN: 9798231377367

Glennz

Originally from Lexington, KY.    Glenn spent the last 25 years split between New York,  the Bay area of Northern California.     He now resides in Naples. Florida.   

Book preview

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 32

Epilogue

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Chapter 1

Ihadn’t had the nitemare in at least 10 years.  Why today?  When I went to sleep last night I felt tired but good.  I taped my mouth shut (yoga trick for snoring) , closed my eyes and went to sleep. 

Suddenly I was walking through the door of my brownstone in Brooklyn.  My 50-ish hour shift had begun at 7am on September 11th, 2001.  By noon we were swamped and it stayed swamped for days.  I grabbed a catnap here and there, and worried that Eden had gotten out after the first plane hit her building.  I hadn’t heard from Janaina but she would have understood how busy we were, and besides, communications were down everywhere.  By 3pm on September 13th I was out of my mind with exhaustion.  Our head of Emergency Services had gotten a cop to drive me home to Brooklyn.  When I finally arrived I wearily climbed the steps, when I opened the door I yelled Jaina, but no one answered.  I climbed the stairs to the 2nd floor and went into our bedroom.  Her jeans were thrown over her side of the bed.  Totally exhausted,  I sat in her rocking chair and watched the tree sway outside the window.  Perhaps Jaina was at Taverna with Eden?  I closed my eyes and dozed off.  The kitchen phone rang, startling me.  I almost killed myself running down the stairs, and when I picked it up it was Vinnie..............

I’m an ER doc.  It doesn’t sound very interesting to me, or most people I suppose.  After my residency I worked at Lincoln hospital in the Bronx.  Its ER is by far the busiest in NYC, and one of the busiest in the country. 

I worked there for over 20 years.  Trauma was my thing, and I’m great at it.  Gunshot wounds, vehicle accidents, drug overdoses.  Iin New York City we have it all, excuse me, we had it all. 

My last day at Lincoln was that day,  September 13th, 2001. 

When I woke up this morning I had a sudden realization that it had been 23 years since I walked out of that place for good. 

Like every morning,  I wake up at 4am.  When the phone alarm goes off it plays Tangerine, by Led Zeppelin.  I throw on my robe and hobble into the kitchen, toss a few scoops of Folgers Black Silk into the coffee maker.  The kitchen of my 120 yr old farmhouse soon smells like coffee.  I grab my cup and walk out the front door.  I stop on the porch for a few minutes to take in the silence. This morning all I can hear is the breeze.  As per usual for mid-August, it’s chilly in the morning, with a wind blowing thru the Petaluma Gap from the Pacific.  I walk down the porch stairs to the long gravel driveway, past the barn where I grab a flake of hay, then out to the pasture, where I throw it to my mustang Bodie and say good morning. 

I live on a farm in West Sonoma, California.  If you’re familiar, it’s between Tomales and Petaluma.  I also have cows, and 20 acres of grapes.  Mostly Pinot Noir, which seem to thrive here due to the cool winds off the Pacific and the summer fog. 

I won’t ride Bodie this morning, I just say hello and listen to Vivaldi while I drink my coffee.  Bodie seems to enjoy Vivaldi lately.  I used to listen to 70’s rock, a little vintage Punk, like the Ramones.  But lately it’s Vivaldi.......go figure.  I’ve lived here by myself for a little over 20 years.  I bought it from an Italian family that had run a dairy in Sonoma county for a hundred years until government regulations made it a losing proposition. 

Bodie has a friend, Sammy, who is a retired thoroughbred.  Sammy is old, we aren’t sure how old, but he has to be nearing 30.  Bodie and Sammy get along well.......Bodie is a Mustang and he is completely bonded with me and Mr. Sammy.  Mr. Sammy doesn’t have many teeth these days and when Pablo gets here to tend to the grapes he’ll mix Sammy some nice soft mash.  For now he’ll pretend to eat some of Bodie’s hay......but really he’s just gumming it to death. 

I’ve been a loner my entire life, except for a 15 yr period in New York where I had a best friend and, perhaps, the only woman I’ve ever loved, and maybe ever will love.  When I first got here I thought about them every day.  Lately, it’s seldom, although last night I had a vivid dream where I saw her face, and heard her voice. 

Bodie and Sammy are pretty good friends, all I need really.  Pablo and I are friends I suppose, it isn’t like I have to tell him to do anything.  He knows more about maintaining a vineyard than almost anyone I’ve ever met, and because of him, a lot of important winemakers beg us for fruit every year.  Oh, and they pay handsomely.  Pablo’s family is still in Mexico.  Occasionally he gets lonely for them and drinks.  When that happens I scold him, take away his booze and when he wakes up in the morning it’s over.  He doesn’t mention it and I don’t bother.  He lives out behind the barn in an apartment made out of a shipping container.  It’s quite nice actually.  I bought it from a couple down the street who modifies them for living.  You can even stack or attach multiple units together.  Pablo heats it in the winter with a small wood stove, and we throw a window A/C in it for hot summer days. 

I still work in the Emergency department, in fact, I run the whole operation,  but its SF General in San Francisco. 

Occasionally someone will ask how in hell I found my way to West Sonoma and/or San Francisco and I’ll usually manufacture some glib non-response.  Oh hey, the surfing is way better here.  The truth is, I have a few emotional demons, and like many men, I choose not to confront them until I have to. 

Anyway, this morning is perfect.  Standing here in short sleeves, with the sound of Bodie chewing, a gentle wind in the trees, I’m at peace, and, I suppose, happy.  Soon however, the coffee is gone.  Reluctantly,  I climb into my pickup and hit the road.  Hwy 101 to the Golden Gate bridge, through the city and work.  Normally I play some music on spotify, but this morning I’m driving a new pickup and it came with a couple of free months of Sirius Radio.  80’s on 8 this morning, I hit hwy 101 and began to zone out. 

When I hear Madonna’s voice it's like a kick in the balls for some reason.  How long has it been since I’d heard anything from that record?  Material girl, what album was that anyway. 

Like most men, I lack a certain amount of introspection.  Mirasol thinks I’m a real cowboy, I’ve known a few of those and I ain’t it.  Not even close, but I’m probably a guys guy. 

For whatever reason, Madonna’s voice reminds me of the way New York smelled in the 80’s and 90’s.  I’m not a city guy in the least, but for whatever reason, I was happy in New York for almost 16  years.  When I left New York it was in a rush, and I was running from grief.  Now,  the smell of New York, combined with the sound of Madonna doesn’t fill me with grief.  What is this feeling,  I say out loud. The pit of my stomach feels odd  .  OMG, Nostalgia.......can Nostalgia possibly feel this powerful.  I smash the off button on the radio and cross the bridge and the city in silence. 

Chapter 2

As I make my way into the office and the ER, my assistant Mirasol greets me with another cup of coffee.  Normally we would walk and talk, but I feel shaken.  Mirasol, let’s just go over this stuff in the office, I said.  Unlike most days Mirasol doesn’t say anything.  I sit back down at my desk, put on the glasses I need to read anything these days and out of the corner of my eye I catch her giving me an odd look. 

Mirasol is a Filipina, from Manila.  She’s worked for me in one way or another for the past 20 years.  First as a nurse in the ER, now as my assistant.  She is a Catholic, and thinks that Filipina’s are a superior race I think. 

What is it Mirasol, what have I done to annoy you?,  I ask her. 

Who is Vinnie?  She said. 

I think I audibly gasped.  What happened to Vinnie, Mirasol?  I said softly

It’s not Vinnie doc, it’s his mother, and she is dying  she said in her singsong Filipina voice. 

Vinnie said she wants to see you before she passes, so get on a plane and get out there 

Mirasol continued to stare intently, full of judgment. 

Doc, Vinnie is your friend and you love his mother like she is your own 

I could only shake my head, Mirasol, how in the hell would you know this? 

Vinnie told me she said, And I believe him

I looked back over the desk at Mirasol, again with the judging eyes.  Yeah, Mirasol, I love Vinnie and I love my nonna. 

Suddenly Mirasol was standing up.  I’ll call Dr. Hooker and tell him you have a family emergency, even though everyone knows you have no family, and then I’ll get you a plane ticket  She turned away and began striding towards the door, but she stopped suddenly to glare at me once again. 

Doc, I’m probably your best friend in the world, why is it I’ve never heard of Vinnie’?  When I didn’t respond she threw in another zinger.  Vinnie said you can stay in the spare room above the restaurant unless you want to stay at your house".  She emphasized the word house. 

I suddenly felt tired and sat back down at my desk.  I must have really looked the part because suddenly Mirasol flashed a look of concern.  Occasionally Mirasol gets concerned about me, but that’s usually after I’ve had to work a 36 hour shift due to some mass trauma event. 

Doc, I know more than you think I know.  I think Jesus wants you to be in New York now, and I think Jesus wants you to talk about her 

I looked at Mirasol and suddenly appreciated the over 20 years she had been oddly devoted to me.  Mirasol, yeah, there was someone.........I didn’t say anything for at least a minute, but Mirasol didn’t flinch a muscle, she just stood there waiting like a car salesman.  Mirasol, I just can’t talk about it I meekly offer. 

Doc she said, and paused, You left a house and all your worldly possessions and drove to California without saying a word to anyone, I think I understand you were feeling grief about something"

I SHOOK MY HEAD AGAIN, Mirasol, how long were you on the phone with Vinnie?  The look of concern was gone and had been replaced with the aforementioned judgment.  Doc, I know everything.  Vinnie didn’t have to tell me, but he filled in the gaps, again, the concern was back on her face Doc, Vinnie tells me you still support the church in Brooklyn and you’ve been paying him to take care of a house I didn’t know you owned for over 20 years.  I sighed, it’s not a house Mirasol, it’s a brownstone, and yeah, I still support a church. 

Suddenly, thankfully,  the phone rang.  Mirasol picked it up and said Dr. Hooker, yes, Doc needs to take some time off to deal with a family emergency in New York, I walked out of the office, through the corridor, out the door into the cool morning air.  San Francisco seemed dirtier and dingier than usual this morning.....one of the most beautiful places on earth going through needless decline. 

I walked past the section where  Ambulances drop off patients, through the gate into the employee parking lot.