Building a Memory
The memories I keep of my remarkable mate are indelible and eternal. I’ll carry her in my heart and in my mind until the day I die. And she’ll never be forgotten by those whose lives she’d touched over the years. But for those rare few who have met her and inexplicably can’t remember her, or those who may know her only by her sterling reputation, or those who’ve never heard of her at all, I’m here with a mnemonic device: I’m thinking that the 502-pound block of limestone (with my own words of remembrance struck in bronze and anchored to its face) that I permanently set in the little public park across the street from her store should help ring a few bells. Over the course of the last several weeks, and for the benefit of those who might appreciate a little bit of reminding, I’ve been building a memory of the amazing woman who was the love of my life…
When my wife (I’ll refer to her as such because it’s the most applicable term for describing her role in our union, though we’d never officially taken the legal step: discussed it, planned to do it, never got around to it… there was plenty of time to do it… ), Dee Dee, passed away unexpectedly in May of this year, my mental and emotional condition defied effective description. Shocked, devastated, obliterated, blasted, lost… These terms come up short. Definitely indescribable. But life, I knew, did go on. For better or for worse, it did go on.
As I was engaging in my first tentative attempts at negotiating the terrifying, alien aftermath of Dee Dee’s death, a thought formed in my head, and quickly began making itself known to me at increasingly regular intervals. It penetrated the miasmal shitstorm that passed for my general outlook on life at the time and pulled me to it, as a lodestone might pull shrapnel out of a wound. What I recognized, more acutely than anything else just then, was my need to keep Dee Dee’s memory alive. Permanently.
This need was not for my benefit. At least not directly. The memories that Dee Dee and I had created over the course of our years together will be with me forever. How could they not be? She was everything to me. So no, what I needed to do was implement a broader spectrum memorialization – one that might apply to a town-sized population…
New Buffalo, Michigan, is where Dee Dee the entrepreneur set up shop twent-four years ago, and it’s where Dee Dee the kind and gracious soul became a much-loved, multifaceted local legend: hail-fellow-well-met, compassionate friend, champion of the underdog, animal lover, and tireless advocate of the City of New Buffalo. She was, for a time, the owner of the local newspaper, The New Buffalo Times. And for all of those twenty-four years that her larger-than-life presence was felt in New Buffalo, she kept shop at her landmark retail business, Customs Imports. Through this amazing store (a bricks and mortar manifestation of Dee Dee’s singular nature if ever there was), which appealed to, and attracted New Buffalo residents and visitors alike, Dee Dee’s innate goodness was amplified. New Buffalo, the little resort town in western Michigan, is where Dee Dee left her final indelible public mark.
I knew, while in the midst of those grimmest of times during the weeks following Dee Dee’s death, that I’d be building a memory, and that the little City of New Buffalo was going to be on its receiving end.
It went down like this:
Once the conviction I was harboring became an actualized plan, I let a number of people know the score: friends, well-wishers, and the relevant City of New Buffalo governmental figures. A number of kind folks from among the first two groups offered me their help. I refused (in what I hope was gracious fashion). This was something I had to do myself. All of it. From top to bottom, and back to front. This was the earthen, elemental iteration of my Dee Dee’s memory that I was preparing to create, and the people of the little town that she loved, and that loved her back, were to be its beneficiaries. There was no way I was letting anyone else have a piece of this.
On June 20th, at a New Buffalo City Council meeting, Mayor John Humphrey (and key members of his excellent staff), and City Council members Roger Lijewski, Mark Robertson, and Brian Flanagan heard me out and gave their blessings to my plan. And that plan was to anchor a bronze plaque of my own design (and populated with my own words) to a tastefully massive chunk of beautiful Indiana buff limestone, and set it permanently on display in a public New Buffalo space, relevant geographically to the physical location of Dee Dee’s beloved Customs Imports. These guys and gals in New Buffalo government are the best. Mayor Humphrey even met me personally out on Whittaker Street to help me decide on a location for the memorial. Sometimes, good people are just good people, and knowing that is enough. Dee Dee, as well as the fine members of New Buffalo’s governing body… the character and quality came from both sides and met squarely in the middle. And that fertile hectare was the place of my first triumph in the process of building Dee Dee’s memory in New Buffalo. Both Dee Dee and the leaders of the town she’d loved made this part easy.
The plaque I’d shown (in Word document form, with the panegyric I’d composed printed on a sheet of paper) to the mayor and council members at the meeting, now had to be fabricated. I’ll spare you all of the prosaic details and tell you that the fabricating firm I’d selected to faithfully transcribe the words I’d written for Dee Dee onto a bronze plaque of my own design came through perfectly. Within a few weeks of discussing all of the details (anchoring mechanics, lead time, etc.), Dee Dee’s plaque showed up on my doorstep, locked and loaded, and as beautiful as I’d dreamed it would be. When I opened its packaging and first held the bronze masterpiece in my hands, I knew in my heart of hearts that I was right to take the building of this particular memory solely upon myself. My own efforts – my DNA – needed to go into this. There could be no other way.
The town of St. John, Indiana, is where I found a 502-lb block of limestone, which I knew (immediately upon seeing it) would fulfill the mass requirements of my design’s specifications and provide the physical basis – the presence – of Dee Dee’s memorial. My wrestling with this massive stone (off the top of a pile of various unworthy blocks, onto a pallet, and into the bed of my truck) resulted in it being quite literally imbued with my DNA: I cut the hell out of my hand moving it, and I was sweating like a pig, so both bodily fluids – my own blood and my own sweat – ended up being absorbed by the stone’s porous surface as they dripped down onto it. The only things missing were the tears. And those would come, too. Later.
Eric Nelson and Zen Poynter are good friends of mine. Great young guys who happen to come fully equipped with old souls. Dee Dee absolutely loved them. Over the years, this pair (along with a third friend, Carlos Mendez) have been involved with a number of my home and garden construction projects, and have faithfully assisted in the unloading of Dee Dee’s massive Balinese shipment containers at Customs Imports over the last several years. They’d always handled the Balinese treasures with infinite care – tenderness, even – and Dee Dee and I recognized this. It’s one reason she loved them, and one reason why I still do. Large of both body and heart, strong of limb and mind, and loved by both Dee Dee and me, these guys had to be the ones to help me get the limestone block off of the bed of my truck once it arrived with me back in Michiana Shores. They had to be a part of this plan. This was, after all, Dee Dee’s memorial.
They did all the work.
The trick to making this type of memorial truly permanent is making sure that the bronze plaque component stays attached to the limestone block component. This feat was accomplished, in the case of my little monument, by virtue of an excellent anchoring design by the manufacturer, and some handy-dandy engineering and a little bit of work on the part of yours truly. Suffice it to say that the robust concealed anchoring stud system of the plaque, combined with sound stone surface engineering/preparation, and old-fashioned toil as my own contributions, will guarantee that nothing short of an earthquake with a magnitude of 7 on the old Richter scale will separate Dee Dee’s plaque from her stone.
I’ll mention here that it was during this particular part of the process of building Dee Dee’s memorial that my emotions sort of got the better of me. This was the “tears” part. They ended up being absorbed by the stone just as my blood and sweat had earlier. It brought me what I initially considered an incongruent satisfaction, while in the grip of this exquisite pang of grief, knowing that I myself was fashioning this tangible, physical reminder of my wife’s life here on this Earth. I knew that I had put everything I had into building this particular memory – my heart, my soul, my love, my aching, and yeah, my blood, sweat, and tears, too – everything. My satisfaction at accomplishing a labor that found its impetus in the immeasurable love I have for my wife, was as natural as my grief over losing her. It was, after all, my grief that defined this labor’s urgency.
After a while, my satisfaction didn’t seem all that incongruent.
Eric and Zen again.
August 22nd. Time to load Dee Dee’s memorial onto my truck, drive it to its new home in the little public park located almost directly across Whittaker Street from Dee Dee’s store, and set it forever in place. For this task, none but Eric and Zen will do. Eric shows up first, on his motorcycle. A minute or two later, Zen’s truck pulls into my driveway.
Not surprisingly, I’m shaking a little.
The small monument is successfully loaded onto the back of my truck. We’re ready to drive the few short minutes from Michiana Shores to Downtown New Buffalo. Eric and Zen are big men. The three of us cannot fit in the cab of my truck, so Zen drives his own. In the blink of an eye, we’re there. Whittaker Street is replete with its winding summer processions of visitors and residents, tourists and second home owners, beachgoers and shoppers. Incredibly, the way to the little park is clear.
I back the truck up onto the sidewalk, getting the tailgate as close to the perimeter of the park itself, and ultimately the monument’s pre-designated final resting spot, as I possibly can. Eric and I get out of the truck, Zen ambles over from where he’s parked across the street, and in what seems like a few seconds, it’s all over. Thanks to the might and the kindness of these two wonderful giants, Dee Dee’s memorial is in its spot. Though I’m relieved, I’m still shaking.
Once Dee Dee’s limestone and bronze memorial is in place, and after I take the requisite photographs, I find myself alone, standing before the monument into which I’d poured so much of myself. Eric and Zen drift over toward the front of my truck, and before long are comparing content on their iPhones. Like I said, these guys are as smart as they are strong. They’re giving me a minute…
Looking down at Dee Dee’s memorial, finally in the spot I’d intended for it – a place where it will remain until the end of my days, and much, much longer, I realize that my eyes want to start some leaking, but I put a stop to it. At the very beginning of this little missive, I’d mentioned that the making of this monument found its genesis in my desire to keep Dee Dee’s memory alive among the residents and visitors of New Buffalo. I wanted to do it for their benefit. I told you that building her memorial held no direct benefit for me, as my memories of Dee Dee needed no tangible representation. They’re in me. Forever. The bounty of my memories of her – of the memories we made together – is already mine. But although my memories of Dee Dee require no bolstering from a bronze and stone object, so much of me went into making it that it’s impossible for me to claim no benefit from its creation. I think back to the satisfaction I felt in the midst of my grief when I was anchoring the bronze to the stone. The juxtaposition of my aching for her, and the tangible metal and rock results of my need to memorialize her, was as satisfying as it was undeniable. So yes, I guess I wanted – needed – to build this memorial for me, too. I think of this now as I stand looking down at it.
These thoughts are pushed slightly aside as I call forth a three-month-old, carefully nurtured revelation. Ultimately, I undertook the building of this memory for one reason and for one person alone. Although the people of New Buffalo will benefit from its presence in this park because it will help remind them of the fine woman who once walked among them, and I will benefit from always knowing that I made it with my own two hands and put my heart and soul, among other things, into its creation, the one person above all others it was always meant to benefit – the only person for whom it was truly built – is Dee Dee. She loved New Buffalo, she loved me, and now there’s a memorial all her own, which I made for her, right here in this very park, in this very town.
The sounds of the throngs of people on Whittaker Street suddenly stop, and I can no longer hear Lake Michigan’s waves crashing on the nearby stretch of beach. I am certain that Dee Dee’s little bronze and limestone memorial is swelling slightly as I stand looking down at it, like it might be straining upward and outward toward someone a bit further away who is trying to read the words written there. Then it seems to return to its original size and shape, its words read and appreciated.
The noise of the streaming crowds returns, as does the clarion of breaking waves upon the sands of a sunny New Buffalo strand.
I notice that I’m no longer shaking. I look over my shoulder to see Eric and Zen watching me. I turn back to my creation. I kneel, then I touch it. I pat the limestone and am assured by its aeons-old permanence. I run the fingers of my right hand along the bronze words that I wrote, and I feel their relief.
“This one’s for you, my Dee Dee. May your memory be eternal.”
John G. Stamos, August, 2023
Listen, gang, the last thing I’d ever want is for my readers to feel that The Renaissance Garden Guy is taking a full-on southbound plunge into the morose. I’ve written pretty extensively lately about some of the losses I’ve experienced, not the least of which is Dee Dee’s passing. But understand that these writings, although beneficially cathartic for me, manifest themselves here as celebratory remembrances of some unimpeachably fine and beautiful lives. My intent is never to depress or sadden. I simply want readers to know just how brightly my loved ones’ stars have shone throughout my life.
Many RGG readers and subscribers know of Dee Dee either through actual association (a number of her friends – and you know who you are – read my material here), or through what I’ve written about her here. Her locally famous store, Customs Imports, was featured here in two articles in 2021 and 2022, respectively. My poem, “Mary,” which I featured here last year, was written for her. The most recent piece I wrote with Dee Dee as its subject was “My Girl,” published here this past July. Please feel free to click the highlighted links if you’re interested in reading any of these features. Dee Dee’s influence and support figured big within The Renaissance Garden Guy’s gestalt. The site wouldn’t exist today if it weren’t for her.
Thank you, dear readers and subscribers. As always, I appreciate your kind interest and readership.
Cheers, and Happy Gardening!
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This is a beautiful memorial to DeeDee in a beautiful location. I am fortunate to have visited it this fall and it is lovely. Thank you, John, for creating this memorial.
I’m so happy that you like it, Carla. It means so much to me that you’ve found it to be beautiful. Thank you. And thank you for leaving your kind thoughts, here. I truly do appreciate it. Dee Dee is smiling down on you, Carla. She loved you dearly, and I know in my heart that she still does, and always will.
Lovely! I believe this was what you were aiming for as a tribute. Loveliness seems like a good description of Dee Dee from what you have written. I truly regret not having met her.
You’re absolutely right, Cathy. Loveliness is what Dee Dee embodied. She was lovely inside and out, through and through. I’m so sorry that you never got the chance to meet her. After watching the IvyGate Flower Farm video garden tour here on this site, she immediately suggested a short vacation to Ohio to visit the farm. She would have loved meeting you, Cathy (and she would have loved your flowers, too!), and I really believe that you would have loved meeting her. Thank you so much for reading my piece, Cathy, and for your incredibly kind thoughts. I truly appreciate it, and I’m sure that Dee Dee does, too. Thanks once again, Cathy. Bless your kind heart.
Words can’t express what an extremely beautiful memorial you created! She touched the lives of so many, she will forever be in the hearts of everyone and forever be remembered… A forever love declaration from you… Your lives together were a blessing and the memories you created are absolute treasures… Blessings for this beautiful memorial you created. It’s the profound proof that TRUE LOVE exists 🤍❤️🌹🌹🌹
Roxxy, this is beautiful. Thank you so very, very much. I am grateful to you for reading this piece, and of course, for your absolutely lovely words and sentiments. You understand perfectly the thoughts and feelings that motivate this type of endeavor, and fuel its completion and implementation. I am grateful to you, beyond words, for your understanding of what Dee Dee and I had – what we have – and how it informed the creation of her memorial. Bless your kind heart, Roxxy, and thank you once again.
You’ve made a beautiful tribute and it’s so wonderful you’re able to share it with the New Buffalo community that Dee Dee loved. I wholeheartedly agree having a tangible memorial is very important, and I too have found the process of creating a memorial – of having blood, sweat, and tears be a meaningful part of that process – to be extremely cathartic. It’s all we can do, but it’s good energy, if that makes sense. Take care and God bless, John.
It makes perfect sense, Brian. Absolutely perfect sense. Your particular perspective, so sadly, is well-informed. What you’ve gone through is unspeakably devastating. You’re in a position of complete understanding, and your observations and feelings regarding the effecting of such a physical object as Dee Dee’s stela are in complete sync with my own. You get it, Brian. And I’m comforted by this knowledge, and very grateful to you for reading this piece, and sharing your thoughts with me here. Thank you so much.
Thank you for sharing this very personal experience. Wonderful tribute to your soul mate. Dee Dee will never be forgotten.
I’m so glad you feel this way, Rick. I’m so happy that you enjoyed reading this piece, and that you feel that its words – and my actions – are appropriate. It’s also a great comfort to me knowing that for those such as yourself, people who were actually within the auspices of Dee Dee’s earthly orbit, no such tangible monument is necessary to keep Dee Dee’s memory alive. I’m glad you feel that way, and that you’ve pointed it out here. Thank you so much, Rick.
A beautiful representation of the massive, solid love you and Dee Dee shared and of the love Dee Dee extended to her community and to well beyond the shores of Lake Michigan. Her loving presence lives on.
Bless you, dear Jill. Thank you for your beautiful thoughts and words. I’m so glad that you enjoyed reading this piece. Writing it put me in an unusual frame of mind. Its content managed to be both intensely personal, and openly welcoming and inviting. Its dichotomy of emotional intent, I thought, was very representative of Dee Dee’s complex nature, and it served as a fairly accurate summation of the special relationship she and I enjoyed. Your appreciation of this piece, and your grasp of the fundamental and essential points I wanted to make when writing it, is not surprising – you are an empath, after all; a most sensitive soul. Your kind thoughts and words are a comfort to me. Thank you once again.
This is lovely, John. I hope you’ll take me to see it the next time I visit. ❤️
I’m so glad you liked it, Tina. I am grateful for your reading it and for your lovely kindness. Of course. We’ll definitely visit Dee Dee’s memorial. It is a special memory in a special place. I believe you’ll enjoy visiting it. Thank you again, my dear sister.
What a wonderful permanent memory of the remarkable Dee Dee. Well done and very special.
Thank you so much, Rick, for reading this piece, and for your lovely and kind thoughts. I am truly grateful.
John, this is a very nice memorial for Dee Dee. I am sure she appreciates the time, thought, and love you put into it.
Thank you so much, Scott. It is so incredibly kind of you to say so. This means so much to me. I truly appreciate it.
John, the memorial for Dee Dee is beautiful. She touched the hearts of so many people, and she will be missed by everyone who knew her. I want to see it and pay my respects the next time I come to New Buffalo. I continue to keep you in my thoughts and prayers.
Oh, Kevin, how incredibly kind of you. Thank you so very much. You’re absolutely right about Dee Dee. She was a fine human being who spread kindness and warmth wherever she went. And she loved me. This little stone and bronze tribute is the very least I could do to honor the memory of my Dee Dee, the most gracious of souls. Thank you once again, Kevin, for your kind and lovely thoughts.
You did good, John. It is perfect.
Everly, I just cannot tell you how much I appreciate your thoughts on this matter. I am pleased beyond words knowing that you feel as you do about it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Thank you for this much deserved memorial. When I heard of her passing and got past my shock and tears, I thought, THERE MUST BE A MEMORIAL FOR HER HERE IN NEW BUFFALO! Thank you for making it happen!!!
You are very kind, Gerri. Thank you so much. I appreciate your reading the piece, and I thank you for your kind words about Dee Dee. As I wrote, I simply followed an undeniable imperative – this was something I had to do. I’m glad you appreciate its importance. Thanks once again.
A beautiful representation of the massive, solid love you and Dee Dee shared and of the love Dee Dee extended to her community and to well beyond the shores of Lake Michigan. Her loving presence lives on.
Again, Jill, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Please see my reply to your original comments. Bless you, my friend.