Extremely Extra Special
Hello, dear readers!
Tonight I share the third and final portion of this chapter. If you haven’t read parts one and two (newsletters #7 & 8), please do so before proceeding. For quick access, click here.
I wasn’t satisfied with the ending of this chapter when I prepared to send it out earlier this evening, so I spent some time reworking. I’d originally glossed over the emotional impact this trip to Trafford had on me, and it didn’t feel right, or accurate, so I dug a bit deeper. The chapter now ends on a pretty gloomy note, but it’s the truth. I feel it’s important to share the messiness of my struggles with mental health, but, I promise, the book has a happy ending.
“He is the true artist whose life is his material; every stroke of the chisel must enter his own flesh and bone and not grate dully on marble.”
After a few minutes of awe-struck giggles, we formed a plan. Denise would lead me to my grandparents’ house so I could see where my dad and uncles were born and raised, where Red spent much of his time outside of school, and the backdrop of so many photos I now had in my leatherbound family photo album. From there, we’d head to Red and Denise’s house. Denise suggested Red accompany me in my rental should we get separated, so I cleared the passenger seat of my quickly diminishing box of tissues and he sat and buckled in. Though we’d grow chatty once comfortable, Red and I were still in a state of shock. I did my best to focus on Denise’s car in front of me as we drove past the Welcome to Trafford sign while feeling Red’s adoring gaze.
He said a phrase a few times, which included a word that sounded like “comb.” “I can’t believe I’m meeting my comb’s daughter.” I took it to mean something lovely, though I didn’t think to ask for clarification at the time. Maybe this was another nickname of my dad’s that I hadn’t yet heard about. Robert, aka Russian, aka The Comb.
It was not until over two years later that I thought to tell my uncle Joe this story, and asked if he knew what Red was saying. He warmly said, “that’s like ‘hero’ in Serbian.” [note - I haven’t been able to confirm this yet, or find out the actual word Red said, but I’m keeping this in the newsletter because I love it.]
After a short drive, we pulled up in front of the house. It was smaller than I was expecting, based on the photos I’d seen, but nonetheless magnificent. I only remember uttering, “wow” as I studied the front exterior, before Denise sped off. Red chuckled and said, “that’s it, I guess. We’ll have to come back.” I laughed, and followed the small silver SUV. Red explained that Denise had type 1 diabetes and was likely needing to get home for a snack.
We turned onto Red’s street, and he pointed out his house as we approached. Although I wasn’t familiar with Trafford, I sensed this was a particularly nice area of town. The homes were beautiful and large, Red’s no exception - entirely made of brick with a decorative stone stairway to the front porch and entrance. Their house was on a corner lot, just like my grandparents’, only Red’s backyard had no discernable end in sight - just lush green grass that seemed to go on forever.
As they led me through the garage into their home, I tried to take it all in. Even though they made me feel so welcome, despite giving them absolutely zero time to prepare for my arrival, I was still quite nervous and buzzing with adrenaline. Red and I sat at their small round dining table in their kitchen, which appeared to be where they spent a lot of time, with only two chairs for the both of them. Denise stood not far from us, leaning against the kitchen counter. She was a restless type, and incredibly accommodating, offering me anything I could possibly need or want, except what I couldn’t ask for - to have met them decades earlier.
She asked if I’d already booked a hotel for the night, to which I said I hadn’t but I had a few picked out depending on whether I head to Pittsburgh or not. I’d planned to make the decision based on how long they were up for visiting with me. Denise immediately insisted that booking a hotel was out of the question, I would be staying with them in their guest room. So I gathered my things from the trunk of my rental car and settled in. I had been excited to drive to Pittsburgh just to explore downtown, maybe find a dive bar to play pool with some locals. But as soon as Denise made it clear I wouldn’t be staying at any hotel, I knew staying with them was what I needed and wanted. A rushed night in Pittsburgh was always the backup plan, but Trafford was where I was meant to be.
It was approaching dinnertime and Red asked if I liked steak, and we set off to Outback Steakhouse, with Denise in the driver’s seat. He could have asked if I liked mud and worms and I’d have agreed enthusiastically.
While we waited to be seated, Red suggested we go to the bar for a drink. I ordered my go-to beverage, bourbon on the rocks, which made Red chuckle as he ordered himself a Yuengling, a popular local beer. He said, “you like whisky too, just like your dad?” I confirmed that I did and told him how I’d given my dad a bottle of Dewar’s 12 during my first visit with him, and that I got the bottle back after my dad’s death. He’d only had maybe a couple pours from it, and it’s now my Extremely Extra Special bottle that I pull out to share on the most extremely extra special occasions. Red said he had recently given away a partially consumed bottle of Dewar’s that he’d bought for my dad the last time he visited Trafford, about 10 years prior. He seemed so disappointed that he didn’t still have it, and I reminded him that he had no way of knowing Russian’s surprise daughter would be arriving any day, unannounced.
We were seated in a booth not long after, the two of them seated across from me. There was a lot of delighted staring and giggling, and shaking of heads in disbelief. Before our food arrived, Denise asked if I’d mind if she gave herself an insulin shot while seated in the booth, opposed to going to the restroom. I appreciated that she checked, but again, she could have asked if I’d mind if she had a quick snack of mud and worms and I’d have just been glad to be there. I appreciated that she felt comfortable enough to do this in front of me, it rang of “we’re family, what’s the big deal?”
When we got back to their house after dinner, we settled back in the kitchen for more chatting and getting to know each other. They asked for the full story of how I came to discover that Russian was my dad, since they never got the full story. I was more than willing to share the long version, stopping to answer any questions they had along the way.
I was also able to tell Red that when I arrived at my dad’s house on our one and only Father’s Day together, I saw the card he’d sent my dad. It was a sweet card, one someone would give a brand new father after the birth of his first child. I told him it meant so much to me to see this card, how it added a level of realness to it all. I also shared that I now have that card, and many others, in a box of cards my dad kept, keepsakes from over many years.
Red and Denise both knew my dad and the Drakulics so well. They both shared countless stories with me, one story reminding them of another, and I tried to soak it all up. I was able to ask Red about some stories my dad had shared with me, for instance, that Red learned to speak quite a bit of Serbian from my grandmother. He said yes, that he spent a lot of time with Dorothy, learning to speak Serbian, and cook Serbian dishes. With that he started to sing. I so wished I could record the moment perfectly in my mind to rewatch anytime I needed a reminder of how magical this experience was. It was a Serbian song he said my grandmother taught him. I imagined that perhaps my grandmother would have taught me this song had things worked out differently, but I was still acutely aware of how lucky I was to be hearing her song through Red.
I was trying to be mindful of the fact that my body was still living on west coast time (three hours behind), and to not keep them up too late, but we still managed to sit and chat until about 11pm. I joked with Red that I was turning him into a party animal. I fell asleep almost immediately after climbing into bed, and slept soundly, for over 10 hours. I woke up relieved it was all real, not a dream, and saddened that I’d have to leave them both soon.
Denise made us breakfast - a feast of eggs, bacon and sourdough toast. She handed me a plate and I assumed it was the serving plate from which we’d all take our portions, but no, it was entirely for me. At this stage, in April 2022, I was not eating a whole lot. The grief and shock that stunted my appetite would last a couple more years still. But I did my very best, and ate more eggs than I think I’ve ever eaten in one sitting.
After breakfast, they took me back over to my grandparents’ old house so I could get a proper view. Denise ended up knocking to ask the residents if we could walk around back. I couldn’t hear what the man at the door was saying, but I could hear her exclaim, “that’s their granddaughter! All the way from Portland!” We walked to the side of the house and Red described how the yard once looked. He said it’d changed a lot since the Drakulics owned it, fewer trees, and the landscaping needed some attention. But it was beautiful to me, to be standing on the land where my dad and uncles all spent their childhoods. I could picture them all there, in a sepia tone, like in the photographs from my uncle.
April 24, 2022. The house. That’s Denise on her way to ask the residents if we could take a closer look.
The Drakulic boys in the front yard of The House. If you can’t tell by his face, my dad is the one holding the dog on the left. Uncle Joe on the far right, and uncle George in the middle. Circa 1948.
They drove me around Trafford, Red pointing out buildings and locations of significance to him and my dad. They certainly got into many shenanigans, and having a visual of the settings to match up to the stories felt priceless. Trafford isn’t a big place, but its architecture felt vastly different from the west coast cities I was used to. Everything felt excitingly different, like I was visiting a foreign land in an unfamiliar period of time.
April 24, 2022. A photo I snapped out of the car window of a mural in Trafford, while Denise and Red gave me a tour of the city.
When we got back to their house, I loaded up my rental car to start my trek back to Philadelphia. I wanted to make it back in time for the tournament celebration dinner with El, Em and many of the players (including who would ultimately win the event, England’s Kelly Fisher). This was a tradition amongst many of the seasoned professional players, and I was lucky enough to have a seat saved for me, so I needed to be on the road by 2pm to make it in time for the 7pm reservation. Although I knew I’d be glad to be there once I was seated at the restaurant amongst players I considered role models and icons of the game, I still felt a childlike ache at the thought of leaving Red and Denise. I truly didn’t want to leave.
They walked me out to my car, both of them in tears. As I hugged Red he pleaded, “you have to come back and see us again. You have to.” I looked him in the eye and promised that I would, and I meant it with all my heart. I managed to keep my emotions in check until I was out of their sight, then immediately broke down crying harder than was probably safe to do while operating a vehicle. I worried if I pulled over to give in to the crying, I’d never stop. It was as if all the grief and heartache of my entire life, not just from losing my dad and uncle George, had finally started to break through the barriers I’d worked so hard to build.
I arrived at the restaurant after everyone had already ordered their meals, and the drinks had already started flowing. I took my seat next to El and Em, both eager to fill them in and desperate to avoid talking altogether, given that I was unsure whether I could keep my emotions in check. They quietly asked some questions and I did my best to answer without getting too deep.
I made it through dinner, though it was a blur, and I drove my roommates back to our hotel for our last night of sleep in Pennsylvania. By the time I laid in bed I was exhausted, and we all had flights so early we’d have to arrive at the airport before the sun would rise. My whirlwind adventure in the state of Pennsylvania was over and I was on my way back home to Oregon. I had no idea how much my life was about to change, that I would succumb to new states of being - a vacant shell of a person one moment, and a lost, weeping mess the next.
This trip now marks the start of what is seen in hindsight as being a life-altering, personality-changing, deep depression. Somehow the sadness in Red’s eyes as I turned to leave them pushed me to surrender to what I didn’t want to feel or acknowledge. Those floodgates needed to burst open eventually, and I’m grateful (now that I’m on the other side of it) for Red’s help in getting me there. For the next six months, before I’d finally address the magnitude of what I was feeling with the help of my therapist and a psychiatrist, I’d experience a mortifying level of raw, uncontainable vulnerability. I felt as if I had lost all control of my feelings, overwhelmed by the wide range of emotions that I’d gotten so good at suppressing.
Thank you for reading!
Until next Sunday,
Stephanie
After the celebration dinner, Eleanor took a photo of me with the runner up, Allison Fisher (center) and the champion, Kelly Fisher (right).
From left to right: Floyd (Red), Bob (my dad), my uncle George, and my uncle Joe. This photo was taken in my dad’s house. You can see some of my dad’s pool trophies in the background.
