Grieving in Real Time

My Dad died last year and I have often thought about how I would deal with that in my writing.  At one time, I had thought about writing a play about the family who is around when someone is dying.  Complete with cockroaches, which we had a complete infestation of during the time my Dad was dying at home.  It seems like an impossible task.

But Luis Alfaro wrote a one-man show about it less than a year after his Dad died.  It's called St. Jude, after the hospital he was in here in LA.  And this is not a review, so that's as much recap as I'm getting into here.  The bravery that Luis showed in this one man performance was so great and captivating.  It was a raw experience and also conversational, fun and entertaining.

I have no idea how he did that.  He got on stage and bared his soul.  He's still grieving, but he actively shared his grieving with us.  It was remarkable because it wasn't acting at all.  It was pure sharing and exposure.

I like to write about things I have experienced or feel or have a close relationship to.  And some people have accused me of oversharing on my blogs (not on this one...yet).  But I can't imagine talking about how my Dad died with a group of strangers.  Especially when I'm still processing it.  It has been over a year and I'm still processing.  But I get the instinct because part of me wanted to start writing a play about it as it was happening.  For someone who writes to make sense of his world, this made a world of sense to me.

I love theatre when it's really alive.  When it follows that campfire storytelling tradition and when the writer/performer is telling you something he really thinks you need to know for continuing on the journey of life.  I have relatives like that who, when they are talking to you, are looking directly into your soul and giving you a tool for the arsenal.

I got to meet him after the show.  We're both Latino playwrights, but have never met.  My friend Kelly introduced us because she felt we should know each other.  And I'm glad she did.  He's from the same neck of the woods I'm from.  He knows my hometown very well.  It was just a good share.  Like in AA or Al-Anon.  "Good share, pal.  Good share."

I'm still thinking about it today because I was in awe of it.  It was so simple.  It was so pure.  It was the right amount of everything.  We put so many bells and whistles onto things because maybe we're scared of sharing.  Maybe we're scared that we won't be enough.  But it was a moment in that theatre where Luis was testifying that it was enough to share what had happened to him and how his father's death had an impact.  It wasn't manipulative at all.  That might have been the most impressive part of all.

Things I Never Thought I Would Be Grateful For

Growing up, I had a descent amount of resentment towards my Dad, which is well documented in this blog and has been over the almost three years I have been keeping it.  And I had several people tell me over the years that I should be grateful because my Dad took care of us and worked hard to help send me to school, etc.   But he didn't seem to be satisfied with me and eventually I decided to be mad at him because if he was going to hurt me, I was going to hurt him right back.

Then he got sick and died within a year.  And as I have written here, my attitude about my Dad changed.  And it continues to change.

I found out that my Uncle Donald died a few days ago.  My Uncle Donald was married for 53 years to my Auntie Judy, who is my Dad's sister.  I admittedly don't know her very well because my Dad and his sister weren't what I would consider close.  It occurs to me now that it's really a miracle that my brother and I are so close because neither my Dad nor my Mom were very close to their respective siblings.  My Mom and her brother act close because that what siblings do and they are connected, but they are polar opposites.  So my Uncle Donald dies and I decide to call my Auntie Judy yesterday, which is the day after he died.

I could hear her pain on the phone.  She was completely broken up.  How could she not be?  But the shocking thing was that she was alone.  She has a son who lives close to her, but he was just checking in by phone to see how she was.  And her other son, would come by in a few weeks when his brother goes out of town for work.  But not a moment sooner.  And she has a daughter who is completely estranged from the family.  I couldn't believe it.

I thought back on my Mom and the days after my Dad died.  We were there.  He didn't die suddenly, like my Uncle Donald did.  But my Mom and I were together.  My brother was in Portland with his family.  He had been to visit my Dad several times during his sickness and they had their final words together.  Plus my brother and my Dad were close my brother's whole life.  They had a bond and my brother understood my Dad better than anyone.  But Mom and I had been there nursing him and we made sure he knew he was loved.  And after he died, I wanted to make sure my Mom was all right.  I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.  When my Dad got sick, I had made the decision that my life was going to be about taking care of my Dad, however long that took.  I just knew.  And I don't know if my cousins would have made the same decision.

The crazy thing is that my Uncle and my Dad were from a similar mindset in some ways.  They wanted to make sure their kids worked for everything and didn't get any handouts.  My mother understood that parents needed to help their kids with their education if they were going to do anything with their lives. So she's largely responsible for our education.  My Dad was on board with education, but I think that he would have let finances totally dictate his decisions and cloud his better judgment if it weren't for my Mom.

My brother got to see Uncle Donald one last time in May when he was in Honolulu for a conference and my Aunt and Uncle were visiting my Cousin Danton.  My brother's an impressive dude.  He's a scientist.  He was in town for a conference.  And he's just a smart, solid guy.  When my brother left after his visit with the family, my Uncle remarked that my parents should be proud of their two sons and that he was proud of us as his nephews.

See, I had a conversation with my Uncle right after my Dad died.  We talked about my Dad.  We talked about my Grandfather knowing I was gay even as a two or three year old.  It was the first adult conversation we had ever had.  It made an impression.  My parents raised two sons who are assertive, one by nature and one had to learn to be.  They are confident in who they are.  And they are experts in what they do.  We are exactly the sons my Dad wanted.  My Father initially wasn't thrilled with my being gay because he didn't want me to get hurt.  He didn't want me to talk about it because he didn't want me to put myself in the line of fire.  But I had been in the line of fire for years.  And I think Dad liked the fact that I had a big "fuck you" for a lot of people who didn't approve.  I didn't give a shit.  He loved that defiance.  I think he thought of himself as a defiant person, although I think he went along with the status quo more than he wanted to admit.  He wanted that courage and I had that.  I had that more than my brother because my brother didn't have a lot of opposition growing up.  But all of that went into the conversation with my Uncle that day.  It was the first time I had talked to him in over 30 years and the last conversation we had together.  I had heard that he wasn't a supportive father.

That's horrible.  But I did have a father who was supportive.  In ways I didn't realize until he was gone.