My Uncle Dai Hing died yesterday. He had been in a nursing home for years and he had a wife and family who were carrying for him. My Uncle also raised my Dad for three years and was the whole reason my Dad moved out to California from Hawaii.
When we went to Hawaii last year to spread my Dad's ashes, I went to visit my Uncle in the nursing home. I really thought I was just going to pay homage to him and fulfill a family obligation to see my sick uncle. What happened was astounding and life-changing. He looked like my Dad. He talked to me in a way that was instructive and gentle, even though he didn't know who I was. I had always thought about my Dad in relationship to his parents, but I never thought about the influence that my Uncle had on him. I described this visit in a previous blog post as having my Dad back for an hour.
I couldn't figure out yesterday why I was feeling so melancholy. I just figured I was tired. I figured I needed a day to just be slow. And now that I'm looking out at the windows of the library where I'm writing, I can see that Monday's weather is matching up with yesterday's feelings. But I now realize that my reflective and frankly sad mood had something to do with my Uncle.
I don't know if I would go as far as to say that it's like losing my Dad all over again, but I feel like another part of him is gone.
I am grateful that I had that visit with Dai Hing last year.
I am grateful that our entire family took that trip to Hawaii together.
I am grateful that I allowed myself to be sad yesterday instead of fighting it.
I am grateful that I have the memories of my Dad and my Uncle to keep me company.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Monday, March 24, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Food and Memories
Tonight I was at the local Mexican supermarket in my neighborhood…
Seeing the brown faces at the deli
Or the grandmother's picking out produce
Or the smells coming from the carneceria
made me think of my Grandmother.
So I grabbed an apple turnover from the paneceria,
brought it home
and now I am enjoying it with my hot tea.
(I gave up coffee three years ago)
It's almost like my Grandmother's old ritual
of sitting down at 9:30 or 10 at night
and having a little pan dulce
with her cafecito.
That's pretty much the extent of my Spanish.
Food.
And food is pretty much my entry into
a lot of experiences.
I noticed that there's a ramen festival in San Gabriel
next weekend.
That's something my Dad would have taken me
to.
Everytime something tastes delicious I think of him.
He loved the stories of my food adventures:
the orange creme angel hair in Florence,
the wild boar ragu,
wines,
sushi,
anything adventurous and exotic. My Dad loved to hear about it all.
And my Grandmother would take us to the market
and we would watch the tortillas being made by machine.
My Dad would take us to really stinky Chinese or Korean
markets.
Or we would go to the Chinese deli and eat something that
was chock full of sodium.
I remember the looks I would give him
when he was sick
and he dragged me to the Asian market
so he could get jok, a rice porridge,
or lau lay with butterfish and pork.
It all had too much salt in it,
and he had to watch his salt
because he was dying.
But he was really dying from hearing me
talk about all the foods he couldn't eat.
But he didn't care.
He didn't want to live
in a tasteless world.
So if he was digging himself
into an early grave, he was
happy to hold the shovel.
I wish he had just told me earlier,
"Listen, I don't want to live, so
let's just go out eating whatever
the fuck I want to."
I wish now we could have had some
crazy extravagant meals.
It would have been fun to take him out
and show him a few things I knew
about eating.
I remember the last lunch we had out.
We met up with his friends at a steak house
in Van Nuys called The Sherman Room.
He ate all the steak, fries and ketchup he
could handle.
I looked the other way.
I wish I had been more permissive.
Food was what he loved.
And I kept restricting him from it
because I thought it was keeping him
alive.
I kept restricting love.
How ironic because that's
what he did with me
my whole life.
I guess I learned from the master.
My Grandmother never kept any indulgence
from me.
Her tamales were the best.
We haven't made them in years,
since my Dad got sick.
I think we need to make them again this Christmas.
I miss them both.
It's hard.
To have those memories
and not to continue to share
with them,
or create new ones.
I am grateful for those memories.
I am grateful for the traditions that have been passed on.
I am grateful for my ability to cook.
I am grateful that I have a niece and two nephews to pass on those traditions to.
Seeing the brown faces at the deli
Or the grandmother's picking out produce
Or the smells coming from the carneceria
made me think of my Grandmother.
So I grabbed an apple turnover from the paneceria,
brought it home
and now I am enjoying it with my hot tea.
(I gave up coffee three years ago)
It's almost like my Grandmother's old ritual
of sitting down at 9:30 or 10 at night
and having a little pan dulce
with her cafecito.
That's pretty much the extent of my Spanish.
Food.
And food is pretty much my entry into
a lot of experiences.
I noticed that there's a ramen festival in San Gabriel
next weekend.
That's something my Dad would have taken me
to.
Everytime something tastes delicious I think of him.
He loved the stories of my food adventures:
the orange creme angel hair in Florence,
the wild boar ragu,
wines,
sushi,
anything adventurous and exotic. My Dad loved to hear about it all.
And my Grandmother would take us to the market
and we would watch the tortillas being made by machine.
My Dad would take us to really stinky Chinese or Korean
markets.
Or we would go to the Chinese deli and eat something that
was chock full of sodium.
I remember the looks I would give him
when he was sick
and he dragged me to the Asian market
so he could get jok, a rice porridge,
or lau lay with butterfish and pork.
It all had too much salt in it,
and he had to watch his salt
because he was dying.
But he was really dying from hearing me
talk about all the foods he couldn't eat.
But he didn't care.
He didn't want to live
in a tasteless world.
So if he was digging himself
into an early grave, he was
happy to hold the shovel.
I wish he had just told me earlier,
"Listen, I don't want to live, so
let's just go out eating whatever
the fuck I want to."
I wish now we could have had some
crazy extravagant meals.
It would have been fun to take him out
and show him a few things I knew
about eating.
I remember the last lunch we had out.
We met up with his friends at a steak house
in Van Nuys called The Sherman Room.
He ate all the steak, fries and ketchup he
could handle.
I looked the other way.
I wish I had been more permissive.
Food was what he loved.
And I kept restricting him from it
because I thought it was keeping him
alive.
I kept restricting love.
How ironic because that's
what he did with me
my whole life.
I guess I learned from the master.
My Grandmother never kept any indulgence
from me.
Her tamales were the best.
We haven't made them in years,
since my Dad got sick.
I think we need to make them again this Christmas.
I miss them both.
It's hard.
To have those memories
and not to continue to share
with them,
or create new ones.
I am grateful for those memories.
I am grateful for the traditions that have been passed on.
I am grateful for my ability to cook.
I am grateful that I have a niece and two nephews to pass on those traditions to.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Detour
Last night, I was driving to my Mom's house. I usually go visit my Mom once a week, to check in to see how she's doing and all. So last night I was on the freeway and there were some closures, so I got off early.
Then on the street I had turned off on, there was a closure, and all of a sudden I found myself crossing over the freeway (which by the way, did not look closed off). I was on a street called Eastern which I had been on a lot as a kid on my way to my Grandmother's house. Then I saw her street: Triggs. I was in her old neighborhood. Then I figured…I have to go by her old apartment now.
So I drove down the street, crossed a few streets I didn't recognize. The neighborhood looked completely different from what I remembered. There are a lot more gates around the properties than there were when I was growing up. So then I get to her apartment building.
I remember being a kid and walking down the street that bordered hers, Downey Road, to go to the "little market", which was the corner store we used to go to when we wanted snacks or candy. I remember a lot of times in that two bedroom apartment. It was my sanctuary.
Even though I grew up in a nicer neighborhood only a few miles away from her, I have a real connection to my time in East LA when I used to go visit. Then I remembered something the tarot cards said:
Remember your past successes and let them buoy you to your future success.
My life story is that I overcame my circumstances to become the person I am. I overcame coming from a lower middle class background to go to a prestigious high school, to college and eventually to graduate school at NYU. And when I look at my current circumstances in life, they seem so far away from where I want to be.
But I've been here before.
And if I can overcome my circumstances once, I can do it again.
yes, my circumstances are much better than where I came from. But now there's another hurdle I want to jump.
No problem.
I am grateful that fate brought me back to my Grandmother's apartment to remind me that I have overcome my circumstances before with great, unbelievable and surprising success.
I am grateful that my Grandmother's spirit is guiding me.
I am grateful that the lessons of the tarot reading continue to come through for me.
I am grateful for everything I have because I have A LOT.
I am grateful that there still is hope and wonder in my heart.
I am grateful for where I have come from.
Then on the street I had turned off on, there was a closure, and all of a sudden I found myself crossing over the freeway (which by the way, did not look closed off). I was on a street called Eastern which I had been on a lot as a kid on my way to my Grandmother's house. Then I saw her street: Triggs. I was in her old neighborhood. Then I figured…I have to go by her old apartment now.
So I drove down the street, crossed a few streets I didn't recognize. The neighborhood looked completely different from what I remembered. There are a lot more gates around the properties than there were when I was growing up. So then I get to her apartment building.
I remember being a kid and walking down the street that bordered hers, Downey Road, to go to the "little market", which was the corner store we used to go to when we wanted snacks or candy. I remember a lot of times in that two bedroom apartment. It was my sanctuary.
Even though I grew up in a nicer neighborhood only a few miles away from her, I have a real connection to my time in East LA when I used to go visit. Then I remembered something the tarot cards said:
Remember your past successes and let them buoy you to your future success.
My life story is that I overcame my circumstances to become the person I am. I overcame coming from a lower middle class background to go to a prestigious high school, to college and eventually to graduate school at NYU. And when I look at my current circumstances in life, they seem so far away from where I want to be.
But I've been here before.
And if I can overcome my circumstances once, I can do it again.
yes, my circumstances are much better than where I came from. But now there's another hurdle I want to jump.
No problem.
I am grateful that fate brought me back to my Grandmother's apartment to remind me that I have overcome my circumstances before with great, unbelievable and surprising success.
I am grateful that my Grandmother's spirit is guiding me.
I am grateful that the lessons of the tarot reading continue to come through for me.
I am grateful for everything I have because I have A LOT.
I am grateful that there still is hope and wonder in my heart.
I am grateful for where I have come from.
Friday, September 27, 2013
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.
Monday, September 2, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Hitting Reset
There's a lot going on right now.
I'm supposed to be rewriting a play that I'm having a partial reading of in Washington DC next weekend. But of course I'm getting wrapped up in the research and it being totally amazing.
I have a workshop that I'm doing in January of another play that I wrote this year.
January's going to be really busy actually.
I have the workshop, then I go to Portland to celebrate my Mom and my nephew's birthdays. Then I'll see friends for a few days.
Then off to Santa Clara to guest lecture on agents and managers.
Then back there in February to do a special guest lecture on life after college.
Then Hawaii in March for 10-14 days.
I was talking to The Drummer about that trip. We're trying to figure out how long we're staying. My Mom can only be there a week. My Brother and his family are going to stay an extra week. I'm not working right now, so I'm feeling extra nervous about money. I'm freelancing a bit. I'm waiting on my unemployment extension to come through. Money issues always weight heavy on me. I have some money from my Dad that I inherited, but I felt that it'd be wasteful to depend on that, even for a little while.
Then my boyfriend said something supportive. He said, "That's what it's there for." And this isn't a guy who is frivolous. He's a guy who has worked for everything. He's very frugal. But he said to me that maybe this is a reset. Maybe I need this Hawaii trip to set me up for what the rest of my life is going to be about. Maybe it will give me some rest and some enjoyment with my family so I am ready to tackle what comes next.
I just listened. In that moment I was so happy that he is my man. I told him that too. I said that's what I love about him. He's so supportive and open and truthful and wise. I'm going to listen to him. Against my usual judgment. Against all of the things I was taught as a kid. Despite the noise that tells me that I'm being lazy and that I need to get right to work.
I realized in that moment that my weirdness and embarrassment at not working has a lot to do with my own self criticism. That I take things that my boyfriend and other people say and I add a lot of judgment to it. Because...because of a lot of things: Dad, life, how hard I am on myself. I make myself suffer more than I need to. Because that's what I was taught.
Just when I thought I had exhausted the amount of LETTING GO I need to do. There's more.
I'm supposed to be rewriting a play that I'm having a partial reading of in Washington DC next weekend. But of course I'm getting wrapped up in the research and it being totally amazing.
I have a workshop that I'm doing in January of another play that I wrote this year.
January's going to be really busy actually.
I have the workshop, then I go to Portland to celebrate my Mom and my nephew's birthdays. Then I'll see friends for a few days.
Then off to Santa Clara to guest lecture on agents and managers.
Then back there in February to do a special guest lecture on life after college.
Then Hawaii in March for 10-14 days.
I was talking to The Drummer about that trip. We're trying to figure out how long we're staying. My Mom can only be there a week. My Brother and his family are going to stay an extra week. I'm not working right now, so I'm feeling extra nervous about money. I'm freelancing a bit. I'm waiting on my unemployment extension to come through. Money issues always weight heavy on me. I have some money from my Dad that I inherited, but I felt that it'd be wasteful to depend on that, even for a little while.
Then my boyfriend said something supportive. He said, "That's what it's there for." And this isn't a guy who is frivolous. He's a guy who has worked for everything. He's very frugal. But he said to me that maybe this is a reset. Maybe I need this Hawaii trip to set me up for what the rest of my life is going to be about. Maybe it will give me some rest and some enjoyment with my family so I am ready to tackle what comes next.
I just listened. In that moment I was so happy that he is my man. I told him that too. I said that's what I love about him. He's so supportive and open and truthful and wise. I'm going to listen to him. Against my usual judgment. Against all of the things I was taught as a kid. Despite the noise that tells me that I'm being lazy and that I need to get right to work.
I realized in that moment that my weirdness and embarrassment at not working has a lot to do with my own self criticism. That I take things that my boyfriend and other people say and I add a lot of judgment to it. Because...because of a lot of things: Dad, life, how hard I am on myself. I make myself suffer more than I need to. Because that's what I was taught.
Just when I thought I had exhausted the amount of LETTING GO I need to do. There's more.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Saying Yes to LETTING IT GO
When my Father was dying (I now refer to the year he spent sick as the time he was dying because he eventually did), I was forced into the position of caretaker, bodyguard, and pitbull. Remarkably, it was a role that I fit perfectly and that I loved playing. I could get out all of my aggression and anger at him and the situation by proving what a great son I was by yelling at people. And no one was immune to my anger: the doctors, the nurses, the care workers, the case workers, and especially my Mother.
I wanted to know how she could just kind of step back and LET GO of my Dad. It seemed like she was just completely freaked out by the whole experience and didn't know how to handle it. So she just didn't handle it. To be fair, my Mother didn't just disappear. She was managing and maintaining a certain status quo that her and my Father maintained during much of the later years of their marriage. She kind of just stood there and didn't lose her stuffing when my Father treated her like an emotional punching bag. It's the only life she knew with him, so to deviate from that at the end of his life would have felt like a betrayal I'm sure.
But I would come in, like a firestorm, and just handle the shit out of everything. As much as I complain (to this day) about how I had to handle my Dad and his needs, I know that something in me needed to prove to him and myself that I was capable of being the man in charge. My whole life my Father treated me like he was worried that I wouldn't be able to take care of myself. And it's probably that fear and that mentality that prevented me from handling a lot of things in my life. I handled all of the things they didn't understand or have control over. I was an excellent student and I'm great at my job. I'm a writer and an artist and I excel at that. I'm a wonderful creative force. But when it comes to handling my money or responsibility in sustaining a level of livelihood, I'm not great at that. Because I was told from an early age that I wouldn't be good at it because I was exactly like my Mother. That idea got engrained in me. So deep.
Back to me being a pitbull...I had great purpose in yelling at people. I only got aggressive when I felt like there were answers that I wasn't being given. I have never accepted the idea that because of the color of my skin and because of where I grew up I was less than. I grew up feeling less than because I was gay or because I wasn't cute growing up. But never because I was Mexican and Chinese and from Downey, CA. So when my brown ass was in Downey Regional Hospital, I certainly wasn't going to let any of the doctors talk to me like they talked to the other families of patients they talked down to. My purpose was to make sure that my father was healthy and getting the best care possible. But then I realized something.
My Dad didn't care as much as the rest of us did. The rest of us include my Mom, my Brother, his friends, my friends, and me. And that's the first time I realized that I had to LET GO. I had held on to him so tight and started leading that I was no longer leading us towards what he wanted. He didn't want to fight. He had given up. His life would have been complete at a 68, almost 69, years. That wasn't good enough for me, but it was good enough for him. He had LET GO. Why was I having such a hard time?
I could say to him, "I can't want this more than you do." But I would continue to want him to live more than he wanted himself to live. So after going to every doctor's appointment, every nutritionist's appointment, making sure I was there for the doctor's rounds when he was in the hospital, writing the dos and don'ts on poster board on my parents' refrigerator, clearing out the high sodium foods from their pantry and refrigerator, yelling at my Mom for doing a shitty job, yelling at my Mom for not listening, yelling at my Mom for letting him fall and for not supervising him and for countless things--big and small--I finally had to LET IT GO.
But something happened in all of this. By defending my father and protecting him, I had realized what he couldn't articulate for my entire life. He had been protecting and defending me by yelling. It was usually at me. But in his mind, he was fighting for my life. Maybe that's why he didn't have any fight in him left. But I can't blame myself. I have to LET THAT GO. And when I realized that I embodied the kind of protection he believed in and that I truly was cut from the same cloth, I LET GO of needing him to validate me. We were done and resolved in our relationship without having the big conversation. I understood him because I had behaved like him over a prolonged period of time.
And that felt great. I felt resolved. I felt accomplished that my Father would die and we would have worked out most of our shit that kept me grounded my whole life. And not grounded in the sense of humble. But on the ground. Unable to fly. Weighed down. And now that weight was gone and I could start floating.
But then I still had anger. I had anger at my Mother for not doing everything I thought she should be doing to help the man she had stayed married to--against my advice, even. I didn't like the way she spoke to him. I didn't like that fact that she didn't have immediate answers for me when I asked her questions about his health. How could she not ask the doctors the most simple questions? And sadly, I understood how my Father could treat her poorly. I don't approve of it. But I really understood the frustration.
And I realized that I had to LET THAT GO too. I had to LET GO of the fact that my Mother didn't handle my Father's illness the way I would have. I had to LET GO of my expectations for her. I had to LET GO of my anger that she let me handle everything. But that's what she knew. She doesn't think she's capable of speaking up for my Father's health because he had controlled her for so long. And even though she had begun to speak up for herself, my Father had already rattled her to the core so long ago for so many years. I LET GO of my expectations for her. Well, I'm still LETTING GO. It's a hard process. But that's why I'm in therapy.
And once I started LETTING GO of my expectations for my parents, I started LETTING GO of other things:
My need to control everything.
My need to know exactly what's going to happen next.
My need to boss people around to show what a man I am because clearly a gay man has to prove himself to show that because he may talk, throw and act like a girl, it doesn't mean that he's a girl in the misogynistic pejorative sense.
My belief that everyone knows more than I do.
My belief that I'm not smart enough.
I had to LET IT ALL GO. And that's what I've said YES to. And the more I say YES to it and the more I LET GO, the more things fall away that are unnecessary. It's like this need I have to cleanse myself constantly. I just want to get rid of the empty calories in my life and the dead skin and the dirt. Anything that does not serve to reveal my most pure, most true self.
I wanted to know how she could just kind of step back and LET GO of my Dad. It seemed like she was just completely freaked out by the whole experience and didn't know how to handle it. So she just didn't handle it. To be fair, my Mother didn't just disappear. She was managing and maintaining a certain status quo that her and my Father maintained during much of the later years of their marriage. She kind of just stood there and didn't lose her stuffing when my Father treated her like an emotional punching bag. It's the only life she knew with him, so to deviate from that at the end of his life would have felt like a betrayal I'm sure.
But I would come in, like a firestorm, and just handle the shit out of everything. As much as I complain (to this day) about how I had to handle my Dad and his needs, I know that something in me needed to prove to him and myself that I was capable of being the man in charge. My whole life my Father treated me like he was worried that I wouldn't be able to take care of myself. And it's probably that fear and that mentality that prevented me from handling a lot of things in my life. I handled all of the things they didn't understand or have control over. I was an excellent student and I'm great at my job. I'm a writer and an artist and I excel at that. I'm a wonderful creative force. But when it comes to handling my money or responsibility in sustaining a level of livelihood, I'm not great at that. Because I was told from an early age that I wouldn't be good at it because I was exactly like my Mother. That idea got engrained in me. So deep.
Back to me being a pitbull...I had great purpose in yelling at people. I only got aggressive when I felt like there were answers that I wasn't being given. I have never accepted the idea that because of the color of my skin and because of where I grew up I was less than. I grew up feeling less than because I was gay or because I wasn't cute growing up. But never because I was Mexican and Chinese and from Downey, CA. So when my brown ass was in Downey Regional Hospital, I certainly wasn't going to let any of the doctors talk to me like they talked to the other families of patients they talked down to. My purpose was to make sure that my father was healthy and getting the best care possible. But then I realized something.
My Dad didn't care as much as the rest of us did. The rest of us include my Mom, my Brother, his friends, my friends, and me. And that's the first time I realized that I had to LET GO. I had held on to him so tight and started leading that I was no longer leading us towards what he wanted. He didn't want to fight. He had given up. His life would have been complete at a 68, almost 69, years. That wasn't good enough for me, but it was good enough for him. He had LET GO. Why was I having such a hard time?
I could say to him, "I can't want this more than you do." But I would continue to want him to live more than he wanted himself to live. So after going to every doctor's appointment, every nutritionist's appointment, making sure I was there for the doctor's rounds when he was in the hospital, writing the dos and don'ts on poster board on my parents' refrigerator, clearing out the high sodium foods from their pantry and refrigerator, yelling at my Mom for doing a shitty job, yelling at my Mom for not listening, yelling at my Mom for letting him fall and for not supervising him and for countless things--big and small--I finally had to LET IT GO.
But something happened in all of this. By defending my father and protecting him, I had realized what he couldn't articulate for my entire life. He had been protecting and defending me by yelling. It was usually at me. But in his mind, he was fighting for my life. Maybe that's why he didn't have any fight in him left. But I can't blame myself. I have to LET THAT GO. And when I realized that I embodied the kind of protection he believed in and that I truly was cut from the same cloth, I LET GO of needing him to validate me. We were done and resolved in our relationship without having the big conversation. I understood him because I had behaved like him over a prolonged period of time.
And that felt great. I felt resolved. I felt accomplished that my Father would die and we would have worked out most of our shit that kept me grounded my whole life. And not grounded in the sense of humble. But on the ground. Unable to fly. Weighed down. And now that weight was gone and I could start floating.
But then I still had anger. I had anger at my Mother for not doing everything I thought she should be doing to help the man she had stayed married to--against my advice, even. I didn't like the way she spoke to him. I didn't like that fact that she didn't have immediate answers for me when I asked her questions about his health. How could she not ask the doctors the most simple questions? And sadly, I understood how my Father could treat her poorly. I don't approve of it. But I really understood the frustration.
And I realized that I had to LET THAT GO too. I had to LET GO of the fact that my Mother didn't handle my Father's illness the way I would have. I had to LET GO of my expectations for her. I had to LET GO of my anger that she let me handle everything. But that's what she knew. She doesn't think she's capable of speaking up for my Father's health because he had controlled her for so long. And even though she had begun to speak up for herself, my Father had already rattled her to the core so long ago for so many years. I LET GO of my expectations for her. Well, I'm still LETTING GO. It's a hard process. But that's why I'm in therapy.
And once I started LETTING GO of my expectations for my parents, I started LETTING GO of other things:
My need to control everything.
My need to know exactly what's going to happen next.
My need to boss people around to show what a man I am because clearly a gay man has to prove himself to show that because he may talk, throw and act like a girl, it doesn't mean that he's a girl in the misogynistic pejorative sense.
My belief that everyone knows more than I do.
My belief that I'm not smart enough.
I had to LET IT ALL GO. And that's what I've said YES to. And the more I say YES to it and the more I LET GO, the more things fall away that are unnecessary. It's like this need I have to cleanse myself constantly. I just want to get rid of the empty calories in my life and the dead skin and the dirt. Anything that does not serve to reveal my most pure, most true self.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Cousin Douchebag
Throughout all of these enlightened reflections of my Father's death, I almost forgot about Cousin Douchebag. I was reminded when I read this Facebook post earlier:
If my dad remains in the condition he was this weekend, slow and tired all of the time, he'll die by the end of the year and I'll be back in New Mexico.
Really? Really, Cousin Douchebag? It happens that his father is also very sick. How do I know this? Because he constantly posts pictures of his sick father drooling on himself on Facebook. This is the guy who called my Dad up and said:
Hey, Cousin! I heard you were dying.
Those were the last words he said to my Father. Cousin Douchebag has a lifetime history of being an idiot. I had no choice but to reach out to Cousin Douchebag and send this little gem:
Thanks for calling my Dad?
I guess I should be grateful that you called my Dad to wish him well. And I am. What I'm not happy about is that you called him to tell him you heard he was dying.
Tactless. And tacky.
While we know that as a family and are preparing for it, it is not helpful to us to have you blurt it out so carelessly. I would like to delicately address my displeasure, but I'm afraid you won't get it.
You are a jackass.
See, I'm nice like my Mother. But I'm also a little mean like my Grandmother. I'm protective of my family and especially right now of my Father.
Please don't reach out to apologize. I don't need it. I've said my peace. And frankly, I don't have time to give this another thought. My energy needs to be directed towards helping my Dad.
I was being so Zen like until I remembered what he said to my Dad a month ago. It makes me angry because he clearly doesn't understand how sensitive he should be. He can't even be sensitive enough to refrain from sending pictures to all of his FB friends of his father who is suffering with dementia. It's sad.
My Uncle took my Dad in after his mother kicked him out of the house at 14. That's the whole reason he moved out from Hawaii to California, where my Uncle was living at the time. My Uncle really took my Dad under his wing and helped him out a lot. My Uncle's a great man who deserves so much more than his idiot son. He deserves dignity and care. This jackass gives him neither.
I've debated on whether or not I should reach out to my Cousin to tell him what a douchebag he's being. But I don't really want much to do with him and I don't think he'll get it. It's horrible what he's doing. And it makes me feel so bad for my Uncle.
If my dad remains in the condition he was this weekend, slow and tired all of the time, he'll die by the end of the year and I'll be back in New Mexico.
Really? Really, Cousin Douchebag? It happens that his father is also very sick. How do I know this? Because he constantly posts pictures of his sick father drooling on himself on Facebook. This is the guy who called my Dad up and said:
Hey, Cousin! I heard you were dying.
Those were the last words he said to my Father. Cousin Douchebag has a lifetime history of being an idiot. I had no choice but to reach out to Cousin Douchebag and send this little gem:
Thanks for calling my Dad?
I guess I should be grateful that you called my Dad to wish him well. And I am. What I'm not happy about is that you called him to tell him you heard he was dying.
Tactless. And tacky.
While we know that as a family and are preparing for it, it is not helpful to us to have you blurt it out so carelessly. I would like to delicately address my displeasure, but I'm afraid you won't get it.
You are a jackass.
See, I'm nice like my Mother. But I'm also a little mean like my Grandmother. I'm protective of my family and especially right now of my Father.
Please don't reach out to apologize. I don't need it. I've said my peace. And frankly, I don't have time to give this another thought. My energy needs to be directed towards helping my Dad.
I was being so Zen like until I remembered what he said to my Dad a month ago. It makes me angry because he clearly doesn't understand how sensitive he should be. He can't even be sensitive enough to refrain from sending pictures to all of his FB friends of his father who is suffering with dementia. It's sad.
My Uncle took my Dad in after his mother kicked him out of the house at 14. That's the whole reason he moved out from Hawaii to California, where my Uncle was living at the time. My Uncle really took my Dad under his wing and helped him out a lot. My Uncle's a great man who deserves so much more than his idiot son. He deserves dignity and care. This jackass gives him neither.
I've debated on whether or not I should reach out to my Cousin to tell him what a douchebag he's being. But I don't really want much to do with him and I don't think he'll get it. It's horrible what he's doing. And it makes me feel so bad for my Uncle.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
My Dad's Last Days
Saturday:
I had scheduled a massage in town with my massage dude Aaron at 3 PM. Given all of the stress I had been under lately with my Dad's illness, I needed to relax. Truthfully, my massage with Aaron made me realize that I was still a lot more stressed than I had been the week before. I'm not typically an every week massage sort of guy, but given the circumstances I felt I needed to treat myself. Aaron had found a lot of knots in my back that didn't seem they were there the week before.
On Thursday, I had the "final" conversation with my Dad. The one where you tell him to let go. My Dad hadn't been eating and he stopped talking. At this point he had even stopped taking his meds.
It was hard watching him waste away.
Even after the massage, I wasn't relaxed. So I decided to head to the Korean Spa to relax some more and take a dip in the jacuzzi, steam a bit and just decompress. I called my friend Nicole on the way and we got involved in this conversation about my conversation with my Dad. I sat in my car in the parking lot at the spa and chatted with Nicole. Then I got an incoming call from my Mom. I had to take it. I just figured it was more updates about my Dad's state or some questions about what to do.
I put Nicole on hold. My Mom told me that my Father had been bleeding. I didn't know what this meant. I thought that maybe his bed sores had been irritated again, like the time a couple of weeks ago where I found dried blood all over his back because of his bed sores. It sounded serious, but with my Mom, it seemed like it could have either been important or not important at all. She said that our neighbor Elyse was coming over. Elyse's a retired nurse. I clicked back to Nicole, explained the situation and explained that I would call her back.
I called my Mom back and by this point we had established that blood was coming from his rectum. I headed home to find out what Elyse and the hospice nurse were going to say.
My Dad was hemmoraging pretty bad. He had lost a lot of blood. Elyse and the nurse cleaned him up. The nurse was huddled in a corner of the kitchen with my Mom. I wanted to hear what they were saying so I approached them.
"I don't think he's going to last the night."
WHAT? The moment could finally be here. We were told to keep him comfortable/hopped up on morphine. The nurse left. Elyse stuck around. I called my Godmother, who's my Mom's best friend. She showed up twenty minutes later and barged in saying that she knows I don't like prayers, but she was going to do the rosary anyway. It's not that I don't like prayers. My Father didn't like prayers. He didn't like anything that felt hypocritical.
At that moment, I forgot that I had a rosary I had blessed from the Vatican when I went to Rome years earlier. It was meant for my Godmother and everytime I saw her I forgot to give it to her. So armed with a new Pope-approved rosary, my Godmother went and said the rosary over my Dad. I felt like it would give her comfort and it would send a few more good thoughts my Dad's way.
Outside, my Mom and Elyse were talking about last rites. I walked out there and told them that I felt my Dad would not have wanted them. I wanted to respect his wishes even in his final hours.
The rest of the night went smoothly. We got some Chinese take out. We ate. We made my Mom eat and then my Godmother decided to spend the night be to be with my Dad. They decided to go in again and pray.
From the living room, I heard certain words come from the bedroom. My Godmother had grabbed her prayer book and went back in. I heard things like:
"Lord, save his soul from damnation."
I heard things about "hell" and "salvation." I also heard "heaven" and "before you take him." Those sounded a lot like last rites. I was not happy, but I wasn't about to go in there and create more stress in my Father's room. So I waited until they came out.
When they came out, my Godmother said that her and my Mom would be taking turns sleeping and praying over him. My Mother even said that I could go in and say some prayers. I knew that this brought them comfort, but we had had enough! My Mom was going to sleep first and my Godmother was going to pray. I followed my Mom into her room and explained to her that we were done with the prayers. It wasn't what he was about and I didn't like that some very last rites-ish things were being said. She told me I had to tell my Godmother what I told her.
So I went outside and explained to my Godmother that this wasn't in the spirit of the values my Father embodied. It felt hypocritical. I felt like we weren't talking to him. I invited her to stay and chat with him. About good times. About her memories of him. Even if she wanted to invoke the name of God, that was fine. But she had to speak from her heart and not from "prayers for the dying." She listened and then she said:
"Aren't you worried about his soul?"
This was exactly why I was having this conversation. I told her I didn't think he'd go to hell because he didn't believe in it and I didn't believe in it. And I didn't like the implication that I wouldn't be worried about my Father's soul. I told her his soul was fine because he had lived a life of honesty and integrity.
Then she decided that she had heard enough. I had made my point. And then she decided to leave. Not take turns the whole night talking to him. But since she couldn't pray over him, she decided to leave. That's exactly why I had the conversation because I wanted all hypocrisy to leave the building. She felt insulted and took her Jesus with her. That's fine because there was plenty of God in there with my Dad. There was plenty of spirit.
Sunday:
My Dad didn't die overnight. But I decided to cancel my therapy appointment at 1 PM. We sat there all day. By 5:30 PM I was exhausted and I decided to go for a drive. I went over to my best friend's Mom's house who lives in town. She had cocktails and cigarettes for me. We talked a lot about her memories of my Dad. She applauded me for standing up to and telling off my Godmother. It was exactly what I needed. I just needed some understanding and some love.
That night I came home and I sat with my Dad. I took him through a bit of a life review. Remember how people say that before you die your life flashes before your eyes? Well, I wanted to take a nice leisurely stroll. So I asked him to remember the day he got married, a great meal, what it was like growing up in Hawaii. Things like that. I asked him to think about those things. It was our second last goodbye. But it was good to just sit there with him and put my hand on his and talk. I'm glad that I have those memories with him.
By the way, my Godmother didn't come by on Sunday. Maybe she was tired or not feeling well. Or she was mad. Not sure which.
Monday:
He was still with us. I went into town to go to the Korean Spa because I needed a break. I relaxed and left by 1:30 so my Mom could make it back for her therapy appointment, which I insisted she keep.
She went to therapy and I rested a bit. We were giving him morphine every two hours, per the nurse's instructions. At 3:30, Elyse and I moved him a bit. My Mom came home at 4:30. She noticed that he was on his back. We decided that we would move him to his side again when we gave him morphine at 5:30. Mom noticed he wasn't breathing. Elyse came by and confirmed it. He had passed.
Just like that. Quietly. "He's gone."
Here's where the details are sporadic. The first call was to my brother. I told him what happened. My Mom got on the phone with him and then started shaking. It hit. She had to go sit down. I consoled her and then Elyse took her into his room. I started making calls to everyone. We had the arrangements set up. By this time, my Godmother had arrived and sat with Mom.
Then I started calling relatives. I was dumb. I had made a list the other day so I wouldn't forget anyone. I went down my list and started calling. Explaining that there would be no service, per his request. Explaining that he went peacefully and at home at "around 4pm." I checked people off my list so I would remember who I had called. It all seemed to go like clockwork, even taking breaks every so often.
The case worker at the hospice came to declare him dead.
The people from the Neptune Society came to get him. They looked like a couple of 12 year olds in their Dad's suits. They were awkward and a bit too by the book. No warmth there. To them,it's just a job I imagine.
Then I went and got some food for us. By this time it was 9 PM and I don't know where the time had gone. I had made it through half my list. Family and close friends. Tuesday I would tackle more friends.
I'm not sure how I slept that night. I just closed my eyes. But I didn't get any good sleep. I just kept going and have been going since. I can't believe it's Thursday night, almost Friday. But it also seems like time has gone by SO slowly as well. Maybe because I'm hyper aware of everything going on. I'm very present in this moment. Not sure how I'm doing that. I'm just going...much like what I'm doing now: typing. I just keep hitting proverbial keys and I watch the time march forward like this happens every day.
And it does happen every day. Just not to me. Thank God.
I had scheduled a massage in town with my massage dude Aaron at 3 PM. Given all of the stress I had been under lately with my Dad's illness, I needed to relax. Truthfully, my massage with Aaron made me realize that I was still a lot more stressed than I had been the week before. I'm not typically an every week massage sort of guy, but given the circumstances I felt I needed to treat myself. Aaron had found a lot of knots in my back that didn't seem they were there the week before.
On Thursday, I had the "final" conversation with my Dad. The one where you tell him to let go. My Dad hadn't been eating and he stopped talking. At this point he had even stopped taking his meds.
It was hard watching him waste away.
Even after the massage, I wasn't relaxed. So I decided to head to the Korean Spa to relax some more and take a dip in the jacuzzi, steam a bit and just decompress. I called my friend Nicole on the way and we got involved in this conversation about my conversation with my Dad. I sat in my car in the parking lot at the spa and chatted with Nicole. Then I got an incoming call from my Mom. I had to take it. I just figured it was more updates about my Dad's state or some questions about what to do.
I put Nicole on hold. My Mom told me that my Father had been bleeding. I didn't know what this meant. I thought that maybe his bed sores had been irritated again, like the time a couple of weeks ago where I found dried blood all over his back because of his bed sores. It sounded serious, but with my Mom, it seemed like it could have either been important or not important at all. She said that our neighbor Elyse was coming over. Elyse's a retired nurse. I clicked back to Nicole, explained the situation and explained that I would call her back.
I called my Mom back and by this point we had established that blood was coming from his rectum. I headed home to find out what Elyse and the hospice nurse were going to say.
My Dad was hemmoraging pretty bad. He had lost a lot of blood. Elyse and the nurse cleaned him up. The nurse was huddled in a corner of the kitchen with my Mom. I wanted to hear what they were saying so I approached them.
"I don't think he's going to last the night."
WHAT? The moment could finally be here. We were told to keep him comfortable/hopped up on morphine. The nurse left. Elyse stuck around. I called my Godmother, who's my Mom's best friend. She showed up twenty minutes later and barged in saying that she knows I don't like prayers, but she was going to do the rosary anyway. It's not that I don't like prayers. My Father didn't like prayers. He didn't like anything that felt hypocritical.
At that moment, I forgot that I had a rosary I had blessed from the Vatican when I went to Rome years earlier. It was meant for my Godmother and everytime I saw her I forgot to give it to her. So armed with a new Pope-approved rosary, my Godmother went and said the rosary over my Dad. I felt like it would give her comfort and it would send a few more good thoughts my Dad's way.
Outside, my Mom and Elyse were talking about last rites. I walked out there and told them that I felt my Dad would not have wanted them. I wanted to respect his wishes even in his final hours.
The rest of the night went smoothly. We got some Chinese take out. We ate. We made my Mom eat and then my Godmother decided to spend the night be to be with my Dad. They decided to go in again and pray.
From the living room, I heard certain words come from the bedroom. My Godmother had grabbed her prayer book and went back in. I heard things like:
"Lord, save his soul from damnation."
I heard things about "hell" and "salvation." I also heard "heaven" and "before you take him." Those sounded a lot like last rites. I was not happy, but I wasn't about to go in there and create more stress in my Father's room. So I waited until they came out.
When they came out, my Godmother said that her and my Mom would be taking turns sleeping and praying over him. My Mother even said that I could go in and say some prayers. I knew that this brought them comfort, but we had had enough! My Mom was going to sleep first and my Godmother was going to pray. I followed my Mom into her room and explained to her that we were done with the prayers. It wasn't what he was about and I didn't like that some very last rites-ish things were being said. She told me I had to tell my Godmother what I told her.
So I went outside and explained to my Godmother that this wasn't in the spirit of the values my Father embodied. It felt hypocritical. I felt like we weren't talking to him. I invited her to stay and chat with him. About good times. About her memories of him. Even if she wanted to invoke the name of God, that was fine. But she had to speak from her heart and not from "prayers for the dying." She listened and then she said:
"Aren't you worried about his soul?"
This was exactly why I was having this conversation. I told her I didn't think he'd go to hell because he didn't believe in it and I didn't believe in it. And I didn't like the implication that I wouldn't be worried about my Father's soul. I told her his soul was fine because he had lived a life of honesty and integrity.
Then she decided that she had heard enough. I had made my point. And then she decided to leave. Not take turns the whole night talking to him. But since she couldn't pray over him, she decided to leave. That's exactly why I had the conversation because I wanted all hypocrisy to leave the building. She felt insulted and took her Jesus with her. That's fine because there was plenty of God in there with my Dad. There was plenty of spirit.
Sunday:
My Dad didn't die overnight. But I decided to cancel my therapy appointment at 1 PM. We sat there all day. By 5:30 PM I was exhausted and I decided to go for a drive. I went over to my best friend's Mom's house who lives in town. She had cocktails and cigarettes for me. We talked a lot about her memories of my Dad. She applauded me for standing up to and telling off my Godmother. It was exactly what I needed. I just needed some understanding and some love.
That night I came home and I sat with my Dad. I took him through a bit of a life review. Remember how people say that before you die your life flashes before your eyes? Well, I wanted to take a nice leisurely stroll. So I asked him to remember the day he got married, a great meal, what it was like growing up in Hawaii. Things like that. I asked him to think about those things. It was our second last goodbye. But it was good to just sit there with him and put my hand on his and talk. I'm glad that I have those memories with him.
By the way, my Godmother didn't come by on Sunday. Maybe she was tired or not feeling well. Or she was mad. Not sure which.
Monday:
He was still with us. I went into town to go to the Korean Spa because I needed a break. I relaxed and left by 1:30 so my Mom could make it back for her therapy appointment, which I insisted she keep.
She went to therapy and I rested a bit. We were giving him morphine every two hours, per the nurse's instructions. At 3:30, Elyse and I moved him a bit. My Mom came home at 4:30. She noticed that he was on his back. We decided that we would move him to his side again when we gave him morphine at 5:30. Mom noticed he wasn't breathing. Elyse came by and confirmed it. He had passed.
Just like that. Quietly. "He's gone."
Here's where the details are sporadic. The first call was to my brother. I told him what happened. My Mom got on the phone with him and then started shaking. It hit. She had to go sit down. I consoled her and then Elyse took her into his room. I started making calls to everyone. We had the arrangements set up. By this time, my Godmother had arrived and sat with Mom.
Then I started calling relatives. I was dumb. I had made a list the other day so I wouldn't forget anyone. I went down my list and started calling. Explaining that there would be no service, per his request. Explaining that he went peacefully and at home at "around 4pm." I checked people off my list so I would remember who I had called. It all seemed to go like clockwork, even taking breaks every so often.
The case worker at the hospice came to declare him dead.
The people from the Neptune Society came to get him. They looked like a couple of 12 year olds in their Dad's suits. They were awkward and a bit too by the book. No warmth there. To them,it's just a job I imagine.
Then I went and got some food for us. By this time it was 9 PM and I don't know where the time had gone. I had made it through half my list. Family and close friends. Tuesday I would tackle more friends.
I'm not sure how I slept that night. I just closed my eyes. But I didn't get any good sleep. I just kept going and have been going since. I can't believe it's Thursday night, almost Friday. But it also seems like time has gone by SO slowly as well. Maybe because I'm hyper aware of everything going on. I'm very present in this moment. Not sure how I'm doing that. I'm just going...much like what I'm doing now: typing. I just keep hitting proverbial keys and I watch the time march forward like this happens every day.
And it does happen every day. Just not to me. Thank God.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Adulthood
They say that when someone's father dies,that's when he goes from being a boy to being a man.
Some would say that I've been living like a child for a long time. It's not like I'm not mature. Or intelligent. Or that I don't have skill sets or haven't held jobs before. But I think I have always known on some subconscious level that I served a certain role by still being the child in a lot of ways. And that time is soon to end.
I look forward to that growth and change...in theory. I think it will make me a better person. I think it will force me to face certain things about myself and it will move me into a more whole self. But all of that change is traumatic. It's breaking me of certain things which are absolutely necessary. So I have to just surrender to it. I guess.
Dad is almost unrecognizable now. My brother said the other day that it seems like he has already left. I agree with that sentiment. It's hard. I accept that he's mostly gone and soon will be fully gone. But I still want him around. I have enjoyed the gentleness that I've experienced with him. It's nice to just hold him and cradle him. I know that sounds strange coming from a son about his father, but I just want him to experience some parts of myself he never was able to because he had all of his guards up. There are no guards now. He's unguarded.
One of the most wonderful things that has happened is that I can just be. I can just exist with my Dad and for him. I don't have to try and make him proud. I don't have to try and impress him. I just have to put my hand over his. I just have to rub his arm. I just have to smile at him or say something to make him laugh. All I have to do is exist with him. Sit next to him. Talk to him in a gentle voice. That doesn't cost anything. It is a quiet thing. But right now he's not someone who can stand much noise or interference. For him, things are best if they are simple.
He's still teaching me things. Eradicate all of the noise. Whether that's body noise or food noise or ego noise or worth noise or success noise--get rid of anything that doesn't serve you and keeps you from listening to the quietness of your soul. Just be still.
My father has been able to sustain on very little food. He's still with us. He's not trying to exert himself or keep himself going for much longer. But for what he needs to do--be around his family--he has enough nourishment.
I want him to go as peacefully as possible. What can I do about that?
I have to let him go. My boyfriend said that he thought my Mom should probably do that. I don't know if Mom has it in her. My friend Nicole said that I have to do it because my Mom can't. And my bereavement counselor has given me permission to do that as well. Now I just have to do it. I've felt a little selfish about it. Like here's this wonderful, peaceful thing I get to do...I want to share it. But maybe this is my ultimate correction, my tikkun. Maybe this is what is being presented to me.
And how do I even prepare for that?
Some would say that I've been living like a child for a long time. It's not like I'm not mature. Or intelligent. Or that I don't have skill sets or haven't held jobs before. But I think I have always known on some subconscious level that I served a certain role by still being the child in a lot of ways. And that time is soon to end.
I look forward to that growth and change...in theory. I think it will make me a better person. I think it will force me to face certain things about myself and it will move me into a more whole self. But all of that change is traumatic. It's breaking me of certain things which are absolutely necessary. So I have to just surrender to it. I guess.
Dad is almost unrecognizable now. My brother said the other day that it seems like he has already left. I agree with that sentiment. It's hard. I accept that he's mostly gone and soon will be fully gone. But I still want him around. I have enjoyed the gentleness that I've experienced with him. It's nice to just hold him and cradle him. I know that sounds strange coming from a son about his father, but I just want him to experience some parts of myself he never was able to because he had all of his guards up. There are no guards now. He's unguarded.
One of the most wonderful things that has happened is that I can just be. I can just exist with my Dad and for him. I don't have to try and make him proud. I don't have to try and impress him. I just have to put my hand over his. I just have to rub his arm. I just have to smile at him or say something to make him laugh. All I have to do is exist with him. Sit next to him. Talk to him in a gentle voice. That doesn't cost anything. It is a quiet thing. But right now he's not someone who can stand much noise or interference. For him, things are best if they are simple.
He's still teaching me things. Eradicate all of the noise. Whether that's body noise or food noise or ego noise or worth noise or success noise--get rid of anything that doesn't serve you and keeps you from listening to the quietness of your soul. Just be still.
My father has been able to sustain on very little food. He's still with us. He's not trying to exert himself or keep himself going for much longer. But for what he needs to do--be around his family--he has enough nourishment.
I want him to go as peacefully as possible. What can I do about that?
I have to let him go. My boyfriend said that he thought my Mom should probably do that. I don't know if Mom has it in her. My friend Nicole said that I have to do it because my Mom can't. And my bereavement counselor has given me permission to do that as well. Now I just have to do it. I've felt a little selfish about it. Like here's this wonderful, peaceful thing I get to do...I want to share it. But maybe this is my ultimate correction, my tikkun. Maybe this is what is being presented to me.
And how do I even prepare for that?
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Talk with my Brother
Chris and I chatted on the phone tonight after I went to dance class at the gym. We have been talking every day for the past several months, ever since it became clear that my Dad was not getting any better and that he would be dying soon. I don't even remember when that happened.
Maybe I do. Maybe it was when the Doctor told my Mother that my Dad had to go to hospice. That was April 1, 2012.
During the course of this journey, I have been pretty ok with the fact that my Brother hasn't been around. He has been around a lot, as much as he can. He has come three times in the past 2 1/2 months. Yes, he is not living here and I am dealing with everything. But I haven't really felt resentment. There have been a few times where it did seem like he had his life going on and I had to deal with Dad, but that's before we knew he was dying. And I nipped that in the bud. I told my Brother straight out that I was starting to be resentful and we dealt with it. Whenever we talk now, I don't feel like my Brother is being pulled in a million directions. Even if we only have five minutes to talk, I feel like I'm his for that five minutes. And I don't call during dinner or when he's trying to put the kids to sleep.
It's not like I never considered how he was feeling about all of this. But it just seemed like he was working hard to keep his emotions in check. Today he told me that he has been sad and low for the past few days. It's not the first time I knew it was affecting him, but it's the first time we really talked about it directly. He said that his wife is there for him, but that she doesn't really know what it's like. I feel the same way about The Drummer. He loves me and he supports me. But sometimes he talks about my Father's death like we're trying to solve an equation. X does not Equal Y squared over 8. But he tries. And he is there to hold me and love me. That's enough. But no one, except my friends who have lost parents, really understand what this is like. And that's okay. I wouldn't want them to know what it was like and there is no way I could explain it to them. Like an inside joke, a very bad inside joke, you just had to be there.
But for the first time, I was able to give him my support. And let him know that even though he's not physically here, he's here with us. When I have to talk to my Dad about what he means to us and about how Chris and I will make sure my Mother's okay, Chris will be there as much as I'm there. We are so alike and we have so many of the same values. I don't know if that ever happens with siblings. Not with any of my friends and their siblings. My Ex and his sister were from different planets, although they were both in the Gay Universe. There's usually a smart one and a dumb one. Or a cute one and an ugly one. Polar opposites. In our case, there is a short one and a tall one. I'm the tall one. But that's really the only difference. Yes I'm the Gay one and he's the Straight one. But our core values, not necessarily what we were raised believing but what we both came to on our own, are the same. I don't know how we reached a lot of the same conclusions since we are different in many surface ways. But we are kindred spirits. And it's not just because we're brothers, although I'm sure our Mother would LOVE to take credit for that. It's not that she doesn't deserve some of the credit. But our parents pitted us against each other from the get go. And eventually, we were mature enough to realize that we liked each other even though our parents pointed out how different we were.
I told Chris tonight that he was with me in the times I take care of Dad because the way that I fight for my Dad, the way that I protect him is the way that Dad thinks Chris would protect him and fight for him if he lived in LA. So that energy is there. And everything we do, as far as my Dad is concerned, is done together.
Maybe I do. Maybe it was when the Doctor told my Mother that my Dad had to go to hospice. That was April 1, 2012.
During the course of this journey, I have been pretty ok with the fact that my Brother hasn't been around. He has been around a lot, as much as he can. He has come three times in the past 2 1/2 months. Yes, he is not living here and I am dealing with everything. But I haven't really felt resentment. There have been a few times where it did seem like he had his life going on and I had to deal with Dad, but that's before we knew he was dying. And I nipped that in the bud. I told my Brother straight out that I was starting to be resentful and we dealt with it. Whenever we talk now, I don't feel like my Brother is being pulled in a million directions. Even if we only have five minutes to talk, I feel like I'm his for that five minutes. And I don't call during dinner or when he's trying to put the kids to sleep.
It's not like I never considered how he was feeling about all of this. But it just seemed like he was working hard to keep his emotions in check. Today he told me that he has been sad and low for the past few days. It's not the first time I knew it was affecting him, but it's the first time we really talked about it directly. He said that his wife is there for him, but that she doesn't really know what it's like. I feel the same way about The Drummer. He loves me and he supports me. But sometimes he talks about my Father's death like we're trying to solve an equation. X does not Equal Y squared over 8. But he tries. And he is there to hold me and love me. That's enough. But no one, except my friends who have lost parents, really understand what this is like. And that's okay. I wouldn't want them to know what it was like and there is no way I could explain it to them. Like an inside joke, a very bad inside joke, you just had to be there.
But for the first time, I was able to give him my support. And let him know that even though he's not physically here, he's here with us. When I have to talk to my Dad about what he means to us and about how Chris and I will make sure my Mother's okay, Chris will be there as much as I'm there. We are so alike and we have so many of the same values. I don't know if that ever happens with siblings. Not with any of my friends and their siblings. My Ex and his sister were from different planets, although they were both in the Gay Universe. There's usually a smart one and a dumb one. Or a cute one and an ugly one. Polar opposites. In our case, there is a short one and a tall one. I'm the tall one. But that's really the only difference. Yes I'm the Gay one and he's the Straight one. But our core values, not necessarily what we were raised believing but what we both came to on our own, are the same. I don't know how we reached a lot of the same conclusions since we are different in many surface ways. But we are kindred spirits. And it's not just because we're brothers, although I'm sure our Mother would LOVE to take credit for that. It's not that she doesn't deserve some of the credit. But our parents pitted us against each other from the get go. And eventually, we were mature enough to realize that we liked each other even though our parents pointed out how different we were.
I told Chris tonight that he was with me in the times I take care of Dad because the way that I fight for my Dad, the way that I protect him is the way that Dad thinks Chris would protect him and fight for him if he lived in LA. So that energy is there. And everything we do, as far as my Dad is concerned, is done together.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
My Brain is Melting
This is my frustration lately in taking care of my Dad:
I have had the end of this play I have been wanting to write for a month and I haven't gotten it done.
Yes, I have been working on other things. I had to go back and forth between my parents house, my place and the care facility my Dad was in for a week and a half. I had to direct play readings that were about the Virginia Tech shootings. I've been making meals for my Dad, interviewing caretakers, taking to doctors and nurses and doing a care taker training at my house with my Dad's new caretaker. I have been busy. This is true. But this play is waiting to be finished.
My wing man, Larry, has even tried to motivate me by saying that the play wants to be finished and that I'll be so relieved when it is. I believe him, but this is the problem: All of the things I've been doing have caused my brain to melt. I'm sitting in Starbucks at 10:18 PM on a Thursday night and I can barely keep my eyes open. I can't think. I've been trying to strike a balance between my Dad's stuff and Me. I want to spend more time with my boyfriend, who has his own stuff to deal with. He's got a wacky nephew who flew into town to appear on Judge Judy and wants to appear in gay porn. He's got a lot of gigs coming up. And he's not getting laid enough I'm sure. I want to do it all. I know why I shouldn't want to do it all. I know that I shouldn't feel deflated or guilty or like a loser or crappy. But I do.
It's the brain melting thing. If my brain was more solidly intact, I would be able to handle everything. I could think rationally and know that I'm not failing anybody. But I feel like I'm letting everyone down. It's my melted brain, I tell you. In 40 minutes I need to show my Dad's nighttime caretaker how to use our washing machine. I'm tired.
Yes, I have been working on other things. I had to go back and forth between my parents house, my place and the care facility my Dad was in for a week and a half. I had to direct play readings that were about the Virginia Tech shootings. I've been making meals for my Dad, interviewing caretakers, taking to doctors and nurses and doing a care taker training at my house with my Dad's new caretaker. I have been busy. This is true. But this play is waiting to be finished.
My wing man, Larry, has even tried to motivate me by saying that the play wants to be finished and that I'll be so relieved when it is. I believe him, but this is the problem: All of the things I've been doing have caused my brain to melt. I'm sitting in Starbucks at 10:18 PM on a Thursday night and I can barely keep my eyes open. I can't think. I've been trying to strike a balance between my Dad's stuff and Me. I want to spend more time with my boyfriend, who has his own stuff to deal with. He's got a wacky nephew who flew into town to appear on Judge Judy and wants to appear in gay porn. He's got a lot of gigs coming up. And he's not getting laid enough I'm sure. I want to do it all. I know why I shouldn't want to do it all. I know that I shouldn't feel deflated or guilty or like a loser or crappy. But I do.
It's the brain melting thing. If my brain was more solidly intact, I would be able to handle everything. I could think rationally and know that I'm not failing anybody. But I feel like I'm letting everyone down. It's my melted brain, I tell you. In 40 minutes I need to show my Dad's nighttime caretaker how to use our washing machine. I'm tired.
Your Father Is Dying!
Apparently, that's what a friend of the family wanted to tell me today.
She had called to talk to my parents and I picked up because I was at their house. I might need to back up here. I don't remember what has made it onto the blog, but my Dad is in hospice at my parents home. He's got a hospital bed, two walkers, a wheelchair, two nurses, a nighttime caretaker and a chef/physical therapist/errand runner/counselor/mother hen/medicine giver (that last person is ME).
So when my parents' friend, who I've known my whole life as well, called and I said the word "hospice", she proceeded to lose her shit. She started out by saying, "Mercy...mercy me." She's from the South. I just thought that's what they say down there. I didn't think it was the equivalent of farting before you have an explosive shit.
Then she she started saying things like, "You know that hospice means that he's DYING." I thought I was calming her down by explaining some of the details, "Several years ago they added Congestive Heart Failure patients to the list of eligibility for hospice." "But that means he's DYING. HE IS DYING!!!!!" "Okay, but we're monitoring his medicine and his nutrition. Yes, there is technically nothing we can do. We can't make his heart stronger, but we're giving him as much comfort and pleasure as we can." Then the tears started. The sobs. Oh Jesus. I didn't know what to do. So I apologized for seeming so cavalier about the whole situation, but it's just that we've been dealing with this for a while and we're just trying to deal with what's in front of us and be focused. I'm in the Takin' Care of Business mode.
More crying. More apologizing.
Then she said she couldn't talk any more. I thought this meant that she needed to get off the phone in a minute. So I suggested that she use my parents cell phones because they never check the house phone. She had mentioned that she had been calling and calling and calling, but they never pick up. But she didn't mean that she needed to get off the phone in a few minutes after we said out goodbyes and made promises to call each other with updates. She meant I NEED TO GET OFF THE PHONE...NOW!!! And did. So it was more emotional for her. Too much for her to handle.
It's my father who's dying. And honestly, we're all dying. His heart is working at only 15% and there's nothing the doctors can do. So yes, technically he IS dying. He will eventually die. I don't know if that's in three minutes or three months or three years. I'm not in denial. And this woman made me feel like I wasn't owning up to that fact. But I'm well aware of that fact. It's why I'm spending time with him. It's why I'm talking to him because I don't know if he'll be this lucid towards the end and I don't know when that end will be.
But I don't need someone to freak out on the phone about it. I get the situation. It just wasn't what I needed to hear because then I did get emotional about it. I'm not afraid of this or any emotion. I'm a writer. I love being emotional and forthright. But at this moment right now I don't want to hear about what could happen when he dies. He's alive and I want to enjoy that.
My ex knew a great saying: Worrying is praying for something you don't want. And I feel that freaking out would be worrying. I'm just going to make his lunches and continue to tell him that he can't have char siu (chinese BBQ pork) or steak or a salt lick. I'm going to try and make this time as pleasant for all of us as possible and I want to make sure he's around as long as possible.
She had called to talk to my parents and I picked up because I was at their house. I might need to back up here. I don't remember what has made it onto the blog, but my Dad is in hospice at my parents home. He's got a hospital bed, two walkers, a wheelchair, two nurses, a nighttime caretaker and a chef/physical therapist/errand runner/counselor/mother hen/medicine giver (that last person is ME).
So when my parents' friend, who I've known my whole life as well, called and I said the word "hospice", she proceeded to lose her shit. She started out by saying, "Mercy...mercy me." She's from the South. I just thought that's what they say down there. I didn't think it was the equivalent of farting before you have an explosive shit.
Then she she started saying things like, "You know that hospice means that he's DYING." I thought I was calming her down by explaining some of the details, "Several years ago they added Congestive Heart Failure patients to the list of eligibility for hospice." "But that means he's DYING. HE IS DYING!!!!!" "Okay, but we're monitoring his medicine and his nutrition. Yes, there is technically nothing we can do. We can't make his heart stronger, but we're giving him as much comfort and pleasure as we can." Then the tears started. The sobs. Oh Jesus. I didn't know what to do. So I apologized for seeming so cavalier about the whole situation, but it's just that we've been dealing with this for a while and we're just trying to deal with what's in front of us and be focused. I'm in the Takin' Care of Business mode.
More crying. More apologizing.
Then she said she couldn't talk any more. I thought this meant that she needed to get off the phone in a minute. So I suggested that she use my parents cell phones because they never check the house phone. She had mentioned that she had been calling and calling and calling, but they never pick up. But she didn't mean that she needed to get off the phone in a few minutes after we said out goodbyes and made promises to call each other with updates. She meant I NEED TO GET OFF THE PHONE...NOW!!! And did. So it was more emotional for her. Too much for her to handle.
It's my father who's dying. And honestly, we're all dying. His heart is working at only 15% and there's nothing the doctors can do. So yes, technically he IS dying. He will eventually die. I don't know if that's in three minutes or three months or three years. I'm not in denial. And this woman made me feel like I wasn't owning up to that fact. But I'm well aware of that fact. It's why I'm spending time with him. It's why I'm talking to him because I don't know if he'll be this lucid towards the end and I don't know when that end will be.
But I don't need someone to freak out on the phone about it. I get the situation. It just wasn't what I needed to hear because then I did get emotional about it. I'm not afraid of this or any emotion. I'm a writer. I love being emotional and forthright. But at this moment right now I don't want to hear about what could happen when he dies. He's alive and I want to enjoy that.
My ex knew a great saying: Worrying is praying for something you don't want. And I feel that freaking out would be worrying. I'm just going to make his lunches and continue to tell him that he can't have char siu (chinese BBQ pork) or steak or a salt lick. I'm going to try and make this time as pleasant for all of us as possible and I want to make sure he's around as long as possible.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Tug O' War with Myself
I have a lot going on right now.
Isn't that what everyone says? At least in LA. And New York. And Chicago, Miami, Dallas, Omaha...probably everywhere. It can be hard when you're pulled in a ton of different directions. And right now, I am being pulled by this play I have to finish. And also by my father's health. We had to move him into a living care facility temporarily so he could get better. The problem with my Dad is that he's got renal failure and congestive heart failure, yet he hasn't been keeping up with his nutrition and his medicine. Now they're going to release him on Saturday and we need to, as a family, figure out ways for him to get some care at night and in the morning so that he can get stronger.
But now I find myself in a position where I have to worry about his finances and his health and continued well being. And he lives at home with my Mother, so I have to worry about her health and well being too because she's stressing herself out in a way that's epic.
And I need to carve out time for myself. I know people who think that I shouldn't even be thinking about that right now. That my place is with my family and that any petty, superfluous career ambitions should be cast to the side.
That's not how I work.
It's not just about career for me. It's my life's blood. Writing is how I perceive the world and make sense of it. So I need to protect that. I feel like that's my life lesson right now:
To make sure I make room for my voice. No matter what.
Yeah, I know that sounds all dramatic. But pushing for what you believe in and believing in your art is dramatic. It's a big deal. And I've watched people in my family give up who they are for someone else.
I just need to make sure I have room for myself. It's hard to make time for everything I want to do and everything I care about. I told my brother today that I started to sympathize with what he goes through as a parent and how he's pulled in a zillion directions. This is not fun.
Isn't that what everyone says? At least in LA. And New York. And Chicago, Miami, Dallas, Omaha...probably everywhere. It can be hard when you're pulled in a ton of different directions. And right now, I am being pulled by this play I have to finish. And also by my father's health. We had to move him into a living care facility temporarily so he could get better. The problem with my Dad is that he's got renal failure and congestive heart failure, yet he hasn't been keeping up with his nutrition and his medicine. Now they're going to release him on Saturday and we need to, as a family, figure out ways for him to get some care at night and in the morning so that he can get stronger.
But now I find myself in a position where I have to worry about his finances and his health and continued well being. And he lives at home with my Mother, so I have to worry about her health and well being too because she's stressing herself out in a way that's epic.
And I need to carve out time for myself. I know people who think that I shouldn't even be thinking about that right now. That my place is with my family and that any petty, superfluous career ambitions should be cast to the side.
That's not how I work.
It's not just about career for me. It's my life's blood. Writing is how I perceive the world and make sense of it. So I need to protect that. I feel like that's my life lesson right now:
To make sure I make room for my voice. No matter what.
Yeah, I know that sounds all dramatic. But pushing for what you believe in and believing in your art is dramatic. It's a big deal. And I've watched people in my family give up who they are for someone else.
I just need to make sure I have room for myself. It's hard to make time for everything I want to do and everything I care about. I told my brother today that I started to sympathize with what he goes through as a parent and how he's pulled in a zillion directions. This is not fun.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
New Life
I have a new nephew who was born this morning at 5:57 AM. He shares my mother's birthday, who is turning 66 today.
Lots of new beginnings. Fresh starts. I did his numerology and apparently he's supposed to be a philanthropist or involved in giving back to others. Also, he's highly creative...no shocker.
Days like today remind me that the cycle of life continues and things workout the way they're supposed to. My parents have been feeling a bit disconnected from my brother and his family. But with my nephew's middle name being my father's name and with him sharing a birthday with my mother...there's no way their lives can't be intertwined. He will always be a reminder of his grandparents for as long as he lives. It's pretty special that way.
Lots of new beginnings. Fresh starts. I did his numerology and apparently he's supposed to be a philanthropist or involved in giving back to others. Also, he's highly creative...no shocker.
Days like today remind me that the cycle of life continues and things workout the way they're supposed to. My parents have been feeling a bit disconnected from my brother and his family. But with my nephew's middle name being my father's name and with him sharing a birthday with my mother...there's no way their lives can't be intertwined. He will always be a reminder of his grandparents for as long as he lives. It's pretty special that way.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Politeness
It has been a week of emotional turmoil. Dad in the hospital. Passing out in the living room and scaring us all to death thinking that he just died in the living room. Well, I wasn't there. I was at the gym. My brother got the shock of his life. But to see him back in the hospital in the Coronary Care Unit (CCU) was nuts. Even in the weeks and days before he went back in, I knew something was up. And there was nothing I could do about it. Other than badger him incessantly, but even that got tired for both of us. When he would come back from two hour trips to the supermarket and wouldn't eat when he got back. Or when he came home with a bag of fun size Snickers bars. I knew he couldn't change until he decided it was time to change. I don't even know if he gets that now.
But one thing has changed. This episode happened when his granddaughter was in the house. Yes, she was sleeping (thank God), but she was still only a few feet away. I hope he gets the connection that everything he's doing to himself affects his ability to be a presence in her life. He is making an active choice not to be there for her in the future. No one likes to talk about it because it's impolite. Because it's not nice.
How could you say that about your father? It's his choice. It's the way he was raised.
I've heard all or some variation of this over the past few days. I've had addicts in my life and I know all about being an enabler. . And that's what's going on here. Everyone excuses the behavior because it's hard to break or because he was raised a certain way. I understand having to unlearn behavior. I'm in the process of doing that now. But at some point you make a choice. And sometimes that choice is a negative one.
We have put the right information in front of my Dad. We have gotten rid of the stuff he's attached to. And we're forcing it to a breaking point. I hope this is what he needs to start making the choices for himself. It's like an emotional defibrillator. A shock to the system to get things running right.
But I'm over being polite for its own sake. That doesn't help anyone. My mother has made choices that contribute to this and so have I. But I'm trying not to be an enabler to anyone any more. It got me into trouble and has never helped the addicts in my life. In a certain way, this feels a bit like readjusting my own thought process with people in my life. But the change also involves me knowing when to let go. And we are making an effort in order to empower my dad. I'm not going to be knocking Snickers bars out of his hand or following him around to make sure he's not messing up. He's got to make those own choices for himself. All I can do is give him access to the right information. And be supportive. If he's making the right decisions, I will be fully encouraging and supportive of that and will do what I can to help him along that path. But that takes effort on his part.
And I'm not patient with people who disagree with me. I'm not patient with people who allow certain behavior because it's the easier thing to do. I've been there and I've walked through the fire in ways those people haven't. And even if those people are "elders", that doesn't mean they know more than I do about everything. I'm an adult and I've earned my stripes in this department. I'm ferocious about this stuff and I will bite your head off, chop it up and serve it as tartare. Fuck you for being an enabler and allowing this behavior to continue. That is honestly how I feel about it. It destroys lives...and all because we're too polite to speak up.
But one thing has changed. This episode happened when his granddaughter was in the house. Yes, she was sleeping (thank God), but she was still only a few feet away. I hope he gets the connection that everything he's doing to himself affects his ability to be a presence in her life. He is making an active choice not to be there for her in the future. No one likes to talk about it because it's impolite. Because it's not nice.
How could you say that about your father? It's his choice. It's the way he was raised.
I've heard all or some variation of this over the past few days. I've had addicts in my life and I know all about being an enabler. . And that's what's going on here. Everyone excuses the behavior because it's hard to break or because he was raised a certain way. I understand having to unlearn behavior. I'm in the process of doing that now. But at some point you make a choice. And sometimes that choice is a negative one.
We have put the right information in front of my Dad. We have gotten rid of the stuff he's attached to. And we're forcing it to a breaking point. I hope this is what he needs to start making the choices for himself. It's like an emotional defibrillator. A shock to the system to get things running right.
But I'm over being polite for its own sake. That doesn't help anyone. My mother has made choices that contribute to this and so have I. But I'm trying not to be an enabler to anyone any more. It got me into trouble and has never helped the addicts in my life. In a certain way, this feels a bit like readjusting my own thought process with people in my life. But the change also involves me knowing when to let go. And we are making an effort in order to empower my dad. I'm not going to be knocking Snickers bars out of his hand or following him around to make sure he's not messing up. He's got to make those own choices for himself. All I can do is give him access to the right information. And be supportive. If he's making the right decisions, I will be fully encouraging and supportive of that and will do what I can to help him along that path. But that takes effort on his part.
And I'm not patient with people who disagree with me. I'm not patient with people who allow certain behavior because it's the easier thing to do. I've been there and I've walked through the fire in ways those people haven't. And even if those people are "elders", that doesn't mean they know more than I do about everything. I'm an adult and I've earned my stripes in this department. I'm ferocious about this stuff and I will bite your head off, chop it up and serve it as tartare. Fuck you for being an enabler and allowing this behavior to continue. That is honestly how I feel about it. It destroys lives...and all because we're too polite to speak up.
Friday, July 29, 2011
The Dutiful Son
My father comes home tomorrow from the hospital. I've spent the past few weeks dealing with his health. Talking to doctors, figuring out his diet, etc. I even put up two poster boards on their refrigerator detailing what he can and can't eat. And tomorrow I'm putting together recipes for him. I am exhausted both physically and emotionally. I hope he gets it together and starts taking all of this seriously. That would be great.
And I need to get back to my life. I feel like I need to get some work done. I feel good that I can be here for him, but I need to take care of myself as well. But not before I do tons of research on what he can and can't eat. Oy.
Maybe I can do a cookbook out of this.
Talk about a change in direction.
And I need to get back to my life. I feel like I need to get some work done. I feel good that I can be here for him, but I need to take care of myself as well. But not before I do tons of research on what he can and can't eat. Oy.
Maybe I can do a cookbook out of this.
Talk about a change in direction.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Farewell Recap: My Family
As a part of my farewell to this blog, I'm doing a bit of a recap of where I am on certain subjects. And when I'm finished, just like I did when I broke up with my ex, I'm gone.
But I promise to leave my forwarding address...which will be another blog about something besides my now 8 month old break up. I think it's time to move on.
TODAY'S SUBJECT:
My family
My family. Oy.
There's been a huge challenge over the past three weeks since my Dad has been sick.
Part of it could be called "healing."
I made a decision when my Dad went to the hospital that I could give him compassion. And that's easier said that done.
My Mother depends on me so much that it's difficult not to be angry. I need her to take care of herself, and not be so overwhelmed. But that's hard. She gets overwhelmed so easily. And a lot of my anger is directed towards her because I know how similar we both are.
I also feel that my journey to where I am right now has made all the difference is dealing with my Dad. I'm taking charge in a way I haven't been able to do before.
I'm demanding and I'm confrontational with the doctors and I'm exact in my line of questioning because I no longer assume that someone else knows more than I do. And I'm not afraid of those bastards either. They are there to make my Dad better and some times they need help figuring out their priority. As in, "MY dad before anyone else."
I'm also confronted with my own personal conditioning, which is "Everyone else before yourself." That won't fly with me. But I've seen it in my Mom. I've heard it from my Godmother and I've seen it in my mother's friends. And that's not where it's at. It's not about losing everything I've worked so hard to gain and get back. There's a balance there that is dependent on the work of all of us. But because my freedom and independence have been so hard fought, I value it. And I'm not letting any of it go. And that's a hard thing to accept when it comes to family, when it comes to the people who helped formulate my idea of myself from a very early age.
But in the discussion of family, I also have to mention my brother, who has been an amazing sounding board and has also maintained his necessary boundaries. And my niece, who is the future. And she's made me look hard as I've been on this journey at the things I was taught when I was her age. We're breaking cycles for her as well as for me. Because hopefully she won't have to unlearn all of the things that I am, although much of that deprogramming is necessary to figure out the person you will be come. So it's just as necessary for her as his has been for me. But that is also what keeps me going...knowing that I'm also going to be a better uncle because of it.
But I promise to leave my forwarding address...which will be another blog about something besides my now 8 month old break up. I think it's time to move on.
TODAY'S SUBJECT:
My family
My family. Oy.
There's been a huge challenge over the past three weeks since my Dad has been sick.
Part of it could be called "healing."
I made a decision when my Dad went to the hospital that I could give him compassion. And that's easier said that done.
My Mother depends on me so much that it's difficult not to be angry. I need her to take care of herself, and not be so overwhelmed. But that's hard. She gets overwhelmed so easily. And a lot of my anger is directed towards her because I know how similar we both are.
I also feel that my journey to where I am right now has made all the difference is dealing with my Dad. I'm taking charge in a way I haven't been able to do before.
I'm demanding and I'm confrontational with the doctors and I'm exact in my line of questioning because I no longer assume that someone else knows more than I do. And I'm not afraid of those bastards either. They are there to make my Dad better and some times they need help figuring out their priority. As in, "MY dad before anyone else."
I'm also confronted with my own personal conditioning, which is "Everyone else before yourself." That won't fly with me. But I've seen it in my Mom. I've heard it from my Godmother and I've seen it in my mother's friends. And that's not where it's at. It's not about losing everything I've worked so hard to gain and get back. There's a balance there that is dependent on the work of all of us. But because my freedom and independence have been so hard fought, I value it. And I'm not letting any of it go. And that's a hard thing to accept when it comes to family, when it comes to the people who helped formulate my idea of myself from a very early age.
But in the discussion of family, I also have to mention my brother, who has been an amazing sounding board and has also maintained his necessary boundaries. And my niece, who is the future. And she's made me look hard as I've been on this journey at the things I was taught when I was her age. We're breaking cycles for her as well as for me. Because hopefully she won't have to unlearn all of the things that I am, although much of that deprogramming is necessary to figure out the person you will be come. So it's just as necessary for her as his has been for me. But that is also what keeps me going...knowing that I'm also going to be a better uncle because of it.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Breakthrough
My Mom and I have spent some special time together this week as my Dad's been in the hospital with the after effects of Congestive Heart Failure and some kidney problems.
Today we had a major moment. We kind of crossed over from the kid/parent dynamic into being two adults who have had relationships with men who are emotionally shut down and who we have run around trying to make everything better.
I held my Mom as she admitted that she felt alone. It was a profound moment.
And I got to share my lessons of trying to make a relationship work with someone who refuses to deal with the things that are destroying his life. It was then that I felt grateful that I had those experiences so I could share my knowledge with my Mom. These are two different situations, but the common thread is that we have both felt that we could take care of everything and that our taking care of everything was emblematic of our strength. But, as I explained to her earlier, just because we have the strength doesn't mean we need to prove how strong we are nor does it mean that handling everything is our responsibility.
Although my Mom's best friend tried to prove to me other wise and implied that I didn't understand because a spouse or a family member was different from a friend or boyfriend. I had to let that one go...
But my Mommy and I had a big breakthrough in terms of our relationship. I think we understood each other as people who have hurt and been hurt because of our spouses. And for me, it's about breaking the cycle of my parents' life and experience. And my Mother finally seeing me step away and what I was stepping away from. My Mom has always been supportive of this break up. But she never equated it with what she was doing in her own marriage. Until today, I think.
I think it also brought the two of us closer together as a family.
It has been a busy past few days.
And it's the ex's 40th today. I sent him a brief text wishing him the best. It's done.
Today we had a major moment. We kind of crossed over from the kid/parent dynamic into being two adults who have had relationships with men who are emotionally shut down and who we have run around trying to make everything better.
I held my Mom as she admitted that she felt alone. It was a profound moment.
And I got to share my lessons of trying to make a relationship work with someone who refuses to deal with the things that are destroying his life. It was then that I felt grateful that I had those experiences so I could share my knowledge with my Mom. These are two different situations, but the common thread is that we have both felt that we could take care of everything and that our taking care of everything was emblematic of our strength. But, as I explained to her earlier, just because we have the strength doesn't mean we need to prove how strong we are nor does it mean that handling everything is our responsibility.
Although my Mom's best friend tried to prove to me other wise and implied that I didn't understand because a spouse or a family member was different from a friend or boyfriend. I had to let that one go...
But my Mommy and I had a big breakthrough in terms of our relationship. I think we understood each other as people who have hurt and been hurt because of our spouses. And for me, it's about breaking the cycle of my parents' life and experience. And my Mother finally seeing me step away and what I was stepping away from. My Mom has always been supportive of this break up. But she never equated it with what she was doing in her own marriage. Until today, I think.
I think it also brought the two of us closer together as a family.
It has been a busy past few days.
And it's the ex's 40th today. I sent him a brief text wishing him the best. It's done.
Breakdown
My Dad's been in the hospital for the past week almost and it's taken a bit of a toll. I had my high school reunion and I had a play rehearsal then on Sunday. I was a bit hung over, but also a bit sad due to the recent turn of events.
So when it came time to work in rehearsal and something wasn't working, I kind of lost it a bit on the inside. Then when I went to talk to my director after rehearsal, I lost it on the street.
Funny how sensitive we get when we're faced with life's trials. I always try to maintain a professional distance from everything. But when people said harsh, yet correct things about my play, I took it so personally. Like I was an idiot and like my actors and director thought I was a racist, bigoted, small-minded limited human being,which is the last thing in the world I want to give the impression of. In fact, I try to pride myself on the exact opposite. However, it just wasn't happening. I let everything get to me and I took everything personally.
For me, with my Dad in the hospital, I needed rehearsal to be a refuge. And what it was was a rehearsal and I have a section of my play that doesn't work. It was tough and difficult.
But I needed that breakthrough moment. I needed a moment to just release the hurt and pain and worry I was feeling regarding my Dad. But at the same time, I thought it was exactly the thing that needed to happen. I need to look at this part of the play and fix it and this breakdown or breakthrough might have been exactly the thing to push me.
Need to redirect my emotions.
So when it came time to work in rehearsal and something wasn't working, I kind of lost it a bit on the inside. Then when I went to talk to my director after rehearsal, I lost it on the street.
Funny how sensitive we get when we're faced with life's trials. I always try to maintain a professional distance from everything. But when people said harsh, yet correct things about my play, I took it so personally. Like I was an idiot and like my actors and director thought I was a racist, bigoted, small-minded limited human being,which is the last thing in the world I want to give the impression of. In fact, I try to pride myself on the exact opposite. However, it just wasn't happening. I let everything get to me and I took everything personally.
For me, with my Dad in the hospital, I needed rehearsal to be a refuge. And what it was was a rehearsal and I have a section of my play that doesn't work. It was tough and difficult.
But I needed that breakthrough moment. I needed a moment to just release the hurt and pain and worry I was feeling regarding my Dad. But at the same time, I thought it was exactly the thing that needed to happen. I need to look at this part of the play and fix it and this breakdown or breakthrough might have been exactly the thing to push me.
Need to redirect my emotions.
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