The Last Goodbye

I don't even know if it was the "last goodbye", but it was a good-bye.

Our case worker Cleo came by today (at my request) to check on my Dad and to see how he was doing.  Cleo's a person I would want to go have a drink with.  She'd probably do something crazy.  And then we would both exchange numbers and promise to hang out again soon.  But we probably wouldn't.  And that would be it.

But Cleo as our case worker with someone who has vital information to help us through the process of my father's hospice and eventual passing is not helpful.  I hate it when it seems like people don't know what they're doing, even when they might have SOME important information.  But if it seems to be that you don't have expertise, then I immediately shut off.  You're not really worth my time.  I don't mean to paint a picture of Cleo as an incompetent, but for my personal needs, she doesn't provide any sort of comfort or real information.

However, she did say something today that was helpful.  She mentioned that sometimes a patient might be holding on because he's worried about the family.  My Mother also mentioned that my Godmother's husband went into serious convulsions before he died.  We kind of concluded that it might be good to have the "it's okay to let go" conversation with him before it gets to that place.  It felt like maybe her husband didn't feel like he could go so he was holding on for dear life, kind of like white knuckling it. And we don't want that to happen to my Dad.  We want him to be as comfortable as possible.

Elyzabeth, our nurse, came to see him yesterday.  She told my Mother that he looked good.  My Mother gave her a perplexed look.  "Good?"  Then Elyzabeth explained that he looked like he was comfortable and that makes the transition easier.  It could mean that he wouldn't suffer as much.  And that is something we want.  We want to make sure that he has an easy time of it.

So today I went in to change his diaper.  I cleaned him up and then I took the opportunity to read to him.  I have been reading Jane Fonda's memoir, "My Life So Far" to prepare for this pilot I'm writing.  And one of the chapters is called "Closure" and it details what she did when she knew her father was dying.  What she said.  What she wishes she had said.  It was all incredibly moving and oddly close to my personal experience with my Dad.  I even went back and watched "On Golden Pond" after I read her account of her experience with the film.  Henry Fonda was a father who was distant and never gave her the approval she had craved for her entire life up until then.  I felt a connection to her story.

So in an effort to both give myself the courage to talk to my Dad about letting go and to present someone else's story so my Dad wouldn't feel confronted, I decided I would read this chapter to him.  I read the whole thing to him and then I started speaking to him.

I told him that I was proud to be his son.
I told him that even though he didn't think he had taught me things, he had.
I told him that my Mother and Brother would be okay.
I told him that I knew that he only pushed me to help reveal the potential he knew was just below the surface.
I told him that I was starting to finally realize that potential.
I promised him that I would start living my potential.
I told him a bunch of other things that were heartfelt, sincere, well articulated and wonderful.  None of those things I can remember now.
I told him I loved him.
I told him it was okay for him to go.

My voice was teetering on the edge of breaking and losing it.  But I kept going.  I let myself sit in that.  I let my voice rest in that.

I am sorry my Dad won't live to see all of the things he knows I'm capable of.  But I'm glad he was alive to see me overcome the bullies, go to college, find my voice, come out of the closet, go to graduate school, and start living my dreams.  The other stuff is material and surface and the world's idea of success.  I do wish he could see that, but...

I also told him that his gift to me was to help me realize and fulfill that potential by making his transition.  I remember that now.

A friend of mine told me a year and a half ago after my breakup that sometimes a Son holds back from realizing his full potential because he doesn't want to outshine his Father.  I think that is true.  I don't think that's the entirety of the reason I haven't done the things I know I'm capable of or that I haven't had the outward success that I'm working towards.  But I do think I have held back to protect my Father's pride.  That seems so fucked up.  But I always wanted to make my Dad proud and I guess somewhere I thought what would make him the proudest was protecting his Pride.

I told him that I wouldn't accomplish the things I'm going to accomplish to make him proud, but I know that it would. 

I don't think I got that right, by the way.  But I do think that's how strong my desire to please has been.  It's a powerful force.  Now I can save that energy for myself.

Thanks, Dad.  Love you.  Hope it's not too long now, for your sake.

I also told him that I would think about him whenever I ate.  My curiosity of food, my wonderment of it, my appreciation of it comes from him.

I told him that I'd think about him whenever I ate pate and crackers.
Whenever I tried something new I was excited by.
Whenever my Brother and I ate something together and shared that experience.
I told him how close Chris and I are and that our love of food comes from him and has brought us close.
I told him that I was sorry that he had been abused by his Mother and that that affected his life so deeply.

I told him a lot.  I'm glad I was able to before he dies.

The other thing that Cleo said was that maybe I could share my stories with other people, to help them through something I had experienced.  I took that as reinforcement that I should write these experiences down.

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?

One Year with the Drummer

Since my last series of postings (not the ones that I'm putting up now), I celebrated one year with the drummer.

July 11, 2011

That's when I met him.  That's when I made the steaks.  That's when I had him over.  It's all well documented on this blog.

And now we have been together for one year.  What does that mean?

It signifies a year of change.  I look back and think about the person I was when I met him.  I had eight months free of a relationship.  I had started doing the heavy work on myself when he came into my life.  He didn't change me.  But because I was changing, he was able to come in.  It's great.  I have a life I really enjoy.

I have put on some happy weight, which I'm not psyched about.  But it's better happy with ten extra pounds than miserable with a six pack.  I have a partner.  I have someone I respect.  I have sexiness.  I added "hotness" to my list and I got hotness.  That is also well documented on this blog.  I have to look back at what I was looking for.  Hold on.  I'll be right back.

I'm back.  This is the post from 12/5/10:

My friend Susan and I have started running again. We used to run every Saturday for over a year. Then we stopped, probably something to do with my relationship.

But now every Sunday, I drive to Santa Monica and we run along the beach.

So our normal Bagel Nosh was totally slammed this morning. So we went to Snug Harbor for a little breakfast. And when we were having coffee, waiting for our food to come, a group of attractive guys walk in with a female friend of theirs. I didn't think anything of it, cute. whatever.

Then Susan tells me that one of the guys is checking me out. I'm in complete disbelief.

"Which one?" I ask.

"The one who walked in first."

I turn around and see this stunning guy. He's probably around 6'2", in shape, blue eyes, brown hair. Straight acting.

I turn back around. "That guy? Are you sure he wasn't looking at YOU?"

She was sure.

"Suze, let me tell yous something. Guys like that don't want guys like me. They want the washboard abs. The big pecs. Listen, I'll be totally honest about myself. I give good face. I'm in shape, but I'm not ripped. That guy wants ripped. I can let one rip. But I'm not ripped."

She laughs.

"See, I'm funny. And quick witted and clever. But that guy wants the washboard."

"He just looked again. He keeps looking over here."

To be honest, I didn't believe her. I thought that this adorable guy who looks a little like Jake Gyllenhall wasn't going for little ol mixed race me. And where did I get this terrible self-esteem? I grew up in LA and I knew that LA guys liked the body. Even the fat ones think they deserve to date the body. That's why they make a lot of money and become really successful. That's the other reason. The main reason is that they like to eat. And then they spend money on guys. Either purchasing or winning their affections. In NYC, guys loved my mind.

I didn't even think I'd meet anyone out here when I moved back to LA. I figured I'd get my career going and move back to New York and meet a real guy. And then I met my ex and he changed all of that. But even my ex didn't have the perfect body. I always said that didn't matter to me. That it's about the intellect and the ambition and the humor and the background. I had all of that with my ex. I had the Catholic thing. I had bigger than life personality and the excitement. That's until the excitement got too exciting.

So later I'm talking to Susan and her husband about this whole scenario. And her husband asked me what I valued in a relationship. I gave him my list: brains, wit, sarcasm, emotionally available, caring, fun. The same things I've always valued. And everything I got with my ex. But I always felt like I settled for guys who were handsome to me. But I'd never think of dating a person who was hot. And it's not that I want to give up everything else just to date a hot dude. I don't want a narcissist. But someone who values themselves enough to take care of themselves. I think THAT'S about character. But I want everything else too. I'm just adding hotness to the list.
So what happened to the guy? He drove away in his black Prius with his friends. But I do know now that, according to Susan:

"That guy is exactly the caliber of guy that you could get."

So that's what I get for adding hotness to the list.  I have it with the drummer: brains, wit, sarcasm, emotionally available, caring and fun.  He watches MSNBC all the time (brains).  He's funny (wit) and he likes to bust my balls (sarcasm) playfully.  He tells me he loves me all of the time and we talk about our feelings and he cares and the sex is amazing (emotionally available).  He's got a big heart and one that he wears on his sleeve (caring).  And we go do fun things together like going to the mountains or hearing bands play or going on long drives (fun).  And he's got the most amazing blue eyes and the best chest in town.  He's just awesome.  And I think a lot of people want to fuck him. 

So that's nice too.

The Story of My Life

What's the story of my life?

Is it my relationship with my Father?  Having so many years where I tried to make him proud and tried to become a person that was in direct conflict with myself so he would be proud. 

Is it the relationship with my sexuality?  Being so clearly gay and exuberant and creative and individual.

Is it the relationship with my Mother?  Mirroring her nurturing nature at the expense of myself.

Is it about being a Writer?  I have experiences that I have to write down.  This is the lens through which my world exists.  Sometimes my world is fantasy because I'm living in the dream I am writing.

Is it about being a mixed race person?  I'm Chinese and Mexican and sometimes that says everything and sometimes that doesn't even scratch the surface.  It's meaningless.

I'm thinking about writing a memoir.  I wrote fiction as a child.  I wrote short stories in college.  But I haven't written prose in years.  And I never thought I would be the sort of person who would use direct autobiography.  I have actually steered clear of it for a long, long time.  When I started writing prose as a kid, I wrote things that were direct autobiography.  But I never considered that writing.  My evolution from poetry to dance theatre to narrative theatre/film/TV writing it seems has taken me back to writing about  my personal experiences. 

I thought about writing about my Dad's illness and eminent passing as a play.  Mainly because I've been writing plays lately.  Then it seemed to be about writing something that would take me away from the story of dealing with the idea of my Dad's death.  I wanted to get theatrical and crazy on it instead of tell a real story.  And writing a memoir would give me the chance to write a real story and my real feelings about my real Father and preparing for his death.  It's something that seems so foreign, yet it seems like exactly the way I should write about him.  But I know I can't write about my Dad without writing about another relationship that ended, the one with my Ex. 

A friend had suggested in the early days of me writing this blog that I write a book about the break up.  Again, since I abhored the idea of writing an autobiography I continued writing the blog and figured that that was enough.  Let's be honest, this is autobiographical, uncensored writing.  And it's been a great release (and great relief).  But still that didn't seem like enough of a story for me.  But when I thought about writing about what's going on with my Dad and his illness, it seemed like there was a part of the story that allowed me to write about the break up.  All along, I've said that I was grateful to my Ex because the break up and what I discovered about myself gave me the strength to deal with my Dad's illness and now his death which seems to be approaching quickly.  I know that I would not be handling my Dad's illness with any sort of strength if I hadn't survived this break up.  If we were still together, I would be managing my Ex's selfishness.  If we were still together, my Dad being sick would have caused my self-destruction.  I would have been so far gone.  I know that I was destroying myself by being with my Ex.  He wasn't destroying me.  I was committing some sort of spirtual suicide.  And I was killing everything that was beautiful and unique about myself because I had offered myself up to him like a lamb to the slaughter.  Strong words, but completely accurate and not overexaggeration at all.  But I was responsible for that, not my Ex.  I know that now. 

But this story isn't about the break up.  The break up informed how I have been handling everything.  It has let me know that I have strength and power I always knew was there but was not accessing.  Some people would say that they had strength they didn't know they had.  I have been fully aware my whole life of that strength.  I just haven't used it.  It has been there in moments, but I took it for granted.  I thought it would always be there.  Then that relationship almost destroyed my spirit, as did the job I held for seven years.  And I was perfectly aware and perfectly all right with it all going away.  I have more to give and if I don't give it, then I am the fool.  But the story isn't even about that.  Well, it IS of course to some degree.  But it's about giving up and letting go and experiencing my Father for who he is. 

I don't like food with a lot covering it up--gravies, sauces, etc.  And I'm not learning to appreciate life without a lot covering it up.  I want food to taste like food.  And I want life to taste like life. 

That's the story.

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.

The Long Let Go

Saw Dad today.

He slept  most of the time I was there. 

I had to change him and I had to wipe him clean.  Humbling. 

All sense of embarrassment (on my end at least) is gone.  I just have to do what I have to do to make him comfortable.  I never imagined myself doing the things I've done.

I yelled at a few people on the phone today.  But I'm used to that.  And I'm sure Gerinet Healthcare is used to that as well.  Oh, well.  That's what I have to do to make sure my father's taken care of.

We have to figure out how we're going to let him go.  Is it okay to tell him it's okay for him to go?  It's a scary prospect.  And I feel a bit selfish that I'm the one who might have to do it.  It's a huge responsibility and I'm not afraid of that.  But I think it's a precious thing and since my Mother can't do it and my Brother isn't in town...that leaves me.

I'm also thinking about this story.  My story.  The story of letting my Father go.  I have a story I feel I need to tell.  I've been reading all of these celebrity autobiographies in preparation for a pilot I'm writing.  But it has dawned on me that maybe I"m reading all of these autobiographies and memoirs because there's something in it for me as well.  Maybe I'm doing research for a memoir I'm supposed to write without knowing it.  It seems strange to think about, but it also is helping me contextualize what I'm going through.

I also have another story of letting go to tell.  It's the one I've been telling on this blog for the past year and a half.  And I realized recently that they are tied, so I can't tell one story of letting go without telling the other one.  I feel that what I went through with my breakup with the Ex has helped me process what I'm going through in my "break up" with my Father. 

A lot to think about.

Not Dead Yet

My father is still alive and with us. The last blog post I wrote was right after the doctor had told us my Dad had two weeks left to live. Well, he has surpassed those two weeks. It's six weeks later. And he's still here, but his health has declined steadily.

My Dad is now bedridden. That happened after he tried to go back to his bedroom after he was sitting down in his favorite chair in the living room. He made it about 1 1/2 feet. Then he was too tired to get up. I had to roll him in his walker. That took about 30 minutes. When I got him back into bed, I knew that he wasn't really going to get out of bed. Then we had to start managing his pain with morphine.

 When he first started hospice, the careworkers and nurses kept asking him if he was in pain. It seemed like for the first couple of months he was in hospice, we didn't have to worry about it. I was grateful. But then he had an experience where he was up and "awake" in his chair for about a day and a half. He didn't seem comfortable and my mother hadn't really done much to help him with his discomfort. It was then that I decided to give him morphine for the first time. My father's a stubborn guy and he wasn't going to say outright that he was in pain. I think he's just trying to let everything wear him down until he eventually expires. But it doesn't work that way. It just creates unnecessary pain for him while his body decides when it's going to stop working.

The thought of morphine scares my Mom to death and for the first couple of weeks I was administering it, she was afraid to. So she let him sit in pain. All of it made me incredibly angry and I kept getting to this place where I would fly off the handle. How could she let her judgment be impaired by her fear? I didn't understand it and it made me angry. She was willingly letting him suffer by not offering him medicine that could make him feel better all because she was afraid of what the morphine represented: that he was really dying.

Eventually she came around, thank goodness. Then he started refusing food and medicine and oxygen. He's not talking very much. And he sleeps all day. I wonder what he's hanging around for? It seems like he's ready to go, but that he's holding on for something. Is he waiting for my Mom to forgive him? Is he waiting for me to let him know that we're all going to be okay and that he can be at peace?

It's not like we want him to go, we just want him to not suffer any more. It's no fun to watch someone die. Either quickly or slowly. It sucks.