Facebook Condolence Highlights

It was with great trepidation that I even posted stuff on Facebook about my Dad.  During his illness, I had posted some status updates that mentioned him.  Nothing explicit like:

My Dad's rectum is bleeding.  Now on my way to Starbucks.

Dad forgot to take his lasix today and yelled at my mother and his caregiver.  I escaped the Wrath of Khan.

Dad peed himself three times today.  But only threw up once.

I avoided anything that was too deeply shaming.  But I shared thoughts about how I felt about him as I was caring for him.  So when I posted on Facebook the following message, I got some lovely responses.

No easy way to do this: This afternoon, my brave father, Daniel Calvin Koon Yat ___, died. He was peaceful. He was at home. And he was loved. My Dad taught me a shitload, was a real fucker in the best possible way, cursed a bit, was a true friend and generous to the end. I'm just glad that during this year of illness he got to see me be as fiercely and ferociously protective of him as he was of me my entire life. Glad you're finally at peace, Duck.

 Here are some of the lovely responses I got back:

Oh, WOW.  Be strong...you are so strong for others.  May he rest in peace...condolences.

Hugs and love to you and your family.  Reading about this process through your eyes has been beautiful.  Thank you for sharing the journey.

My heart goes out to you.

I'm really sorry for your loss, man.  Losing your dad is a real bitch.  You and I are a part of a shitty club.

I often think of the man who could have raised such a brilliant, confident son.

I know you are grateful that you could be there with him during his fight. 


You are lucky to have had a father like that in your life.  Thinking of you.


I'm so sorry for your loss.  It sounds like your Dad was an ace and solid soldier...you are a product of good supportive fabric.


It sounds like his attributes have been passed onto you and will live on.


So sad to hear of your Dad's passing.  You know I thought he was cool!


Tears are welling up for you, my friend.  While I never met your father, I feel like I knew him and how much he meant to you by all the kind words you have posted about him.  He raised you right and I promise he knew how much you loved and adored him.  My thoughts are with you.


My thoughts and prayers are with you.  I have beautiful memories of you and your family.  Your words hit me to the core.  Thank you for your openness and authenticity.


Condolences.  He is always with you now.


You were there for him.  He knows it.  You know it.  That's the best we can do in the face of unspeakable loss.


Very grateful to him that we have you.  


Sending you and your family lots of love.  This is beautifully written.  Such a fitting tribute to the man.  Your skill as a writer is second only to your devotion and caring to the people you love.  


I am so sorry for your loss and so glad you could spend time with your father before he passed.  You were such a good friend to me when my Mom died and I wish I could be there to do the same for you.  I still remember crying in the church when everyone was trying to console me.  You came up to me and said, "You look great in that outfit."  It brought me just what I needed, which was a release and a giggle.  Here's to release and giggling in the toughest times and here's to great friends, loving families and good outfits.  Love you.

Thinking of you.  You are fierce.

I am sorry for your loss.  I know the pain of losing a father and I'm glad you are being strong but remember that your friends may not know what you're going through but they love you and are there to support you.  It's okay to lean on them for support.  I'm praying for you my friend.  I know your father is proud of you.

The Best Message I Recieved About My Father's Death

My best friend Alanna called me on Monday after my Dad died and said that I was about to get some great messages from friends.  And the best voicemail I received was on Monday night from an ex-boyfriend of hers named Greg.  He was acting full time when they met and now has gone on to work in music in New Orleans.  I've tried to transcribe as much as I can, but here are some highlights.

Eric,

This is Greg ____.  Hi.  I just got a message from Alanna about your father and I've lost my father a while back, as you probably remember.  It hits me so hard that don't care that we haven't talked in 8 years.

I did not know your father, but I know you--I knew you--I feel like I still know you.  But he must have had incredible qualities because you can just see it when you see such a spectacular person.

If you ever want to catch up or talk, or need a friend.

I have a feeling I'll be seeing you sometime in the future, buddy.  I am sending my love.  I am sending my condolences to you and your family.  I'm thinking about you and I've BEEN thinking of you, which is a bit strange.  I look forward to speaking with you under better circumstances. And I just hope you are well and with the right people and taking it in stride.  You have a great friend in Alanna, no question about it.  I love you.

It was so touching to get a message from a person I haven't talked to in a long time.  That's just one example of so many that keep coming in.  These are the times when you are filled with love.

I got a call today from my friend Julia, who had lost her father two years ago.  I got a call from my friend Gina today.  These are people who have known me for a while and who have seen me evolve and know the kind of person I am.  It means a lot for people to reach out because it is so hard when you don't know exactly what to say.  It touches me that these people have spoken from their heart.

Rebirth

The day after my Father died, my Brother sent me a text:

Are you shaving your head today?

You see, when my Dad was sick I said that I was going to let my hair grow until he died.  Then I would cut it short.  Chris and I were having a conversation months ago and he said he was thinking about buzzing his head and might do that after Dad died.  Then I said I'd buzz mine if he buzzed his.  Just like Chocolate and Peanut Butter--two ideas that go great together. 

My Dad died around 4 PM on Monday, July 23rd.  My Brother texted me at 10:43 AM on Tuesday, July 24th.

ME: I haven't thought about it yet.  Are you?
CHRIS: Yeah, I think so.
ME: Let me know when you're doing it.  I'll go to the barber shop.

I knew that if I was going to shave my head, I would have to do it at the barber shop where we used to get our hair cut as kids.  When I was seven, my Dad took Chris and I to the barber shop to get our summer cuts.  He told the barber to buzz our heads.  I had no idea what that meant.  When I realized that it meant that we would have no hair, I started crying.  I cried all the way home.  And I wore a sailor hat the whole summer.

It was the beginning of my Father disappointing me.  It was the first time I had really seen what my face looks like.  And it was the start of me learning to accessorize.

Chris was going to do it between 12 and 2.  So I decided that I would do it between 12 and 2.  My Mother thought it was a horrendous idea.

I went to the barber shop.  It looked exactly like I remember with the cheap wood paneling, the TV on in the background.  I think as a kid it was always turned onto "The People's Court" with Judge Wapner.  When I walked in it was "The People's Court" with Judge Marilyn Someone.  The only barber in the shop at the moment, a Filipino guy, was finishing up with a customer.  I looked at the Price List:

Haircut $10
Military Cut $11
Fohawk/Mohawk $11
Shave $8

Yes it said FOhawk instead of FAUXhawk.  This is the kind of establishment I was in.  Given the present company, I wouldn't have been surprised if it was listed as PHOhawk, which still would have been mispronounced and served with a bowl of soup.  It would have been an interesting promotion, although the establishment didn't look clean enough to eat in. 

Anyway, it was a deal.  I think it was $6 when I was a kid and that was a LONG time ago.  Tuition and Room and Board at my undergrad college had tripled since I went there and that wasn't as long ago as the last time I had a haircut in this place.

I also saw that there was a spot for a guy named Danny (which is my Dad's name, but not the point...well, maybe the point...that's just not where I was going with this).  Danny was a guy who had worked there when I was a kid and who had cut my hair several times.  That was the connective tissue I guess.  But Danny wasn't there (and for the record, neither was my Dad, but that might be connecting too many dots).

I was up.  I sat in the chair.  No booster seat needed this time.  The Barber asked me what I wanted done.  I told him I wanted a buzz cut.  He looked at me with WIDE EYES, kind of like Mickey Rooney's terrible racist character in Breakfast at Tiffany's.  He was looking at my long hair.  I don't know if he was sophisticated to appreciate the layers and the texturizing that went into it.  I don't know if he admired the precision in the cut and how wonderfully it had grown out. 

Are you sure?

He looked at me like he wasn't going to do it.  So I had to say to him:

Yeah.  I want to cut it all off.  You see, my Dad just died yesterday and my Brother and I said that we would shave our heads after he passed away.  He lives in Portland, my brother, and he's cutting his hair right now.  This is the barber shop that we used to go to as kids, so I thought it was apropos that that I come here to get it cut, in the same chair I used to sit in as a kid.  Kind of symbolic, you know?

There was that wide eyed look again.

Ok.  What setting do you want?

I told him I wanted it set at a 1.  At this point, I thought I'd have to catch one of his eyeballs as it flew across the room from the pressure of so much shock in such a concentrated amount of time. 

You sure?  That's short.  You don't want it like me?  This is a 3.

Since I didn't have a polite way to say that no, I didn't want to look like a horrible extra from "Good Morning Vietnam," I said:

No.  A one will be fine.

Still skeptical, he set it at a 1 and gave me a preview in a small spot at the side of my head.  I nodded.  He proceded to shave me hair off.  The first thing I noticed as the breeze on half of my head as he shaved my hair off.  The breeze makes it sound so romantic, but I'm sure it was the loud air conditioner that was drowning out my thoughts and Judge Millian (I just remembered her name, Judge Marilyn Millian). 

There was a kid who was hanging around watching my every move.  I don't know who he was, someone's kid or the shop mascot.  He looked like a little Mexican Gollum.

But the air on my hair took me back to my childhood.  It's like I was shedding myself and going back to that kid, to some part of my true nature.  There was a mirror directly opposite of me so I could see myself as he was buzzing my hair off.  It looked a bit too short, but it looked good.  I wanted it to be shocking.  I wanted it to be stark.

This guy spent something like 15 minutes working on me.  He was very precise.  I thought it would just be "A one...a two-hoo, a three.  CRUNCH.  A three"...like the owl in those old Toostie Pops commercials I used to watch as a kid.  But this was much more delicate than that.  I wanted to tip the guy big when I was done.  I handed him a twenty and he gave me back ten.  When I tried to offer him a tip, he refused.  I shouldn't have been surprised since I had given him that whole story and basically guilted him into shaving my hair.  It was his way of offering his condolences.  I appreciated it.

I walked out of there a different person.  I drove back to my Mom's house and she scrunched her face.  I don't think she loved it.  And she wanted to know again if my Brother was going to do it too.  I sent a pic to Chris and didn't hear from him for several hours.  But eventually I did and he had done it too.  Another sign for how close we were as brothers.

When we were kids, people said we didn't look alike at all.  We looked like we were related, more like cousins.  Nowadays, people say we look very much alike.  We don't see it. But with the buzzed heads, maybe that resemblance is even more pronounced. 

I love the fact that Chris and I both decided to make a similar gesture to acknowledge our Dad's death.  Even though we're 1500 miles apart, in that moment, we felt like we were standing right next to each other.  So just for that moment, it was exactly the right thing to do.  A fitting tribute to my Dad, only cemented by the fact that I went to our childhood barber shop.

Then I chatted with my friend Susan.  She said it felt very spiritual to her.  A shedding of the skin.  I realized that my Father had shed his earthly body, so it felt like I had to take something off as well.  My friend Dave supported that thought.  It felt like it had an ancestral vibe to it.  It also had a feeling of rebirth.  And actually, my Father's family are Buddhists, even though he was raised as a Catholic.  I did have a very monk like quality.

Then I looked in the mirror and I didn't recognize myself, which seemed fitting because I had just had an experience which had changed me forever.  Gone was the pretty child and here was a bit of an austere man.  I have talked about how I had grown into being my Father's son through this experience and looking at myself now, it seemed like that had manifested itself.

The reaction to my shaved head has been universally good.  I have been identified by my hair for so long.  Other people really like my long hair more than I do.  I do have good hair, but it is such an identifying trait that it's nice to be rid of it for a while.

But I have to go back to how light I feel and I can feel everything on the top of my head: the sun, the wind, the water from the showers I take.  I feel more connected.  I don't have hair to hide behind or to desensitize me.  I am experience everything throughout my body as it happens to me.  I'm unguarded.  I look like a soldier.  And that's exactly the way I want to walk through this next part of my life.

There's a saying that you tell people how you want to be treated.  I think you also show them.  Sometimes through your actions, but also sometimes through the image of yourself that you present to them.  And this is a new image.  Unrecognizable from the person they saw before.

A rebirth.

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.

Fast Impressions with...

On Andy Cohen's Bravo show, "Watch What Happens Live," he has a game he plays called Fast Impressions where he gets celebrity to give him  their fast impression on a certain subject.  My Dad just passed a couple of days ago (more on that--TRUST ME--later).  But I wanted to give a few fast impressions of my own in regards to the phone calls I've had to make to let people know that my Dad just died.

Aunt Judy (my Dad's sister): The first call I made and the only time I really cried on the phone not because of my Dad per se, but because I was telling a sister that her brother had died.  I was thinking of me and my brother.

Trust me, these get lighter.  I just had to start at the beginning

Cousin Danton: "This is my business line."  Well, your wife gave it to me and I thought you might want to know that you're Uncle died.

Cousin Dalen: I never talk to him.  And I thought he was his brother the whole time I was on the phone with him.  Oops.

Uncle Ruben (my great uncle, my Grandmother's brother): Told me we should take his ashes and walk along Waikiki Beach just letting them trail behind us.  He said that if we just kept walking, no one would notice.  Kind of like farting, which both he and my Dad liked to do a lot.

Young-Hee (my Mom's best friend, imagine with thick Korean accent): "Oh, okay.  I will get with your Mom later.  I am driving in the car and I don't want to be on the phone.  It makes me nervous."

Rita (the wife of my Dad's close friend, George...through tears): "I'm shocked.  Your father was such a great...dancer."

"Uncle" Gary (family friend): Wants us to give him a call when we go to Hawaii to spread his ashes so he can join us for a Mai Tai.  And he told me that the arrangements we made for our Dad with the Neptune Society are identical to the ones he's prepaid for.  Also, his demeanor was the best of anyone I talked to...pleasant and fun without desperately trying to sound happy.  Maybe he was having a Mai Tai when we were on the phone.

"Auntie" Mary (family friend and Gary's ex): "Oh, I have some GREAT stories to share."  I'm hoping one of those stories isn't "I remember that time your Dad and I had sex."

Uncle Louie (my Mom's brother): "You're Dad was a great Dad...unlike MY father, who walked out on us when I was a child."

Mostly people cried or wanted to get on the phone quickly or had wonderful things to say about my Dad.  My brother and I are asking people to give us their not so fast impressions of him so we can share those stories with my niece and nephew when they get older.  Should be fun.  A hell of a lot more fun than I'm having at this moment.

The Business of Being Back

When I started this blog a year and a half ago, I thought that being back was just about putting myself back together after a tumultuous relationship had ended.  That was definitely a part of "I'm Back."  But now that I look at my life after my Father's illness, I realize that that was just priming the pump.  That the real journey of being back was going through this process of my Father dying and fulfilling the promise of so many seeds I had planted long ago.

Going through my break up gave me the courage to accept change and actually welcome it.  It taught me how to take care of myself as a caretaker.  It made me realize that it wasn't about being a martyr or sacrificing everything for someone else.  Once I got that straightened out, my Father got sick.  And it would put all of that to the test.  That knowledge would help me guide my Mother through this process, even though she has her own corrections to make and lessons to learn.  And it would help me let go of my expectations of her (although that probably has only happened in the last week or so). 

I thought that I would only get where I wanted to go by forcing it all.

Now I know that I have to let go.

I have to let go of the narrative my Father told me and that his Mother told him and her Mother told her.  I had to let go of the narrative my Mother told me and her Mother told her and her Mother told her.  And I had to clear the slate. 

I believe that all of this happening at the end of Mayan calendar where it's supposed to be the end of the world is significant.  It's a new beginning.  And it's on the cusp of a new decade for me.  None of this is by accident.

Now I have to surrender.  Truly, truly, truly surrender.

That's what being back is about.

Aziz Ansari As...

In the movie of my life (or in the movie version of the memoir I'm going to write), I want to be played by Aziz Ansari.

Who would be better?  No one.

I don't look like Aziz Ansari.  I'm not Indian or South Asian.  I'm not as funny as he is.  But that's exactly why I want him to play me in the movie of my life.  I want people to think that I'm him.  I want them to think that I hang out with Kanye West or that I'm as big a fan of R. Kelly.  Actually, I do love me some R. Kelly.  I'm a huge fan of R&B music.  I love a 90s slow jam.  Ginuwine?  "Pony" is my go to sex song.

I have enough in common with him.  We're both brown.  We both love food.  We both want to be cooler than we are and simultaneously, I think we're both cooler than we think.

I might have the bigger dick.  That might be the only difference.

Everyone says they want Meryl Streep to play them in a TV movie of their lives.  Aziz Ansari is my Meryl Streep. 

Aziz Ansari as me as written by Woody Allen as directed by Woody Allen with Bradley Cooper as The Drummer with costumes by Arianne Phillips. 

D to the O to the N to the E.`