Friday, August 31, 2007
and then . . .
and then there are the moments that i look at a picture of kyle
and i look into his face looking back at the camera
looking at me or you or someone else
but in this case me
i look into his eyes
looking into my eyes
and then i remember that he'll never be here to look at me again
to talk to me
or lecture me
or teach me
or make me laugh
or say, mom its all good
oh kyle its all bad
its all so very very bad
and i look into his face looking back at the camera
looking at me or you or someone else
but in this case me
i look into his eyes
looking into my eyes
and then i remember that he'll never be here to look at me again
to talk to me
or lecture me
or teach me
or make me laugh
or say, mom its all good
oh kyle its all bad
its all so very very bad
Immortality
i'm not a believer in an afterlife. i'm a wisher for one. i'm willing to entertain all kinds of options right now. and i know why there has to be religion. i know why there are beliefs in transmigration of souls. how can we suffer the loss of our precious loved without needing to believe they are just out of sight, still close by. isn't it just a matter of time before we all hook up? please.
i've learned (although i think this is debated now, what with atom smashers and the like) that "matter cannot be created or destroyed." and i have often wondered where my father's huge energy had gone when i saw the mere shell of him in his casket. i think about kyle's booming energy, his bouncing liveliness, his sparkle and joie de vivre. did it just evaporate, that boundless spirit?
but there are ways to have some afterlife. and our donation of kyle's organs and tissues have literally given life to others. gearey said it so eloquently at our Kylesplash memorial, but i simply pass on that 2 men, one in Oregon and one in Maryland, received his kidneys; a man from Los Angeles has both his "pristene" lungs (now that's one for you who wonder about the dangers of cannabis); and ky's liver was given to a man in San Francisco. yes, and some of you have heard me sing, "I Left My Liv-er in San Francisco" (i know it's in bad taste, but as i have told many: the mother gets to get away with this kind of humor). that's four lives. also his tissues--skins, veins, ocular tissue, and heart valves--have enhanced many others. talk about life after death.
the other way that kyle will truly have some immortality is the Kyle McLeod Scholarship at San Francisco State University to which many of you have so generously contributed. each year, some terrific kid--a junior or senior, a history major who cares about race and culture, who wants to give back, someone "in good standing"--but not necessarily a superstar, someone who needs tuition help--will receive a small scholarship in the form of a tuition reduction in kyle's name.
why this way to honor kyle? as his friend Sonia wrote, "Kyle and I would always complain to each other about the fees. He was especially upset about it." he complained to me too. he was angry at the governor and the legislature every time another raise in tuition was announced. "MOM, did you hear about the tuition going up AGAIN!!" it was not for himself; as his dad and i paid the very reasonable tuition. but he was acutely aware that many poor kids--minority kids, working class kids, kids without other supports--struggled desperately to stay in school.
i was so thrilled to hear yesterday that so far our family, friends, and colleagues have donated $7,765 toward the minimum $10,000 required to have the scholarship. i am deeply grateful to all of you who have given in honor of our beautiful boy in this way.
so kyle lives on. as he will in our hearts.
and, who knows, maybe i'll find out i'm really wrong about this afterlife thing.
wouldn't that be wonderful.
i've learned (although i think this is debated now, what with atom smashers and the like) that "matter cannot be created or destroyed." and i have often wondered where my father's huge energy had gone when i saw the mere shell of him in his casket. i think about kyle's booming energy, his bouncing liveliness, his sparkle and joie de vivre. did it just evaporate, that boundless spirit?
but there are ways to have some afterlife. and our donation of kyle's organs and tissues have literally given life to others. gearey said it so eloquently at our Kylesplash memorial, but i simply pass on that 2 men, one in Oregon and one in Maryland, received his kidneys; a man from Los Angeles has both his "pristene" lungs (now that's one for you who wonder about the dangers of cannabis); and ky's liver was given to a man in San Francisco. yes, and some of you have heard me sing, "I Left My Liv-er in San Francisco" (i know it's in bad taste, but as i have told many: the mother gets to get away with this kind of humor). that's four lives. also his tissues--skins, veins, ocular tissue, and heart valves--have enhanced many others. talk about life after death.
the other way that kyle will truly have some immortality is the Kyle McLeod Scholarship at San Francisco State University to which many of you have so generously contributed. each year, some terrific kid--a junior or senior, a history major who cares about race and culture, who wants to give back, someone "in good standing"--but not necessarily a superstar, someone who needs tuition help--will receive a small scholarship in the form of a tuition reduction in kyle's name.
why this way to honor kyle? as his friend Sonia wrote, "Kyle and I would always complain to each other about the fees. He was especially upset about it." he complained to me too. he was angry at the governor and the legislature every time another raise in tuition was announced. "MOM, did you hear about the tuition going up AGAIN!!" it was not for himself; as his dad and i paid the very reasonable tuition. but he was acutely aware that many poor kids--minority kids, working class kids, kids without other supports--struggled desperately to stay in school.
i was so thrilled to hear yesterday that so far our family, friends, and colleagues have donated $7,765 toward the minimum $10,000 required to have the scholarship. i am deeply grateful to all of you who have given in honor of our beautiful boy in this way.
so kyle lives on. as he will in our hearts.
and, who knows, maybe i'll find out i'm really wrong about this afterlife thing.
wouldn't that be wonderful.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Appointment in San Francisco
it might be a blessing right now that kyle lived in san francisco.
he had been living there for four short years. for a while after he headed up to SFSU in 2003, it was clear his home was LA, certainly until 2005 when i moved from Eagle Rock to the westside. then i learned he felt i was depriving him of a home; sort of a shock, since i was so proud i had provided him the same home for 18 years--something i had never had growing up. he wanted me to "do what i had to do," but didn't want me to expect him "to be happy about it." he didn't want me to feel guilty, he just wanted me to know that it wasn't his choice.
ky came home for stints after classes ended in may, tended to go back up north in july. he came on Labor Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, spring breaks--right near his birthday. this year he came down on Memorial Day too and was planning on another trip in the summer. he wanted to introduce us to Laura, his lovely girlfriend.
when home, he'd go out painting/writing on the Venice beach graffiti wall, go to galleries, have lunches or dinners with his dad, see some friends. but he tended to get bored, antsy, and always seemed ready to head back up to San Francisco.
my sister sallie had come to visit in November, feeling out California for a bit and had stayed on through the holidays, and then the spring. i made it clear to both sallie and kyle that the bedroom was kyle's, for him to have when he came home. she'd bunk in with me during his visits. it was so he wouldn't feel thrown out, would know he had a home. so there wouldn't be a huge pressure for him if he didn't have a solid plan after graduation, if SF hadn't become the home for him that NYC had become for miranda. i presumed that following his graduation, he might come back to LA. like every parent i hoped he wouldn't live with me forever, but i wanted him to know that if San Francisco was too cold or too wrong or too something, that he had a home with me for a while.
but then sometime during the winter or the spring he said on a call, "Mom, you know San Francisco is my home now. I have work and friends here, so don't expect me to move back in." i was surprised and pleased for him. i wanted him to feel he belonged some place. coming back to LA might feel like he was retreating and i was glad he saw himself with a future in that wonderful city. hell, SF is tackling the health insurance issue and kyle would be 23 next year and no longer eligible on my heath plan. but also i wondered whether he was saying this so that sallie would feel welcome to stay longer.
of course the other reason i was pleased was that he wouldn't be here in LA driving on the freeways. he had a tendency to drive a little like a maniac. he'd never drink and drive, but he had a genetic inheritance (3rd generation) of, shall we say, an automotive-related eruptive temperament. the more he stayed up north, the safer he would be. god bless public transportation. SFSU and San Francisco were providing a holding tank, a place of safety where kyle could grow up without the danger of driving.
i think of the traditional tale (repeated by Maugham and O'Hara), where a servant runs away to Samarra after seeing Death gesturing to him in the market place in Baghdad--and when his master confronts Death, Death says that he was not gesturing to the servant, but only expressing surprise to see him in Baghdad, because he actually has an appoinment to see him that evening in Samarra. in aiding my son to avoid Death on the freeways of LA , i could not protect him from a Death by transportation in SF.
and, you might now ask, what is the blessing that i mentioned at the start?
because i am used to his being gone up north, just up the highway.
because i am used to knowing he'll be coming "home" again in a couple of months.
the time he is gone now feels like the times he's been gone before.
and every so often i have that brief lovely expectation flash through my mind, kyle will be back from school again soon.
it's only a flash, but it's so lovely for the precious moment
before i remember.
See the floor, see the ceiling, see Kyle.
Here is Kyle
6'8"
at a gallery somewhere, drinking red wine
look down, you'll see a spill
there are few pictures with ky in them where you can see the whole of him
i've got a slide show with 180 pics and this is the only one where you get a real sense of height
he wasn't impressed with his height
he probably got so sick of hearing people mention it. after all like the color of your eyes
or the curl of your hair you didn't do anything to earn it
so get over it already
but still
kyle was tall and it was always surprising
6'8"
at a gallery somewhere, drinking red wine
look down, you'll see a spill
there are few pictures with ky in them where you can see the whole of him
i've got a slide show with 180 pics and this is the only one where you get a real sense of height
he wasn't impressed with his height
he probably got so sick of hearing people mention it. after all like the color of your eyes
or the curl of your hair you didn't do anything to earn it
so get over it already
but still
kyle was tall and it was always surprising
even to me
Hail to the Food Committee: Amber, Courtnay, Danielle, Nadia
Three of the four girls in the picture (Eagle Rock Prom 2002) are three of the four wonderful young women who became the KyleSplash Food Committee. After meeting once with my sister Sallie, we barely heard from them, but they were a catering miracle. They met, they planned, they recruited, they shopped, they cooked, they rallied (the set up guys, the ice-retrievers), they showed up, they arranged tables, they made a magnificent spread, they fed hundreds, THEN they cleaned, and they cleaned more. I looked up--having just hugged every one of the throng of family and friends--and the place was spotless.
In the photo above are Courtnay (3rd from left), Danielle (5th from left), and Nadia, (7th from left). I'll find a picture of Amber one of these days and you'll get to see her. All of these wonderful young women knew Kyle for many years. I thank them for their love of Kyle then, and the love that inspired their awesome contribution to KyleSplash.
And of course, to those not mentioned here who also cooked and helped, I am so grateful.
August 19th Memorial Goodbye
Dear Kyle,
In trying to write to you, it seems silly, because I am talking to you every day, all day long now.
In the days following your death, I noticed myself in an almost methodical search. Seeking pictures from friends to show to the folks at the ICU, trying to decipher your cell phone contents to pinpoint your last calls and texts, calling your boss Paul—not only to give him the sad news but to learn about you as a working man, talking to the detective to know what others saw as you tried to stop the train but then fell, speaking with your friends—many of whom I had never met, later writing to your university to find out what teachers could tell me about you as a college student.
I began to realize I was trying to capture everything about you. A hopeless attempt to keep you with me, I guess. But also to get to know you better.
When we go home again—once we’ve gone out into the world—we tend to revert to our youngest available self. In the throws of my family, I become the big sister again and sallie becomes the baby sister—doesn’t matter that we are nearing 50 and 60 years (not respectively). the kyle who came home to me—in rushed weekends or holiday breaks—your youngest self—would come crashing through the condo in great haste, your size 14 doc maartins left for me to trip over, leaving the kitchen strewn with the remnants of pan-fried fish or an some concoction, and turning the handsome room I had made for you into an indescribable hellhole.
Now, of course, I’d give anything in the world to have you and any amount of mess you’d care to create right here right now. but in losing you, in my searching and gathering, I discovered something most parents don’t get to discover. I discovered the boy who’d become a man. I discovered Kyle as a loyal and beloved friend, as a hard-working and valued employee, and as a brilliant, inquisitive, and thoughtful student. I discovered more than I’d ever known about your generosity to others—to your buds or to the homeless on the street. I discovered the man you were becoming and I fell in love with you all over again.
You were a big, beautiful, playful, and exuberant baby. You were a voracious reader from age four. You were an insatiable learner in elementary school. You had an encyclopedic knowledge of reggae, rock, blues. You were fascinated by art and visited galleries on your own. You were a photographer and a budding filmmaker. You were a thinker and a storyteller. Not a fiction writer, but a teller of the stories you saw about you. I kept telling you to write down your stories, and you kept saying, “But I’ll remember.” but I wasn’t getting it. You were not going to waste time writing about your life. You were too busy living it.
You taught me to embrace the moment. You taught me to be “calm, Mom, calm.” You taught me that what mattered wasn’t always measurable by grades or other standard assessments. You taught me that simply being happy an admirable thing. You taught me, “It’s all good, Mom, it’s all good. Mom, Mom, it’s good. Let it go.”
A couple of years ago, you took a video camera around san Francisco and began filming what you saw. And you came across a bum sitting in the street with a sign in his lap that said: “Testing for human kindness.” Months later you called and said, “Mom, I found the sign lying on the street—The sign, “Testing for human kindness.” And I asked if you took it, and you said you’d thought about it, but decided it wasn’t yours to take.
Testing for human kindness. You passed the test, my sweet boy, with a 5.0.
I will love you eternally,
Mum
In trying to write to you, it seems silly, because I am talking to you every day, all day long now.
In the days following your death, I noticed myself in an almost methodical search. Seeking pictures from friends to show to the folks at the ICU, trying to decipher your cell phone contents to pinpoint your last calls and texts, calling your boss Paul—not only to give him the sad news but to learn about you as a working man, talking to the detective to know what others saw as you tried to stop the train but then fell, speaking with your friends—many of whom I had never met, later writing to your university to find out what teachers could tell me about you as a college student.
I began to realize I was trying to capture everything about you. A hopeless attempt to keep you with me, I guess. But also to get to know you better.
When we go home again—once we’ve gone out into the world—we tend to revert to our youngest available self. In the throws of my family, I become the big sister again and sallie becomes the baby sister—doesn’t matter that we are nearing 50 and 60 years (not respectively). the kyle who came home to me—in rushed weekends or holiday breaks—your youngest self—would come crashing through the condo in great haste, your size 14 doc maartins left for me to trip over, leaving the kitchen strewn with the remnants of pan-fried fish or an some concoction, and turning the handsome room I had made for you into an indescribable hellhole.
Now, of course, I’d give anything in the world to have you and any amount of mess you’d care to create right here right now. but in losing you, in my searching and gathering, I discovered something most parents don’t get to discover. I discovered the boy who’d become a man. I discovered Kyle as a loyal and beloved friend, as a hard-working and valued employee, and as a brilliant, inquisitive, and thoughtful student. I discovered more than I’d ever known about your generosity to others—to your buds or to the homeless on the street. I discovered the man you were becoming and I fell in love with you all over again.
You were a big, beautiful, playful, and exuberant baby. You were a voracious reader from age four. You were an insatiable learner in elementary school. You had an encyclopedic knowledge of reggae, rock, blues. You were fascinated by art and visited galleries on your own. You were a photographer and a budding filmmaker. You were a thinker and a storyteller. Not a fiction writer, but a teller of the stories you saw about you. I kept telling you to write down your stories, and you kept saying, “But I’ll remember.” but I wasn’t getting it. You were not going to waste time writing about your life. You were too busy living it.
You taught me to embrace the moment. You taught me to be “calm, Mom, calm.” You taught me that what mattered wasn’t always measurable by grades or other standard assessments. You taught me that simply being happy an admirable thing. You taught me, “It’s all good, Mom, it’s all good. Mom, Mom, it’s good. Let it go.”
A couple of years ago, you took a video camera around san Francisco and began filming what you saw. And you came across a bum sitting in the street with a sign in his lap that said: “Testing for human kindness.” Months later you called and said, “Mom, I found the sign lying on the street—The sign, “Testing for human kindness.” And I asked if you took it, and you said you’d thought about it, but decided it wasn’t yours to take.
Testing for human kindness. You passed the test, my sweet boy, with a 5.0.
I will love you eternally,
Mum
With thanks to you who take pictures
You know the ones. They show up at parties with cameras. Everything from Nikon to generic grocery cardboard cameras. They insist on taking pictures. Sometimes at the very end when you are trying to go home and you want nothing less than a photo shoot.
But when I was trying to capture images of Kyle, friends and family began to send those wonderful candids. Within a couple of weeks I had a 180-photo slide show with nearly every one of his looks: exasperation, sneer, laugh, cough, chuckle, fuck you, and of course, get that camera out of my face.
Thank you to those who take photos and those who keep them accessible and find them in times of need: Alan D., Louise H., Nancy D., Della B., Laura S., Paola, Gearey, Katrina, Tim and Eileen, Dave, and many more, for your perseverance despite people's rolling eyes, sighing, and urgency to get out the door.
We have lost our beautiful boy, but you all have preserved him for us.
But when I was trying to capture images of Kyle, friends and family began to send those wonderful candids. Within a couple of weeks I had a 180-photo slide show with nearly every one of his looks: exasperation, sneer, laugh, cough, chuckle, fuck you, and of course, get that camera out of my face.
Thank you to those who take photos and those who keep them accessible and find them in times of need: Alan D., Louise H., Nancy D., Della B., Laura S., Paola, Gearey, Katrina, Tim and Eileen, Dave, and many more, for your perseverance despite people's rolling eyes, sighing, and urgency to get out the door.
We have lost our beautiful boy, but you all have preserved him for us.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
These days . . .
so sometimes i am irritable and sometimes i am beyond exhaustion and sometimes i am completely at peace and sometimes i have infinite compassion and sometimes i want to scream. and i am still quite numb.
i discover the day is passing and i haven't cried yet and i feel like i am dishonoring my son. and i fear the day that i don't cry at all and the eventual day that i'll reach nightfall without having thought about him.
i miss his exquisite hands, his crooked front teeth, his long boney giant spider hugs, his size 14 feet, his cell phone calls from bus stops and train stops on the way to work, from work, to class, to home.
i miss his voice. and i have no recording of it. he never learned to program his cell phone with an announcement. if anyone has a message saved please let me know.
Kyle's last conversation with me on the 4th of July having fun with friends in Santa Cruz: "I'll call you when I'm back in the city, Mom. I love you."
i discover the day is passing and i haven't cried yet and i feel like i am dishonoring my son. and i fear the day that i don't cry at all and the eventual day that i'll reach nightfall without having thought about him.
i miss his exquisite hands, his crooked front teeth, his long boney giant spider hugs, his size 14 feet, his cell phone calls from bus stops and train stops on the way to work, from work, to class, to home.
i miss his voice. and i have no recording of it. he never learned to program his cell phone with an announcement. if anyone has a message saved please let me know.
Kyle's last conversation with me on the 4th of July having fun with friends in Santa Cruz: "I'll call you when I'm back in the city, Mom. I love you."
Too Many Decisions
My daughter is blogging her grief. She suggests that I do, too. So I say, "What the hell." And I start. But there are decisions to make. What title? What URL? What template? What font?
I have now used up the time I would have spent writing making these decisions. And I'm not really happy with them.
I just miss my tall beautiful boy.
I have now used up the time I would have spent writing making these decisions. And I'm not really happy with them.
I just miss my tall beautiful boy.
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