In my mind, I have started many new entries. But, I guess I don't actually blog because the searing pain of losing Kyle has subsided and my drive to make sense of things has lessened. Or maybe I'm at a plateau where I understand as much as I'm going to for a while.
For months, I have wanted to write about magical thinking. Although I tend to be rooted in the rational, I spent weeks talking to a flickering street lamp when out walking my dog at night, half believing it was Kyle. My sister Sal, who has always been a bit psychic, says that messing around with electricity is something that spirits can pull off. (She's convinced that Kyle was the one setting off our fire detectors in the middle of the night.) I don't buy it really, but the street lamp had an uncanny ability to blink off or on or flicker right at the end of my questions I posed. While not believing, I still couldn't not speak to him, just in case. How could I abandon my boy, stuck in another dimension.
Then one night, the darned lamp was bright bright, no pulsing on and off anymore. In fact, it was so bright, I could barely look at it. Someone had fixed the lamp and Ky was clearly no where near. I felt a little silly, having spent time talking to a lamppost way after dark.
Thank you being there, for reading. My hope is that it helps or illumines something or, by telling one mother's story it tells many mothers' story.
Kyle is in my thoughts throughout every day. I miss him terribly still.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
Now that's a relief . . .
They've finally announced it. MJ will not be at Forest Lawn in the Hollywood Hills. He will be at FL in Glendale. Thank heavens.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
i love finding another picture
i love it when i find pictures of Kyle. i don't remember taking this one. i believe it was the last time he was in LA, possibly Memorial Day weekend. he is packing the great green bag that his dad gave him and my sister sallie will soon be driving him to Santa Monica to take the commuter bus back up to San Francisco. the look on his face is not the challenging, "Mom, stop it with the camera," it's more a look of "Okay, i'll indulge you one more time." as ever, there are his long, strong, beautiful hands.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
the 6th of july
i wake up monday morning feeling as if i will do fine. i have mourned and celebrated my boy with friends and family at Forest Lawn the night before. we've had dinner at Mijares. (bless that place and their margaritas.) i've gone to bed with a slight headache (i don't get headaches) and am out cold soon.
i head off to work and am doing okay. a colleague takes me to lunch. i tell her about the 4th and the 5th and say how it's now the 6th. of course the 6th is the day they stop life support. the 6th is the day he is really gone, gone even more than on the 5th which was pretty gone. as the day starts to slow into the afternoon i feel myself very aware of 4:45pm. the time kyle was pronounced dead on july 6th in 2007.
suddenly i know i can't be in the office at 4:45. so at 4 i leave and drive home. i grab a stick of incense and a lighter and walk to the shore. i light the incense and the waves drown out the sound of my sobs as i say goodbye again. i sit on the rocks and stare out into the bright afternoon sun; soon, by ones and twos, 17 pelicans circle and crash land into the waves. they bob and dip for fish. i watch until they have had their full and take off, again in ones and twos, all heading in the same direction.
i walk back. and go to bed early again. the 7th is bound to be better.
i head off to work and am doing okay. a colleague takes me to lunch. i tell her about the 4th and the 5th and say how it's now the 6th. of course the 6th is the day they stop life support. the 6th is the day he is really gone, gone even more than on the 5th which was pretty gone. as the day starts to slow into the afternoon i feel myself very aware of 4:45pm. the time kyle was pronounced dead on july 6th in 2007.
suddenly i know i can't be in the office at 4:45. so at 4 i leave and drive home. i grab a stick of incense and a lighter and walk to the shore. i light the incense and the waves drown out the sound of my sobs as i say goodbye again. i sit on the rocks and stare out into the bright afternoon sun; soon, by ones and twos, 17 pelicans circle and crash land into the waves. they bob and dip for fish. i watch until they have had their full and take off, again in ones and twos, all heading in the same direction.
i walk back. and go to bed early again. the 7th is bound to be better.
Monday, July 6, 2009
the 5th of july
we tried to gather at 5:30 at Forest Lawn.
easier said than done.
the news vans had been gathered since the prior morning following the rumor that MJ was at the mortuary. although i had been assured on saturday that the cemetery entry gates would not be closed until 6pm, at about 5:20 a security man came by to tell me that the park was now closed and had been since 5pm. i protested of course, telling him i had spoken with FL folks the day before and that i received permission to hold a small gathering at my son's grave at 5:30. he wrote down kyle's name and said he'd let people through. most everyone still had some problems getting in and one car of ky's buds was turned away. we were able to call them and have them turn around and eventually we were all gathered together: sallie and sel; siena and justin; dorian, nancy, and johnny; george, andrew, and aaron; courtnay; nadia, sabrina and their mom ursula; flynn and sonia; rhea and me.
we sat on ky's quilts (his favorite from aunt della), burned incense, and told stories. i played a few clips of his voice. we laughed a lot. just after 7:00, we stood in a circle and said goodbye. it was good.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
it's the 4th of july 2009
first of all, two years ago all day long, kyle was alive and happy and with people he loved and who loved him. two years ago he called me to wish me Happy 4th. it was a quick call, which i regret to remember i rushed a little. the last words he said to me were, "i'll call you when i'm back in the city." and of course, "love you." we never spoke without saying "love you" at the end.
today on my way to ER to see a client, i went to Forest Lawn. even tho i'll be there tomorrow night, i wanted to visit and bring a plant for Kyle, which i put in a wire holder to keep it from turning over, rolling away, or burning the grass underneath. the other reason i went to FL is that on the news last night it was announced that a recently deceased super pop star may be there and i feared that traffic would interfere with our small gathering tomorrow night.
on arrival i was distressed to see many news vans and a couple of patrol cars. a police officer told me that tomorrow at some point the cemetery would be closed. i went inside to the reception desk and was relieved when assured that the park would never be closed except at the end of the day. so our 5:30 gathering is on.
i am back at home.
starting to feel a dull dreading.
i recognize that feeling.
today on my way to ER to see a client, i went to Forest Lawn. even tho i'll be there tomorrow night, i wanted to visit and bring a plant for Kyle, which i put in a wire holder to keep it from turning over, rolling away, or burning the grass underneath. the other reason i went to FL is that on the news last night it was announced that a recently deceased super pop star may be there and i feared that traffic would interfere with our small gathering tomorrow night.
on arrival i was distressed to see many news vans and a couple of patrol cars. a police officer told me that tomorrow at some point the cemetery would be closed. i went inside to the reception desk and was relieved when assured that the park would never be closed except at the end of the day. so our 5:30 gathering is on.
i am back at home.
starting to feel a dull dreading.
i recognize that feeling.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
It will be two years on Sunday
on sunday july 5th, it will be the 2nd anniversary of kyle's accident.
last year, some of us gathered together at kyle's grave at Forest Lawn.
this year on sunday, july 5th, at 5:30 --
if you're in los angeles and available --
please join me for a similar brief informal get together.
(Abiding Love section of Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills, Forest Lawn Drive, Los Angeles)
Forest Lawn closes at 6:00pm altho last year we stayed until past 7pm --about the time of ky's accident-- thanks to the understanding of the security folk. they don't close the gates until way after 6.
please let me know if you are going to be there.
and please pass this on to anyone you know you may be interested.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
if they ask you about grieving . . .
you get to know the phrases to say:
"you don't get over it -- but you learn to live with it"
"it comes like waves; you get on your feet and it knocks you over again"
you learn to live with it but you don't want to have an "it" to have to live with
and as for waves: sometimes you want to lie at the water's edge
and let the sea do what it will
one year and eight months and three weeks have passed
and lately you've been feeling the worst is over --
and truly it is -- what could be worse than the first knowing --
but then you go to the bank to close your son's account
and in the customer care cubby you can't speak so
you just hand the woman his Death Certificate
and she, now speechless as well, grabs your hands in hers
and searches in your eyes to understand
and if compassion were capable of healing you'd be healed
then she rushes off for tissue
at last she hands you the statement of his last bank activity
which he'd not received because
where he was living when he died and the address the bank had
were clearly two different places
and you see his address which you did know once, maybe
and it's fucking FELL STREET
Fell Street, San Francisco
so if they ask you about grieving
just tell them you're doing okay
and if they wait a little, seeming to want to know
tell them about the last knock down
that will capture it
"you don't get over it -- but you learn to live with it"
"it comes like waves; you get on your feet and it knocks you over again"
you learn to live with it but you don't want to have an "it" to have to live with
and as for waves: sometimes you want to lie at the water's edge
and let the sea do what it will
one year and eight months and three weeks have passed
and lately you've been feeling the worst is over --
and truly it is -- what could be worse than the first knowing --
but then you go to the bank to close your son's account
and in the customer care cubby you can't speak so
you just hand the woman his Death Certificate
and she, now speechless as well, grabs your hands in hers
and searches in your eyes to understand
and if compassion were capable of healing you'd be healed
then she rushes off for tissue
at last she hands you the statement of his last bank activity
which he'd not received because
where he was living when he died and the address the bank had
were clearly two different places
and you see his address which you did know once, maybe
and it's fucking FELL STREET
Fell Street, San Francisco
so if they ask you about grieving
just tell them you're doing okay
and if they wait a little, seeming to want to know
tell them about the last knock down
that will capture it
Friday, March 27, 2009
the club grows
tonight i am hit with a wave of grief.
it comes up suddenly as i'm walking the dog.
ky loved the damned dog.
i've been singing "you're all i ne-eed to get by"
badly.
thinking of sad sweet tammi turrell.
and i look up at the stars and the dark city sky.
and i just. want. my. son.
and i picture him falling backward.
and i cringe and hurt deep.
and i sob.
and i think of cees and margret and their boy.
and i think of lisa and her boy.
and i think of karen and her boy.
and i think of jean and her boy.
and i think of robin and her boy.
and i think of cee and her boy.
and i think of caroly and john and their boy.
i know of seven lost boys.
seven bereft mothers.
seven bereft fathers.
no peace will we find.
it comes up suddenly as i'm walking the dog.
ky loved the damned dog.
i've been singing "you're all i ne-eed to get by"
badly.
thinking of sad sweet tammi turrell.
and i look up at the stars and the dark city sky.
and i just. want. my. son.
and i picture him falling backward.
and i cringe and hurt deep.
and i sob.
and i think of cees and margret and their boy.
and i think of lisa and her boy.
and i think of karen and her boy.
and i think of jean and her boy.
and i think of robin and her boy.
and i think of cee and her boy.
and i think of caroly and john and their boy.
i know of seven lost boys.
seven bereft mothers.
seven bereft fathers.
no peace will we find.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
at long last i hear kyle's voice again
i couldn't get by Forest Lawn today. i worked all day without a break and would have arrived after dark. i hate not going by to clean ky's marker and leave some flowers.
when i got home, on my computer desktop iMovie was open. i vaguely remembered clicking on it by mistake as i was leaving for work in a hurry. i thought about the movie ky was working on the years before his death, the one he'd shown to me when he was home that last memorial day weekend. i start going through the clips.
they are as i remember, for the most part: drive-by shots of the streets and highways of San Francisco, clips of graffiti and tags, a tour of his haunts, and once or twice he's on a bus. some he took at the Venice graffiti wall or driving in LA. the soundtrack is usually the noisy street, sometimes the music on a CD player, sometimes the sounds of the car. (at time i'm not sure whose car he was in or who was driving.) sometimes there is silence and sometimes there are voices. and some of the time--be still my heart--i hear kyle.
i've been wanting so much to hear kyle's voice again. i have been heartsick that he left no outgoing greeting on his cell phone, heartsick i did not have one of his last voicemail messages saved.
in the video clips, sometimes ky's hand reaches in the frame pointing to something or picking up something. once, you see the camera pan down to his hand turning his dickey pants pocket inside out, proving to a guy he hasn't any more money than the quarter he's just given the guy. one time you see him capture his own tall shadow on the sidewalk. but as i watch i never see a clear image of kyle.
i do, though, hear bits and snatches of his deep voice. sometimes just a random word. sometimes more. chuckling, laughing, commenting, teasing, semi-interviewing. some things he'd be embarrassed by (or not). some his father would hate (or not). to me--part mother, part sponge--i am thirsty for every utterance.
i'll find a way to imbed a clip here. but when i do, take a breath or two before you listen. it's like having kyle here again, just out of sight.
when i got home, on my computer desktop iMovie was open. i vaguely remembered clicking on it by mistake as i was leaving for work in a hurry. i thought about the movie ky was working on the years before his death, the one he'd shown to me when he was home that last memorial day weekend. i start going through the clips.
they are as i remember, for the most part: drive-by shots of the streets and highways of San Francisco, clips of graffiti and tags, a tour of his haunts, and once or twice he's on a bus. some he took at the Venice graffiti wall or driving in LA. the soundtrack is usually the noisy street, sometimes the music on a CD player, sometimes the sounds of the car. (at time i'm not sure whose car he was in or who was driving.) sometimes there is silence and sometimes there are voices. and some of the time--be still my heart--i hear kyle.
i've been wanting so much to hear kyle's voice again. i have been heartsick that he left no outgoing greeting on his cell phone, heartsick i did not have one of his last voicemail messages saved.
in the video clips, sometimes ky's hand reaches in the frame pointing to something or picking up something. once, you see the camera pan down to his hand turning his dickey pants pocket inside out, proving to a guy he hasn't any more money than the quarter he's just given the guy. one time you see him capture his own tall shadow on the sidewalk. but as i watch i never see a clear image of kyle.
i do, though, hear bits and snatches of his deep voice. sometimes just a random word. sometimes more. chuckling, laughing, commenting, teasing, semi-interviewing. some things he'd be embarrassed by (or not). some his father would hate (or not). to me--part mother, part sponge--i am thirsty for every utterance.
i'll find a way to imbed a clip here. but when i do, take a breath or two before you listen. it's like having kyle here again, just out of sight.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
It was 60 years ago today
I was born on January 22, 1949. Amazing. Well, not really, but of course it feels amazing for me. Some of the decade birthdays feel worse than others. This one is not so bad. Seventy? Forget it.
My mom was 26 years old in 1949. My dad was 30. I was another girl (that made 3 for them), what with my mom and dad each having a daughter. I didn't think about what a disappointment that must have been until way into my adulthood. How cool were my parents not to give out bad vibes about that.
I made it to 60, so I have outlived my mother. That's a relief. Someday I'll look in the mirror and see a face older than the face of my mother. Wonder how I'll feel about that. Becoming my grandmother.
I'm feeling great. Keeping off 50 pounds. No aches or pains. No complaints. Well, of course, the big one.
I celebrated on Sunday with a bunch of friends. It was fun and it was good. People said really kind things. Sort of felt like I got a sneak peak on my own funeral . . . sorry, that was a bit gruesome.
I got myself a very cool gift. A crystal and silver pendant, in which I put tiny pictures of Miranda and Kyle. It was a very perfect birthday present. I can carry their image with me wherever I go. A very comforting thing for a mother.
So those of you younger than me? Don't worry. Sixty is perfectly fine.
Thank god for hair color.
My mom was 26 years old in 1949. My dad was 30. I was another girl (that made 3 for them), what with my mom and dad each having a daughter. I didn't think about what a disappointment that must have been until way into my adulthood. How cool were my parents not to give out bad vibes about that.
I made it to 60, so I have outlived my mother. That's a relief. Someday I'll look in the mirror and see a face older than the face of my mother. Wonder how I'll feel about that. Becoming my grandmother.
I'm feeling great. Keeping off 50 pounds. No aches or pains. No complaints. Well, of course, the big one.
I celebrated on Sunday with a bunch of friends. It was fun and it was good. People said really kind things. Sort of felt like I got a sneak peak on my own funeral . . . sorry, that was a bit gruesome.
I got myself a very cool gift. A crystal and silver pendant, in which I put tiny pictures of Miranda and Kyle. It was a very perfect birthday present. I can carry their image with me wherever I go. A very comforting thing for a mother.
So those of you younger than me? Don't worry. Sixty is perfectly fine.
Thank god for hair color.
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