The Things He Carried

Ky was in between homes when he died. for a lot of the year he'd been living with Bobby Gardner and a roommate, but the roommate didn't want Ky to live there--and for a reason I didn't figure out--that kid got to call the shots. so Ky was staying a lot with Sean and then he was staying with Gabriel and Ali's family. some of his things--like his computer and his bedding and his green canvas bag--were there. and i think other things were scattered other places. he had his backpack with him when he fell.

Ky's dad gave him the green canvas bag. it is a handsome bag and Gear had had ky's initials embroidered on it: KCM. he gave it to Ky in anticipation of his future traveling. on the 7th of July last year, Gear picked up Ky's things in San Francisco and drove them back to LA. he transferred them--including Ky's computer and the green bag--to my car.

as for the computer, i had a techie friend clean it up. she gave me a CD with some of his files, organized the desktop with shortcuts, and counted his tunes, about 9000. i put the computer up in his/Sal's room and it stands there with the ghost slide show and as a repository of all his music. friends are welcome to come and make CD's.

it took a long while to look into the green bag, but Gear asked for it back of course, so i transferred Ky's things to a paper bag. since last July i had partially gone through it once or twice, but i'd not been able to sort the things and deal with them. similarly, i have not been able to go through Ky's drawers and closet.

on the anniversary of Ky's accident, i sat down with Devon and Flynn and went through the contents. in his sturdy green bag, given with so much love and hope from his dad, Ky had packed:

the incense box/holder MaryLou gave him on Christmas Eve

the refrigerator magnet that looks just like Toby that i put in the kids' stockings

the size 14 slippers than Gear had given him at Christmas 2006

his equally huge green flip flops

Bukowski's The Captain is Out to Lunch and The Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship

Murakami's The Wind-UP Bird Chronicle -- the same one he'd given me for Xmas and had given Laura

the book: The Best Travel Writing, 2000 --another present from his dad

miscellaneous school papers and assignment sheets, kind of in a jumble

head phones

a small handout/poster of a June 8th concert, EEK-a-Mouse, Live at Shattuckdownlow

a small incense burner

a small travel cocktail shaker -- probably from me

a couple of keys

deodorant

spare underwear, a black tie, and a pair of cutoffs (stained with paint)--all his clothes still smelling of him


after Flynn and Dev and i were done, i carefully put everything back in the paper bag. i'm still not ready to make decisions about Kyle's things.

Kyle's Goodbye

I found the following poem in Ky's notebook that was mostly full of awkward scratchings (Ky trying to master a "writing" style). The notebook was in the backpack he carried with him on the train. No one knows for sure when he wrote this. Neither George nor Laura saw him writing. Obviously Ky wrote it sometime between his trip down to Santa Cruz on the 4th and his trip back on the evening of the 5th at about 6:30.



LAST STOP


HEADED DOWN TO SANTA CRUZ

FOR THE 4TH OF JULY. PERSONALLY

I ALWAYS LIKED THE

HOLIDAY. LOTS OF DRINKING

AND EXPLOSIONS AND FOOD

AND FAKE PATRIOTIC BULLSHIT.

LOADED UP THE BAG WITH

THE USUAL. CLOTHING AND

BOOZE AND DRUGS AND

SOME SHIT TO TAG WITH.

A LITTLE VACATION --



The title will haunt me all of my days.

The 4th of July - Part II: A Beautiful Day

the first thing to remember about today is that one year ago on the 4th of July Kyle was happy. he spent the day with George and Laura and he was having a wonderful time.

and one year ago, on the 4th, Sallie and I--having the first day off in ages-- completely luxuriated in the condo pool for hours and hours. we swam or floated around, sat, sunned, read, chatted, had a light meal and drinks. all in the sun. i rarely used the pool in the two years i'd lived here. Sallie had taken to the pool the moment she'd arrived, but not me. i wouldn't get into using the pool until after Ky's death, when it became the source of great aquatherapy and meditation.

we would, some time in that gorgeous sunny day, have our brief cell phone call with Ky. he was in Santa Cruz, having fun, George was there. he talked with Sal and with me and said those last words, "I'll call you when I'm back in the city, Mom. Love you." and, as Ky would say, it was "all good."

so, in replaying this day, we don't need to feel bad; we haven't come to the scary part. as a boy, forever in tune with music, Ky would run from the room as soon as the music told him the scary part was starting. well, the music hasn't changed. the scary part's not starting yet.

so don't cry for me or Ky or anyone or yourself yet. today is the anniversary of a beautiful 4th of July where relaxation and fun and friendship and love reigned.

The 4th of July - Part I: Not Alone

this is a pic of Laura (well a sliver of Laura) and Kyle. Laura did the colors thing; she is quite artistic. i like this pic of Ky because i know he is having a good time; he's with Laura; they are lying around together (not doing homework, not working). i don't know how they took it, though maybe Laura did with her cell, which is why we can't see her. it was taken early in their all too brief relationship, in the early months of 2007. i wanted to post something that would remind me that Kyle was in love and not alone.

i, also, am loved and not alone. family and friends have been leaving messages or posting or otherwise letting me know that they are holding me in their thoughts. holding me. perfect words. they are holding me and no doubt trying to protect me against what i--along with gearey and miranda and laura and many many others--will relive over the next few days.

i will be with friends during the mid-day. i will lock Toby in the bathroom with KUSC and take a short walk down the channel to the fireworks. i will be okay. after all, last year's 4th of July was a beautiful day.

Optimism, Don't Fail Me Now

I've been talking a lot about how helpful all of the spring events and rituals have been. How I've been feeling calmer and more at peace and more accepting of Kyle's being gone. But, of course, the moment one gets complacent or gives words to thoughts without knocking on wood, you know what happens. Things change again.

I did so well during my post-eye-op period. Surprisingly, I didn't have so much time on my hands that my mind was filled with painful thoughts of Kyle. I did a lot of mindless stuff, like sleeping a lot, reading a lot, and doing email. I spent hours on my Welsh genealogy--better than solitaire--but a real time swallower. And, not being able to drive and being at home with not a scrap of food in the cupboard other than my UCLA eating program food I lost more weight (48 pounds to date) so that was great.

I found myself thinking about the role of optimism in the grief process. I am a ridiculously optimistic person. The X-man used to call me "Pollyanna on Speed" and that fit. I wake up feeling good and I respond to the world positively, even in times of trouble. Lose my keys? I say to myself, "Wait; don't despair until you've really looked everywhere and waited and pretended you don't need them--they'll turn up!" I truly believe it is a waste of time to distress about something until all hope is lost. I'm like Scarlett O'Hara saying, "I'll think about that tomorrow." But it's not about procrastination or avoidance, it's about why worry before you have to.

For several months, I experienced Kyle being gone as Kyle being up north in college. I was waiting for him to take the shuttle bus down the coast. I had the expectation he'd arrive during the next long holiday weekend. And while it sank in eventually that this wasn't going to happen, my natural optimism hasn't jumped ship. I have an expectation of something good happening. About Kyle. Yeah. Really.

This isn't about banking on meeting up with Ky in an afterlife--as much as I would love to believe in that. It's about the belief that I have always carried with me: I will find it, I will solve it, where there is a will there is a way. And this optimism keeps me from feeling that all is lost--even about Kyle. In spite of all evidence to the contrary.

So, as I started out saying, I'd been feeling well. But, as I recovered from my May 28th surgery, I became aware that it had become June. And after June comes July. And it was in July, a year ago, that I lost Kyle. On the phone with my friend Mary Lou, telling her how well I was handling things, suddenly I was crying again.

I'm thinking about the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th of July. And the 13th of July. And I'm thinking about what I will do on those days. And I feel myself building a wall inside, to shore myself up against the inevitable. Against what has already come to pass. How is your optimism gonna help you on this one, kiddo?

Last Memorial Day

The last time I saw Kyle--well really saw him--talking and laughing and full of life, was right after Memorial Day last year. He had spent some time making this monster of a message on the Venice graffiti wall. It was a response to the fact that following the weekend, the city of Venice would put into effect a new law: writers could no longer paint on the wall without a permit. He thought that was ridiculous and wrote the above message: FUCKAPERMIT. He particularly liked the fact that the wall was across from the police station. I liked the fact that he was getting the 3D down really well.

That kid at the right end? He's already started to paint over Ky's work. That's how it was at the graffiti wall. Soon as you were done, the next writer is literally all over it. To get the picture, Ky had to ask folk to wait and then run way back to take the shot. He came home and dumped his pictures into my computer and we had a great talk that night. I told him I thought that if he were going to be a graffiti artist that words and messages, his politics, would be his talent. He then spent ages showing me pictures of graffiti he had taken all over San Francisco. He'd explained about his name DFEAT and the FYF crew theme that, sadly, I'd get to know so much more about that (FarewellYoungFriend). The time Ky spent with me, even at the time, felt like a gift, like something we were both savoring.

Mother's Day

Dear nieces Devon and Elizabeth with Cyn and Sal

Early in the week a few people said to me, "I know this is a rough week for you." The first time, it didn't register. The second time, I asked myself what they were talking about. Of course, Mother's Day. I gave myself an emotional check-in and realized that I wasn't having a hard time. It was a pleasant sensation, not to be in pain even when I had a perfectly good excuse.

They say that rituals help. Maybe that's why. I've been up to my ears in ritual. There were two donor memorials; the Musculoskeletal Transplant Foundation's ceremony on the 13th of April up in Cupertino and the Organ Donor Remembrance on the 26th in Hayward. I saw hundreds of donor family members who--like me--had lost their son or daughter or wife or husband and who had--like Gearey and I--made the decision to give his/her organs and more to save or help the living. I met recipients of skin who had undergone painful disfiguring burns, a former paraplegic who was cured by the transplant of a neck bone, a young nurse who'd lost the use of her foot, but now--thanks to donations of bone--was back to nursing on two strong feet. I met recipients of kidneys and livers, who explained how new it was to get a liver and how hard it is to find a kidney match (which was why Ky's kidneys are in Oregon and Maryland). And then, I watched as a line of recipients--young, old, white, black, Asian, Latino--stretched long across the stage and one by one, humbly and lovingly, spoke to us, the families of the 900 northern California donors in 2007, and thanked us for our loved lost ones' gifts.

On Ky's 23rd birthday, I visited the train station (see below). Later in the month in San Francisco, I finally met Kyle's wonderful boss Paul, who was every bit as kind and caring as Kyle had described. I will never know how much Paul influenced him in that year; but I bet it was a great deal. Then, last weekend I visited Miranda to celebrate her graduation (more on that later). And in between, when in town, I visited Kyle's grave at Forest Lawn, where I burnt incense, blew bubbles (the little bubble bottle still residing in Aunt Di's planter), left a note, cleaned off the marker, watered the plants, arranged flowers, and took in the view and the sounds and the smells.

So, by the time Mother's Day came around I had been taken 3 airplane round trips, met kind strangers, hugged a whole lot of people, cried buckets, and engaged in ritual practice many many times.

The main feeling I had before and on Mother's Day, was of celebration. As a mother for 26 plus years, I have given birth to and raised to adulthood two miraculous children. They are/were handsome and brilliant and good and kind and generous and witty and fun-loving-- like each of you and each of your children. I could not, would not, have traded in either of them for all the green/black/white tea in China.

And, the most prominent thought this week, was remembering that I was so proud of Kyle last year when a padded envelope arrived two days before Mother's Day, addressed incorrectly but still arriving early. Inside was a tiny bag and inside the bag wrapped in turquoise tissue paper were a pair of earrings. Lovely delicate dangly earrings with green (my favorite colors) stones. Perfect earrings for me (see photo above). At the time I kept the little paper bag and the tissue paper. And after Ky died I was so glad I did.

When your children remember to call you, hundreds of miles away, on your birthday or Mother's Day or New Year's Day, it is such a pleasure. You share a few minutes, catch up, wish each other well and happy day. But when they go that extra length, to send a card or a gift like flowers or a plant or earrings, your heart is filled with such warmth and pride--that they are growing up and taking time from their busy lives to do something for another (for you). These are the moments you treasure. Miranda had been doing this for several years. Last year was the first time for Kyle. And I delighted in this sure sign of adulthood, of manhood.

Two days before Mother's Day, a beautiful orchid plant arrived from Miranda. A deep purple phalaenopsis, with several flowers and many more buds. Bless her heart, my sweet daughter. The orchid is on my desk next to my computer with just enough sunlight. It can last for years; it will, if it is very very lucky, and Sallie helps me.

On Mother's Day, our beautiful nieces, Devon and Elizabeth, took sister Sal and me to brunch. Since my daughter was in NYC and Sallie's daughter Rhea was driving across country--had hit the rockies on Sunday, we were awfully lucky to have our brothers' girls to celebrate with. So there we all are. At Baja Cantina. Pestering the waitress to take a pic on the cell phone. And, can't you tell? A lovely time was had by all.

So. Yeah. I'm doing okay. I haven't sat down with Ky's picture and stared into his eyes and once again realized he is not coming down from SF ever again; nor have I truly allowed myself to get in touch with the pain that is there, not too far, below the surface. I'm staying busy and crazed (see upcoming Saga of How Losing All Ones Office Keys Can Make Semi Blindness a Minor Concern) and another ritual comes up this weekend. More to Come, More to Come, More to Come . . . .

Yes, taxes, again -- and more reminders

I think any of you who are following this blog must wonder at all my references to taxes. Why so many? Well, I filed Federal and State taxes late last year, in October. Then, in February, I was busy doing my City Taxes. Now, I am determined to do my Feds on time. I'm not doing too badly. Should be better prepared for my appointment on Friday than I normally am.

The challenge? Reminders of Kyle are everywhere. They are in the envelope of receipts--all the purchases for the Last Thanksgiving, the Last Christmas, the Last Concert in town, the Last Year's Birthday party before the Last Concert, the Last Birthday Dinner. Why did I save them? Cause I just collect all my pieces of paper from my wallet, purse, calendar book, briefcase bag, desktop, and throw them in a file and then greet them all again at tax time. My theory: the more receipts, the more deductions I'll find.

But what do I find along with those little deductions? Kyle-related receipts that have nothing to do with my taxes. But can I throw them out now? Of course not. How can I throw out the receipt that tells me what we had to eat in honor of Ky's turning 22? How can I throw out a random receipt with spaghetti carbonara on it--it had to be Kyle's order. How can I throw out a receipt for boxers--the annual Xmas re-stocking of his underwear. Or the receipt from Pearl for all his art supplies.

So I stuffed those receipts in an envelope and wrote "Kyle" on it. And I took other receipts and put them in an envelope with "Miranda" on it.

And I got back to my taxes.

happy easter

last easter Kyle was home and we went to the Harewoods. Dorian, Nancy, Gramma Ruth, Johnnie, sister Laurie and her kids were there. it was a lovely day together. Nancy cooked a fantastic meal (as she always does) and Kyle enjoyed every bite (as he always did). the few pictures we have are the last i took of Kyle. it is easter and it is spring again. kyle isn't with us and we miss him and his joy and his love.

Countdown to 2008

When I turned 7 years old, my dad told me 7 was a very special year and from that point on, I considered 7 my lucky number.

It turned out my dad was wrong. Kyle died in the 7th month of the year 2007. Although he was officially pronounced dead on the 6th, his respirator was turned off and his organs were taken in the earliest hours of the 7th. In fact, his last phone call was just about at 7pm. His accident was within minutes after. I remember looking up at the clock at UCLA where I was running a parenting group and it said 7:01. The group was supposed to end at 6:45, but I tend to run over, trying to give folks every bit of wisdom I can muster. But I felt a strong urgency to stop right then.

I met my friend Marylou and sister Sallie for dinner. I was a misery. Looking at the tiny table, the cramped chairs, the loudly colored images on the flat screened TV on the wall above, I actually said to them, "I don't see a way I can be comfortable." I went to the bathroom. I said out loud, "Cyn, what the hell is the matter with you?" I returned to the table. Apologized and sat down. I had a hard time ordering. My conversation was forced. Later I found out, Marylou thought I was angry at them. At a place they were both so excited to show me. Korean barbeque. Sizzling bits of beef and vegetables. Perfect for my perennial diet. But the food tasted strange. My mood was disturbed and disturbing. Nothing was right.

I had left my cell phone in the car. I rarely do that. Normally I think, "if there's a hold-up, if the roof collapses in an earthquake, I want to have my cell phone." But the phone had run out of juice. I didn't hear the 15 calls from Sean, Gearey, Licie, everyone. Not until I was driving away with Sallie did the phone ring again with Gearey telling me to stop driving the car. That was how it happened.

There may be other bad years to come, but 2007 is bound to stand out as the very worst.

2008 will be better. But I'm afraid of that. I picture learning to live with the grief, but I wonder -- as grief's sharp edges dull, will Kyle fade in my memory? Will the pictures in my mind reduce to the photos around me and the ones on the slide show? Will I eventually capture on this blog all the stories about Kyle, so that my love and memory of him will be no longer boundless, but a completed set of images within a frame? If I write a book about Kyle some day, will that reduce him to a collection of words on a limited number of pages between the covers? I find these possibilities heartbreaking.

But 2008 will be the year I accept Kyle's death. It will be the year I return to sanity. It will be the year I (and I do hate this phrase) move on. It will be the year I start to forget. I guess 2008 won't be so great.

I am sorry for this post. I know I don't need to apologize, but I had meant to blog about the peace I have been feeling and the spiritual strength and love and connection that is growing among my family members. I wanted to talk about having a lovely Christmas with Miranda in NYC and staying at Gail's house in Brooklyn and going to the best party on Christmas eve at the home of 3 wonderful Greek sisters who had married wonderful Italian men and all had had daughters, so the place was rocking with 3 generations of folks and great fun and food. And I wanted to talk about the plays Miranda and I saw. And I wanted to brag about my 22 pounds of weight loss and fitting into smaller clothing. I wanted to share that I am not in the excruciating place I had been in. But I guess that will be for my first blog in the new year.

Meanwhile, don't let this get you down. I think I just needed a few minutes of thinking about Kyle and mourning a little, before heading out to a party with my BF and welcoming the new year. Everything's gonna be alright. It's gonna be "All good." Right, Ky?

So have a Happy New Year. I will. I promise.

Holiday Greetings

This is a picture of Kyle celebrating with friends, Brent, Maria, and Phil during a recent Christmas. They are were part of the SFSU Early Bird Program, and met in the dorm the summer of 2003.

I keep going back to my blog looking for new posts and realizing they won't show up unless I write them!!! BUT, heavily involved in pre-packing, some present creating, office parties, and general chaos, so not so much time to write.

So, I'm heading out again for errands, but wanting to let you know I am filled with relative peace, intermittant joy, and love for all of our family and old and new friends. The sky is blue today and I'm wearing the beautiful maroon and black t-shirt that Laura made for me, with Kyle's face silkscreened on it. And since I've lost 20 pounds, I look downright adorable.

So I hope your post-Chanukah and pre-Christmas preparations are going well.

Love,

Cynthia

Down Halloween Lane

I really got into Halloween for years. Like my mother, Bettsey, I prided myself in making costumes by hand. I was in 4-H as a girl in rural New Hampshire and had learned to sew (wash cloth slippers, an apron, a skirt and blouse). I didn't make clothes for my kids the way mum had for me and my brother, but I did sew costumes from patterns or from old clothes.

Susie and Jack were long time best friends of Miranda and Kyle. Their mother Robin and I, for several years, constructed similar costumes for our kids. One year the kids were dressed as pirates in elaborate black, red, and white outfits, complete with shiny fringe and paisley bandanas and striped pants or skirts. One year the boys were Ninja Turtles (not made from scratch--just used their Ninja pajamas) and the girls were Hershey's Kisses. Another year the boys were Waldos (as in Where's Waldo). Not sure if that was when Miranda was a unicorn, but it might have been. One of my favorite Halloweens was the year I transformed my lime green nightie into a Tinkerbell outfit for Miranda, and cut up my wonderful, but completely worn-out, dark emerald green chenille bathrobe to make Kyle into the Crocodile from Peter Pan. Damn, was I clever, and damn, were the kids ever cute.

I really do need to dig into that box of a million rolls of unprocessed film to see what other pictures of Halloween there might be. Or I should call Robin and see what pictures she might have of those many Halloweens. The images of Kyle and Miranda when they were young bring alive again so many precious moments and, yet, it's not so hard for me to walk down the memory lane of their childhood. That toddler or schoolboy, that lively grinning little boy has been gone a long time. Ky's and my last Halloween together was in 2002 and he didn't even stay around to pass out candy to the local kids. He was most likely out doing something a mother shouldn't ask about!

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.