Long Time Passing

Thirteen years ago, last night, Kyle took his fall. Still think of him every day. Still feel the impending overcast in the days and weeks leading up to the anniversary. As always there are many parts: Ky's birthday in April, the annual SFSU Commensa where we meet his scholarship awardee/s, his last visit home on Memorial Day, the 4th of July. The 5th at 7pm about the time of his fall. The call. The drive all night. When we finally spoke with Miranda. the blur of the next days. And tonight, 13 years ago when I could not say my final goodbye. Was is better for you that I was not there? My nagging regret, dearest son.

4th of July 2018

As I have said before, the 4th is not the hard day. Tomorrow the 5th is the hard day. For me. Because the time of Ky's accident is what anchors me. Miranda said that the 6th is that day for Gear. I have just walked back from the breakwater where I stood with thousands of strangers to watch the fireworks. I was struck by how silent all the adults were, how alone each was with his or her thoughts. The only sounds were the burstings in air and squeals of a couple of delighted kids. Breathlessly watching fireworks, aware of being alone. Realizing that every other individual was too. For those 20 mute minutes anyway.

8 years ago today

. . . . . . . . Grief is ever-changing. This many years after Kyle's accident I know this: Grief burrows deep and erupts when you least expect it--when I least expect it. I can tell a story about Kyle ten times and only on the eleventh do my eyes swell with tears and I can't quite speak. I can go for months, feeling steady all the while. Then unsteady. Spring is hard compared to the rest of the year. Kyle's birthday in April, Mother's Day, the SFSU scholarship trip, Memorial Day when Ky was last home, July 4th and our last conversation, and today, the day of the fall. I have a slight sense of impending doom, like the dark clouds of a storm coming in. I am unsettled. Easy to tear. Grief is circulating in me like blood, round and round and in an out of my heart. I am not quite sure what to do with it. It is not really intrusive, it is almost comforting. Surely it is familiar. I have lots of stuff I have to do but I am distracted even more than usual it seems. How do I spend these moments? Do I look at pictures of Kyle? Do I talk out loud to him? Of course, if he can hear me, he can also read my mind, so why speak, right? What do I do with my sadness? How do I honor him? What is the "healthy" thing to do? Just be with it, right? Just be in the moment. The moment. The fucking moment is uncomfortable. The fucking moment is empty. I just miss him miss him miss him. Tonight I will be at Forest Lawn with a few family and friends. Some of us then will eat at Mijares. The food and alcohol will numb me. Later at home, sober again, I will be alone with my grief. It will be okay. I will love you always, my baby boy.

SFSU History Department Awards

Tomorrow we present our 8th annual scholarship -- in honor of our dearly loved and missed Kyle Campbell Whitham McLeod -- to a deserving SFSU junior majoring in Latin American history. With initial and continuing gifts from family, friends, colleagues, IATSE, and others, the award has grown from $500 to $1000.00. We think that Kyle would be proud that his life produced this legacy, and that every year a young man or woman is helped to attain his or her educational goals because Kyle lived and loved and was loved so much in return. And how comforting to a mother to know that once a year--forever--someone will speak Kyle's name out loud as his scholarship is awarded.

Goodbye to The Puss

Today I held the Puss as he was sedated, yawned, fell asleep, and received the injection that stopped his heart within minutes. It was a gentle, peaceful, and comforting goodbye. I thought about Kyle, who loved our pets Toby and Puss, and took such great care with them. I still see him holding the cat up to me, shoving him toward me, "Mom, kiss the Cat; you love the Cat." Usually he did this when I was pissed off at the Puss for something like torturing Toby. I love the cat because Kyle loved the cat. So, while it was so sad, and I cried so much that my eyes were heavy all day, it was okay. A slow, sweet end to 17 years of being our Puss.

July 3rd -- Happy News

Miranda called on the 3rd to say that Joshua and she will get married next year. Such happy news. And how thoughtful of Joshua to choose this time to propose--on the 3rd of July--giving us a joyful memory to add to all the sad ones of the holiday.

Miranda was feeling a little guilty going away for the weekend, when she has spent the last three anniversaries in some form of mourning. When she called to tell me, she mentioned that. I said what I always say to myself, that Kyle spent the 4th and most of the 5th joyous and happy and with George and Laura at Santa Cruz and the beach and in a bookstore, and that it wasn't until the night of the 5th that the nightmare started.

But now, we have Miranda's marriage to Joshua to look forward to. He is a dear and loving man, supportive, caring, strong, thoughtful. I am gaining a wonderful son.

4 years ago tonight

we gathered tonight. a lovely group. nothing formal. george, andrew, sean, brian, esther, nadia, barb, marylou, di, siena, sel & sal, nancy, olivia, johnny, and great surprise - paul j. & james w/ carl.

the coyote showed up, some bunnies. later crows. still later after everyone but me and ML had left, a family of deer. momma, poppa & baby. politely, they didn't go for Ky's flowers or the plant that the harewoods brought. they stayed around, moving across Abiding Love and then across the hillside and then down and across the street to lower fields. as i drove away and around the bend, i had to wait for them as they crossed another street in front of me.

became aware today of wanting the silence that it takes to let the feelings come. purposefully didn't play the radio, except classical music. became more aware of how talk and food and drink takes up the space and dulls the emotions. maybe i am more afraid of the flow of feelings now than in the past.

it's not that i didn't cry or didn't feel. it's that i didn't linger, didn't quite face everything today, tonight.

dearest son, beautiful boy. i miss you.

Giving Away Ky's Clothes

This isn't easy. It's 3 and 1/2 years. S. and R. have slowly moved Kyle's clothes out of his room and into bags, first behind my headboard and then---when I was getting the place painted and new rugs put down---out onto the balcony. They've been out there almost a year now. But it's time to deal with it, but I'm just procrastinating.

It's time to say goodbye to his clothes and I can't bare it. It's helped that R. has started to wash some things, but I want really don't want her to. I can't bear that I won't be able to bury my head in a sweatshirt and smell my boy.

A family friend, who is very tall and is a housepainter, could really use the clothes, even all the paint stained things. We found three jackets -- one brand new. I feel good that Ky's clothes will go to someone who needs them. Things he can't use he'll pass on to others who can. I found so many pairs of Dickey pants -- in great condition except for the paint stains. I know I bought Ky a bunch of his Dickey stuff, but other than the paint stains, several pairs seem to be almost brand new. I found a black Dickey shirt without stains. I put it on. I'm wearing it still. Don't think I'll be able to part with it.

One of the saddest things for me, his mom, is all his boxers. I recognize all the boxers. Kids don't buy boxers; they let moms do it. Each was worn and washed so much the cloth is thin. He clearly never threw any out.

I don't want to give away Kyle's clothes. I want my son to come back and get them.

It's been a while . . .

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Happy 24th Year of Your Birth

dear ky
i miss you
more than words can say
i love you, sweet son
mum

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

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.

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.

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.