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.

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.

Kyle's Friend Maria

today Maria came to visit. i'd never met her, but we had emailed a bit. she was out of the country when Kyle died and when we had his memorial in August. Maria sent pictures of Kyle and this is one of the two of them.

Maria had met Kyle when they were both part of the Early Bird program at SFSU. in July of 2003, they lived across the hall from each other in the dorm. they became good friends and kept in touch every few months throughout the rest of his life.

Maria's story is like so many others I have heard. when i--trying to figure out the network of Ky's life--ask a friend of Kyle's if s/he knows another friend--often s/he doesn't. while Maria knew Ky's freshman roommate Phil K. and others, she did not know the other Phil or Flynn or Sean or George.

each time i meet another friend, i learn more about Kyle. and more often than not, i get confirmation of how sweet and caring and wonderful a friend he had been.

for Kyle's friends to go out of their way to email, to send photos, to call, to come visit me--their friend's mother--when they are in LA, this speaks a lot to who Kyle was and to how important he was in their lives.

so Maria and i sat together and watched the Kyle slideshow. she talked about the last time she and Kyle had gone to Mojito's to see Phil's band play and how he'd bought her a Philly cheese steak sandwich. she remembered Ky looking at her with surprise when she offered him her couch (he'd been living in a hostel) as if he didn't understand how good a friend she considered him. she spoke of how sad she had been to be out of the country when news arrived of Ky's accident. we cried a bit and hugged and she assured me that everyone who met him loved him.

this lovely young woman taught me more about my boy.

what a gift i received today.

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.

I'll see you in my . . .

I've passed the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th. There will be the 13th and there will be August 19th, but it was last weekend that I felt looming and that I both dreaded and welcomed. I made it through, with a lot of help from my friends, family, and Ky's friends. I spent time with several, got calls and emails and notes from others. They were thinking of and praying for me and Mir and Gear. Every message was an embrace. They (you) got me through.

I had a gift in the night. I dreamt of Kyle when he was about 3 years old, about the age he is in this picture, taken on their first day of school after we moved to Eagle Rock. Miranda heading off to Eagle Rock Elementary and Kyle to Eagle Rock Montessori. Except in my dream his hair was shorter.

I don't remember much, but the dream went on for a long time. At one point Kyle was holding my mascara and someone (I think it was MY mum) was concerned, but I went over to him and let him hold it with me as I put some on my eyelashes. Was I ever so gentle and caring as I was in this dream? I only hope so.

I never put a lot of value on dreams, but now they are treasures. I got to see Ky again, so sweet and earnest. My beautiful little boy.

Kyle is remembered by his buds at Sierra Nevada World Music Festival 2008

Thank you, Yuma and Abby.
No doubt Ky wishes he had been with you all in the flesh.
I would like to think he was there in spirit.

The 5th of July: Part I - The Day Begins

In a little while Ky's friends will arrive: George, Sean, Andrew, Phil, and Flynn. Cousin Dev will come too. It was hard to know how to spend this day being with his closest buds, with those who loved him and miss him. Later I'll go to visit Ky at Forest Lawn.

I'm putting on the reggae and chillin the beers.
The guest of honor, unfortunately, can not attend.

The 4th of July - Part IV: Just Short of Perfect

This morning I talked to Laura who is happy and fulfilled working in PR and loving getting up every morning in NYC. She feels that knowing Kyle has helped her get to this good place. It was comforting to hear her voice. She is always in my heart.

I spent the afternoon with many long-time friends: Lloyd & Joanne & Cooper & friend, Nancy & Dorian and their ever-sweet Olivia and John, Louise, Joyce, Francesca & Sally, Karen & Chris, & old/new acquaintances Jerry & Mariette.

The food was plentiful and delicious, the humor was to the gallows and back, the talk was as deep and as shallow as one would want, stories were old and new.

The topper was that there was NO traffic across the valley, down the 405, and on the 90. I sailed to MDR. Saw lots and lots of cops and lots of people being stopped. Not surprisingly enough all were caught DWB.

I left the party (before I got tired or sad) but could have stayed comfortably for hours more. Old friends are so easy and essential. Like breathing.

The day was just short of perfect.

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.

Los Angelean Earns 9.8 in Chin-to-Chest Event

So I returned to the doctor yesterday, this time well-armored (successfully) against motion-sickness (from riding face down in car) with dramamine. Eyes dilated and head bowed, I sat in the dimly lit waiting room of the Retina Vitreous Associates Medical Group, tightly packed with patients. Now that I have spent a half dozen or so appointments in the North Hollywood and Beverly Hills offices, I am quite familiar with the several hour wait and complaining waiters.

Although everyone in the waiting room has had their pupils dilated, not everyone has to be in the chin-to-chest position. That depends upon one's diagnosis and the waiting folks may have diabetic eye disease, vitreous hemorrhage, macular degeneration, retinal detachments, uveitis, or ocular tumors. Only the post ops from surgery for retinal detachment and a messed up macula have the gas bubble, which requires a head down position so that the bubble floats up and pushes the retina/macula gently into place. It is an odd thing, sitting with one's head down in a darkened room with strangers. A point my friend Linda, also a clinical social worker, made captured the experience: Having one's head down is the ultimate position of passivity. She demonstrates with her clients the difference between feeling assertive and feeling passive by having them assume a head up position and a head down position. With my chin to my chest, I do feel vulnerable--only gingerly do I insert myself in a conversation. Not being able to make eye contact makes me feel like an intruder, like a not enthusiastically welcomed guest.

However, sitting among the complainers, vulnerable or not, I eventually become indignant and announce kindly--but firmly--that the office is understaffed because of the recent death of one of the doctors in the medical group. On other occasions, I have offered, "Well, I am here for an emergency and I am grateful to be seen at all." My points made and seconded by others, I resume silence.

There are other things which keep patients apart. We span many decades for one. As well as cultures. One office visit very late in the workday, where I was about the last patient, I could tell that the only other person in the room was a man and possibly an older man, from his fairly formal coffee colored leather shoes. Not able to look up, I ventured, "Excuse me, sir, do you know what's happening with the Celtic game tonight?" He didn't respond. Soon, someone came in and spoke to him in Spanish and then led him away. I realized that he didn't understand my question, nor did he have the sight to know I was addressing him.

In an interesting bridging of culture and age among the sitters yesterday, a young Chinese American man, sounding in his late 20s, was engaged in conversation by a woman in her 80s with mid 20th century slightly Boston Brahmin accent. After complimenting him on how well he spoke English (he clarified that, while being Chinese, he was born here), the woman--out of the blue--began to boast about having had a very good return of serve in her day and of having played an exhibition tennis match tennis with Pancho Gonzales. While the young man had not heard of Pancho Gonzales, I remembered him from watching tennis matches with my dad on television in the 1960s. After listening to her anecdote and perhaps wondering about the origin of her accent, the young man asked, "Was that in England?" The woman explained that it had been in Santa Monica. I learned no more because--at that point--I was called into the one of the treatment offices. Alone, I sat wondering how many other conversations in these offices similarly span a variety of US generations and cultures.

The doctor was very pleased with my condition and remarked that he could tell I must be following the head down protocol very well. He told me I could look up at a higher angle now and that I didn't need to use the neck brace in bed. So, just as cousin Wanda has written in her comments, following directions exactly leads to promising results.

I can't leave the Eye Doctor Office saga without thanking my dear friends, Linda and Marylou, for driving me to and fro and providing the best company a somewhat-sightless gal could wish for. You are the best.

Sunnyvale Train Station

Below is the train station where Ky fell. The Sunnyvale CalTrain Station. You can see a train approaching, heading north. The same type train, going in the same direction, that Kyle and Laura rode from Santa Cruz. Above is the front car, with the type of ladder he climbed. The top window: that is where the engineer sat whom Ky was trying to get to stop the train, because he wanted to get back on to continue his ride home, with Laura.

On Sunday, on Ky's 23rd birthday, I went to the station with my friend Maggie and George, one of Ky's oldest and best friends. The trains are double decker and Laura and Ky rode on the top. When their train stopped in Sunnyvale, it was delayed because of a suicide further north but on the south bound side. An announcement said it wouldn't be leaving for 45 minutes. Ky left to get them food. Laura looked out the window and caught Kyle's eye. He did a little skanking dance. Her last sight of him was smiling and happy and dancing.

He walked to a nearby area where there were all kinds of food, Mexican, Thai, Vietnamese. A really charming welcoming little street with cafe chairs in front of places, doors to bar type joints wide open.

At some point Kyle got the calls and texts from Laura. The train was ready to leave. Sooner than the 45 minutes promised. The detective said 20 minutes, the newspapers said 30. He left the restaurant without the food and ran.

Looking up at the train, George and Maggie and I could understand what Kyle was trying to do. The engineer in his little window was just out of reach to our tall guy. It would have seemed possible to get the driver's attention. If he'd just look down to the right he'd have seen Kyle waving. But he didn't and Kyle climbed up a step or two or more--I'm not sure--of the ladder on the front. At some point, Kyle would have realized the train was moving and he'd better get off. He tried to jump, I believe, and then fell, hitting the back right side of his head. From the height of the step and with his own 6 foot 8 inches, the impact was massive.

We could picture it and make sense of it. It was good to be with George, who has been so dear, keeping in touch and visiting me. George, who was the last friend to see Ky and say goodbye, having put Laura and Kyle on the train not an hour before. It wasn't supposed to be goodbye for long. Another concert was coming up.

Maggie had so thoughtfully brought flowers and petals and we scattered them. And we hugged and of course I cried.

I was glad I went to the train station. Glad I could begin to see through my own eyes what Ky was trying to do. Glad I could understand his last conscious minutes. Glad I saw the quaint sunny street of shops. Glad I could picture him dancing off to get him and his sweetheart some food. That's the best place to freeze the memory.

Last Picture/Show

In honor of Ky's birth day, Yuma sent these pictures of Kyle and Richie Spice. He took them at the Sierra Nevada Music Festival in late June of 2007. This may be the last picture taken of Kyle, so it is very precious. He was listening intently or thinking hard for sure. Yuma said, "We had so much fun and we wanted to see Richie Spice so bad for so long!!! and it happened!!" He said it was so chill and irie and the best concert ever.

Thought you would all love to see this picture of Kyle. One more of his expressions for us to savor.

Thank you Yuma. One peace and love.

Care of Kyle's Grave & Little Dog Lost

I visited Kyle at Forest Lawn yesterday.

Planter care: The planter, so lovingly given by Di, is doing well. The rosemary is growing and I think you should feel free to take a piece when you visit. It smells so wonderful and it's probably best for the plant to be pruned a bit, because if it gets too unwieldy on unsightly or dies, the workers will remove the planter.

If you visit Kyle's grave, would you move the planter several inches from whatever spot it is in, enough to give the grass underneath a chance to breathe and a chance for the earwig family to scamper around and get freaked out before they move back in underneath. I had placed the planter slightly above Ky's marker, and when I picked it up the grass was yellow and the earwigs were in abundance. So I have moved it lower on the grave. Frequent moving should help keep the grass fresh.

BTW I noticed that both sticks of incense have been burnt. Kyle burnt incense all the time and carried those sticks in his bag. I am comforted thinking Kyle can smell it when it's burning, along with the rosemary. I'll bring by more next week.

I am sad to report Flynn's little bull dog has disappeared. I looked around quite a bit on others' markers and in the grass, to no avail. I knew it was inevitable, but still it is sad to have Kyle's little companion gone. I'm sorry, Flynn, but thank you for leaving your little rubber dog. It was a sweet gift.

(Hey, if he shows up again, put him in a corner of the planter. That would keep him safe.)

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.

Tripping

well there is a reunion party in New York City next Friday, the 14th, of Boston University School of Fine and Applied Arts attendees from (roughly) 1969 to 1976. i was there 67-70 and 71-72.

the gap was due to a drop out following Kent State and a "sabbatical" year spent first in Omaha with the Magic Theatre, then in Santa Rosa for 9 months, and finally in Honolulu for a month working in a "play" in a "theatre" that is best left undescribed and never put on a resume. but enough about the gap year.

i got a snail mail copy of an email describing the get together. the email address list is long and almost indecipherable. but i did find addresses for two former roommates and at least one old boyfriend. so i've been corresponding and will see Judy Copeland (Cohn) who introduced Gearey and me to each other, so is directly responsible for hooking me up with (among other things) some really good DNA for my babies.

and hearing about the BU Theatre Arts Wrap Party has helped me avoid doing my taxes which are due again (all those previous tax references are for my October filing last year--I'm trying to do my taxes on time this year). so i've spent time emailing friends from 35 years ago, sending pictures, and going down memory lane.

i'll go to the "wrap party," hole up in a $100/night B&B-type place in the East Village, take Miranda, Joshua, Katie, and Dominque to Pinter's The Homecoming--which will also be a trip down memory lane as I played Ruth in a summerstock production in 1969 in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. avoiding taxes further, i googled Downeast Players and came up with this link to a diary of a guy's summerstock experience as musical director at that theatre. if you do a "find" for "cynthia" you'll find a one line review of my performance as Ruth. the wonders of 21st century technology! true time travel.

at christmas with her in NYC, miranda said that i should "do like Aunt Della" and come to NYC more frequently in short stints. long trips wear out everyone no matter how much you love them, and she is exactly right: occasional brief wonderful visits make complete sense. as a certified member of the New England WASP Delay-Your-Gratification Club i have postponed various kinds of indulgence (see? i even call visiting my only child INDULGENCE!) for years, waiting until i have enough money or until otherwise feel deserving. but this is Life After Losing Kyle--and my priorities have changed. this is where my impulsivity gets free reign. i get to take a weekend junket.


i'm excited.

Update: Ky's Little Protector

Flynn left this tiny pup on Ky's grave on December 15th. When I visit Kyle, I always expect it will be gone--picked up by the caretakers or ground up by the grass cutter trucks. But here he is. He's survived 2 months, now. Pretty darned good. And he's got that little 07 around his neck that Ky's cousin Dev left. So, in spite of Forest Lawns' policies and crack maintenance crew, it is possible to have a little individuality hanging out there. I believe Kyle would be all for it.

So if you visit Kyle at Forest Lawn--

at the eastern edge of Abiding Love
up the hill
between the prominent Mitchell statue on the west
and the four pine tress on the east
down 6 rows from the tree nearest the top
in between Mr. Lewis and Mr. Bacon--

if you do visit, look carefully for the little rubber bull dog. He should be safely in the corner of the marker. If not, look around for him, would you?

Kyle with Barack Obama's Grandmother's Cousin

Yes, our dear family friend, Gramma Ruth, is Barack Obama's grandmother's cousin. Ruth grew up in Kansas and there raised her family and our longtime friend Nancy of "Nancy and Dorian Harewood" fame. Our family has spent countless occasions with Gramma Ruth and N & D and their beautiful children Olivia and John. Nancy, Dorian, Olivia, and John campaigned in Iowa and Nevada for Barack, and continue in California. Gramma Ruth taught piano to Miranda and Kyle and many Eagle Rock children and still teaches. As Kyle and Miranda never new their grandparents, Gramma Ruth holds a special place in our hearts.

it's been 6 months

you probably can tell that i've returned to "normal" life again. working 6.5 days a week. so there is never enough time for blogging, which has stopped being a vital necessity, and now gets pushed down lower on the list of Things I Must Do while urgent things rise to the top. it's too bad. i miss it. though i do blog in my head quite a bit. (what used to be thought of as talking to myself.) usually in the car. wishing i could stop, find a little cafe, get a cup of coffee (which i really don't drink), whip out my computer (which i won't have with me), internet-connect away and blog my heart out.

so right now i am indulging myself, procrastinating getting back to work and sneaking a little blog.

things are better. about kyle i mean of course. maybe it's the magic 6 months thing. or maybe there are only so many tears.

i do get stirred up. like a couple of weeks ago dear george came by to visit and download a bunch of ky's music (come one, come all, get up to 9000 tunes personally selected by DJ Ky in the Sky) and then sweet laura came out to dinner with sal, dev, rhea, and me. and then i visited ky's grave and then i got more letters from the organ/tissue donor folk about an event to honor the 2007 donors. and then i had a wonderful phone call from dear vinnie and a marathon phone call from dear stevie (another Boston Children's Theatre alum) whom i'd not visited with in 5 longs years and by the end of the weekend i was exhausted and my reserves were low and i cried easily. but of course that is what my life is about in this phase. less acute pain. more dull pain. loss and love and replenishing and sadness and care and healing.

today i meet gearey at Advent Bronze and Granite to look at Kyle's marker.