I'm at the office, a bag of spinach on my blue ankle. It's not better yet. And I want so desperately to run my half-marathon on Sunday. I had it all planned out with my group - run 13.2 miles through the Huntington Beach SurfCity race, then veg out, and drink and consume the amount of calories just burned off at Uncle Smooth's sports bar in Long Beach while watching the Super Bowl. doesn't that sound fun? well who knows if it'll happen now. :( i'm optimistic, but my phsyical therapists aren't.
I had a little cry this morning in the car, on the way to the office. I was singing along to Wicked, and Melvin had his paw linked over my arm while I was driving - he always likes to hold hands in the car. (we had just dropped off Jenny for a bath - she's white - didn't really consider the grooming part of the bargain when adopting her). Anyway, passing by the Hollywood Way exit off the 134 made me remember all the times I'd follow behind Dad's yellow corvette on the way to breakfast at Western Bagel. No matter what, we'd always try and squeeze in a bagel morning once a week. He'd always get poppy-seed, not toasted, with lox spread and red onions. We'd have coffee, chat for about 30 minutes - and go our separate ways to work. I miss that.
Yesterday marked exactly 7 months since the "incident." That's the nice little, consise word the medical world uses to signify the moment your world was rocked and pain ensued. The night before Dad left for Bakersfield, he was studying the little chalkboard hanging in our kitchen which always had the date and schedule for the day:
"Thursday, January 22nd, 2009
David and Angela to CNS
10am
Barbara - USC
Annie - J-nex"
Dad would read this everytime passing through the kitchen, as if it was a new thing even though nothing ever changed on it but the date. He'd question it everytime, "David and Angela to CNS?!!!! that's bullshit." Except for some reason that evening, he made no verbal comment -but erased the schedule, and left the date. I watched him pick up the piece of chalk and slowly draw a big "?". I kid you not. He drew a question mark. and it remains on the bored. The ideal symbol for the past 7 months, and the future.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Brace Yourself
Nothing works! Did literally every functioning computer system in this house decide to break down in the same day? Seriously – when my Dad’s brain broke-down, so did every electronic in the Nemer household. I’ve been meaning to write – but everything is broken, or bad, or difficult. So I’m writing now on my laptop which is not connected to the internet and I’ll have to somehow transfer this file to a computer that is connected and then cut and paste it onto the blog – so it took quite a feat to get these words to you, and there are many of them, since it has been a week since my last update, and things have changed and taken shape in dramatic ways, but I appreciate you bearing with me through it. Here’s a play-by-play of the past week, picking up where I left off…
Tuesday 1/20:
morning – bagels, bacon, and Obama! we watch the inauguration, tears all around – mostly from Dad. Mom leaves for work, I leave for a run with the dogs so that Angela can get Dad out of the house. all successful.
afternoon – I pick up Dad, and he’s oddly serene the entire way home. We make a simple dinner consisting of shrimp and rice which Dad picked out. All is calm... I’m wondering, why? Mom gets home – informs me that Dad refused all of his therapy that day – he bit, kicked, spit, threw punches, and resisted until they stunned him with a shot of Ativan.(sp?) ((A drug they also used to subside his aggressive and thrashing behavior when he was in his fighting vegetable state back in the day 7 months ago.))
Wednesday 1/21:
morning: all quiet on the Royal blvd front.
afternoon: leaving CNS – semi-tumultuous. It was after a conference where we met with Jessica, the behavior analyst from CNS-Bakersfield, who reinstated that what Dad needs is constant structure and a hand-over-hand approach to therapy that forces him to complete his tasks. Mom can’t believe that he’s been biting and spitting at the therapists there. We find him in one of the rooms to say, “hey Dad! time to go!” and he yells at us, “oh would you two just get out of here!!!!” we skulk over to the lobby and wait. “so who wants him?” I say to my Mom sarcastically, since we took two cars and one of us would have to brave the beast on the ride home. “Well… let’s see who he goes for.”
(I’m realizing now this day deserves some detail…)
For some reason, Dad has decided to hate me this day. We get in the elevator, and Dad snatches his backpack from me, “gimme that!!!!” he says. Mom initiates cheerily, “so who do you wanna drive home with? me or Annie?” “I don’t wanna go home with HER!!!” he snarls at me. okay…. I shrink into the corner and act somewhat offended, (I’m really not I just want him to think so.) We get out of the elevator and I walk far ahead of them and get my car. As I drive past them I lean out the window, “byeeee! see ya at the house! are ya suuuuuuuuuure you don’t wanna come with me??? I’ve got the snacks!” Dad nods a distraught “no” at me, so I inch slowly forward, watching them in the rearview mirror – and I just knew that Dad would feel bad and change his mind. Mom waves me down, “ANNIE!!! he wants to go with you now!” ah hahaha. Part of me is excited my Dad wants to ride with me, and part of me is terrified that he’ll get angry and try and escape. Surprisingly – we make it home – the power of pistachio nuts acting as my distracting savior.
evening: Mom’s starving, Dad’s starving and lying on the couch, dinner out is suggested. “let’s go to Jax!!!” our classic, comfortable, delicious neighborhood favorite – and they always give a generous and much-needed pour of vino. With ease, we exit the house and head out. Going to sit down in the booth, Dad says, “I have to sit next to HER?!!!!” “yes – she’s your beautiful daughter, she loves you.” Mom says. I give a puppy-eyed look to my Dad, and he obliges and sits down next to me. (I wonder if he really does think I’m his sister Robin sometimes – I’ve heard their daily life together wasn’t a too far off reflection of his aversion to me on this day…) anyway, he sits next to me. The waiter comes to take our order – I’m silent since anything I say gets snapped at or shunned. But deciding what to order is such a feat – Mom’s helping guide Dad towards what he wants, “how bout the tri-tip?? or the steak Diane with all the mushrooms, you love those!” “where’s that?” Dad says, he’s totally on the wrong page of the menu. I lean over and start to turn the page kindly, “it’s on this page of the menu, Dad.” “I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT’S ON THAT PAGE!” he snaps at me. the poor little waiter-boy clearly stunned by this dysfunctional-family moment. I make eyes at him behind Dad’s back in an attempt to communicate that I’m okay – Dad doesn’t mean what he says. We order, we eat, we’re happy, we go home…
night falls: Dad lays down on the couch for 5 minutes, I put on the TV. He gets up, “ugh I’m tired, I’m going to sleep.” “Dad, it’s only 7:45… do you really want to go to sleep now?” I say, gently. “I’m going to bed.” He goes upstairs and crawls in bed. I head to the computer for some mindless Facebooking, perhaps a blog. I hear Mom in the bedroom with him, tucking him in. She comes into the study and says, “okay – teach me how to work this thing.” And there I begin Facebook101 with my Mother – a trying attempt at teaching her new technology and quite hilarious all at the same time. We’re giggling and engaged with the computer, when all of the sudden, the door slams.
Mom goes over to her bedroom door, turns the knob. It’s locked. “David???” she says. “open the door! you locked it!” no answer. “DAVID???? open the door please!” no answer. we exchange looks of panic. “DAVID!!! open the door!!!!!!!! OPEN THE DOOR!!!” she’s banging on it now. ask for Melvin – I suggest. “DAVID!!!! Melvin needs to go out!!!!” nothing. bang bang bang bang bang bang on the door. nothing. she knocks for what seems like 15 minutes – and panic ensues. We have to get in. What could he be doing in there?! Why isn’t he answering?!!!! Mom decides we should sneak in through the balcony sliding door. She’s trying to get the screen off the window but can’t – I intervene – pull her away from the window and disengage it myself. I throw the screen to the side and crawl out – carefully across the slats over the patio. I climb over the fence to the balcony – and Dad is simply asleep in his bed. I slowly open the screen door – and he pops up. “GEEEETT OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!!!!!!!!” He leaps out of the bed and chases me across the room. I duck and run to the door and open it for my mom. “Dad you locked us out!!! we couldn’t get in!!” “DAMN RIGHT YOU COULDN’T GET IN – GET OUT THE WAY YOU CAME!!! GET OUT!!!!!!!!!” and he’s throwing punches, and his eyes are bulging out, and he’s swinging at us and threatening – I dart back to the screen door to close it – I lock it, then think twice and unlock it again, then I dash back to the door as he’s yelling at me to get out. He slams it behind me – Mom’s still in there. “DAVID CALM DOWN!!!” she screams. he screams back, I hear yelling, pushing, my Mom’s voice crying. I’m terrified. I scream back from the outside, I hear her say – “it’s okay, Annie! I’m okay!” She comes out and closes the door – holding the door knob as Dad’s trying to lock it again from the other side. the Evil Monster is in FULL SWING. We’re both shaken and terrified. She doesn’t want to let the doorknob go or it’ll lock again. So I creep back out onto the patio so I can see Dad through the window. He’s pushing the door shut, he won’t give up. They stand like that for ten minutes – I’m waiting to give my mom the cue that she can let go, that Dad’s gone back to bed to let the monster rest. It isn’t until I see him turn, whimper and shake his head, then walk back and crawl in bed – that I give her a silent cue that she’s safe to let go. I crawl back through the window – bruise my ass on the metal frame – and sit down with my Mom. We stare at each other, frightened with disbelief. Was that our David Nemer that just attacked us??? No, no it wasn’t. It’s a brain damaged human being – and he’s dangerous.
We call the CNS hotline to report to our case manager. There’s no doubt now that he’s got to go to Bakersfield. We operate on super-silent mode the rest of the evening, as to not risk waking the beast. Mom sleeps in my bed that night, Jenny wedged between us. Poor Melvin probably frozen in a ball on the floor in their room – not knowing what the hell to think.
Thursday 1/22: it’s a new day, and it’s raining.
morning: Mom creeps back into their room when the sun comes up. Once Dad’s awake, he comes into my room – cheerily, his face awash in smiles and pure joy as he sees Jenny curled up on my bed. He curls up next to her and places Heartly, (my stuffed hippo that I’ve had since I was 9), under her paw. It’s precious, heartbreaking, and stupefying all at the same time. He cuddles with me and her for about 5 minutes – not recalling an inkling of what occurred a mere 10 hours earlier.
8am: Angela arrives, and the morning routine carries on with ease. I decide to go for my 30 minute run and sweat away the drama of the night before. 15 minutes in, just at the turn-around point, I hit an evil pinecone and come down hard – rolling my left ankle and smashing into the asphalt on my right knee. ohhhhh wonderful. of course. Running - my one escape and outlet – shot to shit by a stupid pinecone. I try and get up, oooh it hurts. I’m crying - for so many things, the rain starts pouring, my knee is bleeding and my ankle is assuming the shape of a softball. I limp home. A pathetic sight as I walk through the door, Angela comes out of the kitchen, “I fell…” I cry. “ohh mi…” she hugs me sweetly muttering something in Spanish. I limp upstairs, knock on my Mom’s door, she opens it, “Mommy I fell…” I cry. (maybe I needed to fall just to feel how wonderful being so truly nurtured is, not that I feel that I need it, but the physical sight of a scraped knee elicits instinctual nurturing – the kind you crave when you’re five years old). Dad, however lacked that instinct, “oh get over it” he grumbles, waving me off.
evening: after a day of ice/elevation and an attempt at work – I pick up Dad. He’s fairly complacent, I heard it was a good day from the therapists, and we head home. As I’m setting the table for dinner – Mom walks in. “they’re taking him tomorrow.” Shocked, “tomorrow? already?” “yep.” she says. “Angela’s coming in the morning for routine, then Laurie the nurse is arriving to give him a shot of Ativan for the ride up, and then a van from Bakersfield arrives to take him there.”
with this daunting, scary, information – we have our last dinner together. and go to sleep.
Friday 1/23:
the plan is in action, Dad’s completely compliant, pleasant, and of course making this more difficult. If it had been the Evil Monster we had to say bye to that morning it may not have been so hard.
after they took him, my Mom and I sobbed. “I just keep losing him” she weeps. I understand… but it’s not about us. it’s about him – and it’s going to make him stronger. I just know he’s going to fight until he figures out what the fuck is going on – and, we’ve already made it through so much – this is just two months out of the rest of his life, and it can only help from here. We’ve hit a wall where we lived in danger – and now, Dad’s got to get through the grapevine, and climb over that wall – all by way of Bakersfield.
Tuesday 1/20:
morning – bagels, bacon, and Obama! we watch the inauguration, tears all around – mostly from Dad. Mom leaves for work, I leave for a run with the dogs so that Angela can get Dad out of the house. all successful.
afternoon – I pick up Dad, and he’s oddly serene the entire way home. We make a simple dinner consisting of shrimp and rice which Dad picked out. All is calm... I’m wondering, why? Mom gets home – informs me that Dad refused all of his therapy that day – he bit, kicked, spit, threw punches, and resisted until they stunned him with a shot of Ativan.(sp?) ((A drug they also used to subside his aggressive and thrashing behavior when he was in his fighting vegetable state back in the day 7 months ago.))
Wednesday 1/21:
morning: all quiet on the Royal blvd front.
afternoon: leaving CNS – semi-tumultuous. It was after a conference where we met with Jessica, the behavior analyst from CNS-Bakersfield, who reinstated that what Dad needs is constant structure and a hand-over-hand approach to therapy that forces him to complete his tasks. Mom can’t believe that he’s been biting and spitting at the therapists there. We find him in one of the rooms to say, “hey Dad! time to go!” and he yells at us, “oh would you two just get out of here!!!!” we skulk over to the lobby and wait. “so who wants him?” I say to my Mom sarcastically, since we took two cars and one of us would have to brave the beast on the ride home. “Well… let’s see who he goes for.”
(I’m realizing now this day deserves some detail…)
For some reason, Dad has decided to hate me this day. We get in the elevator, and Dad snatches his backpack from me, “gimme that!!!!” he says. Mom initiates cheerily, “so who do you wanna drive home with? me or Annie?” “I don’t wanna go home with HER!!!” he snarls at me. okay…. I shrink into the corner and act somewhat offended, (I’m really not I just want him to think so.) We get out of the elevator and I walk far ahead of them and get my car. As I drive past them I lean out the window, “byeeee! see ya at the house! are ya suuuuuuuuuure you don’t wanna come with me??? I’ve got the snacks!” Dad nods a distraught “no” at me, so I inch slowly forward, watching them in the rearview mirror – and I just knew that Dad would feel bad and change his mind. Mom waves me down, “ANNIE!!! he wants to go with you now!” ah hahaha. Part of me is excited my Dad wants to ride with me, and part of me is terrified that he’ll get angry and try and escape. Surprisingly – we make it home – the power of pistachio nuts acting as my distracting savior.
evening: Mom’s starving, Dad’s starving and lying on the couch, dinner out is suggested. “let’s go to Jax!!!” our classic, comfortable, delicious neighborhood favorite – and they always give a generous and much-needed pour of vino. With ease, we exit the house and head out. Going to sit down in the booth, Dad says, “I have to sit next to HER?!!!!” “yes – she’s your beautiful daughter, she loves you.” Mom says. I give a puppy-eyed look to my Dad, and he obliges and sits down next to me. (I wonder if he really does think I’m his sister Robin sometimes – I’ve heard their daily life together wasn’t a too far off reflection of his aversion to me on this day…) anyway, he sits next to me. The waiter comes to take our order – I’m silent since anything I say gets snapped at or shunned. But deciding what to order is such a feat – Mom’s helping guide Dad towards what he wants, “how bout the tri-tip?? or the steak Diane with all the mushrooms, you love those!” “where’s that?” Dad says, he’s totally on the wrong page of the menu. I lean over and start to turn the page kindly, “it’s on this page of the menu, Dad.” “I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT’S ON THAT PAGE!” he snaps at me. the poor little waiter-boy clearly stunned by this dysfunctional-family moment. I make eyes at him behind Dad’s back in an attempt to communicate that I’m okay – Dad doesn’t mean what he says. We order, we eat, we’re happy, we go home…
night falls: Dad lays down on the couch for 5 minutes, I put on the TV. He gets up, “ugh I’m tired, I’m going to sleep.” “Dad, it’s only 7:45… do you really want to go to sleep now?” I say, gently. “I’m going to bed.” He goes upstairs and crawls in bed. I head to the computer for some mindless Facebooking, perhaps a blog. I hear Mom in the bedroom with him, tucking him in. She comes into the study and says, “okay – teach me how to work this thing.” And there I begin Facebook101 with my Mother – a trying attempt at teaching her new technology and quite hilarious all at the same time. We’re giggling and engaged with the computer, when all of the sudden, the door slams.
Mom goes over to her bedroom door, turns the knob. It’s locked. “David???” she says. “open the door! you locked it!” no answer. “DAVID???? open the door please!” no answer. we exchange looks of panic. “DAVID!!! open the door!!!!!!!! OPEN THE DOOR!!!” she’s banging on it now. ask for Melvin – I suggest. “DAVID!!!! Melvin needs to go out!!!!” nothing. bang bang bang bang bang bang on the door. nothing. she knocks for what seems like 15 minutes – and panic ensues. We have to get in. What could he be doing in there?! Why isn’t he answering?!!!! Mom decides we should sneak in through the balcony sliding door. She’s trying to get the screen off the window but can’t – I intervene – pull her away from the window and disengage it myself. I throw the screen to the side and crawl out – carefully across the slats over the patio. I climb over the fence to the balcony – and Dad is simply asleep in his bed. I slowly open the screen door – and he pops up. “GEEEETT OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!!!!!!!!” He leaps out of the bed and chases me across the room. I duck and run to the door and open it for my mom. “Dad you locked us out!!! we couldn’t get in!!” “DAMN RIGHT YOU COULDN’T GET IN – GET OUT THE WAY YOU CAME!!! GET OUT!!!!!!!!!” and he’s throwing punches, and his eyes are bulging out, and he’s swinging at us and threatening – I dart back to the screen door to close it – I lock it, then think twice and unlock it again, then I dash back to the door as he’s yelling at me to get out. He slams it behind me – Mom’s still in there. “DAVID CALM DOWN!!!” she screams. he screams back, I hear yelling, pushing, my Mom’s voice crying. I’m terrified. I scream back from the outside, I hear her say – “it’s okay, Annie! I’m okay!” She comes out and closes the door – holding the door knob as Dad’s trying to lock it again from the other side. the Evil Monster is in FULL SWING. We’re both shaken and terrified. She doesn’t want to let the doorknob go or it’ll lock again. So I creep back out onto the patio so I can see Dad through the window. He’s pushing the door shut, he won’t give up. They stand like that for ten minutes – I’m waiting to give my mom the cue that she can let go, that Dad’s gone back to bed to let the monster rest. It isn’t until I see him turn, whimper and shake his head, then walk back and crawl in bed – that I give her a silent cue that she’s safe to let go. I crawl back through the window – bruise my ass on the metal frame – and sit down with my Mom. We stare at each other, frightened with disbelief. Was that our David Nemer that just attacked us??? No, no it wasn’t. It’s a brain damaged human being – and he’s dangerous.
We call the CNS hotline to report to our case manager. There’s no doubt now that he’s got to go to Bakersfield. We operate on super-silent mode the rest of the evening, as to not risk waking the beast. Mom sleeps in my bed that night, Jenny wedged between us. Poor Melvin probably frozen in a ball on the floor in their room – not knowing what the hell to think.
Thursday 1/22: it’s a new day, and it’s raining.
morning: Mom creeps back into their room when the sun comes up. Once Dad’s awake, he comes into my room – cheerily, his face awash in smiles and pure joy as he sees Jenny curled up on my bed. He curls up next to her and places Heartly, (my stuffed hippo that I’ve had since I was 9), under her paw. It’s precious, heartbreaking, and stupefying all at the same time. He cuddles with me and her for about 5 minutes – not recalling an inkling of what occurred a mere 10 hours earlier.
8am: Angela arrives, and the morning routine carries on with ease. I decide to go for my 30 minute run and sweat away the drama of the night before. 15 minutes in, just at the turn-around point, I hit an evil pinecone and come down hard – rolling my left ankle and smashing into the asphalt on my right knee. ohhhhh wonderful. of course. Running - my one escape and outlet – shot to shit by a stupid pinecone. I try and get up, oooh it hurts. I’m crying - for so many things, the rain starts pouring, my knee is bleeding and my ankle is assuming the shape of a softball. I limp home. A pathetic sight as I walk through the door, Angela comes out of the kitchen, “I fell…” I cry. “ohh mi…” she hugs me sweetly muttering something in Spanish. I limp upstairs, knock on my Mom’s door, she opens it, “Mommy I fell…” I cry. (maybe I needed to fall just to feel how wonderful being so truly nurtured is, not that I feel that I need it, but the physical sight of a scraped knee elicits instinctual nurturing – the kind you crave when you’re five years old). Dad, however lacked that instinct, “oh get over it” he grumbles, waving me off.
evening: after a day of ice/elevation and an attempt at work – I pick up Dad. He’s fairly complacent, I heard it was a good day from the therapists, and we head home. As I’m setting the table for dinner – Mom walks in. “they’re taking him tomorrow.” Shocked, “tomorrow? already?” “yep.” she says. “Angela’s coming in the morning for routine, then Laurie the nurse is arriving to give him a shot of Ativan for the ride up, and then a van from Bakersfield arrives to take him there.”
with this daunting, scary, information – we have our last dinner together. and go to sleep.
Friday 1/23:
the plan is in action, Dad’s completely compliant, pleasant, and of course making this more difficult. If it had been the Evil Monster we had to say bye to that morning it may not have been so hard.
after they took him, my Mom and I sobbed. “I just keep losing him” she weeps. I understand… but it’s not about us. it’s about him – and it’s going to make him stronger. I just know he’s going to fight until he figures out what the fuck is going on – and, we’ve already made it through so much – this is just two months out of the rest of his life, and it can only help from here. We’ve hit a wall where we lived in danger – and now, Dad’s got to get through the grapevine, and climb over that wall – all by way of Bakersfield.
Monday, January 19, 2009
A Pleasant Place
I get out of the elevator on my way to pick up Dad at CNS this afternoon, after a day of transcribing hideously boring interviews at the office, and right when i reach for the door handle - the horn blows. They blow an air horn every time someone tries to escape from CNS. And usually - it's my Dad that's the culprit. I open the door - and low and behold - there's Hilda, our case manager, guarding the door, my Dad trying to push his way to it, and 4 other CNS therapists and staff ready to pounce. I walk into the mania - "oh good - you're here, did you come to take me away from these people?!" my Dad says in surprise at my impeccable timing. "no David, you have twenty more minutes of therepy, we have to finish." says Hilda. "fine - i'll wait here." and Dad sits down on one of the seats in the lobby area. "well no, Dad" I say "you go finish and I'll be here and then we'll go at ten to 4." Hilda turns to me and says, "do you mind waiting outside? we have to intervene." "Umm sure..." okay. whatever that means. and I know what it means - it means they're going to use physical restraint to get my dad to calm down and finish his exercises and they don't want me to see it. my question is why do they have to do it if i'm already there to take him home in the first place and end all the drama? But whatever. So I wait in the hall, by the elevator. I lean against the wall, and then sink down to the floor - and sit on the cold tile indefinitely. -- let me interrupt myself to say real quick that as I'm attempting to complete this blog I have to stop every 2 minutes to keep Jenny from eating Pickles, the poor traumatized bird who sits in it's cage right outside the door from the study. sorry Jenny. -- anyway, I'm slumped by the elevator, imagining what they're doing to Daddy in there. and it doesn't sound good. ten minutes later, Shimone, one of the other clients there, about the age of my Dad and with much more cognition but less speech competency than he, comes out of the clinic with his son. Let me preface this by telling you that Shimone is one of those classic kissing Europeans. Everytime he sees me, "HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!! *muah* *mauh*!" kisses on my cheeks. And he is also sort of buddies with my Dad, when Dad's being compliant. But with this latest behavior Shimone feels the need to tell me about it, as if I didn't know. He sees me slumped there - "heeeeeeeeey!!! ohhhhhhh - you're Dad..." and then he grumbles something and throws punches in the air to illustrate whatever just happened behind closed doors. His son intervenes, "Dad, eet's okay -- eet's okay! don worry about it!" and he smiles at me. "you okay?" he says. "yeah" I nod. then Shimone leans down, and squeezes my face and lands two kisses on my cheeks. "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh mi....." whatever he grumbles. And they get in the elevator to leave and I wait.
Finally Hilda comes out of the doors and makes a beeline to the bathroom - as if purposefully trying to avoid me. I wait til she comes back to say, "can I come in now?" "ummm... let me just check." She goes in. finally she comes out, "yeah you can come wait in the lobby, he's destressing now." um okay. So I sit there in an actual chair, and I know that whatever aggression just happened Dad is coming down from it now. Robin, Dad's counselor, (whom I hate for having that name), comes out and lets me know that Dad acted out again. Supposedly, after I appeared he calmed down and started to do his exercise again, and then he decided he had had enough and started lashing out - at which point 6 people jumped on him to restrain him and finally he became calm and was now relaxing on the physical therepy bed - they wanted him to wait for the adrenaline to wear off before attempting to head home with me. Finally they escort him to the door and he goes, "let's get out of here. let's get away from these assholes." "okay okay" I say and I wave to them and we walk out the door. door closes, and Dad instantly starts sobbing into my arms. "they're just so awful!!!! get me out of here! they want to kill me!!" "shhh shh it's okay daddy i know, I know" I say. calming him. Hilda just on the other side of the door listening to this opens the door and peeks her head around and says, "everything okay?" and Dad, embarrassed to be caught crying says, "get away!" and slams the door at her. I jump in the middle to break up the scene and tell them it's fine it's fine - i've got it from here. The blessed elevator arrives and we get in and away.
down the elevator, Dad keeps crying. I give him my sunglasses so he can hide his tears. He's clearly drained and sore from the drama. I would be too. I ache for him. As we're walking to the car he goes, "those goddamn assholes. THOSE GODDAMN ASSHOLES." loud enough so every random at the Baja Fresh around the corner probably dropped their burrito to look and see where the crazy person voice was coming from. "Dad!!! it's okay it's okay - let's get in the car, we're going home now."
We get in. I put him in the back - hoping that my childproof locks were engaged - and terrified that he may make an anxious attempt to get out on the freeway as he has tried in moments of panic before. Luckily, only one weak attempt. He was too busy sobbing and marinating in the drama of the day. I distract him with a bag of pistachio nuts I keep in the car for snacks. They helped a little. Finally, we get home.
He's totally drained, and totally hungry. After about 9 minutes on the couch, just enough time to allow me to retell the story to Mom in privacy, Dad walks in, "I want a steak! let's put some on the grill." Mom and I look at each other -- "ummm okay" and after devising excuses of lack of coals for a BBQ and the fact that the steaks were still frozen we make the executive decision to head to Columbo's for dinner, our classic, favorite, family Italian steakhouse restaurant, where there's always a little live jazz. We throw some food in the bowls for the dogs, and head out the door. The event of going out to dinner, so innately normal and easy.
At Columbo's, we cozy up in a booth directly across from the best piano player ever. Dad's face is awash in smiles and joy watching this sweet, big, Black man musician with the softest touch on the keys and a sweet attempt at a Nat King Cole voice, serranading the restaurant. We order fried calamari - they get devoured in a flash. We talk about my day at work, my upcoming auditions, Mom working at USC, tomorrow's inauguration, we toast to Bush's last night as president, and we sing and sway along to the classic jazz melodies -- all of which the lyrics are somehow ingrained in my Dad's brain - and he's openly singing and whistling along. I'm amazed. Well, not amazed, but more dumbfounded and dissapointed. How can a day in the life of David, be so bad - so extreme, so difficult, so dangerous, so painful, so sad, and then so so good and true to life, so full of spirit. How can one body handle such polar emotions in a span of 10 hours? I hate it. A night like this was out of a movie; seeing my parents squeezing hands, swaying over half-eaten plates of pasta, tears running down Mom's face as they sing along to "these foolish things." I didn't cry today until that moment - and even then it was just a couple tears. But it was pure wonderful.
We get in the car, and pull out of the parking lot. "that is a pleasant place." Dad says. "yep... it sure is." Mom and I agree.
Finally Hilda comes out of the doors and makes a beeline to the bathroom - as if purposefully trying to avoid me. I wait til she comes back to say, "can I come in now?" "ummm... let me just check." She goes in. finally she comes out, "yeah you can come wait in the lobby, he's destressing now." um okay. So I sit there in an actual chair, and I know that whatever aggression just happened Dad is coming down from it now. Robin, Dad's counselor, (whom I hate for having that name), comes out and lets me know that Dad acted out again. Supposedly, after I appeared he calmed down and started to do his exercise again, and then he decided he had had enough and started lashing out - at which point 6 people jumped on him to restrain him and finally he became calm and was now relaxing on the physical therepy bed - they wanted him to wait for the adrenaline to wear off before attempting to head home with me. Finally they escort him to the door and he goes, "let's get out of here. let's get away from these assholes." "okay okay" I say and I wave to them and we walk out the door. door closes, and Dad instantly starts sobbing into my arms. "they're just so awful!!!! get me out of here! they want to kill me!!" "shhh shh it's okay daddy i know, I know" I say. calming him. Hilda just on the other side of the door listening to this opens the door and peeks her head around and says, "everything okay?" and Dad, embarrassed to be caught crying says, "get away!" and slams the door at her. I jump in the middle to break up the scene and tell them it's fine it's fine - i've got it from here. The blessed elevator arrives and we get in and away.
down the elevator, Dad keeps crying. I give him my sunglasses so he can hide his tears. He's clearly drained and sore from the drama. I would be too. I ache for him. As we're walking to the car he goes, "those goddamn assholes. THOSE GODDAMN ASSHOLES." loud enough so every random at the Baja Fresh around the corner probably dropped their burrito to look and see where the crazy person voice was coming from. "Dad!!! it's okay it's okay - let's get in the car, we're going home now."
We get in. I put him in the back - hoping that my childproof locks were engaged - and terrified that he may make an anxious attempt to get out on the freeway as he has tried in moments of panic before. Luckily, only one weak attempt. He was too busy sobbing and marinating in the drama of the day. I distract him with a bag of pistachio nuts I keep in the car for snacks. They helped a little. Finally, we get home.
He's totally drained, and totally hungry. After about 9 minutes on the couch, just enough time to allow me to retell the story to Mom in privacy, Dad walks in, "I want a steak! let's put some on the grill." Mom and I look at each other -- "ummm okay" and after devising excuses of lack of coals for a BBQ and the fact that the steaks were still frozen we make the executive decision to head to Columbo's for dinner, our classic, favorite, family Italian steakhouse restaurant, where there's always a little live jazz. We throw some food in the bowls for the dogs, and head out the door. The event of going out to dinner, so innately normal and easy.
At Columbo's, we cozy up in a booth directly across from the best piano player ever. Dad's face is awash in smiles and joy watching this sweet, big, Black man musician with the softest touch on the keys and a sweet attempt at a Nat King Cole voice, serranading the restaurant. We order fried calamari - they get devoured in a flash. We talk about my day at work, my upcoming auditions, Mom working at USC, tomorrow's inauguration, we toast to Bush's last night as president, and we sing and sway along to the classic jazz melodies -- all of which the lyrics are somehow ingrained in my Dad's brain - and he's openly singing and whistling along. I'm amazed. Well, not amazed, but more dumbfounded and dissapointed. How can a day in the life of David, be so bad - so extreme, so difficult, so dangerous, so painful, so sad, and then so so good and true to life, so full of spirit. How can one body handle such polar emotions in a span of 10 hours? I hate it. A night like this was out of a movie; seeing my parents squeezing hands, swaying over half-eaten plates of pasta, tears running down Mom's face as they sing along to "these foolish things." I didn't cry today until that moment - and even then it was just a couple tears. But it was pure wonderful.
We get in the car, and pull out of the parking lot. "that is a pleasant place." Dad says. "yep... it sure is." Mom and I agree.
Friday, January 16, 2009
I'm home!
Hi everyone! I'm Jenny! I just moved in. Melvin's nice - but I can tell he's a little possessive. men. anyway. I can't wait to meet the rest of my family. I hear Mommy-Barbara is going to kill Annie when she sees how big I am. I wasn't supposed to be this big. But I promised I wouldn't pee in the house or eat any of her autographed collected works by significant playwrights. (Annie filled me in about the-dog-who-shall-not-be-named and her affinity for books and journals.) Anyway -- come by and visit me. Can't wait to become part of the fam. :P
Thursday, January 15, 2009
not fair not fair not fair
I don't care who reads this or who doesn't - but I'm pissed right now because I miss everything I had before I had to stay in almost every night with my brain damaged dad. I miss my friends, I miss being social, I miss men. I was thinking - this time last year I was makin' out like crazy. yeah! it's true. but all making out and relationships aside - I had like multiple men in my life, some significant, some not so much: there was the Ex, the Scene partner, the Power Ranger, the Cast member... my Crazy whatever-we-were, my new Roomate, and my Dad. wonderful, significant, men in my life. hmph. who would have thought - one year later.
it was too much looking around at pictures of happy people on facebook, my old ones included, that prompted me to whine and bitch. sorry about it.
it was too much looking around at pictures of happy people on facebook, my old ones included, that prompted me to whine and bitch. sorry about it.
on Lockdown
I get a call at 12:10pm. It's Kathy at CNS. In so many words, this is what she told me. "Hi Annie, okay so your Dad won't leave the house. He's locked himself in - and Angela, Karla, and Jennifer are all outside. He wanted to drive his car and when Angela told him he couldn't he got really angry and agressive. We think it would be dangerous to take him in to CNS even if we do get him to cooperate, but he's not listening to anyone and he's starting to act out." oh man, I'm thinking. damnit Dad, damnit! why can't you just cooperate and go?!!!! These people aren't trying to hurt you!!!! This place is nothing new! Just fucking get with the program!!! and dear lord PLEASE don't hurt yourself in the house alone! I take a breath, "okay - um... okay i'm on my way." Kathy suggests, "maybe try and call him, and talk him down a bit." "okay - yeah. I'll try that first but I'll start to head over regardless." I hang up. I dial home. The phone's off the hook. Oh man. I slam my laptop closed - 4 pages from finishing my neverending script - grab my keys and bolt out the office. Another call, "Annie it's Kathy again - okay so your Dad's disconnected the phones." No shit. "yeah I just tried. okay i'm on my way - i'll be there in 10 minutes." "Drive safe." she says.
I'm on the 134 freeway - speeding - having flashbacks to the night I was enroute that same direction after the heart attack. Rehearsing that same monologue in my head in case I got pulled over. "officer I'm sorry, it's my Dad, he's in danger at home, I know i'm speeding just please follow me and write me the ticket when we get there." Meanwhile I'm thinking all these horrible things. What if he does get the car to work? What if he starts feeling aggressive towards himself? Should we have hidden the keys better? Should we have hidden the kitchen knives?! Ahhhh! Who knows what his damaged brain can come up with?! All it knows is it's not happy, and feels trapped. And therefore, it's trapped my Dad's body inside his house fending off these people who are trying to take him somewhere against his will, out of his control.
I finally get there - whip my prius into the driveway -and see Angela crouched on the curb by the garage, and two other therapists from CNS sitting on the porch. The garage door is open, all doors locked. I go inside. "Daddy? It's me..." I hear Dad's voice, sounding soft and surprised: "oh are you here?" "hi I'm here." I find him, shaking, he's almost crying. then he gets angry. "OH GET THESE PEOPLE OUT OF HERE!!! they're calling the police on me, they're trying to get me. they're gonna shoot me. I'd shoot them if I could. get them away!" deeeep breath. "it's okay Dad, let me talk to them, it's okay. " "NO IT'S NOT OKAY! DON'T YOU DARE TALK TO THEM." it was as if he was upset that I would even try and reason with these imposters - that I wasn't on his side fending them off. "it's okay, it's okay." I shut the door slightly behind me and get the story from Karla and Jennifer on the porch. Then I hear the door slam shut and I think oh fuck don't lock me out too. So I tell them - "thanks, guys I got it from here." and I race around to the back and run inside. "ARE THEY GONE YET?!" "they're leaving now..." i say calmly. "THEIR CARS ARE STILL HERE!!!!" "they're LEAVING NOW I PROMISE!!!!" I say back, firmly. He watches til a car pulls away - "Bye bye fatties." Dad says.
I go into the kitchen and give him space. Mom calls - he's still furious and rips the phone out of my hand, then hangs up on her. the evil monster is still in him. I just go into the kitchen and let him lay there in the living room, steaming. Silently waiting - not knowing what to do - what will set him off - how extreme this evil monster could behave, I stand leaning on the kitchen counter, scooping a spoon in a jar of peanut butter, wondering when I make an entrance again. I decide to set the tone. I turn on "I Love Lucy" and stick a bag of popcorn in the microwave. three minutes later, just before the last pop, Dad walks in -- "what's going on?" he says, timidly, softly. I decide to say nothing. I just take the bag of popcorn out, and wave it in front of my face, smiling in delight and looking at Dad through the steam, the buttery smell floating up, waving the bag in front of me like a pendulum so as to tempt Dad a bit. "ooooooohhh can i have some?" "most definitely" I say. I pour the popcorn into a big bowl. He reaches in -- "wait!!!" then I pour an extreme amount of melted butter over the top. Dad reaches his hand in again. he takes a big scoop, and starts to feed his face. "Ohhhh it tastes sooo good!" he says whimpering, the warm comforting taste breaking the evil and bringing him to tears. "Aww, I know Dad. Popcorn makes everything better." "almost everything" he says.
We take it in the living room, stretch out on the couch and relax. The evil has subsided. For who knows how long.
And now I sit here, wondering when or if we'll leave the house today. Meanwhile, I know my Mom's at work, with the same pressing issue at the front of her mind, more present and serious than ever: Bakersfield.
I'm on the 134 freeway - speeding - having flashbacks to the night I was enroute that same direction after the heart attack. Rehearsing that same monologue in my head in case I got pulled over. "officer I'm sorry, it's my Dad, he's in danger at home, I know i'm speeding just please follow me and write me the ticket when we get there." Meanwhile I'm thinking all these horrible things. What if he does get the car to work? What if he starts feeling aggressive towards himself? Should we have hidden the keys better? Should we have hidden the kitchen knives?! Ahhhh! Who knows what his damaged brain can come up with?! All it knows is it's not happy, and feels trapped. And therefore, it's trapped my Dad's body inside his house fending off these people who are trying to take him somewhere against his will, out of his control.
I finally get there - whip my prius into the driveway -and see Angela crouched on the curb by the garage, and two other therapists from CNS sitting on the porch. The garage door is open, all doors locked. I go inside. "Daddy? It's me..." I hear Dad's voice, sounding soft and surprised: "oh are you here?" "hi I'm here." I find him, shaking, he's almost crying. then he gets angry. "OH GET THESE PEOPLE OUT OF HERE!!! they're calling the police on me, they're trying to get me. they're gonna shoot me. I'd shoot them if I could. get them away!" deeeep breath. "it's okay Dad, let me talk to them, it's okay. " "NO IT'S NOT OKAY! DON'T YOU DARE TALK TO THEM." it was as if he was upset that I would even try and reason with these imposters - that I wasn't on his side fending them off. "it's okay, it's okay." I shut the door slightly behind me and get the story from Karla and Jennifer on the porch. Then I hear the door slam shut and I think oh fuck don't lock me out too. So I tell them - "thanks, guys I got it from here." and I race around to the back and run inside. "ARE THEY GONE YET?!" "they're leaving now..." i say calmly. "THEIR CARS ARE STILL HERE!!!!" "they're LEAVING NOW I PROMISE!!!!" I say back, firmly. He watches til a car pulls away - "Bye bye fatties." Dad says.
I go into the kitchen and give him space. Mom calls - he's still furious and rips the phone out of my hand, then hangs up on her. the evil monster is still in him. I just go into the kitchen and let him lay there in the living room, steaming. Silently waiting - not knowing what to do - what will set him off - how extreme this evil monster could behave, I stand leaning on the kitchen counter, scooping a spoon in a jar of peanut butter, wondering when I make an entrance again. I decide to set the tone. I turn on "I Love Lucy" and stick a bag of popcorn in the microwave. three minutes later, just before the last pop, Dad walks in -- "what's going on?" he says, timidly, softly. I decide to say nothing. I just take the bag of popcorn out, and wave it in front of my face, smiling in delight and looking at Dad through the steam, the buttery smell floating up, waving the bag in front of me like a pendulum so as to tempt Dad a bit. "ooooooohhh can i have some?" "most definitely" I say. I pour the popcorn into a big bowl. He reaches in -- "wait!!!" then I pour an extreme amount of melted butter over the top. Dad reaches his hand in again. he takes a big scoop, and starts to feed his face. "Ohhhh it tastes sooo good!" he says whimpering, the warm comforting taste breaking the evil and bringing him to tears. "Aww, I know Dad. Popcorn makes everything better." "almost everything" he says.
We take it in the living room, stretch out on the couch and relax. The evil has subsided. For who knows how long.
And now I sit here, wondering when or if we'll leave the house today. Meanwhile, I know my Mom's at work, with the same pressing issue at the front of her mind, more present and serious than ever: Bakersfield.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
missing
Okay fine, I don't know why I tried to cop out from writing my true feelings by covering it with a Melvin story. I missed my Dad tonight. I miss him everyday - but there are those particular days where I see him more, I mean I see who he was before this, and I miss that Dad soooooooo much. oh it hurts. Tonight I saw it when I was trying to make us dinner. And I wasn't a bit hungry, but I didn't want him to eat alone, and I wanted him to eat a lot of fat because he's a freakin' twig, so I was in this annoying predicament. And I kept asking him what he wanted to make and then he'd get frustrated after staring at items in the freezer and have an inkling about what to do with them but then not the thought to follow through and then he'd slam the freezer door and walk back to the living room. This happened about 3 times until I took the initiative to just fucking cook us something. So I went for Italian sausages and Kraft mac 'n cheese. A daughter/daddy favorite from the past when Mom happened to be out for dinner. although tonight I enhanced it with grilled onions on a bun. I guess I shouldn't have expected much - but Dad sat there at first, not thrilled or excited by my dinner, (nothing compared to mushroom night), very apathetic, and bitchy. I was so disheartened. I wanted him to get excited about it, and devour it, and then devour mine so I wouldn't eat it and he'd get twice the calories because he's seriously sororiety-girl-skinny, weighing in at 166 pounds!!!! And I look at him and I just, ahhhh I miss my big, jolly, energetic, enthusiastic, wonderful, happy, Daddy. I miss him.
skinny people are bitches.
skinny people are bitches.
one shoe
Ahhhhhh!!! I just saw it! One of the most rare and precious phenomenons that only ever occurs in the quiet late hours of the night when no one is paying attention. Melvin and one shoe. Sometimes in the Nemer house, you'll wake up in the morning and find one shoe by your bedside - and you wonder, "hhhmm... where's the other one?" then you remember you kicked them off downstairs by the couch. And the only explanation is Melvin. His sweet little habit of sneaking one shoe of yours upstairs and dropping it by your bedside. I just let him out to do his business before bedtime and as I was heading up the stairs I heard him at his water bowl. I sit down here at the computer by the top of the stairs, and then I see him come around the corner, one of my grey boots hanging from his mouth. He never chews, he never bites, he just carries it - and puts it down for you. what a strange, special little habit, don't you think? What in Melvin's little brain triggers him to see a shoe and carry it up with him before bedtime? It just makes you wonder.
this story probably doesn't read half as adorable as witnessing the acutal event. but I had started to write an annoying, whiney, blog and who wants to hear that when I can discuss my dog's shoe fetish.
this story probably doesn't read half as adorable as witnessing the acutal event. but I had started to write an annoying, whiney, blog and who wants to hear that when I can discuss my dog's shoe fetish.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Mushroom Monday
Food makes everything better. There's just no doubt. The two best things in life to lift a person's spirit I've decided have to be food & Melvin. Both offer unconditional love in a non-judgemental, very passive and understanding way. you may judge them - but they are not judging you back with any negative eye, they just want to be doted on and appreciated. Which my Dad does amazingly well. A simple trip to the grocery store after picking my Dad up at CNS turns into a 40 minute amusement-park like adventure. We simply need 3 items: ground beef, sour cream, and Wondra flour. (all to make my Mommy's amazing beef strogonoff, truly my favorite comfort food). So I use these 3 items as a simple memory test - 6 minutes before walking into Vons we talk to Mom on the phone and she tells Dad the 3 ingredients we need. We pull up, we park, I ask him - "now what are we here to get?" "I don't know." Dad says annoyed. no matter - I'm not surprised. we enter the store, and it's immediately and overwhelmingly stimulating.
D: "WOOOWWW look at these apples!!!" me: "yeah pretty huh, we don't really need apples right now though."
I leave Dad to ponder the wracks of pre-chopped vegetables and such while I go collect other produce. There aren't a lot of people in the store, and I've noticed that no matter what, Dad tends to gravitate quite close to whomever tends to be standing there -- I think it's his inherant desire to engage and be social -- as if perhaps he's looking at the same box of pre-chopped red onion, he could strike up a conversation about it and make a new friend.
"Robin! come look at this!" I hear from the other side of the produce area. I walk over, and sort of pull his elbow so he's not standing quite so in the other shopper's personal space. "look at these!!! $2.49!!"
"wow - that's funny, we could chop them ourselves for much cheaper than that!!"
ohhhh why did i say that! i burst his excited bargain bubble! "oh" he says, somewhat defeated, the recognition that they're really just expensive chopped onions starting to make sense. "let's go get the meat" I say, and we move on...
As we make our way through the meat - my eye on the ground beef section - I get about 8 feet ahead of Dad when i hear, "WOWWWW!!! Robin you gotta come see these!!! they're beautiful!!!" I pause, take a deep breath, smile, and go over to him. He's standing in front of the butcher area gazing at all these pre-assembled meat dishes. "CHECK OUT THOSE MUSHROOMS!" "mmmm yes..." I say... as we all know my aversion to the fungus vegetable. and of course immediately - the sweet, hard-working, Vons butcher pipes up, "can I help you with anything?"
Dad: "yeah!!! those look great!!!! what's in em?" Butcher, a little caught off gaurd by Dad's over-the-counter enthusiasm, "It's sausage that we took out of the casing and stuffed into the mushrooms, mixed with some fresh parsley and peppers."
Dad: "We'll take three." he says not skipping a beat, so instantly sold on the indulgent treat.
me: "Dad, well, Mom's making dinner, maybe we should just get one or two to share as an appetizer?" Dad: "but aren't there three of us?" Me: "yes. yeah. okay get 3."
I just smile, and let the transaction occur. Because it's truly beautiful. The excitement those mushrooms gave to my dad, and the sense of accomplishment - that he made the executive decision that we must have these mushrooms tonight, because they are truly special, and even though I don't like them and we're having other food - we must have three, because there are 3 of us - and we all deserve to share in this special treat. It all may sound overexaggerated, but when you look at the core of this interaction - it's really pure and precious.
With the brown sack of stuffed mushrooms in the bag, and our three necessary ingredients, we head home, munching on another impulse purchase of Baked Cheetos on the way. We walk through the door, hugs and greetings to Melvin, then plop down on the couch and watch the Laker game. A bowl of cheetos on the table, and our mushrooms doing their thing in the oven. Dad is 100% engaged in the game. And for a moment, life feels normal again.
Mom gets home an hour later and walks into our kitchen that is filled with the yummy aroma of the sausage stuffed mushrooms, and I tell her about our little adventure at Vons. Then Dad comes in, "ooooh look they're crack--ca-ked on top" he stutters. "they're baked on top you mean?" I say. "yeah. look at 'em." "I think they're done" I say. I grab a hot pad and pull out the mushrooms, Dad's already been sidetracked by the Lakers game and his attention is gone from the fungi. I slice the treat, and put them on a plate. Dad instantly launches in. "Robin, you gotta try these they're amazing." "Annie, you mean." "Annie yes." It's really fine. I stick a toothpick in a mushroom and go for it. "mmmmm...." I notion, and smile at Daddy, a mouthful of mushroom. We share a mutual "oh yeah - we done good" nod of gratification. Then turned back to the Lakers.
And okay, I'll be honest, that was a pretty damn good mushroom.
D: "WOOOWWW look at these apples!!!" me: "yeah pretty huh, we don't really need apples right now though."
I leave Dad to ponder the wracks of pre-chopped vegetables and such while I go collect other produce. There aren't a lot of people in the store, and I've noticed that no matter what, Dad tends to gravitate quite close to whomever tends to be standing there -- I think it's his inherant desire to engage and be social -- as if perhaps he's looking at the same box of pre-chopped red onion, he could strike up a conversation about it and make a new friend.
"Robin! come look at this!" I hear from the other side of the produce area. I walk over, and sort of pull his elbow so he's not standing quite so in the other shopper's personal space. "look at these!!! $2.49!!"
"wow - that's funny, we could chop them ourselves for much cheaper than that!!"
ohhhh why did i say that! i burst his excited bargain bubble! "oh" he says, somewhat defeated, the recognition that they're really just expensive chopped onions starting to make sense. "let's go get the meat" I say, and we move on...
As we make our way through the meat - my eye on the ground beef section - I get about 8 feet ahead of Dad when i hear, "WOWWWW!!! Robin you gotta come see these!!! they're beautiful!!!" I pause, take a deep breath, smile, and go over to him. He's standing in front of the butcher area gazing at all these pre-assembled meat dishes. "CHECK OUT THOSE MUSHROOMS!" "mmmm yes..." I say... as we all know my aversion to the fungus vegetable. and of course immediately - the sweet, hard-working, Vons butcher pipes up, "can I help you with anything?"
Dad: "yeah!!! those look great!!!! what's in em?" Butcher, a little caught off gaurd by Dad's over-the-counter enthusiasm, "It's sausage that we took out of the casing and stuffed into the mushrooms, mixed with some fresh parsley and peppers."
Dad: "We'll take three." he says not skipping a beat, so instantly sold on the indulgent treat.
me: "Dad, well, Mom's making dinner, maybe we should just get one or two to share as an appetizer?" Dad: "but aren't there three of us?" Me: "yes. yeah. okay get 3."
I just smile, and let the transaction occur. Because it's truly beautiful. The excitement those mushrooms gave to my dad, and the sense of accomplishment - that he made the executive decision that we must have these mushrooms tonight, because they are truly special, and even though I don't like them and we're having other food - we must have three, because there are 3 of us - and we all deserve to share in this special treat. It all may sound overexaggerated, but when you look at the core of this interaction - it's really pure and precious.
With the brown sack of stuffed mushrooms in the bag, and our three necessary ingredients, we head home, munching on another impulse purchase of Baked Cheetos on the way. We walk through the door, hugs and greetings to Melvin, then plop down on the couch and watch the Laker game. A bowl of cheetos on the table, and our mushrooms doing their thing in the oven. Dad is 100% engaged in the game. And for a moment, life feels normal again.
Mom gets home an hour later and walks into our kitchen that is filled with the yummy aroma of the sausage stuffed mushrooms, and I tell her about our little adventure at Vons. Then Dad comes in, "ooooh look they're crack--ca-ked on top" he stutters. "they're baked on top you mean?" I say. "yeah. look at 'em." "I think they're done" I say. I grab a hot pad and pull out the mushrooms, Dad's already been sidetracked by the Lakers game and his attention is gone from the fungi. I slice the treat, and put them on a plate. Dad instantly launches in. "Robin, you gotta try these they're amazing." "Annie, you mean." "Annie yes." It's really fine. I stick a toothpick in a mushroom and go for it. "mmmmm...." I notion, and smile at Daddy, a mouthful of mushroom. We share a mutual "oh yeah - we done good" nod of gratification. Then turned back to the Lakers.
And okay, I'll be honest, that was a pretty damn good mushroom.
Friday, January 9, 2009
14 miles
tomorrow. 8am. i'm runnin' it. Training for the L.A marathon has been the best therepy for me; aside from my evening ritual of glass of wine on the couch while flipping through a food magazine and munching on my new favorite rosemary-salty crackers and watching the evening news (wow I really have aged 20 years in 6 months). but yes, aside from forced relaxation-therepy, running has become an amazing outlet and new little adventure. I have to run 14 miles tomorrow! FOURTEEN! I've never run more than 12! And up until 3 weeks ago I had never run more than 11! and so on and so on! it's exciting! I never know if I'm going to make it to the peanut butter and jelly triangles at the end or pass the fuck out. But I do look forward to it more than anything because it's a new experience every Saturday. It's a new community of amazing, sweet people. People who never knew me before this happened with my Dad. Which - I've only dispelled to two people in my running group - simply because I wanted to remember what it felt like to NOT have this as my burden. And to remember what it felt like to make conversation that wasn't about my Dad. And to remember what it feels like to socialize, and make new friends, and talk about work and common interests. And hi - those things are challenging!!! I find myself feeling so out of practice sometimes in social situations because I so rarely go out anymore. (don't get me wrong, I do go out, I'd say I average a once-a-week social outing, but true that is far more infrequent than before June 27th.) Regardless, I kind of wanted to keep my story separate from this new community. However, at about mile 7 a couple months ago when I knew the end was not near and somehow we had to pass the next few miles I decided to start talking to kill the distance. I'm sure I'll share my story with the rest of the group at some point, if they haven't already heard from eavesdropping along the way, but there's a precious feeling of escape when I head to Griffith Park every Saturday morning; armed with my supply of GU and sporting my groovy little running ensemble. It's revitalizing and refreshing. I wonder how we'll run off those 14 miles tomorrow; what we'll talk about, what we'll bitch about, what I'll be thinking of when we're not talking or bitching. And maybe in that thinking time decisions won't necessecarily be completed - like the one of sending Dad to Bakersfield for 6 weeks, the daunting, life-altering, difficult recurring dilemma - but I hope to accomplish some perspective or at least a little clarity. I also hope to burn about 800 calories and get myself back on track so my Wii fit doesn't chastise me anymore for my happy-holiday-hips. with that said, I'm off to bed!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
JENN-AYY!
Don't you just channel Forest Gump when you read that? "JENN-AY!!!!" I just want to yell it from our porch step on Royal Blvd. Because Jenny, is coming to live with the Nemers. Yep! We found, I do believe, the one. The one little furry companion that will complete our new way of living. She's a small, furry, white, half terrior-half labrador (hah! I know what you're thinking.) Her job - to be Daddy's girl. It's indescribable the way he lights up when there's that unconditional love and attention only a dog can provide. Now - you're probably thinking, what about Melvin?!!! Okay. It is only truly because of Melvin's heart and actions that I believe additional dog-love will bring my Dad more joy. If we could clone Melvin, and maybe shrink him a bit, and make him stop eating mud, that would be ideal. Because Melvin is a true wonder and soul-mate. Once, when Mom and I were at the end of our chain, pissed at Dad for being pissed at himself and being so unbelievably stubborn and selfish, we were standing in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed, anger fuming, Dad laid in the bed - unbudgable - fending off our tense energy - there was Melvin, who crawled half-way up on the bed and stretched his paws across Dad's chest, then laid his head below Dad's chin - protecting his master from our fierceness. My mom turned to me and said, "okay -- we've clearly gone too far." Melvin - this amazing protector, endless companion and friend, is absolutely irreplaceable. And it's my Dad's attachment and yearning for his companionship that makes me think - well, the more the merrier! So my motto is, double the dog, double the joy, double the happiness, lessen the pain, lessen the stress, ease reality. welcome, Jenny!
"magic" me
It's a bi-polar world we're living in these days. That's the best way I can describe it. On my drive home yesterday after a 15 hour shoot day commencing at 4am, awash in exhaustion, bloatation, and cramps, stuck somewhere on the 5 in the middle of Newport Beach and Downtown LA, a glass of wine and my pink flannel donut pajamas as my light at the end of the traffic, I called my mom to check in on the day and see if she and Dad can hold out for me for dinner. She's crying. Anguish and stress bubbling through my blackberry. "he's just awful, Annie, he's just awful. he's so angry. he keeps yelling, 'where's Robin!?! where's Robin?!'" --- I guess now would be a good time to introduce to you all the fact that 9.99 times out of 10, my father calls me, "Robin." His sister's name. who the hell knows why. He knows I'm his daughter. Just like brushing your teeth in the morning, Dad and I have this daily routine:
Dad: "Robin..." Me: "what's my name?" Dad: "Robin." Me: "DAD. what's my name?" Dad: "ROBIN!" Me: "Dad, who am I?" Dad: "you're Robin!" Me: "no - who am I to you?" Dad: "my daughter." Me: "and what's my name?" Dad: "Robin." (i know it's exhausting right?) Me: "and what's your sister's name?" Dad: "oh. Robin." Me: "and what's my name?" Dad: ".... eh I don't know." Me: "I'm ANNIE!" (although sometimes he embellishes that last question and picks a name out of nowhere like "Hildagard" or "Gueneviere" just to make fun of the situation.)
Okay so now you're up to speed. Back to the 5 freeway. So Mom says, "he's just awful... just get home soon." I finally arrive - braced for the expected worst - and Mom's a wreck. I walk over to my Dad, who is hunched at the kitchen counter eating rainbow sherbert. "Hi Daddy..." I say calmly, putting my arm around him. "how ya doin?" he looks up a little. "fine." he says softly. His gaurd and demeanor sinking a bit. "mmm that looks good..." he offers me a bite off his spoon. "mmmm oh that tastes good." I say. "oh my god Dad, I'm so tired - I had the most stressful annoying shoot today." "really? where?" he says. and then we talk. and sit at the counter. and share some more snacks. and laugh at Seinfeld on the TV. Meanwhile, my Mom is doubling over in tears, me not knowing that 5 minutes before I walked in Dad was in such a depression and so angry with himself he uttered the words, "I want to die." "Just let me alone."
I hate seeing my Dad so miserable. It's frightening to think about how awful he must be feeling. For a man of such amazing qualities - the man who knew everything about everything - the glass 3/4 full all the time - mister social, mister optomisim, mister jeopardy, mister everything. For him to walk around daily, spitting out the wrong words in conversation, being carted to and from CNS, who can't drive his yellow vette and doesn't know why, who can't say his daughter's name and doesn't know why, how PAINFULLY excrutiating this battle in his brain must be - we just have to remind ourselves that his anger is justified - because he's working so hard to find the word, the name, to be the best David he can be again. If I really was magic - I would wave a wand and whip him back into shape so fast, these past 6 months would feel like a bad dream. But I'm not magic. And I'm certainly not Robin. But that's okay - I'll be his daughter by any name and by his side everyday if that's what it takes to wake his spirit up, just like the day it did - 12.9 days after dying.
Dad: "Robin..." Me: "what's my name?" Dad: "Robin." Me: "DAD. what's my name?" Dad: "ROBIN!" Me: "Dad, who am I?" Dad: "you're Robin!" Me: "no - who am I to you?" Dad: "my daughter." Me: "and what's my name?" Dad: "Robin." (i know it's exhausting right?) Me: "and what's your sister's name?" Dad: "oh. Robin." Me: "and what's my name?" Dad: ".... eh I don't know." Me: "I'm ANNIE!" (although sometimes he embellishes that last question and picks a name out of nowhere like "Hildagard" or "Gueneviere" just to make fun of the situation.)
Okay so now you're up to speed. Back to the 5 freeway. So Mom says, "he's just awful... just get home soon." I finally arrive - braced for the expected worst - and Mom's a wreck. I walk over to my Dad, who is hunched at the kitchen counter eating rainbow sherbert. "Hi Daddy..." I say calmly, putting my arm around him. "how ya doin?" he looks up a little. "fine." he says softly. His gaurd and demeanor sinking a bit. "mmm that looks good..." he offers me a bite off his spoon. "mmmm oh that tastes good." I say. "oh my god Dad, I'm so tired - I had the most stressful annoying shoot today." "really? where?" he says. and then we talk. and sit at the counter. and share some more snacks. and laugh at Seinfeld on the TV. Meanwhile, my Mom is doubling over in tears, me not knowing that 5 minutes before I walked in Dad was in such a depression and so angry with himself he uttered the words, "I want to die." "Just let me alone."
I hate seeing my Dad so miserable. It's frightening to think about how awful he must be feeling. For a man of such amazing qualities - the man who knew everything about everything - the glass 3/4 full all the time - mister social, mister optomisim, mister jeopardy, mister everything. For him to walk around daily, spitting out the wrong words in conversation, being carted to and from CNS, who can't drive his yellow vette and doesn't know why, who can't say his daughter's name and doesn't know why, how PAINFULLY excrutiating this battle in his brain must be - we just have to remind ourselves that his anger is justified - because he's working so hard to find the word, the name, to be the best David he can be again. If I really was magic - I would wave a wand and whip him back into shape so fast, these past 6 months would feel like a bad dream. But I'm not magic. And I'm certainly not Robin. But that's okay - I'll be his daughter by any name and by his side everyday if that's what it takes to wake his spirit up, just like the day it did - 12.9 days after dying.
Monday, January 5, 2009
ohhh Lexapro...
It's amazing how a little laughter and silliness can wash away a whole day of drama. I just tucked dad in and Mom and I persuaded him to take his medications - my approach was singing songs about them.
this was my first hit: sung to no particular melody
no heart attack pills, no heart attack pills, Dad's gotta take his no heart attack pills, thump thump thump thump.
this cracked a smile, and a little humor back at me. "you go thump thump thump" as he reached his arms out of the covers and thumped on my heart, then tickled my ribs. It was a perfect little giggle fest. Then, since notably not all the pills are for his heart, there's that one lovely little one called Lexapro that when working, defends off some of Dad's aggressive inclinations. We love this pill. so I sang (in replace of the words from James Taylor's Mexico)
Ohhh Lexapro, you're just so sweet we thought you should know. ohhhhh ohhhh ohhhhhhh Lexapro, we sure do love you right now.
no need to document the drama, lets just end on a happy note. :)
this was my first hit: sung to no particular melody
no heart attack pills, no heart attack pills, Dad's gotta take his no heart attack pills, thump thump thump thump.
this cracked a smile, and a little humor back at me. "you go thump thump thump" as he reached his arms out of the covers and thumped on my heart, then tickled my ribs. It was a perfect little giggle fest. Then, since notably not all the pills are for his heart, there's that one lovely little one called Lexapro that when working, defends off some of Dad's aggressive inclinations. We love this pill. so I sang (in replace of the words from James Taylor's Mexico)
Ohhh Lexapro, you're just so sweet we thought you should know. ohhhhh ohhhh ohhhhhhh Lexapro, we sure do love you right now.
no need to document the drama, lets just end on a happy note. :)
awake and anxious
hello 4:01am. wide awake and can't fall back to sleep. and i HATE that anxious feeling insomnia brings. I feel bad. I miss you Daddy. I'm sorry I said, "fuck you" today. I know we'll have a better day tomorrow - and i know you're just extremely frustrated, it's okay, we are too. and i'm sorry i wrote all about it. I better get to sleep cause kyle and I have a big day at work tomorrow. goodnight again. love.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Into the Wild
Sometimes we live with an evil monster. And through this new journey with my Dad, the evil monster sometimes comes out. I came home from my happy breezy 6 mile run today to find my Dad in a very grumpy state - Mom said he just got out of bed. I encouraged him to take a walk with the dog. And I'm sitting eating my pb&j in the kitchen watching Ina on Food Network, and I say to my Dad, "I'm ready when you are." and he says, looking up at the TV, "oh this lady can go fuck herself." yes. This is a classic non-directed accusation towards any person, place, or thing we frequently hear when the evil monster comes out. And with those words I knew it was lurking for an indefinite amount of time. We proceeded on a terrible attempt at a walk where Dad spit at me multiple times. And so I spit back. It's all a tumultous amount of unknown anger as a result of Mr. B.I. (Brain Injury.) so i don't take it personally. but i tell him how i feel so he knows i'm hurt and it's not okay - and usually this calms the beast for a while, though it's marinating inside him.
After Dad gets some food in him we attempt an afternoon of minor activities - visit a dog to potentially adopt, then pick up lunch and have a little picnic in the park. Dad's face lit up during the interaction with the dog, and Mr. B.I was gone completely. Lunch was well enjoyed and devoured, and then the attempt to get back in the car turned into Dad attempting to escape and walk home on his own. This was a first. and this was bad. He wanted to cross Victory Blvd, cars passing swiftly as they go about their own lazy Sunday, and me behind him trying to get him back towards the park. He yells at me, "quit buggin' me! you go back in the park! I'm walking home." I step back. I give him space. but i'm not about to let him lead Melvin into the stream of traffic. I yell back at him with concern in my voice, so he knows walking into the street is a threat and not okay. He gets back on the sidewalk and there starts the spitting again. He spits at me. I glare. He spits again. i yell, "Dad don't spit at me!!!!!!!" he then starts pressing his boundaries, casually spitting around me. I stop. and I pull the big gun out. "FUCK YOU." I say to my dad. My dad. I said fuck you. i didn't think i had it in me. but that got him. He walked ahead, I stayed behind and didn't make eye contact, arms crossed, head hung in defense. Mom who had been creeping around us in the car casually pulled to the corner to pick us up. Knowing he's done wrong and pretending everythings fine, he kisses mom and calmly gets in the car. I roll my eyes and shake it off.
It's no big deal. I'm sure this sounds incredibly frightening. But this was just a new tactic to deal with the behavior. he has to know that it's not okay to be hurtful to us. and he responds when we're honest, real, and on his level. we also have to know that it's not his fault - it's Mr. B.I's. but to speak truthfully - today was a new scary level of behavior. I'm a little afraid to go out in public now. and we had been getting so good at grocery trips, walks, and restaurants. and now i'm a little nervous.
I apologize for the surprise of drama that many (if any) of you who are reading this are feeling. Brain Injury is scary stuff. and no one knows but my Mom and I. I was hesitant to share this story because of what people may think -- but then I thought, this is exactly what this space is for. And if no one reads it now, at least i'll have typed it all down for my memoir one day. :)
We came home and watched Into the Wild. I hate that empty depressed feeling it left me with. My Dad was engaged though. After the movie he put on this stupid floppy old person hat and walked outside with Melvin. Moving at the speed of molasses, and dressed in bulky, smelly, grey sweats with that stupid hat as the cherry on top of his brain injured body sundae. Mom and I peered from the shutters in the dining room, wanting to give him his privacy and alone time. "jesus he looks like he's 85 years old." my mom says. And then he started to cross the street. She ran out to follow him, and I put the dishes away waiting for their return.
They came back; Melvin, my teary-eyed amazing Mother, and the evil monster. and it's only 5:41pm on Sunday... the countown til Monday is on -- when Mom goes to work and can be in her element, I attempt to fill dad's shoes at J-Nex, and my own, and blessed Centre for Neuro Skills takes Dad for his day of therepy. until tomorrow!
After Dad gets some food in him we attempt an afternoon of minor activities - visit a dog to potentially adopt, then pick up lunch and have a little picnic in the park. Dad's face lit up during the interaction with the dog, and Mr. B.I was gone completely. Lunch was well enjoyed and devoured, and then the attempt to get back in the car turned into Dad attempting to escape and walk home on his own. This was a first. and this was bad. He wanted to cross Victory Blvd, cars passing swiftly as they go about their own lazy Sunday, and me behind him trying to get him back towards the park. He yells at me, "quit buggin' me! you go back in the park! I'm walking home." I step back. I give him space. but i'm not about to let him lead Melvin into the stream of traffic. I yell back at him with concern in my voice, so he knows walking into the street is a threat and not okay. He gets back on the sidewalk and there starts the spitting again. He spits at me. I glare. He spits again. i yell, "Dad don't spit at me!!!!!!!" he then starts pressing his boundaries, casually spitting around me. I stop. and I pull the big gun out. "FUCK YOU." I say to my dad. My dad. I said fuck you. i didn't think i had it in me. but that got him. He walked ahead, I stayed behind and didn't make eye contact, arms crossed, head hung in defense. Mom who had been creeping around us in the car casually pulled to the corner to pick us up. Knowing he's done wrong and pretending everythings fine, he kisses mom and calmly gets in the car. I roll my eyes and shake it off.
It's no big deal. I'm sure this sounds incredibly frightening. But this was just a new tactic to deal with the behavior. he has to know that it's not okay to be hurtful to us. and he responds when we're honest, real, and on his level. we also have to know that it's not his fault - it's Mr. B.I's. but to speak truthfully - today was a new scary level of behavior. I'm a little afraid to go out in public now. and we had been getting so good at grocery trips, walks, and restaurants. and now i'm a little nervous.
I apologize for the surprise of drama that many (if any) of you who are reading this are feeling. Brain Injury is scary stuff. and no one knows but my Mom and I. I was hesitant to share this story because of what people may think -- but then I thought, this is exactly what this space is for. And if no one reads it now, at least i'll have typed it all down for my memoir one day. :)
We came home and watched Into the Wild. I hate that empty depressed feeling it left me with. My Dad was engaged though. After the movie he put on this stupid floppy old person hat and walked outside with Melvin. Moving at the speed of molasses, and dressed in bulky, smelly, grey sweats with that stupid hat as the cherry on top of his brain injured body sundae. Mom and I peered from the shutters in the dining room, wanting to give him his privacy and alone time. "jesus he looks like he's 85 years old." my mom says. And then he started to cross the street. She ran out to follow him, and I put the dishes away waiting for their return.
They came back; Melvin, my teary-eyed amazing Mother, and the evil monster. and it's only 5:41pm on Sunday... the countown til Monday is on -- when Mom goes to work and can be in her element, I attempt to fill dad's shoes at J-Nex, and my own, and blessed Centre for Neuro Skills takes Dad for his day of therepy. until tomorrow!
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Personal Statement
Happy Saturday! The first Saturday night of 2009. aaah. I spent the day jogging with my beloved labrador, Melvin, lunching with my dear friend Brittainy, catching a movie with my Dad (we saw Marley and Me - oh jesus, bring the kleenex,) making amazing spaghetti bolognese with my Mama, and chatting with a new sweet friend on the phone ;) all in all - a very fine day. I want to cling to this last weekend of "vacation" before launching back into reality on Monday January 4th. But "real-time" for the future has a lot to hold. And a lot to look forward to. Though I plunge back into producing at Dad's company come Monday, I birthed a new potential adventure last week - GRAD SCHOOL! (don't worry Kyle, we don't have to actually think about this until September '09... and odds I get in are what they are) so anyway - i finished three applications: to USC, UCI, and UCSD. and i'm stopping there. but I wanted to share with you my "Personal Statement". The reason these schools want to hear why you're attempting to be a Master in your field of choice. and in so many words (plus or minus a few pending the schools requirements) this is what I told them. I hope you enjoy. (And for those of you who aren't aware of the situation of my life right now... this will get you up to speed a bit.) love,a
The time in my life when I knew I wanted to be an actor, was the time I knew I needed to be. The spring of 2008 had been chugging along so gloriously well, every new years resolution met, every goal achieved: lose ten pounds? Done. Get my own apartment? Done. Get cast as Phoebe in As You Like It with a professional Shakespeare repertory company? Yes! I was young and independent, busy professionally and socially, and I’m not ashamed to say, pretty damn proud of myself. When all of the sudden at 11:04pm on June 27th, my world was rocked forever.
“Annie?” my mom’s quavering voice spoke, “it’s Daddy. Hurry. It’s bad.” “Is he okay?!” I ask in instant hysteria. “Just hurry.” Ten minutes of life later we learn that my Dad had such an irregular heart beat, it fluttered erratically until it stopped, cutting off oxygen to his brain and leaving him dead for 10 to 12 minutes until the paramedics arrived. Three shocks later, my Dad was in a coma. Three days later, he was in a persistent vegetative state. And 12 days later he was a human being again, but one with significant brain damage and memory loss.
An only child, and a complete definition of a Daddy’s girl, my absolute worst case scenario was this night. My life from that moment on became entirely about my Dad. Everything else was meaningless. My only objective was to be by his side throughout the day - reading him excerpts from Stephen King’s Red Sox novel, “Faith,” and singing him James Taylor songs by his bedside at night. Squeezing his hand, willing it to squeeze mine back. A week and a half of summer daylight spent in my Dad’s hospital room while his mind was somewhere else became my fulltime job.
It’s easy to lose yourself to someone you love so deeply, but you have to recognize that they silently are telling you not to do that. And I had another job to do, I had to be Phoebe at that Sunday matinee of As You Like It. The thought of leaving my father for more than two hours was almost unbearable, laughable even. Then my high school drama teacher, Mr. Bailey had a little come-to-Jesus moment with me on the phone. “Anne - do your show. I think you need to do your show” he said. “No no, I can‘t yet… I don’t know” I stuttered. “Go escape. It’ll make you stronger. It’ll make your Dad stronger. He wouldn’t want you to sacrifice this.” Mr. Bailey, of course, was totally right. Every day before his incident Dad would say to me, “hey Kiddo, did ya Phoebe today?” as if it was a verb, so excited for me that I was doing what I loved. And up until then he still hadn’t seen me perform. My friends in the cast were all on Mr. Bailey’s side. And I told the Stage Manager that Friday, “okay… I think I should do it. I think I can.”
That Sunday, I spent the whole morning with my Dad as per usual, reading him the sports section, sharing a lame egg sandwich from the cafeteria with my mom, watching the Olympics on the mounted TV in his room, all while harboring this inner nervous anxiety about stepping back into my old world, my circle, my environment of everything I had achieved, and everything I thought was so important. I was more nervous for that than performing. But as I stood in front of the dressing room mirror tying my big pink sash around my waist, precisely placing flowers in my hair that I had taken from Dad‘s hospital room, brushing on the last touches of blush, I kept thinking, “Daddy, this one’s for you. You’re gonna see me “Phoebe” one day before the run is through.” And then I raced onstage to play with Sylvius, and I escaped.
I returned to the hospital that night and rushed to my Dad’s side with that post-performance high pulsing through me and a surprising smile on my face, “I did it!!!” He turned his usual vacant gaze swiftly from the TV, his face awash and bright-eyed with the radiant energy I threw at him upon my entrance. “There’s a cutie.” he smiled and said casually after taking me in and processing who I was. Then I knelt by his bed, took his hand, and told him all about it. My strength renewed, and pulsating from my hand to his.
Though my ultimate desire in life now - to get my Dad back - will never change, I can’t lose sight about what makes me fulfilled. The experience of performing comes from my soul, nothing but that feeling on stage could have taken me away from my Dad. He instilled my love for theatre in me from day one; by driving me to my ballet class four days a week for 13 years, by taking me out of school in third grade to see the Phantom of the Opera, by organizing a week in London to see three hit musicals in the West End with a detour to catch Taming of the Shrew in Stratford. He nurtured this passion in me, and now it is my goal to continue to see it grow in myself, by furthering my education and experience in theatre. Because of my Dad, acting became my touchstone of strength - for both of us.
Two months later, and one week out of the hospital, he got to see me “Phoebe.”
The time in my life when I knew I wanted to be an actor, was the time I knew I needed to be. The spring of 2008 had been chugging along so gloriously well, every new years resolution met, every goal achieved: lose ten pounds? Done. Get my own apartment? Done. Get cast as Phoebe in As You Like It with a professional Shakespeare repertory company? Yes! I was young and independent, busy professionally and socially, and I’m not ashamed to say, pretty damn proud of myself. When all of the sudden at 11:04pm on June 27th, my world was rocked forever.
“Annie?” my mom’s quavering voice spoke, “it’s Daddy. Hurry. It’s bad.” “Is he okay?!” I ask in instant hysteria. “Just hurry.” Ten minutes of life later we learn that my Dad had such an irregular heart beat, it fluttered erratically until it stopped, cutting off oxygen to his brain and leaving him dead for 10 to 12 minutes until the paramedics arrived. Three shocks later, my Dad was in a coma. Three days later, he was in a persistent vegetative state. And 12 days later he was a human being again, but one with significant brain damage and memory loss.
An only child, and a complete definition of a Daddy’s girl, my absolute worst case scenario was this night. My life from that moment on became entirely about my Dad. Everything else was meaningless. My only objective was to be by his side throughout the day - reading him excerpts from Stephen King’s Red Sox novel, “Faith,” and singing him James Taylor songs by his bedside at night. Squeezing his hand, willing it to squeeze mine back. A week and a half of summer daylight spent in my Dad’s hospital room while his mind was somewhere else became my fulltime job.
It’s easy to lose yourself to someone you love so deeply, but you have to recognize that they silently are telling you not to do that. And I had another job to do, I had to be Phoebe at that Sunday matinee of As You Like It. The thought of leaving my father for more than two hours was almost unbearable, laughable even. Then my high school drama teacher, Mr. Bailey had a little come-to-Jesus moment with me on the phone. “Anne - do your show. I think you need to do your show” he said. “No no, I can‘t yet… I don’t know” I stuttered. “Go escape. It’ll make you stronger. It’ll make your Dad stronger. He wouldn’t want you to sacrifice this.” Mr. Bailey, of course, was totally right. Every day before his incident Dad would say to me, “hey Kiddo, did ya Phoebe today?” as if it was a verb, so excited for me that I was doing what I loved. And up until then he still hadn’t seen me perform. My friends in the cast were all on Mr. Bailey’s side. And I told the Stage Manager that Friday, “okay… I think I should do it. I think I can.”
That Sunday, I spent the whole morning with my Dad as per usual, reading him the sports section, sharing a lame egg sandwich from the cafeteria with my mom, watching the Olympics on the mounted TV in his room, all while harboring this inner nervous anxiety about stepping back into my old world, my circle, my environment of everything I had achieved, and everything I thought was so important. I was more nervous for that than performing. But as I stood in front of the dressing room mirror tying my big pink sash around my waist, precisely placing flowers in my hair that I had taken from Dad‘s hospital room, brushing on the last touches of blush, I kept thinking, “Daddy, this one’s for you. You’re gonna see me “Phoebe” one day before the run is through.” And then I raced onstage to play with Sylvius, and I escaped.
I returned to the hospital that night and rushed to my Dad’s side with that post-performance high pulsing through me and a surprising smile on my face, “I did it!!!” He turned his usual vacant gaze swiftly from the TV, his face awash and bright-eyed with the radiant energy I threw at him upon my entrance. “There’s a cutie.” he smiled and said casually after taking me in and processing who I was. Then I knelt by his bed, took his hand, and told him all about it. My strength renewed, and pulsating from my hand to his.
Though my ultimate desire in life now - to get my Dad back - will never change, I can’t lose sight about what makes me fulfilled. The experience of performing comes from my soul, nothing but that feeling on stage could have taken me away from my Dad. He instilled my love for theatre in me from day one; by driving me to my ballet class four days a week for 13 years, by taking me out of school in third grade to see the Phantom of the Opera, by organizing a week in London to see three hit musicals in the West End with a detour to catch Taming of the Shrew in Stratford. He nurtured this passion in me, and now it is my goal to continue to see it grow in myself, by furthering my education and experience in theatre. Because of my Dad, acting became my touchstone of strength - for both of us.
Two months later, and one week out of the hospital, he got to see me “Phoebe.”
Friday, January 2, 2009
enter 2009
A new year, a new me, a new effort, a new perspective, a new family... new new new in '09. Welcome to my new blog! Suffice it to say, last year offered less than to be desired, and I welcome a new start with wide open arms. Many a time through these past 6 months I needed an outlet to share my feelings, fears, thoughts, and experiences - so I turned to a little red journal that my dear friend Stefanie gave to me at a most appropriate time. That little red journal became a scrapbook, memoir, daily log, scribbley compilation of my Dad's tragedy and life thereafter. I finished that little journal on December 26th 2008. In it contains moments of death, questioning, waiting, doctors jargon, awakening!, recovery, hospital wristbands, newspaper clippings, a secret letter, a funeral speech, scribbles, phone numbers, business cards, characters, new friends, old friends, lost friends, family, transition, hope, love, and lots of ink. I feel it's only appropriate that that journal was bright red -- that scary emergency sign red. I never liked the color red, and I remember when Stefanie brought two journals to my friend Nicole and me, she took the pretty, sweet, pink one. But make of that what you will - my point now is that today I start a new way of talking and spilling - into a pretty light purple and lavendar network of words where I can share. I'm sure I'll keep another bedside journal as soon as I get a new one (not red) -- to write the stuff that only a few of you may be so close-hearted to me to hear, but if you're nice, I may dispell those secrets to you too. :)
Christmas warrants presents, New Years warrants resolutions. Neither of which meant anything to my mom and me this year. The biggest gift was having my Dad there to open presents with - a possibility that wasn't six months ago. And it's true, when real life kicks you in the ass, the material shit doesn't matter. (Although I do enjoy my new martini and pink donut pajamas.) I guess though resolutions don't necessarily need to be thrown out the window... so let me take this time to think of some, and if you have any suggestions, please feel free...
1) adopt a dog (is that really a resolution or just a desire?)
2) organize my music collection. (ahhhh!!!! it's a true catastrophe I tell you. I have a CD case with a random assortment of burned DMB discs, LFO and Big Willie Style albums, intermixed with Tori Amos and my favorite musical collections. heeeeeeellllp!!!)
3) finish everything i start (i think i made that one last year too.)
4) throw things away.
5) wear high heels (eeek!)
6) organize my DVD collection. (another minimal but true disgrace to media collections)
7) learn guitar with my Daddy. (aw)
8) cook more with mushrooms (even though I think they taste like dirt but keep trying!)
9) don't be quite so easy-going all the time...
10) something to do with love, friends, family, life, and how it's all so precious and worth the time
okay, I think that works for a first attempt at a blog. 'night 'night. ;)
Christmas warrants presents, New Years warrants resolutions. Neither of which meant anything to my mom and me this year. The biggest gift was having my Dad there to open presents with - a possibility that wasn't six months ago. And it's true, when real life kicks you in the ass, the material shit doesn't matter. (Although I do enjoy my new martini and pink donut pajamas.) I guess though resolutions don't necessarily need to be thrown out the window... so let me take this time to think of some, and if you have any suggestions, please feel free...
1) adopt a dog (is that really a resolution or just a desire?)
2) organize my music collection. (ahhhh!!!! it's a true catastrophe I tell you. I have a CD case with a random assortment of burned DMB discs, LFO and Big Willie Style albums, intermixed with Tori Amos and my favorite musical collections. heeeeeeellllp!!!)
3) finish everything i start (i think i made that one last year too.)
4) throw things away.
5) wear high heels (eeek!)
6) organize my DVD collection. (another minimal but true disgrace to media collections)
7) learn guitar with my Daddy. (aw)
8) cook more with mushrooms (even though I think they taste like dirt but keep trying!)
9) don't be quite so easy-going all the time...
10) something to do with love, friends, family, life, and how it's all so precious and worth the time
okay, I think that works for a first attempt at a blog. 'night 'night. ;)
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