Man in the Mirror

Exactly one year ago tomorrow, my Dad suffered from cardiac arrest.  Today, Michael Jackson did.  Only difference is, Jackson died.  ("Cardiac arrest" quickly turns into "cardiac death" after approximately 10 minutes in most cases... read on.)  I sort of can't believe it.  The first real legend of my generation is gone.  And personally, it strikes a weird cord.  His death would sadden me regardless; after countless memories of watching 'Moonwalker' throughout my childhood, and being 16 years old blasting 'Man in the Mirror' and singing at the top of my lungs behind the wheel of my white ford explorer, even just a couple weeks ago - I popped my own MJ mix into my car system and rocked out to 'Black or White' with friends on the freeway.  But with this event ushering in the anniversary of my father's own cardiac death, it oddly takes some of the sting away.  I've been anticipating this date all week... all year I guess, but particularly fearing it this month, and I guess, cheesy enough, Michael Jackson's death in this capacity is the universe's way of reminding me that indeed, "You are not alone"... 

According to this informative Q&A for those seeking more verification on Michael's death:

Q: What might have happened in Jackson's case?

A: Jackson most likely had ventricular fibrillation, an electrical disturbance of the heart that occurs when the heart begins beating 400 to 500 times a minute — much more than the normal 70 to 75 beats, says Douglas Zipes, emeritus professor at Indiana University School of Medicine and former president of the American College of Cardiology. (sounds familiar)

"When you look at the heart in ventricular fibrillation, it looks like a bag of squiggly worms," Zipes says. "The contractions are totally ineffective. ... Therefore, no blood is pumped to the brain, causing him to black out.  

Q: What can you do for someone in cardiac arrest?

A: Sudden cardiac death occurs within minutes unless someone gets the heart working again, either through CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) or with a defibrillator, which uses an electrical shock to get the heart pumping correctly.

Brain death begins in just four to six minutes, so restarting the heart quickly is vital, the American Heart Association says.  (wow... Dad was already gone in just 4-6 minutes... who knew...)

CPR can buy patients time until they can be shocked with a defibrillator, says Abhi Mehrotra, assistant professor of emergency medicine at UNC-Chapel Hill. By compressing the chest, rescuers circulate blood and get oxygen to vital organs such as the brain.  

A victim's chances of survival go down 7% to 10% every minute that passes without CPR and defibrillation. Few people are revived after 10 minutes, the heart association says. (just 10 minutes?? try 13.)

According to a fact I overheard on the news, 5% of people survive a sudden cardiac arrest.  Just 5%.  I wonder what the reaction would be like if Michael had made that 5% cut like my Dad did.  If he lived the next few years of his life in a wash of memories and confusion, all in the public eye.  As if the poor superstar didn't receive enough media criticism and lunacy already.  Hmm, at the end of the day he'll be remembered for the amazing legend he was... quite a blessing I guess.

I don't know what's worse... that my Dad is here today, to cuss at me and call me by the wrong name, or that because he surpassed those 10 minutes, his legend as being the best father and man in the world is slightly tainted and diminished, rubbed away with each passing day.  No no, the man he was will always remain with me - ALWAYS - but it's hard to keep that legend present amidst the reality of today.  I wonder what man he sees when he looks in the mirror tomorrow morning... maybe a little bit of the legend he was a year ago, mixed with the madness of a man he feels today.  I don't really know... I still can't really tell.

R.I.P M.J -- I'll miss you too.

Pinch Me

Everything's coming full circle.  All of the sudden I feel like we're rushing into this huge, scary abyss where this past year will become more of a reality and life as I knew it before was a sweet, happy, dream scenario.  I can't handle that Father's day is now a day away.  Last years is still so so fresh and palpable.  I remember deciding to join Dad at the boat that Saturday, last minute, on my way back from the theatre in Topanga.  And turning left to head to the valley and back to my apartment, than chatting briefly on the phone with Dad and thinking - ya know, fuck it - it's father's day weekend - there's nothing holding me back from being with him, I'll head to the boat.  And I whip my Prius around on Topanga canyon and head to PCH and onto Long Beach.  Where we promptly hopped in the dinghy - just Dad, me and the dogs (Melvin and... Margot), two beers in hand and two in the boat, and we set off for a Dad/Daughter dinghy cruise in the afternoon.  wow - it feels so real to think about, so available... but so distant at the same time. 

Anyway, upon returning to the boat from our cruise, Mom arrived - and somewhere in the mix Margot ran away.  To which I went screaming up and down the bike path, "MARGOT!!!! MARGOT!!!" and the drunks down the dock would shout back, "POLO!!!!!" (( yes - this story works much better in person. )) and meanwhile Dad is truly panicking for he LOVED this stupid dog to death.  I finally see her all the way at the beach and I scream, "MARGOT! GET OVER HERE!" I scoop her up in my arms and walk back towards our dock.  I hear the drunks yell, "OHHH Margot's the DOG!"  and my Dad comes rushing towards me, and I drop the canine into his arms and say, "happy Father's Day."  

I spent the night on the boat that night, and we all went out to breakfast the next morning.  Very mellow, nothing special.  In fact it just felt a little bit eerie.  Dad didn't order his usual biscuit and gravy because he was trying to be healthy and good.  I thought he'd make an allowance for himself on Father's day of all days but no, he was trying to get healthy.  Damnit, Dad you should have just had the biscuit and gravy loaded with lard.

And now here we are today - 1 day away from Father's day, 7 away from the one year anniversary.  And in this one day today, Dad completed his term at CNS.  (or insurance completed it for him granting us no more coverage and promptly leaving the rest of his days and future open and free.)  So the folks at the clinic gave him a little celebration - there was a cake (red velvet), and a certificate, and a present - the game 'Sequence'.  there were hugs and lots of tears on behalf of my parents.  I felt sort of apathetic about it all.  CNS didn't fulfill it's expectations for me; not in Encino, and definitely not in Bakersfield.  If anything it dramatically burst my bubble of hope for my father's recovery.  and it's almost like he's more dead now than ever and extremely far from healed.  I remember when we first started at CNS, there was a graduation day for another client.  And that client gave a speech, and thanked the therapists for helping them on this journey and for everything they did for their recovery.  And the client apologized for the difficult times and the bitching and refusing they did in the beginning.  But ultimately thanked them for making them a better person and giving them a quality of life.  I remember standing there, so excited, imagining what Dad's speech would sound like when his day was done there and he could thank the therapists for helping him heal and come back to life.  He couldn't give a speech today, there was no understanding of the significance.  There was some understanding due to the attention around him... but the details of it all, of course not.  Dad wandered around the room and up and down the hall, crying and emoting and probably feeling incredibly overwhelmed and confused and insecure.  Mom gave a teary speech, and all Dad could do was add on to it with a brief but genuine, "yeah... thanks."  Then he blew his nose and motioned to me to get out of there.  

So we left in 2 cars - and I promptly had to race back to Toluca Lake to office #1, grab 2 tapes and then head to Dad's previous office, and proceed to fix an edit for a client.  These were the offices I would visit Dad at in the past, at least once a week.  I would race up the stairs to my Dad's lair and pop my head around the corner - then poke around on his desk or at another computer before he took me to lunch or happy hour or something fun like that.  But today I raced up those stairs to sit down and supervise an edit in his old edit bay, filling his shoes, while he was on his way home with my Mom - riding in the passenger seat with his CNS Brain rehab certificate in hand.  

it still doesn't feel real.

the real June Gloom

hello world, how are you? i'm fine i guess. I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing. back from Maui and bless my sunburned back for being a constant reminder of those four days of free-living and carelessness. and now i don't know what to care about. It's all the same. I maybe felt rejuvenated for five minutes but mostly it just felt like the plane landed back in a perpetual cloud. Maybe that's just the june-gloom. and maybe I haven't adjusted to being done with "vacation" yet. but I don't know what to do with myself and I'm pretty sure you don't either. Time feels messy and blurry. It's out of my control. And the countdown to the one year anniversary of my father dying is definitely on. Have you all missed him for this year? This one, swift, hideous year. I miss him more all too painfully everyday. I hate where i am right now. Sitting in his office. waiting for a package to arrive. this isn't fair. sitting here. I can't do this anymore - there are a million other important things that i should be doing with MY time but I don't know how to start them. or at least I don't know how to start them today. I'll find it in me at some point, I always do, the courage and smiles always muster themselves back up from somewhere, but for now - welcome to my cloud.

No tears 26!!!

Does anyone else ever cry on their birthday?  Usually, I have one good cry/meltdown to call my own on my birthday.  Not this year, baby.  And I was definitely expecting it and braced for it to happen at some point in my day.  But the tears never came, there was never any reason.  I had a pretty fantastic, lovely day.  From Mom's heart-shaped pancakes to lunch at Cheesecake with Stefanie, to singing Wicked in the car with my Dad on the way home from therapy (drowning out the "help-me's", but he was loving the music too ;) and THEN to the amazing suite at Dodger stadium filled with 19 wonderful people in my life (not to mention the nacho bar, dodger dogs, bruschetta, hot wings, and overabundance of beer), getting on Diamond Vision TWICE!, losing my voice cheering and dancing, seeing Dad smiling and enjoying the game and environment and totally loving every minute of it, and then capping it off with an out of control exciting 8th-inning come-back to give the Dodgers the win!........ all-in-all, best birthday ever.  Thank you, EVERYONE, for making it so special.    I'm so happy to not be 25 anymore.  

It's My Birthday.

I have one "happy birthday" from my Dad and 2 "fuck you's" and counting.  It's no worry, in his head it's just any other day.  And I'm not letting it get to me.  It's going to be a good day.  I'm looking forward to moving on from 25, since it wasn't such a fabulous year.  I remember dearly last year how special it was that my Dad joined me and my friends for birthday margaritas at a bar in the valley.  I remember looking at him and thinking, what 25 year old has a dad cool enough to be at her birthday party???  I think that's all I can write right now.