ATTENTION FOLLOWERS!!!

Hi all!  I'm back to blogging!  But this time - it's a blend of life/Dad stories, intertwined with my passion for cookie baking!!! complete with recipes!  so please head over to my couch.  www.cookiecouch.blogspot.com  

Enjoy!!!! 

love, Anne

Signing Off

I'm not going to blog anymore.  There's lots to say, but it's too hard for me to explain and share now.  You can't get a ticket for this roller coaster by reading my thoughts -you can see the crazy ups and downs - but my Mom and I are the only passengers experiencing the ride.  It doesn't make a difference if I tell about it or not, it's still the same roller coaster ride, just more people watching me get nauseous on it.

Perhaps I will write again when it strikes me as share-worthy, or perhaps I'll shift topics completely and see if my life has something else to speak to other than my father.  After all, this is called "losANNEgeles link,"  not "My Brain-Damaged Dad," as it probably should have been titled.  

Thank you for the love, thoughts, and encouragement, and for silently sharing in this journey with me.

Anne  

Take Me Away

Life sucks and that's about it.  I'm over it - send me on a trip far far away and let me get some space.  done and done.  give me back hope, love, and patience.  that's all I ask, cause as of now I'm 100% tapped out of those resources. 

I get random responses from these blogs I write from you all -- they confuse me in the end.  I feel guilty for not sharing with you and then sometimes I feel guilty for sharing too much.  but I don't know what's worse or better, if you know the truth or just a subtle glimpse of it.  so I'll keep more private and I'll share when we're both ready for me to.  many thanks for all the support and love.

Over It

There's a lot I'm sick of in this whole situation.  It occurred to me, if a year ago when Dad was in a comatose/vegatative state, that if I had known that a year later, today, he would choose the same way of life - maybe it would have been smarter to leave him there than sing to him every night and will him back to life for me.  Because today, he might as well be in a coma again.  He won't budge off the couch, he won't budge out of bed, he does make his way to another destination in the house only to lie down and be pathetic again.  It's absolutely hideous.  He's had no outing today.  I left him to lie on the couch while Adela cleaned the house - I had work to do.  I had to try and form some semblance of a life/job for myself and went and coached kids in a production of 'High School Musical 2.'  Very fullfilling.  I'm being sarcastic but I have to say it did fulfill me for 4 hours of the day.  I got out - I put my teaching skills and enthusiasm to the test, I got kids to learn choreography and be fabulous at it, and I fulfilled a purpose for the day other than caretaker.  Nice work, Anne.  And then I came home to the pathetic lump on the couch.  I will repeatedly ask myself and my father, WHY DID YOU CHOOSE TO WAKE UP when he has now made it abundantly clear that he prefers sleeping all day and closing us out of his life.  Well I wouldn't let him today, and I won't any day, it's just the time and place within the day that I decide to put up the fight.  And this afternoon, I made it his job that we were going to walk the dogs to the corner.  THE CORNER. Not to the stream nearby, not around the block, not down the street, but the corner.  And that was a feat.  Dad has scars on his arm to prove it, I have bruises on mine.  But I pulled the big guns out today and went all Annie Sullivan on his Hellen Keller ass and with force, succeeded to get him out the door, leash + dog in hand, and up to the corner.  His one outing of the day.  He bitched and moaned all the way through.   Example:  "I can't.... it's cold, I have nothing on my arms."  me: "it's fucking 105 degrees out, Dad you'll be fine."  Dad: "I need a jacket."  me: "fine - you hold the dogs I'll get you a jacket, we're going to the corner."  then throughout the twenty-five foot jaunt to the corner: Dad: "I'm turning around, why am I doing this, I'm going back."  me: "Dad - you used to walk 15 miles around this neighborhood and you can't get your sorry ass to the corner?! walk!!! we're going! it's your only obligation for today.  you've laid on the couch ALL DAY.  you're walking to the corner."  Dad: "no I'm not." Me: "yes you are!"  then some pushing ensued.  Me: "don't you dare push me in public. I'll back off if you can prove to me you can walk the dog five more feet to the corner."  He picks up the pace.  We make it to the corner.  Me: "good!!!! look at that! you did it!  you're amazing!  we can go home now."  I turn my back to him and prance back towards the house.  done and done.  his one obligation for the day fulfilled.  And believe you me I left out a good chunk of juicy details and 23 minutes worth of pushing, pinching, scratching, spitting to get him out the door to the corner.  But I succeeded.  And my father can say he did something for his day.  I don't care about the physical shit -- he knows he's capable of more, he woke up from an impossible coma after all, he came back from the dead -- he can walk to the corner if I have to get some battle scars from it.  

He's now out on walk #2 of the day with Mom.  We had a pleasant dinner on the patio -- fried chicken, music, vino.  He loosened up and didn't let this morose, pathetic state of being get the best of him.  And by loosened up I mean didn't cop out behind being asleep the entire time nor did he whine like a 2 year old.  He ate, he hummed to the music, and when Mom suggested a walk with the dogs, he cleared the dinner plates and went to get the leashes.  Success and contentment for a good 50 minutes.  The evenings are always better.  It must feel more routine, normal and natural.  As opposed to the mornings where he doesn't know why he's getting his ass out of bed and it's so ridiculously slow and sad and tedious.  I tried a new tactic this morning and played into his baby-ness.  "awww Daddy, aww you're so sleepy.  I'm so sorry.  You have to get up and put your clothes on!  oh you can't?  here okay, I'll help you." and I stick his feet into his shorts while he lies in the fetal position on the bed in his bathrobe. "come on, Daddy!  you can put your shorts on the rest of the way."  He keep his eyes tightly shut and kicks the shorts off his ankles.  "okay.  I'll let you do it yourself."  I say in my most babying voice possible.  "You get dressed Daddy and I'll go fix your bottle -- uh bagel.  did I say bottle? I meant bagel."  And I left.  And no doubt, 10 minutes later, he came downstairs, fully dressed. 

I don't know what the point of this blog is but I feel you deserved some detail and perspective. Welcome to the daily life of David.  Ta-da!!!!!!!!

Fullfillment

I felt fulfilled today, in my life, for the first time since before my Dad's incident.  And it had nothing to do with him.  I felt extremely proud, I felt complete in my soul, I felt happy, loved, and successful.  And again, it had nothing to do with him.  It had nothing to do with being the dutiful daughter, or the free-time caretaker, it had to do with me and my skills alone.  Today marked the end of camp at the Theatricum - a five week long drama camp, that takes place just three days a week.  I don't know how else to go into it but to just say that I had THE BEST group of 17 eight and nine year olds one could imagine.  But I know that they were only the best to me because I set the tone 5 weeks ago, and I extracted every ounce of positive energy and excitement, and creativity and playfulness, that has been buried underneath this fortress of strength I've created around me for the past year.  I led a successful group of campers into feeling proud about their play, having fun and making new friends, taking risks they didn't think they'd take.  I have a stack of paper cards with marker scribbles of "I love you Anne!!! You're the best teacher I ever had!  Thank you for always being so fun!"  After being a camp counselor on and off for the past decade, I can honestly say I've never left a group of campers at the end of the summer feeling quite so proud and with a sense of completion - like I did my job to make these kids more confident, happy, and open their eyes to something special.  okay I realize this is getting cheesy and redundant, but what's pivotal is that I'm so afraid of losing this day and this feeling.  When I hugged my campers today for the last time, (I got them in a big huddle on the stage) and I looked at them and I thanked them for all they did for me this summer - for filling three days of the week with their cheeriness, their positive energy and fearlessness, their friendliness and compassion for everyone in the group and for me.  I told them they have no idea how much they meant to me on a daily basis.  And I started to cry, and they all looked around the circle, smiling curiously with their own pride - knowing they gave something back to me.  Because they have no idea what I come home to, and what I leave in the morning.  And no idea how their smiles and carefree hugs mean so much more to me.  

Then it hit me like the wind being knocked out of me.  What will I do with myself now?  This was the one thing to call my own for a brief while - and it fulfilled me so happily.  Now it's over - and I'm left truly wondering what is next.  My life, just like my Dad's in a way is a big open oasis.  What will we do with our time??  My success with these kids got me thinking all sorts of other things... should I give up acting/writing and go teach first grade??  Or maybe I could fuse all this recent personal experience and become a speech therapist for kids.  New thoughts just start snowballing.  And then I think, but where's the time to do this, and when will I have it?  

Then another blow to the chest came while I was taking Jenny on a brisk hike to blow of the steam that was created from Dad when I got home.  (Upon arriving from my amazing, successful day, Dad proceeded with his usual completely ignorant bullshit tired-routine and didn't move a muscle or look up to regard my cheery hello.  Fuck you I casually tossed back to him and grabbed the leash and bolted out the door.)  Then a thought like I've never had before hit me hard and shocked the breath out of me swiftly. -- I loved these kids so much, and they loved me... I'm gonna be a good mom one day.... if I do ever have a kid, they'll never know my Daddy.

Separation

How interesting it is to be living away and alone for a mere 5 days in this facilitated escape from reality. I'm feeling a touch lonely, a touch anxious, a touch disconnected. My immediate companions are my amazing dog-cousins Stogie and Dunkleman. Thanks to Uncle Bob and Marianne's Hawaii vacation, I get a little escape in their Encino abode. And it feels wonderful and unusual all at the same time. It's been a year since I've lived truly alone -- on an average Tuesday night in this day and age I would probably have the same amount of nothing to do except Dad would be in the next room bored and waiting for me to upstart some activity. Hmmm... do I miss him? I don't know. If anything, the separation makes me miss my real Dad, and realize how I long for him without recognizing it, and how long I've been without him, and how I never have grieved nor will I ever in the near future. And I feel bad that Mom is stuck at home these 3 days with the mad-Dad and she's insisting I give myself a break away and I feel a little guilty and bad that I'm not helping and that she has no break. But I digress... this whole "missing" thing is a double-edged sword. No - I don't miss my home life right now, it churns my stomach to think what daily life is really like at home. And then I think... I do miss my mad-Dad I guess, but does he miss me? Is his mind wondering where I am right now? And why I haven't been home? Has he asked for me (Robin) lately? I'm pretty damn sure he hasn't asked for Annie. But if he doesn't miss me... why should I spend time missing him with all I give and sacrifice for him already? I should enjoy this house to myself, these endless loving labradors who are by my side every second, and the freedom to do whatever I want and waste the night away.

In truth, it feels too peaceful and quite incomplete on so many levels.

******31 Minutes later*******

Just got off the phone with my crying Mom and my suprisingly perky Poppa. Mom handed him the phone, and I get a cheery "Hey!!! What's happenin?!" It's like a deflated balloon inside my soul was swiftly inflated with helium. "Hi, Daddy! I'm good. How are you??" I say. "We're doing good... where are you?" he replies. "I'm housitting for Uncle Bob in Encino." "ohh!! You're not too far away." he says happily. :) And the rest of the conversation ensued in cheerful obvliousness on his part and loving satisfaction on mine. He was happy to talk to me. He said he missed me. And me being away and out of the house -- that's normal to him. And most of all, he said, "Love you" first - before hanging up the phone. So I could reply, "I love you too." He's there. I brought him out of his depressed, brain-damaged funk for 5 mintues. I sort of just want to hug him now.

Another 4th of July

This is now the second year in a row I've missed fireworks on 4th of July.  I can hear them outside my window right now.  Big. Crackly. Booming.  I guess what makes this year different is that I'm missing them by choice.  I'm not sitting in the dark depression of the Coronary Care Unit watching my father flail about in his hospital bed, breaking out in fevers and spitting and spewing and sweating and moaning while his eyes stared blankly into space with no reaction or connection.  These were the most hideous days.  The in between days of Coma-to-Awake where the "Persistent Vegetable" that he was moved and thrashed and sweated and moaned and then lay still and then did it all over again while nurses, my Mom, and myself were changing sheets and pillows every 5 minutes and then moving his massive body back to the center of the bed only for it to move and thrash minutes later and almost fall out again.  Oh god those were some days.  I remember so many little disgusting details when I put my mind to it.  Like the sea-foam green little swabby sponges that the nurses used to swab the icky, crusty, saliva buildup out of his mouth - and how if a nurse hadn't come around for a while I'd get in there with the sea-foam sponge myself.  I remember it was on 4th of July that they switched us out of the fancy new SICU (surgical intensive care unit), which was clean and beautiful with amazing attentive nurses and back to the dirty old CCU with Alice-the-inept RN who spoke no lick of English in any audible tone.  Ugh that was so awful -- and it was 3 days there before we got moved back to the beautiful new wing of Glendale Adventist and into the environment that became the turning point in this journey.  The Neuro Telemetry Unit.  Room 101.  Where Dad woke up 4 days later in the loving care of the best nurses in the world.  

Wow - this world is so much more livable now that everyday I think about where I was a year ago.  I guess that'll change come August 27th when Dad was discharged and the spiraling journey of therapy took off.  July 4th was also the day I started writing it all down in my red journal.  It took me a week before I could put the experience on paper - because that of course would make it real, and permanent.  I was waiting to actually believe this fate was happening before I could write about it, and that it wasn't really just my worst nightmare.  And when I didn't wake up, and I knew I was already awake, in that moment - I decided to write it down.  Every doctor's conversation is documented, every new moment, every new awakening, Dad's first scribble, his first signature, newspaper clippings from when the Dodgers signed Manny, hospital bracelets, business cards, random notes... it's quite a collection to behold.  I can't crack it open yet - it's still fresh enough in my mind.  But I will when I'm ready - and I plan to recreate it for you all to take part in - one day, in some way shape or form.  

Though I've now officially missed the fireworks, today was a sparkling, lovely, day.  We took Dad to the boat.  We saw all of his friends, there were hugs and tears and so much love.  He walked up and down the docks, taking this familiar, fun environment in.  He took a dinghy ride or two, and ate about 4 hot dogs off the grill.  Melvin even came to see all the boat buddies.  It was truly a blast, for all of us involved.  The boat - where we spent almost every 4th of July, on the water, partaking in the super-soaker battles and watching the dinghy boats parade in red white and blue decorations, then seeing the fireworks blast off the queen mary from the dock - we were able to be back there today, despite everything we're lacking now, we were able to return.  It'll never be the same.  But it's better than the CCU.  

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.  

Marathon - done and done.

Something amazing happened yesterday, I ran and completed a marathon.  I remember back in the day when I first heard of the concept of marathon running and being absolutely dumbfounded that anyone in their right mind or body could run 26.2 miles.  I, at that time, could barely handle 2.2 miles.  and yet, amazingly, yesterday I blew past banner after banner of mile markers, and lifted my head in the sky and smiled every time I accomplished another mile.  I think I smiled more in those 5 hours and 41 minutes and 20 seconds that it took me to finish than I have for a continuous long amount of time in a while, and all based on that wonderful rush of accomplishing something so individual, and owning that feeling.  Maybe the other 14,999 runners out there were feeling just as proud... but I doubt it.  By the looks of things I saw a lot of faces feeling pain, aggression, competition, exhaustion.  And yes, I felt a few of these feelings too -- but the overwhelming rush of joy was dominant.  

Let me take you through the journey a bit... half the battle and nervousness came from riding the metro in Los Angeles at 5am to get to the race (the metro is highly recommended on race day due to street closures.)  I have never ridden the metro in LA, so the anxiety of buying the ticket, finding the right times, getting off at the right spot, etc. etc. SO STRESSFUL! all at 4:45am!!! But somehow I made it onto the metro, fanny pack stuffed with gu, shoes tied, bib in place, gatorade and power bar in hand... and from the train to the team meeting spot I arrived at the race.  I pow-wowed with my running buddies, took pictures, hit the port-o-potty, and lined up at the start with the rest of the ambitious racers.  Then Mayer Antonio gave an encouraging little speech, they fired the gun and Randy Newman's "I love LA" blasted over the speakers and the crowd started to move.  Then all of the sudden we crossed the start and my legs were off and running.  No turning back now!!!! My dear sweet running buddy, Nellie and I decided to take it super slow... which ultimately paid off BIG in the end.  And we slowly cruised through mile 1 to about 10 at a nice easy pace.  Seeing Bonnie at Mile 2 with a sign which read "Run Annie Run" was amazingly encouraging and exciting. :)  Then grabbing a gatorade from Austin to fuel me forward was enough to easily make the first 5 miles disappear.  Throughout the course the sweet APLA coaches would run up to us and chug along side for a few yards with words of encouragement and praise.  

The miles I remember the most:  

Mile ELEVEN -- coming over the south side of the 10 freeway somewhere around San Vicente and Venice and seeing Dad's old office building come into view.  The tall black building with the "chimney" like stack on top, number 5455.  The building I spent every day home from school at with Daddy up on the 20th floor of his office, coloring at his desk, playing around in the studio, bouncing up and down the long hallways looking for entertainment.  All those visions came back when I saw that building as I ran past, and that was the first tear of the run.

Mile FOURTEEN - my threshold for running!!! I had never gone beyond, so every step after was the longest I had ever run before, which made every mile in itself a small accomplishment.  I didn't feel like I was going to die immediately after, so I knew I could probably keep going beyond.

Mile EIGHTEEN - suddenly that seemed like a HUGE number!!! and then there were only 8.2 more to go!

Mid-mile TWENTY / TWENTY-ONE - we're cruising 6th street then turned onto a pretty residential road to head up to 3rd when all of the sudden who do I see on my left walking against the tide of runners but my Mom and Dad decked out in Dodger blue.  What a rush!  I didn't think they'd make it or I didn't know where I may find them... but they were there with smiles and tears and hugs and encouragement.  It supercharged me for the final 5.2...

Mile TWENTY-ONE - I shot my last chocolate GU and with a mere 5 miles in the distance I blew Nellie a kiss goodbye and stretched my legs.  I blasted past Dad's office again, almost immediately after seeing him and the wave of tears was a bit stronger this time.  But the power from my body and mind, and Wicked's "Defying Gravity" blasting in my iPod shuffle, swiftly pushed me to 23.

Mile TWENTY-FOUR - close to death.  All of the sudden I'm thinking - WTF Anne, why did you use all your energy when you still have almost 3 miles to go?!!!! I literally thought my left leg was going to detach itself and fall somewhere on Olympic Blvd.  Additionally, this heaving sensation came on where I couldn't quite breath easy... maybe cause I had been singing or maybe I hadn't had enough water and maybe I pushed too hard -- but there was heaving, and burping, and I was sure some puking was in my near future.  I slowed down a bit, took a little longer walk-break, drank some water. Then picked up the pace again.

Mile TWENTY-FIVE - annoyed and in pain.  This stupid juggling runner kept creeping up next to me with his juggling balls and dropping them and then I'd pull ahead and then he'd be there again and I wanted to scream "get the hell away from me and go to the fucking circus if you want to run and do tricks!!!!!!!!!!!"  but I didn't because if I spoke I would have died.  And suddenly I see a running buddy of mine from my pace group, I catch up to him and he goes, "I'm dying." I was like, "me too."  I thought about sticking with him and walking, but I was afraid if I started to walk I wouldn't be able to run again and mile 26 was just around the corner.

Mile TWENTY-SIX - and then it was.  And when I turned the corner and saw that banner, with the FINISH line banner .2 miles in the distance beyond it, I started weeping.  I have no idea where the tears came from so strong, but I think a combination of the pain, the time, the distance, being so close to the end, being all by myself, it was so incredible.  And I wept huge salty tears down my already sweaty, red, salty face and ran straight through to the finish line.  As I crossed I heard a few people calling my name, a couple friends of friends and a coach from APLA who saw my name written on my shirt.  It felt nice, but was quiet.  Somewhere in the crowd my parents were said to be but I didn't see them, and they didn't see me.  Even though I didn't come in with a huge group of people and was probably the only 5'10 tall girl with a white hat and a face full of tears.  I clocked in at 5:41:25, (5:38:40 on my watch which I stopped for bathroom breaks).  And I placed #8,230 out of 14,192 people who finished the race.  

I feel amazing.  I feel in pain.  But I feel I could do it again in a heartbeat.  

I'm running a Marathon

I've pinned my bib to the hideous yellow "singlet" - I'm number 14650.  I've eaten copious amounts of carbohydrates (love guilt-free fettucini.)  I've laid out my shoes, shorts, sports bra, watch, shoe tags, and iPod shuffle which has been carefully crafted with melodies to sing me through the many many miles... I've even decorated my singlet with my name and a couple other special names in bright, red permanent marker.  I laid out my hat and a few flowers to stick in my ponytail for personal flair.  (why not right?)  I'm now lying in bed, willing sleep to come before my awakening at 4am, and I have NO IDEA what to expect tomorrow.  It's the most daunting, overwhelming, exciting, mysterious, scary, wonderful, humbling feeling.  It's reminiscent of the night before I left for Europe... I didn't really know where I was going to end up, who I would meet, how alone I would be, if I'd end up in any trouble.  It's also the feeling like before I went on stage in As You Like It last year... that nervous wonderful feeling of not knowing how the scene is going to turn out, and knowing I can do it and that I have my lines and everything down... but what if something trips me up and I mess up?  It's also like the night before I performed as the Lilac Fairy in Sleeping Beauty -- my last and best ballet performance ever.  I didn't know I wanted that part, I didn't think I would ever get it, and then I did, and the music was amazing and beautiful, and then it came time to perform.  And I remember curling up in the fetal position in my little twin bed the night before the show, trembling with nerves and feeling the lasting sting on my toes from that days rehearsal in pointe shoes, and envisioning myself rolling off my pointe when I piqued, or landing hard and wobbly out of a pirouette, or just falling ass first in the middle of the stage in my purple tutu.  Those scary, anxious feelings of the unknown... how will my body perform tomorrow?  How will my mind perform?  What will I think about?  What will I feel?  The "what-ifs" are endless.  And yet, here I find myself lying in bed put before a task that I set up for myself 8 months ago, and experiencing all those anxious feelings I've felt for tasks of my choice in the past -- and I get a little comfort in knowing, yeah, I made it through those experiences - and they were nothing less than fucking glorious.  So whose to say tomorrow won't be?  Here goes 26.2 miles.   

Dear Dodgers,

Thank you for making my Dad normal again.  If it wasn't for your spirit, your energy, your presence, your sportsmanship, your effort, your fun, your team... I wouldn't be able to experience a few beautiful hours with my "father-that-was."  This evening's game was truly an amazing escape and perspective.  Not only were we in a "help-me-FREE-zone" for more than 3 and half hours, but I had a night of actual hope.  Hope that I haven't had since I first made real eye contact with my Dad the day he opened his eyes from his coma.  That opening that made me see through the brain injured body and into the soul of David Nemer.  That happened tonight.  It happened when he cheered "OH YEAH!!!!!!!" for the triple home run hit by Casey Blake, it happened when he mustered the energy to STAND UP for the stupid wave!, it happened when he screamed, "WHOA! WHATTA CATCH!" to Eithier's awesome out, it happened when he enthusiastically sang "take me out to the ballgame" with his arm swung over my shoulder, and it happened when he offered up high fives to myself and the few fans around us when the Dodgers beat the Mets 5 to 3 at the end of the 9th.  It was all around wonderful.  Thank you Dear Dodgers, there's nothing blue about you.  I've always loved you since I was a baby sitting on my Dad's lap high up in the blue seats over home plate, but I love ya even more with each passing season.  Your best fan, Anne.

"Help Me" free zone

14 minutes + 2 and half hours and counting in the "no HELP ME zone."  yep -- a "help me" wasn't uttered for almost 3 hours straight and it was a beautiful amazing and releasing feeling.  We went to a little dinner party at a friends house and Dad was in his element.  Sipping wine slowly and observing and contributing to conversation where he could.  Speaking up when a familiar name was thrown in the mix or a personal memory present.  But overall, being quite normal and amazing.  Just quieter.  It was wonderful.  All i can say is thank you dear friends for relieving my Mom and me from the manipulative, needy, baby Father for three hours and experiencing a little slice of normalcy.  And bless you Dad for rising to the occasion.  It is possible.  and I don't want to kill you.  

recent resentment

Yes yes - my apologies for the lack of blogging over the past couple of weeks.  It's not to say I haven't been writing -- I have.  But I began something that I call "beyond the blog" which gets significantly more personal and detailed and I was inclined to document purely for future memoir purposes if that project in itself ever comes to fruition.  Nevertheless, there are multiple reasons for my lack of words these past few weeks.  I guess the one most significant reason is that I have hit a new phase in this journey - a very palpable, hideous, feeling that dominates most of my days - and that is resent.  Now this feeling, it gets you no where at the end of the day.  But in it's moment, I feel strong strong resentment for the situation I'm in and towards individuals around me, including my Dad.  It comes down to everything simply being not fucking fair.  Not fair that I've seen my father die once, and I miss that father, but I can't because there's this madman in his place, and I resent that the forces of love and life have not even let me grieve for my Dad, or for my grandmother, whose presence was at the forefront of my mind this past Sunday (Mother's day.)  And I'm over feeling sorry for myself... so in essence that transforms into resentment.  Not a very pleasing thing to read about I'm sure.

I guess then it's only fair that I give you another example as to what's been in my head and not on this blog.  I've become familiar with the mindset of that of a psychopath.  Because I myself feel like I could be a pychopath more than once a week - I find myself feeling so much anger that if I chose to could manifest physically.  That's all I'm going to say on that.  Don't think me crazy, yeah therapy is probably a good idea, but I feel too much resentment towards Robin at CNS to seek her guidance in dealing with this.  Can't trust her.  Also - I mean it's not so far off, parents want to kill their whining children every now and then right?  Well, I want to kill my whining father.  You would too if all you heard for three hours was "help me, help me Robin, help me. help me. help me. help me pleeeeease. help me. help me.  help me robin help me.  help me pleeeeeeease"  SHUT UP!   I ran six miles yesterday by accident just to escape for an indefinite amount of time.    

Again let me conclude by saying the obvious that no I will not ever harm my father, and no I am not going to go crazy and become a pyschopath.  I feel a little crass and bitchy and selfish sharing this information with you, but in essence that's why I haven't written, and that's where I stand. make of it what you will and go on with your day.  We'll put these feelings aside because anger and resentment make no progress in life, and at the end of the day I'm still a happy, positive person.  I'm also a very talented actress if you haven't already observed.  :)

    

What's my fortune

I sometimes feel like I'm locked on a perpetual, emotional roller coaster -- and I can't catch a break and get off.  This afternoon, and for the past few days, I've felt moments of happy reality I haven't experienced since before my Dad's "incident."  And then suddenly I'm jolted out of my happy place and into a horrible state of uneasiness.  The particular event this evening is too disturbing to blog about publicly, and it shocks me back into how hideous this life can be now.  Which is made even more obvious when paired next to the joys of simple, everyday, 25-year-old acts, like flirting and escaping in the company of my peers.  I wish my roller coaster could drop me off in a little cave to curl up and escape.  And then maybe in that cave there's a little time machine that can transport me back to before -- or just out of the now.  Maybe that's what I was attempting to produce when after dinner this evening (Chinese delivery that Dad accomplished at ordering over the phone and paying with credit card) I madly tore through each of the four fortune cookies, eating the white chocolate part and discarding the plain corners, in search of some guidance via that tiny piece of folded paper.  And apparently, in succession, fortune cookie say:

#1 "You have a reputation for being straight-forward and honest."   really? hmm... well here's some straight-forward truthfulness for you cookie: That's not really a "fortune!" that's more like a comment.  I don't want Comment Cookies. I have enough room for comments and opinions on how I lead my life -- you even have the opportunity to right here on the internet.  So thanks but no thanks, cookie.

#2 "Happy events will take place shortly in your home."  Hah - from your mouth to God's ears!

#3  "Soon you will receive pleasant news."  ...still waiting... but that's more like it, Cookie - keep the fortunes coming.

#4  "Good things come to those who wait.  Be patient."  Could we be more specific please?  You obviously don't know who you're dealing with here.  Or was that the "pleasant news" from your cookie cousin above?

Fortune cookies may very well be bullshit, but I wouldn't mind a couple happy events or some pleasant news in this house at all.  So I'll continue to be patient.  

Put Your Dreams in Flight

I'm sitting amidst a slew of dishes and pans and macaroni and cheese which is slowly starting to crust over.  I've probably had too much wine for 6:45pm on a Thursday - but who cares, I'm alone with Dad and it's been a hard week.  Mom's away on a dinner conference and together, so Daddy and I attempted dinner.  For some reason when I picked him up today he was in a delightful mood - surprisingly pleasant - and then we get home and the tears and anger start spewing all over the kitchen as I attempt to prepare turkey burgers and kraft mac 'n cheese.  He helped me flip the burgers and time them out correctly - and amazingly, they were the most tender, juicy, delicious, perfectly crusted turkey burgers I've ever tasted.  But in the time frame of defrosting the meat up until the final product we experienced an angry phone call to his mother, an attempt at leaving the house, and an angry outbreak in which i thought he may throw my beautiful little MacBook into the backyard.  Obviously that impulse was averted since I'm typing to you now -- but the array of emotion was an odd adventure given the complacent and happy Dad I picked up from CNS only 2 hours before.  At one point this evening, Dad was looking through the mail and crying, and comes in carrying this very elaborate publicity for Ireland and whining, "I want to put my dreams in flight..." I'm sorry but I started laughing.  when I checked the mail earlier I saw this publicity stunt and thought - wow, that is crazy.  It's like a whole packet with postcards and promotion for Ireland tourism, and I too thought - "wow, if only I could put my dreams in flight and whisk off to the land of green and Guiness... how wonderful that would be..."  And then, a mere 25 minutes later Dad walks in crying "I want to put my dreams in flight."  I just laughed and said -- "hah - me too Dad.  if only."   

Weird Responsibility

I had many a flashback tonight to my teenage years and being left alone on a Friday night in someone else's house with the responsibility of their child, a handful of ideas for of activities, a list of do's and don'ts, a perspective bedtime, money on the table to order pizza, the in-case-of-emergency plan, all the necessary tools to occupy and keep alive someone else's pride and joy handed over to the careful, responsible, loving hands of... the babysitter.  Although -- tonight, I was the one handing over the toolbelt - not the one receiving.  And it wasn't the tools to sit for a "baby" per se, but for my father.  However, the whole operation was identical - all the way up to the conversation with the babysitter (a.k.a Caretaker Chris in my story) at the end of the evening: "how'd he do?"  "did he eat all his dinner?"  "what'd you guys watch on TV?"  "What time did he go to bed?"  "was there any crying?"  Once again I find myself being the responsible adult in the house at too young of an age and too tragic the circumstances.  My Mom is away in San Diego on a mini business trip for this one night, and meantime, Wednesdays are my night for Improv Class in Hollywood -- a three and half hour welcomed, frivolous, fun escape -- except every 20 minutes throughout the evening my mind wandered back to whatever might be happening at home.  Perhaps it's my own neurotic need to be in control of the situation that made the evening stressful and strange.  But maybe I should just chalk it up to another new phase in this whole new saga of life - the phase of "the Caretaker."  Inviting someone into our lives, accepting and TRUSTING their skills, their personality, and their companionship, to be a presence in our family and a support system for our lives.  It's something that will take some time getting used to, for all parties involved, but hopefully something that can lend more support than stress.  As with everything in this new life we lead -- it's all about time.   And hopefully in the coming weeks, we can bridge the gap from "babysitter" to "buddy."  

Opening Day

My body is sinking into my bed right now with the weight of the day, the stress, the noise, the drive, the crowds, the junk food, the beer, the cheering, the driving, the crying, the worry, the anger, and the headache that my person battled throughout this special day.  Opening Day at Dodger Stadium.  The place where all your cares go away, where history and tradition, excitement and joy are everywhere you blink your eye.  It's true -- this is what the Dodger experience forever brought to my father and our family -- and blessedly, it still does.  However, the journey to get there today was a test to ones patience that cannot be explained.   (Actually, the two, dear, wonderful, amazing, friends who helped me through today can attest to the trials of traffic when riding with my Dad.)  The anxiety and worry that seeped through my Dad's eyes from the moment he woke up to the moment we forced him into the car to go to the game, up until we sat down and shoved a hot dog in his hand, after that hour and ten minutes of stop and go traffic was utterly unbearable.  But once we were in those seats, and the dear Dodgers proceeded to get us up on our feet cheering for each of their 11 runs, the tears and the anxiety dissipated into the baseball breeze.  And it wasn't until we were back on the freeway home that the anger and worry welled up again, and there was no way to deflect it.  At least not until Mom got home and popped a Xanax into a bite of hamburger and shoved it in Dad's mouth.

It will be interesting to see what the last game of Dodger season is like this year... whether they go to a championship or whatever is beside the point, but whether we'll be sitting in those seats experiencing only Dodger Blues rather than the David Blues, I look forward to with hope.  

Thank god for baseball season!!!! let the games begin. 

Method to the Madness

Mom was away overnight last night on a business trip - so I'm the responsible adult in the house.  Trying to encourage my Dad to get ready for bed last night, I say after a few kind subtle attempts:

"Dad... don't sleep in your jeans that's gross.  You're a grown man."  Feeling bad, I lean close and say, "Daddy -- you really should get ready for bed now."  He replies eyes squeezed tight..."please leave please, please don't make me hit you, I don't want to hit you, please don't make me hit you."

Me: "well I appreciate that I don't want you to hit me either, I'll leave. But you need to go to bed the right way."

So I left, and no doubt he ended up properly under the covers somehow because he won't get out of them this morning.  My inner therapist says go wake him up, get him on a schedule, get him in the shower, make coffee, have breakfast, take meds, hit the road to CNS.  But with the escalating behavior - I have no desire to push it - because I'm at my last nerve as well, and I just might hit back hard.  I'm busting at the seems in frustration.  I really do want to punch him.  I really do.  I want to hit him so hard in hopes it will literally knock some sense into him and right what's wrong in his brain.  And then say to him in his shocked moment of clarity, "YOU ARE MY DAD!  GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, STOP WHINING, AND STOP BEING A LAZY-ASS VICTIM!  YOU CAN DO THIS!"  But we know that approach won't work.    I have to keep my distance and I have to keep my calm.  Even though I feel like a mad-hot tea kettle is screeching inside me.  

So it's 9:22am now.  What to do what to do.  I walked up there twice, called Melvin, the dogs barked, etc etc.  Dad laid in bed - he moaned a few times.  I have a feeling he'll get out soon and get hungry and come adventuring down.  And once he's down - I'll crush an attivan onto an english muffin and sneak it in him.  Then he'll calm down and hopefully I can get him out the door and into CNS's.  Then he's their problem.  It's sort of like ding dong ditch -- we make it up the elevator, open the door, push him inside and bolt.  It's awful.  My poor Daddy.  

Well Dad, it's up to you today.  I'm not going to push you.  You win.  

Quotes of Insight... and humor

car ride home today, 4:34pm: "I want to think like an adult again."

yesterday, lying in bed next to my mom:  "I'm sorry for ruining your life."

attempting to get in the shower, crying: "I can't, I'm gonna melt!" 

(it's so precious it hurts)

yesterday, in a fit of tears: "help me, Robin, help me - just tell me the truth!"

me: "okay Dad, it's okay.  remember you had the heart attack, and it damaged your memory."

Dad: "my memory's fine!"  me: "well... that's why you always call me Robin, but I know you know I'm Annie."  Dad: "ohhh... I'm sorry." :(

(I'll keep updating this as more verbal insights arise...)

Love

Family and friends are everything.  Without them, we'd live in a land of wonder and worry.  A day of just Dad, my Mom and me -- is full of whining and pain, anger and submission.  Then a few hours with friends or family turns this baby fifty-nine year-old into an adult with just a minor ailment again.  (But the ailment is acceptable, and there.)  Not only is the presence of close family or a dear friend a comfort and relation for my father -- but a true release for my Mom and me.  The eggshells disappear, a calmness is created, and for a moment all is normal again.  In short -- company brings out the best in my Dad, it's the best therapy he can have.  I'm almost tempted to invite Hilda (CNS case manager) and Robin (CNS counselor) over for dinner one night when Dad is in his element amongst friends.  They'd never believe this was the same human being they insist needs to be admitted into a psychiatric facility for observation.  No no. True to life is the best therapy.  This evening, my Uncle Bob bravely asked my Dad, "so how does it feel to be back from Bakersfield?"  and Dad replied in a moment of clarity, "I never should have gone there."   

There will be a day when enough is enough with the therapy, but for now we'll stick with the attempt to make more cognitive gains.  It will end when insurance wears out, or most hopefully, when real life catches up to him.  And to get there -- Dad needs love, he needs to feel he's back in the community he can trust and believe in, the community that holds his friendships and shares his interests, wants, and needs.  Some friends have left him... hell, some friends have left me -- we all have our own lives, I very much understand -- but those who prevail and believe are critical in the healing.  And now is the time we need you more than ever.  AND -- now is the time I THANK YOU more than ever.  To those who've joined us at our table, or have invited us to yours, or who have made visits, calls, outreaches of companionship, every little bit counts enormously -- and you know who you are.  And I love you.  You have no idea -- NO IDEA -- the pathways of progress, faith, and comfort you shape in my Dad's brain and in our new life.  And I thank you, and love you.    

What a Week

I have to say, I definitely prefer being called "Robin" to "Bitch."  Throughout this week both names were used interchangeably pending my Dad's bi-polar perspective at the time.  This morning when Dad was whining around the house, "help me... pleeeeeease, somebody help me!!!"  He took comfort in hearing me shuffling about in my room, "Robin?? is that you?  help me PLEEEEEASE..."  yes Dad, I hug him, pat his shoulder, "what can I do dad."  "Nevermind!  none of you want to help me, fuck all of you!!! get out of my room!"  bam!! - it switches just like that.  The mornings are the worst.  The trauma and pain of the unknown torments my poor Dad, he has to trust us, but he's not sure if he can.  Somehow, miraculously, and through a Buddah-like patience we achieve getting him to therapy for the day.  The afternoon is a solid hour and a half of nausea-inducing nerves at the thought of Dad leaping out of the car on the freeway in a random fit of anger -- luckily, sweet Jenny is our hero on car rides.  And most of the time comfortably sits on Dad's lap and keeps him in place.  However... if the preceeding moment before loading into the car has been particularly tumultuous, Jenny senses his anger and fear and leaps in the backseat.  After arriving home and commencing in dinner preparations and relaxation -- you could at times blink and think you were observing a slice of the Nemer-nightly ritual a year ago.  Everyone's calm, engaged, laughing, relaxing, eating, conversing, and overall pleasant.  You'd never know this was the same raving brain injured man from a few hours before.  

It's a delicate dance we're living in right now.  I don't know quite how to explain it -- it's nothing anyone could ever imagine or ever experience in quite the same way.  It's horrible at times, reassuring at others, comfortable and sometimes almost complete -- yet there will always be a missing piece.  It's been exactly 9 months since that piece went missing... perhaps another 9 more and we'll find it.

Transitioning

Dad replaced the hardwood floors in our house with eggshells.  And if we step on one he gets reeeeeal angry.  More unfortunately, they are invisible and extremely sporadic.  So there's no way to walk around them -- you never know when one's going to crack.  When it happens you just get out of the way, and you can't take it personally.  

Dad's so traumatized he doesn't know who to trust.  And attempting to immerse him back into the clinic routine was a nice idea... but think about it, why on earth would it be easy?  Dad's learned now that when he puts himself in the trust of others he ends up in scary places like bullshit Bakersfield.  So today, after my mom seemed to step on about 2 dozen eggshells, and the two "helpers" from CNS were pretty much picking them up and throwing them at Dad as far as he could tell, the wrath incurred, and Dad found trust in me.  So I calmly took him out for some pancakes -- which was slightly terrifying at times and filled with tears and panic on his part.  But I calmly looked at the LA Times and sipped my coffee, and Dad would settle back down a bit.  I attempted to get on the 134 and head to the clinic... but after a fierce threatening to open the door mid-drive, my gut told me to just head home.  Today is not the day for challenges.  There's been no period of adjustment for him, everyday is a new day of realizing he's living at home again - HIS home - and he deserves some time to gain a little control.

After a nap and a stroll with the doggies, Dad took us to In-N-Out.  He asked me to drive, articulating, "I just don't feel up for it." (note: obviously, I or my mom ALWAYS drive, but for him to articulate that rather than just go with the flow is pretty insightful).  At in-n-out we ordered at the counter, and Dad paid.  He instructed me to sit outside and hold the table while he waited for our number to be called.  I did just that.  It was a really nice lunch -- worlds different from our pancakes a mere 3 hours before.  And CNS may think I took a risk, I probably did, but I know Dad well enough that he won't have an erratic eggshell break-out if he feels in charge and independent enough.  I give him space, and I let him know I trust him - and he can trust me.  

I'm not your most avid astrology follower -- and I didn't check my horoscope til just now, but eerily it states...

GEMINI:  WHEN YOU PUT YOUR MIND TO IT, YOU CAN CHANGE SOMEONE ELSE'S MIND.  OBSERVE AND STRATEGIZE.  IT'S NOT THE TIME TO WAGE YOUR ATTACK.  THERE IS A GENTLE WAY TO DO THIS, AND YOU WILL FIGURE IT OUT.

Home Forever

My bed is empty for the first time in two months.  Yes, I'm sleeping alone again.  (Not that there were any real, long stretches of time in my life that my bed was shared with someone special... but the past two months have been comfortingly cozy.)  However, tonight, Jenny snuggles under my Dad's arm, in his bed.  I didn't have to coax her there, I didn't have to urge her in knowing Dad needed a little unconditional love - no no, this snuggle bug automatically leaped into Dad's nook the moment he crawled into his big, comfy bed.  I can only imagine how wonderful that feels after two months of sleeping on a tiny ass twin mattress in a cold, secluded room far off in B.F.E Bakersfield.  I hate that town.  I hate everything about it.  It's so damn depressing.  And I'm SO glad I NEVER have to go back.  I couldn't blog last Sunday and relive the depressing experience that day was.  I could indulge on the palpable, dirty, lonely, boring, smelly, feeling that permeates through the air as you kill time in that town -- but why look back on the past?  What's done is done.  We took all the roads we thought possible were in the best interests of my father, even if that road lead to a two-month stint in hell, but it's over now -- and we can only look ahead.  

I felt calm today.  Nervous... but calm.  What else can I be?  We have to stay incredibly even-keeled and steadfast for my father.  He has been a perpetual waterfall of tears for the past week... nonstop.  My mom said the past 48 hours she was in Bakersfield - minus going to dinner where Dad always rises to the occasion for good food - were a constant sobfest.  Flowing tears, with an ongoing mantra of "help me... help me..."  We can't even tell him we are helping him anymore.  He doesn't believe it.  I don't blame him.  He trusted us -- and we allowed him to get himself into the scary situation that was Bakersfield - taken away by a team of people in starched blue blouses and forced to live in a tiny apartment with strangers.  Now he lives with fear -- his confusion was challenged and expanded.  Rather than "shocking him into sense"  which was my greatest hope for this situation... it was an overwhelming displacement out of his control.  I ache for him more.  Time will heal.  I know it will.  He'll accept our trust again.  And hopefully, in the future, he'll accept his reality.  But for now we take it day by day, we'll try and appease the tears - or at least just change the subject.  And at least there's always a nice dinner or a furry friend under his arm to bring him moments of joy and comfort.

It's a new journey.  It's not all bad, and it's much better than where we've been, but it feels more official now.  This Dad of mine is home for good, for better, for worse, and for best.   

Someone's Coming Home

Mom's on her way up the 5 and I lie here on the couch with ice on my foot, the dogs at my side - and we'll stay here and patiently await the arrival of the fifth member of our family.  I don't think Bakersfield worked out quite as well as the "experts" expected... and we're not in the place of recognition I was hoping for him when these 2 months were over.  And now they're over, and we move on.  Dad is no doubt different... but how different remains to be seen.  Having him gone has made me miss him more than ever, and pushed me to accept that he will no longer ever be the Dad I had before June 27th.  That's the hardest thing to accept.  I fear typing it because once you write something down it becomes reality in a way.  So now I know, whoever Mom brings home, is sort of a mystery, and only time will tell how close this person will become to being that remarkable father I have in my memories.  

TBI Part 2

Perhaps I speculated too late.  Rest in peace Natasha Richardson.  A devastating turn of events.  It's right to count the blessings we have and be thankful for our life and loved ones.  

Celebrity TBI

You know why there are conflicting reports of Natasha Richardson's status in the hospital right now?  Because that poor family has no fucking clue what to say.  And they shouldn't have to.  All they are concerned with is if their loved one will miraculously come back.  There is no room for any other sense in the world except to see her come back.  My understanding is she is lying there still, hooked up to the trinity of life support: breathing tube, feeding tube, IV drip.  Her eyes are closed -- her body there to touch -- her soul and thoughts, far off in another universe.  But hopefully her family is there communicating to her anyway, singing to her, talking to her, because most certainly - something in her is hearing and receiving.  It's only Day 3.  Dad opened his eyes on Day 3.  I wanted to throw a party.  And we could tell people -- "he woke up!"  Which, if the news was pounding down our door I'd probably tell them.  Then I'd get the hideous slap in the face -- ooops, no no, he didn't wake up -- there is no response to "wiggle your toes", "squeeze my hand", "blink your eyes..." therefore, no cognitive function i.e. "brain dead."  Perhaps Natasha is in this place.  Which leaves you with even less answers -- you see the body moving, perhaps there's the persistent fevers, sweating, thrashing, moaning... and this can go on for a long time -- but it's indescribable, scary, and mysterious.  Here is your loved one in a persistent vegetative state.  They are far from woken up.  And there are no answers as to when or if they will -- but their moving body and their open eyes give you more hope, you can look into them and try to communicate and penetrate the brain.  But the brain persists to not respond, and the verdict of "brain dead" is more palpable.  So when do you stop hoping?  When do you give a verdict? In this case - is it when the paparazzi hassle you until you feel forced to say something? Or more familiar, when insurance starts knocking down your door demanding the next best move -- pull "the plug" and see what happens: let body die of disease and infection, with two weeks to hope it may reeeally wake up -- OR leave in "plug," keep hoping, keep paying, and sustain the loved ones body.  It's unpredictable, it's terrible, it's life.  I know that's vague - but there are no right answers, there is NO timeline, and there should NOT be any pressure on the fragile family right now.  They'll know in their hearts what decision to make - and what if, if any action should be taken.  I never gave up on my Dad.  He told me not to.  And no doubt he would have told me if I was supposed to.  When the day for death-decisions was forced upon us by statistics, by insurance, by neurologists, by lack-of-belief, I knew when I looked in his eyes the first day he opened them, that this decision would not have to be made.  There was a knot, in my heart, pulsing to me, that no - this decision, would not have to be made.  And then he woke up.  He made me believe 9 months ago... there's reason to keep believing when he comes home on Sunday. 

My heart goes out to Natasha's family.  I feel so deeply sad for them and this wondrous pain they are suffering.  My hopes are they will give it time, ignore all the outside forces pressuring them, and listen to Natasha, and listen to their hearts.  

Perk Up

"Don't look too excited."  The funny man behind the counter at the coffee shop said to me as I waited to get a blended ice mocha to ease my aching tonsil.  It took me about 5 seconds to realize he was indeed talking to me, awaiting my coffee request.  "oh... hah, sorry I'm sick."  I say with a fake smile.  He takes four steps back in case I breath too hard on him.  I order my blended mint mocha and then step back.  And while the funny man entertained the following customers with more sarcastic coffee jabber, I think, "what I should have said was the truth - there's nothing to be excited about."  There isn't.  I'm feeling very resentful of life today, yesterday, lately.  I'm so so sick of being the Nemer family cheerleader.  I'm sick of putting on a smiley face and pretending all is okay -- and so the ONE TIME I stand there, not smiling, allowing myself to live in my own little rain cloud, I get called on it by the stupid barista.

Daily life would be a different world if I spoke the truth on my mind any minute - I guess that goes for everyone.  But seriously, if I had said - "there's nothing to be excited about" and he asked why?  Would I have to go into the whole story?  I doubt I would - I'd probably give a pissy, shortened recap of events and make him feel reeeeeal sorry for asking.  But that gets none of us anywhere - he's much better off happily frothing lattes as I observe while I type.  Another example of wanting to speak my mind occurred this weekend on our visit with Dad, he was whining and crying as we were taking a walk outside the residence, and I just couldn't take it anymore.

"Dad stop crying..."  I urge gently.  "oh shutup you don't know anything. don't you have any friends you can go bother..."  He retorts.  I walk away, thinking in my head of replying: "Wel, yeah I had a best friend once but he went and got a brain injury and now here we are."  But I didn't say that -- I just walked away, and bit my tongue and held my breath to fight a tear or irrational impulse.  Deep breath.... deep breath.

these are endless two weeks.   

Going thru the motions

It's hard to believe it's an hour til midnight on Friday night.  I just barely made it through this week.  After a week cluttered with multiple birthdays, one performance, one audition, one day of 101.9 degree fever, and two days of sore throat (not all necessarily in that order), I rewarded myself with a relaxing bubble-gum, chick flick movie by myself - while my Mom is out enjoying herself at a fun concert with girlfriends - exactly the type of fun she so well deserves.  Just before turning in I take my little loves Melvin and Jenny up the corner to do their business - and Melvin, yet again, ran into something exceedingly smelly and gross ending up on his fur.  After hustling them back in the house where I could hear the tea kettle screaming and the answering machine beeping - I look at Melvin's neck to assess the dirty damage, and there are disgusting brown gops of something stuck to his fur.  I almost vomit.  I immediately get soapy towels and start scrubbing away the grossness - Melvin stands patiently, Jenny observes from a distance, ears perked and head cocked in curiosity.  And the phone beeps on, and the kettle steams.  Finally when I think I've scrubbed sufficiently, I pick myself up off the floor, pitch the towels in the trash, throw a cookie at the dogs and a tea bag in a mug, pour the water and check the message machine...

"Hi Barbara... this is [so-and-so] from CNS residence in Bakersfield, I'm the Case Manager for David this weekend.  He was complaining of chest pain and so we took his blood pressure a few times every hour, and he took his medicine and it seemed to go down-- but just in case he's at the hospital"  the perky voice stated.

Ummm, fuck.  Okay, think, process, act.  I turn to the bulletin board and dial CNS.  Mom's still not home yet (in fact she's still not home as I write this and I'm assuming has no idea of the whole incident yet -- unless she's actually checked her cell phone messages).  I call and ask for the Case Manager.  "Tiffany"  gets on the phone and explains the whole story.  Dad complained of chest pain at 5pm. Blood pressure was taken, meds administered, it went down a touch.  6pm - they take it again, still a little high.  7pm - I talk to Dad on the phone - he sounds great, strong, content, still non-sensical but I don't hold my breath for sense anymore, but he wasn't whining or sad.  8:30pm they take him to the hospital because he screamed everytime he got up or sat down.  10:30pm they discharge him saying he simply pulled a muscle.  I talk to Sarah and to Dad -- he sounded exhausted and upset.  Sarah said he was doing okay, ready to get back to the apartment and go to sleep, and she was holding his hand all the way.  

What do we do with this information from 200 miles away?!!!! Tell me!  Can anything happen or not happen in the next two weeks he has to be there?!  It's fucking agonizing.  I know we've got a lifetime of drama in store for us when he gets home - but at least we'll be in contorl, and he'll be in control of his life again - because this is his life - here, on Royal Blvd, with his two girls and his two dogs.  

I spent the following 15 minutes after I hung up with Sarah debating how to tell my Mom.  If to tell her at all.  She'll be terrified and want to steal him away tomorrow when we're there.  I think I'll start by telling her, "Dad pulled a muscle.... in his chest... and to make sure it wasn't his heart, they took him to the hospital."  yes, that should be fine.

I'm feeling rather calm, but I think it's honestly because I know he's asleep now, and I know he's okay.  I feel he's okay.  but dear god make this be over with soon.

Out of Sight, ALL on mind

I'm just not sure how much more of this Mom and I can take.  They said part of the reason for Dad going to Bakersfield, was to make it easier on us.  Well - hi, IT'S NOT!  He's on our minds all day -- and I feel terrible because I haven't talked to him since Monday, and I haven't seen him in 11 days.  I saw him every single day while he was in the hospital -- this is just not fair.  I feel like I've turned a blind eye, like I'm being ignorant, like when I'm out and about trying to live my life I'm automatically succumbing to this "out of sight, out of mind" attitude and it eats away at me and I feel guilty.  And then I call on Monday night and this is how the conversation goes:

Dad, timidly, "hello?"

Me, "DADDY!! Hi!" 

Dad, whining, "ohhhh get me out of here!!!!! (starts to cry)  take me home! PLEASE take me home!" 

Me, "ohhh Daddy, we're going to take you home. You're coming home soon, in a few days I promise."

Dad, "I wanna go home now!"

click. he hangs up.

Mom, "how did it go?"

Me, "ummm... not good.  awful. the usual."

HOW can this pain be beneficial?!  And yes, we ask this to all the professionals there, and we get "well - he's making gains in therapies, he's really doing well, if he wasn't doing well and we thought he was in danger we'd definitely stop this program..." etc. etc.  So what are we to believe??  We're both TERRIFIED every time we call or visit because he instantly starts crying and wants to come home.  so painful.  We're at the end of week 5, he still doesn't know where he is all the time.  I don't blame him.  We're in the same boat.  I don't know where my Dad is either.

I had one of those electric shocks of emotion today sitting at the carwash.  (sidenote: the carwash ALWAYS smells like chocolate chip cookies!  I have no idea why, it's so deliciously perplexing and inconvenient to smell cookies baking at the dirty car wash - but it does, don't know why.) anyway.  sitting there in a plastic chair on the asphault, sun beating down on me but it feels nice, watching the immigrants dry all our cars, I get a flashback memory to going to the Red Sox/Dodgers game in Boston with my Dad the week after my 21st birthday.  Three images - bam! bam! bam! then a heave followed by tears.  Dad and I sitting in our seats behind home plate decked out in Dodger Blue, Dad and I pushing through the flow of fans on Yawkey way into Fenway Park, Dad and I cheers-ing with our plastic cups of beer - our first beers at a game together (our first drink together, period) - and then sitting back and watching the game.  Then a fan came down and tapped me on the shoulder and said in a thick Massachusettes accent, "is this your Dad?"  "yeah" I say.  He reaches over me, "Let me shake your hand, Sir,  I hope one day I'm sitting here with my Kid and sharing a beer.  He's up there - he's 7.  It's just nice to see.  Despite the fact that you're Dodger fans and all."  They shook hands, Dad gave a laugh of pride with the words "thank you" mixed in.  The fan turned and walked back up to his son.  Dad looked back at the game but threw his arm around me and squeezed me hard.  That was the biggest, beaming smile I've ever seen on him.  

ohhhhhhhhhhh it hurts. 

Curious Case

[pretend this is yesterday, Monday, when reading. and then pretend it's last Thursday.  I really need to get more on top of this!]

I just sat down and looked out the window - the sun had just cracked through and yet, rain was pouring down. I seriously checked the roof to see if someone was spraying a hose because it was the oddest phenomenon.  I was blinded by the sun, yet these huge drops of rain were sprinkling down.  I raced to each window peeking out to see if there was a rainbow - I stepped outside but it was raining too hard and I had just blow dried my hair.  I didn't see a rainbow - but I'm sure there was one somewhere!  Hhhm - oh well, on my solo trip to Bakersfield two weeks ago I saw FOUR rainbows, one of them I was chasing all the way through the grapevine.  It was really incredible.  What was my point of all this?  Hmm. Just an odd phenomenon I guess - make of it what you will.

The Oscars are stupid.  It makes me really think how I would use my celebrity if I in fact got my acting drive into gear and really made it (which by the way won't be happening via USC's MFA program, the missing piece of disappointing news from last week).  First, I would totally pull a Sharon Stone and wear something from Gap and make it look stunning.  I am so so so disgusted even more this year by all the coverage of the fashion.  Not the fashion itself, I understand that there's a time and place for glamour and it cannot be ignored, but the coverage of it is appalling.  The fact that Sarah Jessica Parker's gown is deemed by these tacky, gaudy, entertainment "journalists" as "such a huge disaster" - it makes me want to puke to see where some people's priorities lie.  But I know I'm not alone in this, and I know it'll never change, and I really don't have the energy or heart to devote much more bitching to the whole thing - it just is curious and hideous distraction from reality.  Or is it the reality of it itself that's so ridiculous?

(I started this little paragraph last Thursday after seeing the movie.)  What an odd reflection of reality Benjamin Button was.  To have a life's worth of memories and experiences, trapped in a body too young to contain them, and the confusion of it all competing with your environment and people around you telling you differently than what your brain believes - sounds awfully familiar.  Benjamin Button basically had a brain injury - his brain cells told his body to age backward (or was it that clock Mr. Cake made??? I didn't quite get the connection) - and so Ben Button appeared an average old guy to everyone around him, but his mind was telling him the opposite truth.  I wonder what my Dad would think if he watched that movie... I can't imagine.  Regardless, it left me sad, achey, and depressed.  It also left me annoyed because seriously - why did they need the old Cate Blanchett dying in the hospital with Katrina hitting outside the window?!  The movie would have been dramatically improved if it had just been the story itself - not some cross between Titanic and Forrest Gump.  

Still Cloudy

The rain went away despite how much I appreciated it.  I love the way the clouds force a sense of coziness whether you want to stay in or not.  I enjoy that.  Monday, after lying on the couch with my mom all afternoon watching Sex and the City's in front of the fire and eating leftover Chinese food - I got up to make brownies from scratch - baking on a cloudy day is so theraputic and lovely.  We deserved that day of relaxation no doubt, especially after the three hour drive in the downpour from Bakersfield.  anyway - my point of tonight's entry was not to linger on the past weekend - but to ponder the disappointments of today.  I'm sure you're just itching to read on now with such a promising introduction like that.  Today was not all bad, but was bookended with unfortunate circumstances that just leave you feeling a little empty inside, as if we need to be drained any more.

Let me start by saying, with the clouds cleared and the sun shining this morning, I woke up with a bright energy - excited to take the dogs for an extra long stroll.  My ankle didn't hurt so much, and I even broke into a little jog every few minutes.  I decided to take the pooches to the stream up in the hills from our house.  It's typical that we run into a dear neighbor named Burt when we walk up Imperial Ave around 7:15am in the morning.  Dad formed a sweet relationship with this neighbor over the years - Burt almost considered my father like a son.  He lived alone, except for his sweet little overweight Yorkie - Geoffrey.  Geoffrey always accompanied Burt every where he went.  And Burt always had dog biscuits in every pocket of his coat on the off chance we ran into him with Melvin.  When Burt and Geoffrey first met Melvin and my Dad about 8 years ago, Burt used to make fun of Melvin saying he ate black jelly beans cause of the spots on Melly's tongue.  He would leave little surprise bags of black jelly beans and a bottle of scotch for my Dad as just a kind gesture every now and then on the porch.  Dad was there for Burt and Geoffrey when Burt's wife developed Alzheimer's, and later died about 4 years ago.  And the man and his dog continued to grow old together, alone.  In his old age, Burt doesn't quite understand the complexity of why my Dad hasn't been around lately on our walks or to check in on him.  And I hadn't seen Burt and Geoffrey in quite a while.  Well - this morning as we were coming up Imperial, Melvin spotted Burt's gold Lincoln continental car parked in it's usual spot.  He instantly perks up, and I let him off the leash and watch him race to Burt, then proceed to pounce on him and sniff his pockets knowing well where the treats are stashed.  Jenny, stuck to her leash, has no idea what this exciting encounter is.  I look to see if Geoffrey pops out from the car... but there's no Geoffrey.  I greet Burt, and cautiously ask... "is Geoffrey at home?"  "Coyotes got him."  He says simply.  "oh... Burt.  I'm so so sorry."  "yeah - it was pretty terrible"  his voice cracks.  I didn't know what to say.  My heart broke a little bit.  "are you thinking of getting another?"  I ask... trying to be optimistic.  "I gotta get better at walking them first."  he says.  Interesting response.  I wonder why on earth little Geoffrey was out in coyote range late at night.  The wheels in my head instantly start turning, trying to think of a way to be helpful to this man.  Maybe if he adopts a dog, by the time Dad gets back, Dad could help take him on walks every morning.  Or maybe they could meet us at that same spot every day at 7am and we could walk the new dog with Mel and Jenny and then drop it back off with Burt.  Maybe this could be Dad's new routine or job.  Maybe... maybe... ahh how do I explain that Geoffrey died? ahhhhhhh. too much.  Meanwhile, Melvin keeps pouncing.  "he's gonna clean me out!!!"  Burt says cheerily, as he searches for more dog biscuits, leftover from the Geoffrey days I assume.  "and whose this?  She's too big to be a snowflake..."  I laugh.  "This is Jenny...  Say hi Jenny!  meet Burt!!! Burt always has the best treats!!!"   Burt searches his pockets more.  "I'd give ya one, Snowflake but Melvin's cleaned me out!  I outta call him Ex-lax!"  I give him an awkward laugh.  "Cause he cleaned me out!!!"  Burt repeats.  "Aww haha, that's okay."  "well you all have a nice day now."  Burt says.  and he starts to walk away.  "you too, Burt!! Melvin, say thank you to Burt!!!"  But Burt's already started to wander away, tuned out.  And Snowflake and Ex-Lax and I attempt to continue on our walk.  I couldn't enjoy it though, the crisp, freshness of the morning was tainted, and we turned and headed for home. 

you know - that's enough for tonight.  I'll save the other bookend for tomorrow -- who knows, things may have changed.  

Happy Valentine's Day

yet another holiday meant to set oneself up for disappointment.  I didn't expect to kiss a boy this year -- it would have been nice, no doubt, reeeal nice, but I haven't really put myself out there enough recently to garner a valentine -- I've been a little preoccupied.  This whole Dad drama sure put a damper on my social life, not just timewise, but effort-wise.  Geographically, I'm separated again from social circles I used to frequent on any given weeknight or weekend.  Emotionally, I've stayed so involved with my Dad and Mom that I've fallen out of touch with people and out of practice in what it takes to muster up the energy to go out and be in a crowd.  It is quite exhausting, even in a normal living situation.   And I miss that - I miss seeing my wonderful variety of friends every other night.  And I guess what I'm getting at in this is that I need to start to step it up again - I need to take full advantage of the next 5 weeks of freedom - and make the effort more, and immerse myself in my old circles again, and get back in the social groove, because it's truly re-energizing.  (I can do it alone... but it helps with a little push! :)

I spent today finishing up my grad school auditions - which went surprisingly well and were truly encouraging and inspiring.  Both the auditioners from USC and UCI were so gracious and kind, I felt so comfortable, and I honestly feel like I did a pretty good performance.  My fellow auditionees were extremely cool as well - not your typical annoying dark, heavy breathing, persistant stretching, voice tuning, competetive theatre crowd you often can be immersed with in these situations - but these people were really down to earth and lovely.  It was an all around good vibe all day - my confidence was rockin' to the point that I almost asked this cute boy Brian that I chatted with while waiting in the wings what he was doing for V-day tonight... but I'm just not quite that bold yet. :)  baby steps, Anne.  baby steps.  

I came home to sweet, Jenny.  We cuddled on the couch.  My little furry valentine.  Meanwhile - up the 5 somewhere in Bakersfield, Mom, Dad, and Sarah were at Black Angus sharing a most unique Valentine's Day dinner.  I wished I could join them.  But I'll be heading up tomorrow morning with Jenny - to meet Mom and Melvin at the Double Tree for the rest of the weekend. Everyone sounded exceptionally positive over the phone this evening... Mom said she sees something happening... changing... the wheels are really turning, and it's different.  I can't wait to get there and see for myself, and it's only been three weeks... five more to go.

 

I can tell my brain is tired.  But I wanted to send little words of love out on this Valentine's Day.  love to my family, love to my friends, love to my dogs, love to my acquaintances, love to my readers, love to those around me, love to those around them, love to those who make chocolate, love to those who make wine, love to those who make theatre, love to those who heal people, love to those who research brains, love to those who caretake, love to those who clean, love to those who give, love to those who make a difference, love to those who help, love to those who understand, love to those that sacrifice, love to those who take risks, love to those who motivate, love to those who play, love to those who take pictures, love to those who take time, love to those who sing, love to those who hug, love to those who reach out... love to those who love.  I think that covers everyone. xoxox

Bridge Over Troubled Water

My parents song.  It's playing on my newly updated iTunes right now.  Mom and I went out to dinner tonight.  And she said, "I'm starting to accept, that the Daddy we knew, is never going to be the same again.... I mean, I know he'll get better, I have no doubt he'll improve, no doubt.  But he won't be the same."  I said, "I remember that Daddy more lately, since he's been gone, I'm remembering more how he was before this."  And then I started to agree with her -- that I'm accepting that he won't come back the same... maybe he'll be like 80% what he was.  And then I immediately slammed my wine glass back down on the table and said, "NO. nevermind.  I take that back.  I don't mean that.  I can't mean that.  Because the moment I accept a fate that he won't ever return to be the best he can be again then that instantly kills that dream and possibility.  And if I did that long ago Dad would be dead today.  So yes.  He will come back, more than just 80%."  He will.  And hi - he will read this.  Did ya ever think about that?  He will read this one day.  It's his story, and he's the star.  It's only fair.  God do I miss him.  It's truly the weirdest longing - because, he's not dead, there's no sense of finality or closure - and I can't just talk to the air and hope he hears it - all I can do is send positive energy and love and hope to his spirit that was before June 27th, and try to pull that energy back into his body, which is far away in Bakersfield and a million other places mixed up in his mind.  Well - I just cried.    

(This is one of my favorite pictures - it lives on Dad's blackberry.  And now that I'm almost iPhoto savvy I'll aim to upload more fun pix. :)  

Hooray!!!

don't get too too excited - the enthusiasm is strictly for the purchase of my NEW LAPTOP AND FREE PRINTER!!!! woooo!!! I got a brand new pretty white MacBook!  Dad is cringing right now somewhere in Bakersfield.  He always frowned upon anything Apple and consistently purchased P.C.s.  Well, sorry about it Dad, but the mother board flipped out on the HP and it's somewhere receiving technical therapy and hopefully under warranty.  whatev.  I'm over it.  I'm on to cleaner, brighter, and better.  I'm sure many of you have seen that Sex & the City episode where Carrie's motherboard dies in her computer?   And the whole episode revolves around the theme of "mothers."  Miranda's mom dies from a heart attack and they have to attend her funeral in Pennsylvania.  And when our motherboard died here, I felt like I was wrapped up in my own little episode of "My Motherboard, My Self."  Between my Mom's tears, my own, and then the computer - sheesh!  It also got me thinking about one particular Mother I haven't paid much mention to in this blog as of yet, but who means so so much to me.  Mimi.  My mom's mom - who passed away just six and a half months ago.  I'm so grateful that she has not had to bare the weight of the pain our family has been hit with, the universe was working in strange ways the day it set a stroke upon her - while my Dad was in a coma.  But that's a detailed story for another time and page.  I'll let the birth of my new motherboard be a tribute to Mimi.  Below is what I spoke at her funeral service - words from a lucky, and grateful granddaughter.  

Put your shoes on Lucy don't you know you're in the city, put yours hoes on Lucy... I forget the rest!  Mimi, how does it go?  Angie?  Katie?  can you girls finish it?  hmm... mimi used to sing that to us... as we put ourselves together for the day - a typical weekend with Mimi and Goen.  Katie and I would sleep over, wake up and sneak into the kitchen to see Mimi behind the counter and Goen behind the paper, a little bowl of prunes in front of him.  After teasing and tickling and toast, we'd start our day.  We'd put our shoes on, we'd play outside, we'd go ride the marry-go-round at the mall while Mimi came and sang at this church, and we'd come back to Mimi making us sandwiches for lunch.  Lunch was followed by total immersion into Mimi's make-up, an all around free-for-all where Katie and I painted our eyebrows, cheeks, lips, anything that Mimi did that could make us one day as beautiful as she. (she? her? - I didn't catch the grammar gene.)  That was "typical weekend with grandparents: Mimi and Goen, Tradition #1."  Cut to a few days before Christmas Eve, a most special day, devoted to just me, my mom, and Mimi.  A trip to South Coast Plaza, every year for the past 22 years.  TWENTY TWO YEARS!  It started with Mom and I spending the night at 4440 Faculty with Mimi and Goen, then waking up in the morning and embarking on the most epic day of shopping ever, always starting at Nordstroms - so Mimi could buy a pants suit for Mom, meanwhile I'd try and pick out an "adorable" pair of shoes that she just had to buy for me.  Then we'd venture into the plaza - gaze at that beautiful tree - then hit the stores as we pieced together the presents for our family gift exchange on Christmas Day.  I went from sitting and crying on Santa's lap to sitting and crying over a bottle of Pinot Grigio split between the three of us, Mimi squeezing my hand across the table, and watching our eyes dart from generation to generation - sharing stories of our phenomenal family, Mimi's past, my future, and everything in between.  A precious once a year outing only my Mom, Mimi, and I can share.  the one and only time my mother liked to shop.  That was Mimi Tradition #2.  Nine months following Christmas, the matriarch and her Goen offspring gather at Alisol.  A tradition sparked by Cowboy Goen - where there's nothing but fun, family, and food on a farm for three days.  An amazing excursion I think we all looked forward to more than we'd admit.  For truly, every year on that first Friday - we all look at each other and say, "WOW! are we back again already?"  and three days later "it always goes by SO fast!"  And through the horseback rides, the lounging at the pool, the endless milkshakes, and endless bottles of wine, the late nights at the ranch bar, running up the tab with cosmopolitans, which got more expensive as we cousins crossed the 21-year mark... or didn't.  And through every moment - she was sitting there - enamoured and engaged, watching us, and admiring with endless pride the remarkable family she created.  That "Mega-watt Mimi smile" in turn spread across every Goen girls face, that vibrant, cheek to cheek smile that made me feel so so so special.   That strong, charismatic, and contagious break of laughter - rings through all of us.  That was Mimi's ultimate tradition.  To laugh, cry, smile, and be together.  We are her passion, and the only other passion of hers that can hold a candle to her family, is music.  So Mimi, in accordance with your will, I hope I fulfilled the part of "Brief anecdotes and music, music, music."  Let her music, tradition, and passion carry our Mimi through with us, for the rest of our lives.  To the most magnificent grandmother.  I love you.