In Memoriam, Part 2

It has been 3 months and 4 days now since my Dad passed away. Much of the immediate pain has somewhat passed yet I still think of him everyday. There are episodes of intense sorrow as I remember old and relatively recent photographs of times when death was the farthest thing from mind. The picture of him above was taken during a winter day in 1989 in Harvey, LA. It was a rare treat for the family as a freak snowfall enveloped the entire New Orleans metropolitan area. At the time this picture was taken, I must have been out and about in a company truck delivering medical records or perhaps sitting in traffic within a stalled mass of homebound motorists. This particular picture happened to pierce my mind late yesterday afternoon after I said goodbye one final time to my ex-girlfriend Sabine. My heart was riven by this circumstance already and yet memories of my father came flooding in. The tears poured forth as a result and a shrill cry issued from my throat as I wondered where my dear departed father was amidst life's cruelties.

The remembrances also occur in dreams. For the past few years, ever since I moved to the Pacific Northwest, my conversations with my father were cell phone conversations inquiring and reminding me about my monthly financial contribution. It was a routine I grew tired of but an obligation I nevertheless had to comply with for the simple reason that I would feel guilty to deprive them of my help. I won't go into detail here but my parent's financial circumstance might have seen better days. It was in this setting that I dreamt of my father, I suppose, for the first time ever since he died. The conversation, however, was positive and had the tone of fatherly concern for my well-being. I distinctly remember him asking about a car. Was it about my truck or about his Toyota Camry that I enjoyed driving during my last visit home? I was struck by the kindness in his voice if I recall correctly. In the dream, I also suddenly realized that I was talking to my dead father on the phone. The question I posed to him was: "Dad, what's it like in heaven?" I might have heard a non-verbal acknowledgement of the question as I waited for his answer. The dream faded shortly after. I missed him tremendously as my eyes opened to meet the new day.

A little more recently, sometime last week, after the weekend that I starkly realized that Sabine and I were no longer a couple, I dreamt of my father again. This time the setting was inside the present family home in Marrero, LA. I dreamt of him as he used to look possibly before there was even any hint of cancer lurking in his body. The details regarding his "visit" this time are lost but it did seem like an ordinary day in the house as we discussed some immediate matter. In the midst of my conversation I suddenly realized once again, but not with as much clarity as the first dream, that I was talking to my dead father. I felt it strange to see him in the flesh yet felt utterly grateful as I surmised that maybe his death was a nightmare after all. In the midst of this realization I hugged him tightly as I hugged him the very last time I saw him alive over four months ago. The dream faded and I woke up to a dreary, wet, and cold Seattle morning. I wondered seconds later what the meaning of this dream might have been other than my subconscious wishing he were still alive. A strange thought occured that hints at the supernatural. Perhaps this was my Dad's way of telling me not to worry about my recent breakup with Sabine and that there will be brighter days ahead. That's all I could think of.

I miss you Dad.

In Memoriam, Part 1

I wrote the following the day after I lost my Dad on 17 November 2011. The sentimental meanderings still have impact and the pain regarding this life event have subsided to a dull yet persistent ache.

"I lost my Dad to cancer yesterday. As I find the words to compose this, I'm thinking about the stuff he left behind. Small and seemingly inconspicuous things like his shoes and clothes will be difficult to part with. He liked sweets and seeing that open package of coffee milk biscuits on top of his dresser is a stark reminder that he was taken so suddenly from us. I could almost smell his presence as I gaze at the closet full of clothes that he neatly kept for the past nine years. It's painful to look at the room he once inhabited without him in it. The boxes of documents he labeled with his handwriting is painful to look at as well because I will never see his penmanship again apart from what has already been written.

I was, unfortunately, not by his bedside when he toughed it out towards the bitter end. My sister reported him struggling to maintain wakefulness despite his semi-comatose condition. His body was failing fast and my flight to New Orleans could not arrive any sooner. I'd have probably booked an even earlier flight but there was no way of knowing that his eventual demise would come unexpectedly in the early evening of Wednesday. My flight arrived the morning of the following Thursday. I deboarded the plane and walked towards the baggage claim area in a languid and almost aimless manner. I was slowed by the mental anguish of knowing that my father had just departed hours earlier.

The red eye flight was restful compared to other red eye flights in the past. I was drowning in sorrow, dread ....and regret. Regret that I took him for granted in the last decade of his life. Regret that I never took his declining health seriously enough, and as a result, regret that I never made a serious effort to talk to him. Even up to the very last time that I was alone with him in the car, waiting for my mother to finish her Wal-Mart shopping, I played the usual role of compliant and non-talkative son. He was even inquisitive about my life in Seattle. It was, as I can determine in hindsight, a frank conversation that I could have taken advantage of. I could have at least voiced my feelings about his current condition and tell him of my concerns. Now all of that is rather moot.

His familiar mannerisms will be missed. His quirky habits will be missed. Even the strange yet practical gifts he gave every Christmas will be missed. The normalcy that he brought to our family life will be sorely missed. In the waning years he naturally exerted progressively less of an influence in our lives as we marched on into middle age. He didn't waver, however, in his concern for financial matters and kept us on our toes so to speak."

It has been a month now since his death. I've struggled everyday since to keep the pain alive and to keep the memories close. I had virtually forgotten him during the last few years that he was alive. Living 2500 miles away tends to have that effect. In stark contrast now, there's not a day that goes by when I don't think of him. I'm still processing this in and expect more heartache to follow. This will be a sad Christmas.

The Enchantments

 
 
 
 

Backpack on Blanca Lake

2010-08-28

back in black

After an extremely long hiatus I am back. A lot has happened since my last post and wouldn't you know it Jazzfest is just about a month away. This time I don't know if I will make it. Been spending too much lately and I just made it down recently for Mardi Gras 2009. Oh, and ever since my last post, Obama was elected to the presidency. It hasn't been a bed of roses so far, however. One of the few things of note is his reversing Bush's policies on stem cell research. The stimulus package, however, is something that's not turning out too rosy or am I speaking too soon. Keynesian economics I agree with on the other hand.

Still at Boeing and still in Washington state. Moved to Seattle proper and my office is in a different location, several miles south of Everett.

Jazzfest 2008

Went to second weekend of Jazzfest last weekend. All in all I was glad to be back for that short time. It was refreshing to be back in the throng, the tremendous gathering that occurs this time of year. After being drenched watching Stevie Wonder and the John Butler Trio I decided to take shelter in the WWOZ Jazz Tent where Terence Blanchard was playing the soundtrack to Spike Lee's "When the Levees Broke" with LPO providing the orchestral accompaniment. Didn't eat the usual crawfish sack, crawfish beignets, oyster pattie, and crawfish monica. I went for the cochon de lait po-boy instead and a tasty plate of red beans and rice with sausage. I think I also indulged in a plate of bbq pork ribs with white beans by the blues tent. This was all washed down by a satisfying glass of mandarin orange iced tea and two pints of Pilsner Urquell draft. I practically broke the bank with my weekend excursion back to NOLA.

Passed by Bart and Christy's after the fest that Saturday. Ended up staying the night after one too many SoCo and soda water concoctions, bowl hits, and philosophical rants. Checked out Persephone too. Nice basement accomodations and it was rather cool that night. That was the end of Friday.

Went to Rue the following morning to catch up on my reading and for old time's sake to see how my old caffeine fueling hole was doing. Same as always minus certain familiar faces including the baristas. Met up with Matt and Veronica that afternoon to watch Robert Downey Jr. play superhero in "Iron Man". Is it because the previews were too revealing? The visual effects feast was a given but nowadays movies like that don't quite thrill me anymore. Too cliche'd and too juvenile to warrant any degree of intense appreciation. Plot development unsophisticated and cartoonish as expected but am I being too critical? It was good to see "The Dude" playing a baddie however. After the movie we met at 13 on Frenchmen for lunch.

Friday at the fest was all I could manage for the year. I couldn't imagine shelling out another forty to fifty greenbacks for another day at the fest. The Hornets were going to play game 1 of series two that night against San Antonio. So that was going to be the highlight of my second day in New Orleans. Tickets were sold out however, so I spent that evening watching the game at a friend's house. It was a late game and I was too pooped to go out that night so watching the Hornet's win game 1 against last year's world champs pretty much completed my activities for Saturday.

Sunday's high point was having lunch with my brother Jon and his wife Linda along with their eight month old son, Olivier. It was at Hana Japanese Restaurant on Hampson St. Five hours later I was on a flight back to Seattle. Man, I miss New Orleans.

the matrix office scene

As I sit on my desk editing lines of code to refine a parametric model my mind wanders to that scene in Matrix where Keanu Reeves sits motionless in front of his computer terminal. The reality of my present moment seems caricatured in this forgettable scene. We all seemed destined to follow a script intentionally or not. The concept of whether our present reality is a dream or an illusion was an interesting concept but one that was hacked to death in philosophical discussions, blogs, and the rest of the Matrix series. I'm resigned to the fact that yes this is reality and not a cover up for something sinister but I still sort of wonder where this seemingly eternal rat race leads to.