From the beginning...
It seems that’s the only place to start. It’s been one of those weeks where you think you’ll remember everything, only to forget it all in days, hours even.
When I was a kid I got migraines. Bone-crushing, blinding ice storm migraines that ended after hours with vomit and deep sleep. In my early twenties they quietly disappeared. A softer version of them came back to me less than a year ago, shortly after Lo was born. I’ve only had a few, not debilitating and puke-free. But then I decided to go to Texas.
The plane ride was fine. Really, fine. We were sandwiched in between two middle-aged business men who I figured would despise us by the end of the trip, but they didn’t. They were both dads themselves, also to small children and were delightful. It was three hours into the flight, 30 minutes before landing that I felt the pain emerge. I knew right away it was coming, but it wasn’t bad and I managed to get out of the airport and all the way to my friend’s house, up three flights of stairs in her tri-level luxury condo and into the bathroom, baby on my hip the whole way, before I threw up. That night Choco got a fever at about 1am. And couldn’t go back to sleep – unusual for him. I was distraught to say the least. Tired, annoyed, isolated in a guest room. The morning brought sweeter things. A nice baby shower, some girl time with one of my oldest friends. It was the second night that the missing started. I laid in bed and counted. Counted the disasters averted, crashed plane ride here, car accident en route to the house. I counted the possible disasters to be. Plane ride home, car accident, earthquake, tornado. Counted the possibilities for the part of my family in California: earthquake, dog attack, fire. Would Jaya wake up in time? Nothing happened. I spent endless moments it seemed, as usual, worrying about what could take all this happiness from me, what could steal my boys from me – time wasted. For a moment I relaxed, shut my eyes and inhaled. When I looked up from that second, the moment that I stopped the vigil I keep over my little family, it had not disappeared. The sky did not fall. The next day when Jaya was late to the airport I was furious. There had been an accident, but I was still mad. Seeing my firstborn was all-important. He missed his brother more than me, much more, and I was happy to know it.
The day we left for Dallas, that morning, Cai and I let the ladybugs go. After slowly crawling out of their cocoons that looked like tiny skeletons, we’d fed them raisins soaked in water and cut in half. They had grown. Several had died. I briefly wondered if it was my fault, then just decided to let them go. Cai held one on his finger and giggled crazily. We watched them crawl through the tiny sprouts from the carrot seeds we planted. Cai keeps going back to check how they are doing. They are gone but the promise of deep orange carrots, like treasure, always distracts him.
After the weekend, when they came to pick me up we spent a lot of the day snuggling. The time away was good, made all this sweeter and dulled the hard parts. I’m glad we had a good day. Mondays are usually my favorite, a time to regroup. But Monday morning brought with it a phone call. Jimmy was dead. I week after he meets his youngest son’s children for the first time, ‘Grandpa Jimmy’ dies in the bathroom of the flop house he has lived in in the Tenderloin for 15 years. Just like that.
For the past four days they’ve been going through his room. There were cats, so the urine is everywhere. This is what he told me: It was the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen, there were more syringes than he’s ever seen at once, that on every floor of the building there is a needle disposal box like they have in hospitals. That there was an unopened letter from a woman thanking Jimmy for being such a good friend, so kind, and for never asking for money or sex. There was a Thomas the Train book with a twenty dollar bill folded into the front page and several stickers from prescription drugs stuck to the last one. There were other notes from friends, thanking him for generosity, kindness, loyalty. There was a knife with a five inch blade stuck shut with dark, dried blood. A photo of his kids on his oldest sons wedding day. In the pocket of one pair of pants was his youngest sons phone number. One he called over a dozen times leaving disjointed messages over New Year’s, when we were out of town. He never left a number, he didn’t have a phone, he never called back.
The funeral was two weeks later, April 30th. First we stopped at the funeral home to pick him up. Jaya wore white gloves, I think they made him give them back afterward. In the parking lot, waiting for the coffin and watching the kids play in the back of a pick-up I had a giant deja-vu. Something about green grass, San Francisco mist and all that waiting. The kids barely made it through the stand up, sit down Catholic deal. Cai listened to a Little Bear audio book. Choco alternately chewed and spit out little chunks of sweet potato I doled out. Afterwards we went to Abuelita’s. No one has told her he is gone. 10 children and he is the fifth she outlives. The convalescent hospital is only blocks from the church where the service was held, but no one mentioned it but Jaya. His uncle has taken residence in Abuelita’s without skipping a beat. We packed up for home when the aunts began to take down her photos, there was nothing right about it.
Now we don’t talk about him anymore, not that we ever did much. Now he’s just a story to tell our kids. Your Grandpa Jimmy died when you two were 3 and almost 1. He met you the week before he died. Maybe that’s all he was waiting for. When he walked into the room that day he said, “Which ones are mine?!” We pointed them out but he was shy suddenly, kept his distance. He and I had met before but he was far more humble this time, maybe respectful of motherhood? Who knows. But he barely met my eyes. Only approached the children when the baby crawled into an empty room. He shyly followed him in and picked him up. I followed quietly with a camera and caught a few precious photos. Coaxed Cai into posing on the couch. Jaya had argued with me when I packed th camera. We’re both glad now I did.
Now we slide them into our album and look forward. Jaya, is literally fatherless now, but not much different than he’s ever been. I live in fear of his state. Remind myself to talk to my own dad, remind myself to tell him I love him and say a little prayer, that he might live long enough for me to be ready to let him go.
When I was a kid I got migraines. Bone-crushing, blinding ice storm migraines that ended after hours with vomit and deep sleep. In my early twenties they quietly disappeared. A softer version of them came back to me less than a year ago, shortly after Lo was born. I’ve only had a few, not debilitating and puke-free. But then I decided to go to Texas.
The plane ride was fine. Really, fine. We were sandwiched in between two middle-aged business men who I figured would despise us by the end of the trip, but they didn’t. They were both dads themselves, also to small children and were delightful. It was three hours into the flight, 30 minutes before landing that I felt the pain emerge. I knew right away it was coming, but it wasn’t bad and I managed to get out of the airport and all the way to my friend’s house, up three flights of stairs in her tri-level luxury condo and into the bathroom, baby on my hip the whole way, before I threw up. That night Choco got a fever at about 1am. And couldn’t go back to sleep – unusual for him. I was distraught to say the least. Tired, annoyed, isolated in a guest room. The morning brought sweeter things. A nice baby shower, some girl time with one of my oldest friends. It was the second night that the missing started. I laid in bed and counted. Counted the disasters averted, crashed plane ride here, car accident en route to the house. I counted the possible disasters to be. Plane ride home, car accident, earthquake, tornado. Counted the possibilities for the part of my family in California: earthquake, dog attack, fire. Would Jaya wake up in time? Nothing happened. I spent endless moments it seemed, as usual, worrying about what could take all this happiness from me, what could steal my boys from me – time wasted. For a moment I relaxed, shut my eyes and inhaled. When I looked up from that second, the moment that I stopped the vigil I keep over my little family, it had not disappeared. The sky did not fall. The next day when Jaya was late to the airport I was furious. There had been an accident, but I was still mad. Seeing my firstborn was all-important. He missed his brother more than me, much more, and I was happy to know it.
The day we left for Dallas, that morning, Cai and I let the ladybugs go. After slowly crawling out of their cocoons that looked like tiny skeletons, we’d fed them raisins soaked in water and cut in half. They had grown. Several had died. I briefly wondered if it was my fault, then just decided to let them go. Cai held one on his finger and giggled crazily. We watched them crawl through the tiny sprouts from the carrot seeds we planted. Cai keeps going back to check how they are doing. They are gone but the promise of deep orange carrots, like treasure, always distracts him.
After the weekend, when they came to pick me up we spent a lot of the day snuggling. The time away was good, made all this sweeter and dulled the hard parts. I’m glad we had a good day. Mondays are usually my favorite, a time to regroup. But Monday morning brought with it a phone call. Jimmy was dead. I week after he meets his youngest son’s children for the first time, ‘Grandpa Jimmy’ dies in the bathroom of the flop house he has lived in in the Tenderloin for 15 years. Just like that.
For the past four days they’ve been going through his room. There were cats, so the urine is everywhere. This is what he told me: It was the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen, there were more syringes than he’s ever seen at once, that on every floor of the building there is a needle disposal box like they have in hospitals. That there was an unopened letter from a woman thanking Jimmy for being such a good friend, so kind, and for never asking for money or sex. There was a Thomas the Train book with a twenty dollar bill folded into the front page and several stickers from prescription drugs stuck to the last one. There were other notes from friends, thanking him for generosity, kindness, loyalty. There was a knife with a five inch blade stuck shut with dark, dried blood. A photo of his kids on his oldest sons wedding day. In the pocket of one pair of pants was his youngest sons phone number. One he called over a dozen times leaving disjointed messages over New Year’s, when we were out of town. He never left a number, he didn’t have a phone, he never called back.
The funeral was two weeks later, April 30th. First we stopped at the funeral home to pick him up. Jaya wore white gloves, I think they made him give them back afterward. In the parking lot, waiting for the coffin and watching the kids play in the back of a pick-up I had a giant deja-vu. Something about green grass, San Francisco mist and all that waiting. The kids barely made it through the stand up, sit down Catholic deal. Cai listened to a Little Bear audio book. Choco alternately chewed and spit out little chunks of sweet potato I doled out. Afterwards we went to Abuelita’s. No one has told her he is gone. 10 children and he is the fifth she outlives. The convalescent hospital is only blocks from the church where the service was held, but no one mentioned it but Jaya. His uncle has taken residence in Abuelita’s without skipping a beat. We packed up for home when the aunts began to take down her photos, there was nothing right about it.
Now we don’t talk about him anymore, not that we ever did much. Now he’s just a story to tell our kids. Your Grandpa Jimmy died when you two were 3 and almost 1. He met you the week before he died. Maybe that’s all he was waiting for. When he walked into the room that day he said, “Which ones are mine?!” We pointed them out but he was shy suddenly, kept his distance. He and I had met before but he was far more humble this time, maybe respectful of motherhood? Who knows. But he barely met my eyes. Only approached the children when the baby crawled into an empty room. He shyly followed him in and picked him up. I followed quietly with a camera and caught a few precious photos. Coaxed Cai into posing on the couch. Jaya had argued with me when I packed th camera. We’re both glad now I did.
Now we slide them into our album and look forward. Jaya, is literally fatherless now, but not much different than he’s ever been. I live in fear of his state. Remind myself to talk to my own dad, remind myself to tell him I love him and say a little prayer, that he might live long enough for me to be ready to let him go.
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