Month: April 2017

It’s the beginning of December, about a month after the presidential election. I am heading to UCLA’s campus in Westwood to meet my friend Candace who I have been meeting with the last few weeks talking about ways to ignite the LA feminism scene and connect with like-minded individuals. We have just started working as part of the team of organizers for Women’s March LA. We are heading to the campus tonight to listen to our idol Gloria Steinem in conversation with activist/writer/director Jill Soloway. I arrive a few minutes early and decide to explore a bit, I head across the quad to the grandiose multi-floor library that’s bustling with students even at night. I picture myself going to school here, it seems so promising and full of opportunity, like what I imagine setting foot on an ivy league campus for young hopeful scholars must feel like. Little do I know, just months later what this campus will soon mean to me with my mom’s declining health. It will still have its sheen but will appear a more dull brushed silver than a once vibrant warm inviting gold.

I walk back to the hall where the talk is happening and find Candace. We walk into a foyer filled with young and old feminists alike- the room is buzzing. It reminds me of the energy before a concert everyone is excited to see, but slightly different. We take our seats and I glance around at the rest of the audience, mostly affluent white, middle aged women, sprinkled with progressive multi-race millennials eager to soak up knowledge like a sponge from one of their most worshipped demi-gods (although Gloria would completely contest that description). We eagerly wait for them to begin. Gloria and Jill come on stage and almost instantaneously enter into discussions about the election and what it means for our country and various marginalized groups. They both make a lot of insightful points and guide a directionless cathartic release seeking crowd like a goat does with a bell around its neck with a flock of sheep. After Gloria describes what the original Women’s Movement and Civil Rights Movements were like in the 60s and 70s, our problems now seem similar but slightly less real. A small part of me is thinking, “this just seems like something board white people found to complain about” but, as they start really getting into it, Jill talks about herself being a member of the LGBTQ community and how this new administration will basically devalue her entire existence as a human being. This strikes a chord deep within the ethos of my soul. The audience begins asking questions about spirituality, faith and how to not get burned out while being a full-time activist. Among many of the profound things Gloria has said over the course of this evening, she gives the advice that, “We are all looking for an end. We are promoting love and unity and solidarity, but it won’t be easy and it’s going to take a long time to reach that end.” She then describes the importance of “a means to an end,” that the journey is going to be long and hard to get to your goal, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make the best of it along the way. She said it exactly like this, “If your end is singing and dancing and love, there has to be singing and dancing and laughter along the way. That’s the only way to keep going.”

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Yesterday was Easter. I’ve never had much of an aversion to this holiday other than as a teen, I decided I would no longer go to church to celebrate the day’s true meaning as a celebration of the resurrection of Christ. I usually just associated the day with seeing my family and eating a lot of food and consuming copious amounts of chocolate and candy- pretty typical of most holidays for me.

This year, I counted down the days until the usually positive holiday like a ticking time bomb, knowing that in just a few days, we would pass the marker of my mom having been in the hospital for two straight months without a successful lung transplant surgery. I had spent the last few days in Indio for Coachella. I went to work and “escape” my realities in the desert. I was really stressed the days before leaving, and getting there was a nightmare, but that mostly melted away when I arrived. The only thing that didn’t leave me, was the tension in my neck and shoulders and a knot in my stomach that I have been suppressing nearly every day for the past two months. On Friday I worked an event all day and the stomach pains were replaced with the slight buzz I was feeling from the mix of free tequila from the open bar and slight dehydration from the dry desert sun. We left the estate where the party was just before golden hour. Driving down the stretch of open dusty road back to where we were staying, the sun hit the groves of 100s of date palms like a warm soft embrace. The outlines of spikey palm fronds illuminated brilliantly with Mother Nature’s gift of sun. We pulled over to try to capture the setting sun that was quickly approaching the horizon line, but it was impossible to capture what we were seeing through an iPhone lens. I stood and took it in for a minute or two and that was enough to give me a feeling I hadn’t felt for weeks. In that moment, I forgot about the tightness in my muscles and the aching of my sad heart and drew a breath in- just living in the moment and feeling free.

Fast forward to Saturday night, the anxious feelings that cause the tightening and stomach pain engulfed me. I wanted to get home in time to see my mom in the hospital on Sunday and spend time with my family. Something way too precious to waste at this time. We are such a tightly knit 4 piece unit that we knew how un-normal this day was undoubtably going to feel, we all were reluctant. My mom kept expressing how unimportant it was that I came and saw her on Easter, insisting I stay and “have fun” all the while I knew that holidays are some of the biggest joys for her in life. I made it back to LA late Saturday night and woke up the next morning to call my dad and make plans. My dad and sister came and scooped me up and we headed to UCLA. We arrived at the hospital to check in and there were way more visitors than usual. Entire families coming to visit their ill incarcerated loved ones. These are the type of “fair weathered” family members who only show up to visit on select days like national holidays because they are forced or feel guilty. We sat and talked as a family for a while, my mom so out of it at first we couldn’t even have a conversation. But we’ve been dealing with this long enough to be conditioned on how to act while there. Talk to her and give her positive tidbits of the outside world, and just act as if everything’s okay. After talking for a while and receiving several different medications, mom was ready to go on a walk. Something that is quite a production seeing as she needs both a respiratory therapist and at least one nurse to help push and pull the machines that are connected to her to keep her going. We walked as a family through the lobby past overly curious visitors that aren’t so conditioned as to how to behave when in the ICU unit. Sarah mumbled to me how angry it made her that people were staring at my mom like she was some kind of circus oddity. It bothered me too. After the walk, we talked to the nurse and stressed the importance of washing my mom’s hair- something they don’t usually do in the ICU. After some convincing, the nurse and I figured out how to position my mom over the sink, covering all her lines with towels as it is vital not to get anything wet. We filled up containers of water, I put on blue latex gloves as my dad reached over to help role up the sleeves of my 60s-inspired bell sleeved dress. I had the nurse step aside as I massaged mom’s scalp with shampoo and showed him how to rinse the ends delicately. I joked and said we should get our cosmetology license to have on the side. We finished, I wrapped her hair carefully in a turban just as she had taught me so many years ago when she used to have to practically pry me from the bath tub, and we walked her over to the chair where Sarah was waiting to blow dry her hair. She and I both carefully combed through mom’s hair and continued to ask if it was too hot. She said it was fine and I noticed her beaming and caressing her ends saying how great it felt to have clean hair. Imagine that, a luxury to be washing your hair. While we were doing that, dad was sitting watching and telling her about how they had just taken the dog to the groomers as well. We all chuckled. Finally we went to leave and everything didn’t feel as bad as when we had arrived. It felt like a positive means to an end.

After leaving the hospital, we went to dinner at a tiny Thai restaurant with my dad and sister (we never spend time together us three) and I saw both of them smile and really enjoy each other’s company which was enough to make the day worthy of the description of the word “holiday” in itself. I was reminded of how well-read and interesting my dad is when he described how his latest interest is in visiting Mayan ruins in the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico. Sarah and I watched him become animated and excited, which is a side I don’t often get to see of him now a days. We all bonded over the delicious food and fondly remembered shared memories. But never once did we dwell on the fact that we weren’t having the “traditional” homemade family dinner we usually do on holidays. Last night represented the beginning of a new chapter for our family and the way we operate. It symbolized our closeness and resilience and our ability to confide in one another- something all of us I know are thankful for. I know the weeks and months ahead will be difficult and I have absolutely no idea what’s in store. I think the biggest difficulty for me is the absence of being able to feel in control. But for now I am grateful for an imperfect day and what it means to have a family that will be there no matter what.

You know the part of rom drams (romanic dramas) usually about halfway through when a time lapse happens and there’s a montage of scenes set to the tune of a melancholy blusey ballad? Lately, I see myself in that setting a lot. Like the period of time when a voice like Etta James is belting verses straight from the heart and the plot of the story could either go really great or really bad- you don’t know until it happens.

Today, I went to visit my mom in the hospital after not having done so for a week. I felt guilty for not going, mainly because she has had a cold and they haven’t been really allowing visitors, but I’ve been throwing myself into work and projects head on. Feeling that if I burry myself deeper into work, the reality of the situation will be a little numbed. It’s funny because, just two weeks ago, I felt there was no way I could go back to work. And now here I am, and it’s the only thing I am doing. There seems to be no happy medium.

When I first arrived at the hospital, the conversation with my mom was light and immediately I realized how much I needed to actually talk to her, and I felt tears well up in my eyes. My chest tightening and my soul feeling too fatigued to actually cry like I felt I needed to. I told her about how our family is struggling “on the outside.” And I watched her feel broken and helpless as I described how our tight-knit tribe was starting to sluggishly succumb to the harsh realties of depression and life without her on a daily basis. Our dog Nina, who’s sole purpose has been to stay at my mom’s side for the past five years, cries out for her and the longing in her eyes is enough to break your heart. My mom makes this face when I give her information like that, her lips purse, her breathing quickens and she looks like she wants to say something but always waits a long while before answering with something like “I can’t do much from the hospital, now can I?” in a hasty tone filled with hurt and guilt. I don’t mean to upset her, I just need to confide in the one person I am always able to talk to no matter what.

I then realize, I need to lighten the conversation after watching her big chocolate eyes cloud with sadness- something I don’t want to inflict on her as I know she’s already having such a hard time. I go to something that I know will make her happy. I tell her about the hike my sister and I went on this weekend in a park near my parent’s home in Ventura and how gorgeous and vibrant the wildflowers were. I described the bright yellow mustard flowers that towered an entire foot over my 5’8″ frame, and the sound of the endangered honey bees buzzing around happily doing their work pollinating the flowers like they have done for so long. I even told her about me spotting a rattle snake in the grass only about a foot away from my bare ankles. And then I described the story of how, after we finished the hike and walked back into the park, we spent about an hour helping a young single mother set up her son’s first birthday party. While we were struggling to set up a volleyball net, another stranger came up and asked if we needed help. Together, we figured out how to attach ropes to stakes in the ground so the net wouldn’t blow away in the light spring wind, while her preteen daughter held the smiling baby and their tiny white dog planted kisses on his chubby cheeks. As my sister and I went to leave, the young mother profusely thanking us, I watched the two parties of the strangers come together and introduce themselves and join celebrations. When I finished telling my mom this story, a smile crept up on her face and she told me, “people really are good. I believe that people are really good and willing to help each other when given the chance.”

We paused for a moment in that glimmer of warm happiness. She said, “I haven’t even been out of this hospital room in 6 days” (she hasn’t been able to go on her daily walks around the unit since catching a cold). As the mood began to change and the moment slipped away, her eyes suddenly flickered and she was calling a nurse to remind her to send a RT (respiratory therapist) so she could do one of the tests she needed for the day. I am so amazed (and thankful) for how sharp her mind is and how many different things she is able to think about at once- definitely a superpower you gain during motherhood. Her medication schedule is a full-time job in itself and she keeps track of it with such dedication (frankly better than some of the nurses). After a few minutes, an RT arrived. He was a very large black man with a friendly face- the kind you just know is an excellent family man and someone you’d want to have on your side. I glanced down and noticed a bejeweled name tag hanging from the pocket on his chest. He began to set up my mom’s breathing test and I asked him a string of questions, “what was the mediation?” “what was it for?” etc. I’ve always been curious, and this situation is no exception. I then began to say that she needs to nip this cold in the but (because as long as she has a cold, her status on the lung-transplant list is on hold). The RT looked at me suddenly serious and in an unshakable tone said, “Your mom is a fighter. Your mom is a fighter and she is going to get through this.” I looked at him and believed it with every fiber of my being. I wanted to hug him, but didn’t feel that was appropriate. He then said under his breath, “but you know that.” And I do.

I left as she was finishing up her breathing test, as I noticed the sun was setting and I didn’t want to walk to my car in the dark. I walked back down the long recently-shined linoleum hallway to the elevators and went to the front desk to validate my parking. I stood next to a chipper couple carrying drinks in a drink carrier and ready for a “fun” hospital visit. I envied their layer of visible strength and “we can take on anything attitude” (that had been me months ago) and the energy of one another they had to work off of. I now felt weighed down by the countless visits and trying days- even though I was working really damn hard to get back to their level of umph where I once was. I looked at them and managed to spread a small grin across my lips. I turned on my heel to leave through the automatic glass doors of the hospital and was greeted with a chilly shrill gust of wind, as if to remind me of how alone I felt. It was that time just before the sunset when the sun is low in the sky and passing through the clouds and the warm orange of the sun competes with the closing in grey of the night. I look to the right and notice all the towering hospital buildings are grey- growing taller with every step I take, the sidewalk is grey, the parking structure that I loathe it grey. The only color in sight are a flock of orange and lavender bird of paradise flowers that even look muted because of the surrounding grey.

I’m walking but to the tune of a longing blues voice in my head. I’m present but fighting back tears, as I enter the parking garage, mostly unaware of where I am, I feel something abruptly hit my arm, I fear it’s a hand dragging me back into the hospital, but realize it’s gate of the parking kiosk. I can’t really tell if it hurts or it just startled me. I look up, now more slightly in touch with where I am and I notice a woman staring at me, having seen what just took place. I start laugh crying and she just looks at me bewildered with her mouth slightly agape- her expression completely blank. I make my way to my car, get inside and start trying to sob but it doesn’t feel real, I look down at my phone and have a text from my sister that says “thanks for going to see mom.” Just seeing that immediately makes me feel like things will be okay, because I am not alone.