A Day in the Life

One of my favorite songs, “A Day In The Life” by the Beatles, came to mind when thinking of a title for this column, which wasn’t the original post I had intended for today, but the events of the past 24 hours (Monday August 29th – Tuesday August 30th) kind of dictated what I should write about.

I had decided that it was time to head back to Portland, for several reasons. I had hoped that I’d be able to find steady work and be able to stay in Los Angeles long term but unfortunately it didn’t work out. I love living in Los Angeles and all my friends there mean the world to me. The socializing stuff is fun but what means the most to me are the friendships and getting a chance to spend time with people I care about that. I will miss that most of all. But there are some personal issues which I need to deal with in Portland and right now that is my main concern. This past month has been miserable because of what’s been going on with my family and the huge void that now exists with certain people no longer in my life. I need to deal with that if I have any hope of finding some degree of peace and happiness in my life. So I decided to go back to Portland on Monday the 29th.

After I loaded my car Monday evening I was treated to a fabulous home cooked meal from Morgan Bailey. Who knew she was also an amazing cook! We sat in the backyard with Buddy Wood at his house and enjoyed a delicious meal of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas, with lemon pound cake for dessert. It was one of those special moments that was perfect in every way and you wish it didn’t have to end; sharing a good meal outside in a perfect Southern California evening with friends. Morgan is someone who is near and dear to my heart and it’s difficult to find the words to describe how much she means to me. She is such a kind and caring person and her friendship means the world to me.

I set out with a full tummy and a heavy heart as I started my drive north, and immediately got stuck in a giant mess of bumper to bumper traffic creeping along for well over an hour. Ugh. Traffic finally started moving and I made it to Sacramento later that night and stopped to get gas and check my phone messages. I remember thinking as I was getting ready to leave that maybe I should avoid checking my phone during the drive in case there was bad news, so maybe I had a premonition of what was to come.

I saw I had several texts from my sister and my oldest son, and I knew immediately what that meant; my father had passed away. Even though we all knew it was coming it was still a shock; I don’t think you can ever be prepared for death. Through the years my sister and I had discussed how we would handle it when our father passed away, given that we’ve never been close to him and all the emotions that have accumulated over a lifetime; disappointment, frustration, anger, hurt, and yes, even love for him. But no matter how much you much you talk death and think you’re ready for it you can never be fully prepared for it when it happens.

I knew I couldn’t allow myself to think about it at that moment, otherwise I’d break down crying and never make it to Portland, so I forced myself to get back on the road and focus on driving. Even though I was at a gas station literally right around the corner from the freeway I somehow got lost several times just trying to get back on the freeway, which nearly caused me to lose it, but I finally managed to get headed in the right direction. It took every ounce of grim determination I had to get through that night without falling apart, and it was the longest and most miserable drive I can remember. I drove from Los Angeles to Portland only stopping three times but it seemed like it was twice as many miles and took forever to get there. I lost track of how many hours I was on the road, and I was running on fumes when I finally pulled into Portland. It took another 30 minutes of unloading the car before I could finally collapse and start dealing with everything. I showered, ate something, and then laid down and cried until I fell asleep. I woke a while later feeling every muscle in my body aching and feeling every bit as old as my 54 years.

This is first time I’ve had to deal with the loss of someone close to me, and it’s hard. I always wondered if his death would be easier or harder because of the distance between us and all the unresolved issues, and I can now say it makes it more difficult. Death is so final. It will take time for me to process all this and sort through all the emotions; there are times when I’m okay and other times when it hurts and I cry. But time heals all wounds.

Later in the afternoon after my nap I was finally able to talk with my youngest son, and we began the healing process. I’ve decided that from now on I’m going to be a bit less open about discussing my immediate family on social media and to show more respect for their privacy, which I should have done from the beginning. I will leave it at that except to say that a lot of progress was made today and a huge burden has been lifted from my heart. For the first time in over a month, I can finally breath. I think we’re going to be okay.

This has been the longest 24 hours of my life and I am beyond exhausted, so now I’m going to crawl in bed and get some much needed sleep. Tomorrow is a new day and it’s time to get back to living my life. I’d like to think that my father’s death will result in some good things, such as helping to reunite our family. His death has given me a new perspective and makes me realize that life is too short to spend it being angry or estranged from the people I care about. Life is all about the relationships of the people we care about, whether they be family, friends, or whoever. Those relationships are the thing I values the most in my life and I want to make sure I give them the time and attention they deserve so they thrive, because if those relations are strong and healthy then I will be strong and healthy, and happy.

Goodnight. Rest in peace dad.