Walk On

Déjà vu kicked me in the nuts, hard, the third week in September. I was planning a solo Galveston trip, to spend some time by myself, for myself, something I had not done since Mom died last October. With the one year anniversary looming on the horizon (as well as October 10, which was (is?) her birthday,) I wanted my own brand of closure. To get my head right before October began, and to say good-bye in my own strange way.

My way was going to involve fire. I was seriously ready steady go, having gathered up a bag of shit --- small mementos, photos and notes that meant something to me. The plan was to burn (or destroy) these things on the beach in Galveston on the night of September 18. I was then going to cast them into the sea. My goofy ceremony should have happened on the 11th month anniversary of her death. It didn't though. Life happened instead.

Which is why I found myself in Houston instead of Galveston on September 18. I had arrived on September 16 to help my Dad. He couldn't walk. Spinal stenosis was the diagnosis, with three weeks laid up in his house. He had tried to rehab his back, but that is tough when you are a widower, and your only child lives 250 miles away. A bad situation made worse by the fact that his only hope of walking was spinal surgery that was hastily scheduled because of his pain for September 18. Fuck me.

The day before his surgery, I was helping him run errands when I asked, "Dad, does it bother you, that you are having major spinal surgery on the 18th of September?!?!" It didn't, he said, which was a good thing, because a few minutes later, a black cat ran across our path. Dad didn't even notice.

I did of course, and it filled me with dread. I didn't want to be there in the first place. Sure, I wanted to help my Dad. I love my Dad. But I had other plans for that week, and times like these, well being an only child sucks.

That anger though, was really just a cover. Something to keep me warm, because I was nervous about having to stay in that fucking house by myself when Dad was in the hospital. In fact, and a testament to how much can change in a year, The Elder Boy and I discussed my fear the night before I left. We were reading books before he went to sleep, when he asked, with a sense of empathy that made me proud, "Daddy...are you scared?"

"Yeah."

"Really?!?"

"Sure. Everyone gets scared, Bub. Even Daddy. I don't want to go. Not because I don't want to help Pops, I do, which is why I'm going even though I don't want to go...that's what is important. Even though I'm scared, or nervous, I'm still doing what I need to do."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are your nervous."

"Well...I guess of the unknown. Seeing how bad Pops really is with my own eyes. And...I don't want to stay in that house, by myself...thinking about that freaks Daddy out. And then, I don't like to be away from you, or Wy Wy, or Mommy. I miss you guys when I'm away, and I don't know how long I'll be gone."

That dread turned into reality on September 18, after a brutally long day at the hospital. There I was in Houston, in that fucking house alone, instead of on a Galveston beach burning shit, playing déjà Stu in my monkey brain. A year before, nearly to the day, I had been in Houston with my Grandma. Only on that trip, Mom was the one who couldn't walk. The damn dog died too. It was the last time my Grandma saw her daughter alive (which she wasted.)

I ended up sleeping on the sofa in front of the TV that first night. The noise helped some, still I couldn't forget how the year before, I had shaved, what was left of Mom's hair, as she sat on the same sofa. How that sofa was pushed away, to make room for the hospital bed. I watched her die in that bed. In that spot. It was creepy, being alone there.

In fact, the day before Dad's surgery while cleaning up, I noticed that all the pictures of Mom in the house were turned over, face down. Was it her ghost? It wasn't of course, it was something far more frightening. It was Dad.

The thought of my Dad trapped there, for weeks, hobbling around on crutches, unable to walk well enough to leave, with the photos, the memories, sucked. Hard. I can't imagine what it must have been like to be trapped in that fucking house as the days counted down to so many painful anniversaries. I had wanted to deal with all of that by going to Galveston, but Dad didn't have that option. That made me sad. Which is why, then and there, I decided to make the most of my time alone. I was going to look for Mom's necklace and charm.

You see Dear Reader, the one thing of Mom's that I truly wanted, more than anything else, after she died, was this old gold necklace and charm. It had originally belonged to Juan Carols Munoz. Juan had been an AFS exchange student from Colombia who lived with us in 1983-84. Juan's original host family, didn't work. I think they signed up for an AFS student to help their son be more popular which is a sad reason to invite someone into your home and be part of the family. Which is what Juan was to us, part of our family. After 9 months, in June 1984, when it was time for Juan to return home, he removed his gold necklace and charm (which had his name on one side, and a Cross on the other) and gave it to Mom. She wore it the rest of her life. Over 20 years. At some point, when she got really sick, she removed it.

After Mom died, Dad told me to take anything of Mom's that I wanted. I asked for that necklace. Only, we couldn't find it. Dad searched for months. Nothing. Finally, last December, with the help of My Lovely Bride, we cleaned out all of Mom's things before her memorial. I was sure we'd find it when we cleared out the back bedroom, which was the guest room of their house, and where Mom kept most of her stuff. We didn't. I'd resigned myself to the fact that the necklace like Mom, and Juan, were gone.

I hadn't seen or spoken to Juan since the summer of 1988. He had visited us while attending Boston College. Shortly after, Juan went back to Cali,Colombia and Mom and Dad moved to El Paso, Texas. I was in Norman, Oklahoma. Mom and Dad moved three more times in the next four years, and at some point, Juan's contact info was lost. Juan of course, had no idea that we had moved from Sand Springs, and only had that contact info. I've searched for Juan over the years. When the internet came into my life, and email, I thought for sure that I'd be able to find him. I didn't. I trolled websites, like classmates.com, the AFS site, bulletin boards, Colombian directories, emailed strangers with the same last name --- you name it, I tried it. I even enlisted the help of a co-worker who hailed from Medellín, Colombia. Nothing. Juan was as lost to me, as his old necklace.

I awoke early the morning after Dad's surgery, and my first restless night alone in that fucking house. Not wanting to be there, I decided to go work out at 24 Hour Fitness. To do this, I needed to change my clothes, so I went to the back bedroom which had all of my stuff. The back bedroom is odd, a combination guest bedroom and dumping ground for Dad to put shit he didn't want to deal with since he never went into that room. Most of things in that room, the furniture and photos are touchstones from my youth. The only things that represent home for me in that fucking house.

After I dressed, I stood for awhile, spaced out, having only slept four hours the night before. At some point, I mindlessly walked over to an old credenza, to look at a picture of myself with an iguana. On the same shelf, was a small crystal golf ball tchotcke, a pair of Mom's clip-on sunglasses, and a broken Timex watch. I picked the watch up, and looked at the band. Then, for reasons I can't begin to explain, I dropped the watch, and grabbed the upper part of the golf ball tchotcke, which unbeknown to me was the top. Smiling, because I knew what I was going to find, I opened it up and found a safety pin, paper clip and the gold necklace and charm.

Strange, after I found the necklace, I didn't really freak out and celebrate. I didn't even put it on and wear it.

Instead, I put it on a table in that back bedroom which is where it stayed. A few days later, on a friend's advice, and after getting Dad's permission, I took all the photos of my Mom and shut them up in the closet of that back bedroom. Even though I know, in my heart, it was the right thing to do, it felt strange doing it. Stranger still, when I packed my things to leave, I ended up putting the necklace, unceremoniously in a pill container. Which is where it stayed for the next week.

I wasn't ready to wear the necklace. I know that sounds gay, but it is true. I actually felt like I lost something, not found it. It was an odd feeling, and since deep introspection ain't that easy at my pad, especially after being gone for a week, I decided to let it go, and not worry about it. Instead, for the next week, I fell back into the comfort of my day to day routine.

Only, the feeling didn't go away. If anything, it grew stronger. I eventually came to the conclusion that what I felt was different. Like I had walked around a corner or through a door. I'm not even sure what that means, because it is more a feeling than something concrete --- but the thing is, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is that on Sunday, September 30, after being home a week, I decided it was as good of a time as any to put the necklace on and start wearing it.

The very next day, I received an email from Juan.

Since then, Juan and I have traded emails and photos, and caught up with each other lives the past 20 years. In my first reply, the one where I told him Mom died, I told the strange story of the necklace.

Juan's reply:
"So you got your necklace story, I've got mine. I recently went to a family reunion, and we were drinking, and I got very sentimental. I was telling Pili (his wife) that I felt very bad because I couldn't find you, that I didn't know about you, and I started to cry. Mattias and Miranda (his children, who are 4 and 7) see me, and ask me why I'm crying and so upset, so I sat them down and told them all about you, and the year I lived in Sand Springs. The next day Mattias was walking around saying, STTUUAARRRRRRT, he was practicing the 'RRR' sound. Last Saturday, before he went to soccer practice, he came up to me and said, 'Papi, why don't you just call STTUUAARRRRRRT', so today I was thinking about it all day long, And I decided to go to this website and I saw your message with your contact info. Life moves and uses different channels. Bueno hermano mio, no te imaginas lo feliz que estoy de haberte encontrado nuevamente. Un gradne abrazo para Carter..."

I've had some bizarre shit happen this past year. Synchronistic things. Stuff that makes you appreciate how funny life truly is.

It's like Douglas Adams said: "I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be."

I thought I'd find closure on the beach in Galveston the third week in September. Instead, I found it in that fucking house in Houston. Life is funny.

Until I BLOG again...Leave it behind.