LosANNEgeles LinK

ATTENTION FOLLOWERS!!!

2009-10-26T13:08:00.000-07:00

Hi all! I'm back to blogging! But this time - it's a blend of life/Dad stories, intertwined with my passion for cookie baking!!! complete with recipes! so please head over to my couch. www.cookiecouch.blogspot.com

Enjoy!!!!

love, Anne

Signing Off

2009-08-17T10:47:00.001-07:00

I'm not going to blog anymore. There's lots to say, but it's too hard for me to explain and share now. You can't get a ticket for this roller coaster by reading my thoughts -you can see the crazy ups and downs - but my Mom and I are the only passengers experiencing the ride. It doesn't make a difference if I tell about it or not, it's still the same roller coaster ride, just more people watching me get nauseous on it.

Perhaps I will write again when it strikes me as share-worthy, or perhaps I'll shift topics completely and see if my life has something else to speak to other than my father. After all, this is called "losANNEgeles link," not "My Brain-Damaged Dad," as it probably should have been titled.

Thank you for the love, thoughts, and encouragement, and for silently sharing in this journey with me.

Anne

Take Me Away

2009-08-08T14:37:00.001-07:00

Life sucks and that's about it. I'm over it - send me on a trip far far away and let me get some space. done and done. give me back hope, love, and patience. that's all I ask, cause as of now I'm 100% tapped out of those resources.

I get random responses from these blogs I write from you all -- they confuse me in the end. I feel guilty for not sharing with you and then sometimes I feel guilty for sharing too much. but I don't know what's worse or better, if you know the truth or just a subtle glimpse of it. so I'll keep more private and I'll share when we're both ready for me to. many thanks for all the support and love.

Over It

2009-07-28T20:46:00.000-07:00

There's a lot I'm sick of in this whole situation. It occurred to me, if a year ago when Dad was in a comatose/vegatative state, that if I had known that a year later, today, he would choose the same way of life - maybe it would have been smarter to leave him there than sing to him every night and will him back to life for me. Because today, he might as well be in a coma again. He won't budge off the couch, he won't budge out of bed, he does make his way to another destination in the house only to lie down and be pathetic again. It's absolutely hideous. He's had no outing today. I left him to lie on the couch while Adela cleaned the house - I had work to do. I had to try and form some semblance of a life/job for myself and went and coached kids in a production of 'High School Musical 2.' Very fullfilling. I'm being sarcastic but I have to say it did fulfill me for 4 hours of the day. I got out - I put my teaching skills and enthusiasm to the test, I got kids to learn choreography and be fabulous at it, and I fulfilled a purpose for the day other than caretaker. Nice work, Anne. And then I came home to the pathetic lump on the couch. I will repeatedly ask myself and my father, WHY DID YOU CHOOSE TO WAKE UP when he has now made it abundantly clear that he prefers sleeping all day and closing us out of his life. Well I wouldn't let him today, and I won't any day, it's just the time and place within the day that I decide to put up the fight. And this afternoon, I made it his job that we were going to walk the dogs to the corner. THE CORNER. Not to the stream nearby, not around the block, not down the street, but the corner. And that was a feat. Dad has scars on his arm to prove it, I have bruises on mine. But I pulled the big guns out today and went all Annie Sullivan on his Hellen Keller ass and with force, succeeded to get him out the door, leash + dog in hand, and up to the corner. His one outing of the day. He bitched and moaned all the way through. Example: "I can't.... it's cold, I have nothing on my arms." me: "it's fucking 105 degrees out, Dad you'll be fine." Dad: "I need a jacket." me: "fine - you hold the dogs I'll get you a jacket, we're going to the corner." then throughout the twenty-five foot jaunt to the corner: Dad: "I'm turning around, why am I doing this, I'm going back." me: "Dad - you used to walk 15 miles around this neighborhood and you can't get your sorry ass to the corner?! walk!!! we're going! it's your only obligation for today. you've laid on the couch ALL DAY. you're walking to the corner." Dad: "no I'm not." Me: "yes you are!" then some pushing ensued. Me: "don't you dare push me in public. I'll back off if you can prove to me you can walk the dog five more feet to the corner." He picks up the pace. We make it to the corner. Me: "good!!!! look at that! you did it! you're amazing! we can go home now." I turn my back to him and prance back towards the house. done and done. his one obligation for the day fulfilled. And believe you me I left out a good chunk of juicy details and 23 minutes worth of pushing, pinching, scratching, spitting to get him out the door to the corner. But I succeeded. And my father can say he did something for his day. I don't care about the physical shit -- he knows he's capable of more, he woke up from an impossible coma after all, he came back from the dead -- he can walk to the corner if I have to get some battle scars from it.

He's now out on walk #2 of the day with Mom. We had a pleasant dinner on the patio -- fried chicken, music, vino. He loosened up and didn't let this morose, pathetic state of being get the best of him. And by loosened up I mean didn't cop out behind being asleep the entire time nor did he whine like a 2 year old. He ate, he hummed to the music, and when Mom suggested a walk with the dogs, he cleared the dinner plates and went to get the leashes. Success and contentment for a good 50 minutes. The evenings are always better. It must feel more routine, normal and natural. As opposed to the mornings where he doesn't know why he's getting his ass out of bed and it's so ridiculously slow and sad and tedious. I tried a new tactic this morning and played into his baby-ness. "awww Daddy, aww you're so sleepy. I'm so sorry. You have to get up and put your clothes on! oh you can't? here okay, I'll help you." and I stick his feet into his shorts while he lies in the fetal position on the bed in his bathrobe. "come on, Daddy! you can put your shorts on the rest of the way." He keep his eyes tightly shut and kicks the shorts off his ankles. "okay. I'll let you do it yourself." I say in my most babying voice possible. "You get dressed Daddy and I'll go fix your bottle -- uh bagel. did I say bottle? I meant bagel." And I left. And no doubt, 10 minutes later, he came downstairs, fully dressed.

I don't know what the point of this blog is but I feel you deserved some detail and perspective. Welcome to the daily life of David. Ta-da!!!!!!!!

Fullfillment

2009-07-23T22:18:00.001-07:00

I felt fulfilled today, in my life, for the first time since before my Dad's incident. And it had nothing to do with him. I felt extremely proud, I felt complete in my soul, I felt happy, loved, and successful. And again, it had nothing to do with him. It had nothing to do with being the dutiful daughter, or the free-time caretaker, it had to do with me and my skills alone. Today marked the end of camp at the Theatricum - a five week long drama camp, that takes place just three days a week. I don't know how else to go into it but to just say that I had THE BEST group of 17 eight and nine year olds one could imagine. But I know that they were only the best to me because I set the tone 5 weeks ago, and I extracted every ounce of positive energy and excitement, and creativity and playfulness, that has been buried underneath this fortress of strength I've created around me for the past year. I led a successful group of campers into feeling proud about their play, having fun and making new friends, taking risks they didn't think they'd take. I have a stack of paper cards with marker scribbles of "I love you Anne!!! You're the best teacher I ever had! Thank you for always being so fun!" After being a camp counselor on and off for the past decade, I can honestly say I've never left a group of campers at the end of the summer feeling quite so proud and with a sense of completion - like I did my job to make these kids more confident, happy, and open their eyes to something special. okay I realize this is getting cheesy and redundant, but what's pivotal is that I'm so afraid of losing this day and this feeling. When I hugged my campers today for the last time, (I got them in a big huddle on the stage) and I looked at them and I thanked them for all they did for me this summer - for filling three days of the week with their cheeriness, their positive energy and fearlessness, their friendliness and compassion for everyone in the group and for me. I told them they have no idea how much they meant to me on a daily basis. And I started to cry, and they all looked around the circle, smiling curiously with their own pride - knowing they gave something back to me. Because they have no idea what I come home to, and what I leave in the morning. And no idea how their smiles and carefree hugs mean so much more to me.

Then it hit me like the wind being knocked out of me. What will I do with myself now? This was the one thing to call my own for a brief while - and it fulfilled me so happily. Now it's over - and I'm left truly wondering what is next. My life, just like my Dad's in a way is a big open oasis. What will we do with our time?? My success with these kids got me thinking all sorts of other things... should I give up acting/writing and go teach first grade?? Or maybe I could fuse all this recent personal experience and become a speech therapist for kids. New thoughts just start snowballing. And then I think, but where's the time to do this, and when will I have it?

Then another blow to the chest came while I was taking Jenny on a brisk hike to blow of the steam that was created from Dad when I got home. (Upon arriving from my amazing, successful day, Dad proceeded with his usual completely ignorant bullshit tired-routine and didn't move a muscle or look up to regard my cheery hello. Fuck you I casually tossed back to him and grabbed the leash and bolted out the door.) Then a thought like I've never had before hit me hard and shocked the breath out of me swiftly. -- I loved these kids so much, and they loved me... I'm gonna be a good mom one day.... if I do ever have a kid, they'll never know my Daddy.

Separation

2009-07-14T17:29:00.000-07:00

How interesting it is to be living away and alone for a mere 5 days in this facilitated escape from reality. I'm feeling a touch lonely, a touch anxious, a touch disconnected. My immediate companions are my amazing dog-cousins Stogie and Dunkleman. Thanks to Uncle Bob and Marianne's Hawaii vacation, I get a little escape in their Encino abode. And it feels wonderful and unusual all at the same time. It's been a year since I've lived truly alone -- on an average Tuesday night in this day and age I would probably have the same amount of nothing to do except Dad would be in the next room bored and waiting for me to upstart some activity. Hmmm... do I miss him? I don't know. If anything, the separation makes me miss my real Dad, and realize how I long for him without recognizing it, and how long I've been without him, and how I never have grieved nor will I ever in the near future. And I feel bad that Mom is stuck at home these 3 days with the mad-Dad and she's insisting I give myself a break away and I feel a little guilty and bad that I'm not helping and that she has no break. But I digress... this whole "missing" thing is a double-edged sword. No - I don't miss my home life right now, it churns my stomach to think what daily life is really like at home. And then I think... I do miss my mad-Dad I guess, but does he miss me? Is his mind wondering where I am right now? And why I haven't been home? Has he asked for me (Robin) lately? I'm pretty damn sure he hasn't asked for Annie. But if he doesn't miss me... why should I spend time missing him with all I give and sacrifice for him already? I should enjoy this house to myself, these endless loving labradors who are by my side every second, and the freedom to do whatever I want and waste the night away.

In truth, it feels too peaceful and quite incomplete on so many levels.

******31 Minutes later*******

Just got off the phone with my crying Mom and my suprisingly perky Poppa. Mom handed him the phone, and I get a cheery "Hey!!! What's happenin?!" It's like a deflated balloon inside my soul was swiftly inflated with helium. "Hi, Daddy! I'm good. How are you??" I say. "We're doing good... where are you?" he replies. "I'm housitting for Uncle Bob in Encino." "ohh!! You're not too far away." he says happily. :) And the rest of the conversation ensued in cheerful obvliousness on his part and loving satisfaction on mine. He was happy to talk to me. He said he missed me. And me being away and out of the house -- that's normal to him. And most of all, he said, "Love you" first - before hanging up the phone. So I could reply, "I love you too." He's there. I brought him out of his depressed, brain-damaged funk for 5 mintues. I sort of just want to hug him now.

Another 4th of July

2009-07-04T21:20:00.000-07:00

This is now the second year in a row I've missed fireworks on 4th of July. I can hear them outside my window right now. Big. Crackly. Booming. I guess what makes this year different is that I'm missing them by choice. I'm not sitting in the dark depression of the Coronary Care Unit watching my father flail about in his hospital bed, breaking out in fevers and spitting and spewing and sweating and moaning while his eyes stared blankly into space with no reaction or connection. These were the most hideous days. The in between days of Coma-to-Awake where the "Persistent Vegetable" that he was moved and thrashed and sweated and moaned and then lay still and then did it all over again while nurses, my Mom, and myself were changing sheets and pillows every 5 minutes and then moving his massive body back to the center of the bed only for it to move and thrash minutes later and almost fall out again. Oh god those were some days. I remember so many little disgusting details when I put my mind to it. Like the sea-foam green little swabby sponges that the nurses used to swab the icky, crusty, saliva buildup out of his mouth - and how if a nurse hadn't come around for a while I'd get in there with the sea-foam sponge myself. I remember it was on 4th of July that they switched us out of the fancy new SICU (surgical intensive care unit), which was clean and beautiful with amazing attentive nurses and back to the dirty old CCU with Alice-the-inept RN who spoke no lick of English in any audible tone. Ugh that was so awful -- and it was 3 days there before we got moved back to the beautiful new wing of Glendale Adventist and into the environment that became the turning point in this journey. The Neuro Telemetry Unit. Room 101. Where Dad woke up 4 days later in the loving care of the best nurses in the world.

Wow - this world is so much more livable now that everyday I think about where I was a year ago. I guess that'll change come August 27th when Dad was discharged and the spiraling journey of therapy took off. July 4th was also the day I started writing it all down in my red journal. It took me a week before I could put the experience on paper - because that of course would make it real, and permanent. I was waiting to actually believe this fate was happening before I could write about it, and that it wasn't really just my worst nightmare. And when I didn't wake up, and I knew I was already awake, in that moment - I decided to write it down. Every doctor's conversation is documented, every new moment, every new awakening, Dad's first scribble, his first signature, newspaper clippings from when the Dodgers signed Manny, hospital bracelets, business cards, random notes... it's quite a collection to behold. I can't crack it open yet - it's still fresh enough in my mind. But I will when I'm ready - and I plan to recreate it for you all to take part in - one day, in some way shape or form.

Though I've now officially missed the fireworks, today was a sparkling, lovely, day. We took Dad to the boat. We saw all of his friends, there were hugs and tears and so much love. He walked up and down the docks, taking this familiar, fun environment in. He took a dinghy ride or two, and ate about 4 hot dogs off the grill. Melvin even came to see all the boat buddies. It was truly a blast, for all of us involved. The boat - where we spent almost every 4th of July, on the water, partaking in the super-soaker battles and watching the dinghy boats parade in red white and blue decorations, then seeing the fireworks blast off the queen mary from the dock - we were able to be back there today, despite everything we're lacking now, we were able to return. It'll never be the same. But it's better than the CCU.

Man in the Mirror

2009-06-25T22:33:00.000-07:00

Exactly one year ago tomorrow, my Dad suffered from cardiac arrest. Today, Michael Jackson did. Only difference is, Jackson died. ("Cardiac arrest" quickly turns into "cardiac death" after approximately 10 minutes in most cases... read on.) I sort of can't believe it. The first real legend of my generation is gone. And personally, it strikes a weird cord. His death would sadden me regardless; after countless memories of watching 'Moonwalker' throughout my childhood, and being 16 years old blasting 'Man in the Mirror' and singing at the top of my lungs behind the wheel of my white ford explorer, even just a couple weeks ago - I popped my own MJ mix into my car system and rocked out to 'Black or White' with friends on the freeway. But with this event ushering in the anniversary of my father's own cardiac death, it oddly takes some of the sting away. I've been anticipating this date all week... all year I guess, but particularly fearing it this month, and I guess, cheesy enough, Michael Jackson's death in this capacity is the universe's way of reminding me that indeed, "You are not alone"...

According to this informative Q&A for those seeking more verification on Michael's death:

Q: What might have happened in Jackson's case?

A: Jackson most likely had ventricular fibrillation, an electrical disturbance of the heart that occurs when the heart begins beating 400 to 500 times a minute — much more than the normal 70 to 75 beats, says Douglas Zipes, emeritus professor at Indiana University School of Medicine and former president of the American College of Cardiology. (sounds familiar)

"When you look at the heart in ventricular fibrillation, it looks like a bag of squiggly worms," Zipes says. "The contractions are totally ineffective. ... Therefore, no blood is pumped to the brain, causing him to black out.

Q: What can you do for someone in cardiac arrest?

A: Sudden cardiac death occurs within minutes unless someone gets the heart working again, either through CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) or with a defibrillator, which uses an electrical shock to get the heart pumping correctly.

Brain death begins in just four to six minutes, so restarting the heart quickly is vital, the American Heart Association says. (wow... Dad was already gone in just 4-6 minutes... who knew...)

CPR can buy patients time until they can be shocked with a defibrillator, says Abhi Mehrotra, assistant professor of emergency medicine at UNC-Chapel Hill. By compressing the chest, rescuers circulate blood and get oxygen to vital organs such as the brain.

A victim's chances of survival go down 7% to 10% every minute that passes without CPR and defibrillation. Few people are revived after 10 minutes, the heart association says. (just 10 minutes?? try 13.)

According to a fact I overheard on the news, 5% of people survive a sudden cardiac arrest. Just 5%. I wonder what the reaction would be like if Michael had made that 5% cut like my Dad did. If he lived the next few years of his life in a wash of memories and confusion, all in the public eye. As if the poor superstar didn't receive enough media criticism and lunacy already. Hmm, at the end of the day he'll be remembered for the amazing legend he was... quite a blessing I guess.

I don't know what's worse... that my Dad is here today, to cuss at me and call me by the wrong name, or that because he surpassed those 10 minutes, his legend as being the best father and man in the world is slightly tainted and diminished, rubbed away with each passing day. No no, the man he was will always remain with me - ALWAYS - but it's hard to keep that legend present amidst the reality of today. I wonder what man he sees when he looks in the mirror tomorrow morning... maybe a little bit of the legend he was a year ago, mixed with the madness of a man he feels today. I don't really know... I still can't really tell.

R.I.P M.J -- I'll miss you too.

Pinch Me

2009-06-20T01:35:00.000-07:00

Everything's coming full circle. All of the sudden I feel like we're rushing into this huge, scary abyss where this past year will become more of a reality and life as I knew it before was a sweet, happy, dream scenario. I can't handle that Father's day is now a day away. Last years is still so so fresh and palpable. I remember deciding to join Dad at the boat that Saturday, last minute, on my way back from the theatre in Topanga. And turning left to head to the valley and back to my apartment, than chatting briefly on the phone with Dad and thinking - ya know, fuck it - it's father's day weekend - there's nothing holding me back from being with him, I'll head to the boat. And I whip my Prius around on Topanga canyon and head to PCH and onto Long Beach. Where we promptly hopped in the dinghy - just Dad, me and the dogs (Melvin and... Margot), two beers in hand and two in the boat, and we set off for a Dad/Daughter dinghy cruise in the afternoon. wow - it feels so real to think about, so available... but so distant at the same time.

Anyway, upon returning to the boat from our cruise, Mom arrived - and somewhere in the mix Margot ran away. To which I went screaming up and down the bike path, "MARGOT!!!! MARGOT!!!" and the drunks down the dock would shout back, "POLO!!!!!" (( yes - this story works much better in person. )) and meanwhile Dad is truly panicking for he LOVED this stupid dog to death. I finally see her all the way at the beach and I scream, "MARGOT! GET OVER HERE!" I scoop her up in my arms and walk back towards our dock. I hear the drunks yell, "OHHH Margot's the DOG!" and my Dad comes rushing towards me, and I drop the canine into his arms and say, "happy Father's Day."

I spent the night on the boat that night, and we all went out to breakfast the next morning. Very mellow, nothing special. In fact it just felt a little bit eerie. Dad didn't order his usual biscuit and gravy because he was trying to be healthy and good. I thought he'd make an allowance for himself on Father's day of all days but no, he was trying to get healthy. Damnit, Dad you should have just had the biscuit and gravy loaded with lard.

And now here we are today - 1 day away from Father's day, 7 away from the one year anniversary. And in this one day today, Dad completed his term at CNS. (or insurance completed it for him granting us no more coverage and promptly leaving the rest of his days and future open and free.) So the folks at the clinic gave him a little celebration - there was a cake (red velvet), and a certificate, and a present - the game 'Sequence'. there were hugs and lots of tears on behalf of my parents. I felt sort of apathetic about it all. CNS didn't fulfill it's expectations for me; not in Encino, and definitely not in Bakersfield. If anything it dramatically burst my bubble of hope for my father's recovery. and it's almost like he's more dead now than ever and extremely far from healed. I remember when we first started at CNS, there was a graduation day for another client. And that client gave a speech, and thanked the therapists for helping them on this journey and for everything they did for their recovery. And the client apologized for the difficult times and the bitching and refusing they did in the beginning. But ultimately thanked them for making them a better person and giving them a quality of life. I remember standing there, so excited, imagining what Dad's speech would sound like when his day was done there and he could thank the therapists for helping him heal and come back to life. He couldn't give a speech today, there was no understanding of the significance. There was some understanding due to the attention around him... but the details of it all, of course not. Dad wandered around the room and up and down the hall, crying and emoting and probably feeling incredibly overwhelmed and confused and insecure. Mom gave a teary speech, and all Dad could do was add on to it with a brief but genuine, "yeah... thanks." Then he blew his nose and motioned to me to get out of there.

So we left in 2 cars - and I promptly had to race back to Toluca Lake to office #1, grab 2 tapes and then head to Dad's previous office, and proceed to fix an edit for a client. These were the offices I would visit Dad at in the past, at least once a week. I would race up the stairs to my Dad's lair and pop my head around the corner - then poke around on his desk or at another computer before he took me to lunch or happy hour or something fun like that. But today I raced up those stairs to sit down and supervise an edit in his old edit bay, filling his shoes, while he was on his way home with my Mom - riding in the passenger seat with his CNS Brain rehab certificate in hand.

it still doesn't feel real.

the real June Gloom

2009-06-16T14:47:00.001-07:00

hello world, how are you? i'm fine i guess. I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing. back from Maui and bless my sunburned back for being a constant reminder of those four days of free-living and carelessness. and now i don't know what to care about. It's all the same. I maybe felt rejuvenated for five minutes but mostly it just felt like the plane landed back in a perpetual cloud. Maybe that's just the june-gloom. and maybe I haven't adjusted to being done with "vacation" yet. but I don't know what to do with myself and I'm pretty sure you don't either. Time feels messy and blurry. It's out of my control. And the countdown to the one year anniversary of my father dying is definitely on. Have you all missed him for this year? This one, swift, hideous year. I miss him more all too painfully everyday. I hate where i am right now. Sitting in his office. waiting for a package to arrive. this isn't fair. sitting here. I can't do this anymore - there are a million other important things that i should be doing with MY time but I don't know how to start them. or at least I don't know how to start them today. I'll find it in me at some point, I always do, the courage and smiles always muster themselves back up from somewhere, but for now - welcome to my cloud.

No tears 26!!!

2009-06-03T08:58:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else ever cry on their birthday? Usually, I have one good cry/meltdown to call my own on my birthday. Not this year, baby. And I was definitely expecting it and braced for it to happen at some point in my day. But the tears never came, there was never any reason. I had a pretty fantastic, lovely day. From Mom's heart-shaped pancakes to lunch at Cheesecake with Stefanie, to singing Wicked in the car with my Dad on the way home from therapy (drowning out the "help-me's", but he was loving the music too ;) and THEN to the amazing suite at Dodger stadium filled with 19 wonderful people in my life (not to mention the nacho bar, dodger dogs, bruschetta, hot wings, and overabundance of beer), getting on Diamond Vision TWICE!, losing my voice cheering and dancing, seeing Dad smiling and enjoying the game and environment and totally loving every minute of it, and then capping it off with an out of control exciting 8th-inning come-back to give the Dodgers the win!........ all-in-all, best birthday ever. Thank you, EVERYONE, for making it so special. I'm so happy to not be 25 anymore.

It's My Birthday.

2009-06-02T10:23:00.000-07:00

I have one "happy birthday" from my Dad and 2 "fuck you's" and counting. It's no worry, in his head it's just any other day. And I'm not letting it get to me. It's going to be a good day. I'm looking forward to moving on from 25, since it wasn't such a fabulous year. I remember dearly last year how special it was that my Dad joined me and my friends for birthday margaritas at a bar in the valley. I remember looking at him and thinking, what 25 year old has a dad cool enough to be at her birthday party??? I think that's all I can write right now.

Marathon - done and done.

2009-05-26T22:27:00.000-07:00

Something amazing happened yesterday, I ran and completed a marathon. I remember back in the day when I first heard of the concept of marathon running and being absolutely dumbfounded that anyone in their right mind or body could run 26.2 miles. I, at that time, could barely handle 2.2 miles. and yet, amazingly, yesterday I blew past banner after banner of mile markers, and lifted my head in the sky and smiled every time I accomplished another mile. I think I smiled more in those 5 hours and 41 minutes and 20 seconds that it took me to finish than I have for a continuous long amount of time in a while, and all based on that wonderful rush of accomplishing something so individual, and owning that feeling. Maybe the other 14,999 runners out there were feeling just as proud... but I doubt it. By the looks of things I saw a lot of faces feeling pain, aggression, competition, exhaustion. And yes, I felt a few of these feelings too -- but the overwhelming rush of joy was dominant.

Let me take you through the journey a bit... half the battle and nervousness came from riding the metro in Los Angeles at 5am to get to the race (the metro is highly recommended on race day due to street closures.) I have never ridden the metro in LA, so the anxiety of buying the ticket, finding the right times, getting off at the right spot, etc. etc. SO STRESSFUL! all at 4:45am!!! But somehow I made it onto the metro, fanny pack stuffed with gu, shoes tied, bib in place, gatorade and power bar in hand... and from the train to the team meeting spot I arrived at the race. I pow-wowed with my running buddies, took pictures, hit the port-o-potty, and lined up at the start with the rest of the ambitious racers. Then Mayer Antonio gave an encouraging little speech, they fired the gun and Randy Newman's "I love LA" blasted over the speakers and the crowd started to move. Then all of the sudden we crossed the start and my legs were off and running. No turning back now!!!! My dear sweet running buddy, Nellie and I decided to take it super slow... which ultimately paid off BIG in the end. And we slowly cruised through mile 1 to about 10 at a nice easy pace. Seeing Bonnie at Mile 2 with a sign which read "Run Annie Run" was amazingly encouraging and exciting. :) Then grabbing a gatorade from Austin to fuel me forward was enough to easily make the first 5 miles disappear. Throughout the course the sweet APLA coaches would run up to us and chug along side for a few yards with words of encouragement and praise.

The miles I remember the most:

Mile ELEVEN -- coming over the south side of the 10 freeway somewhere around San Vicente and Venice and seeing Dad's old office building come into view. The tall black building with the "chimney" like stack on top, number 5455. The building I spent every day home from school at with Daddy up on the 20th floor of his office, coloring at his desk, playing around in the studio, bouncing up and down the long hallways looking for entertainment. All those visions came back when I saw that building as I ran past, and that was the first tear of the run.

Mile FOURTEEN - my threshold for running!!! I had never gone beyond, so every step after was the longest I had ever run before, which made every mile in itself a small accomplishment. I didn't feel like I was going to die immediately after, so I knew I could probably keep going beyond.

Mile EIGHTEEN - suddenly that seemed like a HUGE number!!! and then there were only 8.2 more to go!

Mid-mile TWENTY / TWENTY-ONE - we're cruising 6th street then turned onto a pretty residential road to head up to 3rd when all of the sudden who do I see on my left walking against the tide of runners but my Mom and Dad decked out in Dodger blue. What a rush! I didn't think they'd make it or I didn't know where I may find them... but they were there with smiles and tears and hugs and encouragement. It supercharged me for the final 5.2...

Mile TWENTY-ONE - I shot my last chocolate GU and with a mere 5 miles in the distance I blew Nellie a kiss goodbye and stretched my legs. I blasted past Dad's office again, almost immediately after seeing him and the wave of tears was a bit stronger this time. But the power from my body and mind, and Wicked's "Defying Gravity" blasting in my iPod shuffle, swiftly pushed me to 23.

Mile TWENTY-FOUR - close to death. All of the sudden I'm thinking - WTF Anne, why did you use all your energy when you still have almost 3 miles to go?!!!! I literally thought my left leg was going to detach itself and fall somewhere on Olympic Blvd. Additionally, this heaving sensation came on where I couldn't quite breath easy... maybe cause I had been singing or maybe I hadn't had enough water and maybe I pushed too hard -- but there was heaving, and burping, and I was sure some puking was in my near future. I slowed down a bit, took a little longer walk-break, drank some water. Then picked up the pace again.

Mile TWENTY-FIVE - annoyed and in pain. This stupid juggling runner kept creeping up next to me with his juggling balls and dropping them and then I'd pull ahead and then he'd be there again and I wanted to scream "get the hell away from me and go to the fucking circus if you want to run and do tricks!!!!!!!!!!!" but I didn't because if I spoke I would have died. And suddenly I see a running buddy of mine from my pace group, I catch up to him and he goes, "I'm dying." I was like, "me too." I thought about sticking with him and walking, but I was afraid if I started to walk I wouldn't be able to run again and mile 26 was just around the corner.

Mile TWENTY-SIX - and then it was. And when I turned the corner and saw that banner, with the FINISH line banner .2 miles in the distance beyond it, I started weeping. I have no idea where the tears came from so strong, but I think a combination of the pain, the time, the distance, being so close to the end, being all by myself, it was so incredible. And I wept huge salty tears down my already sweaty, red, salty face and ran straight through to the finish line. As I crossed I heard a few people calling my name, a couple friends of friends and a coach from APLA who saw my name written on my shirt. It felt nice, but was quiet. Somewhere in the crowd my parents were said to be but I didn't see them, and they didn't see me. Even though I didn't come in with a huge group of people and was probably the only 5'10 tall girl with a white hat and a face full of tears. I clocked in at 5:41:25, (5:38:40 on my watch which I stopped for bathroom breaks). And I placed #8,230 out of 14,192 people who finished the race.

I feel amazing. I feel in pain. But I feel I could do it again in a heartbeat.

I'm running a Marathon

2009-05-24T22:54:00.001-07:00

I've pinned my bib to the hideous yellow "singlet" - I'm number 14650. I've eaten copious amounts of carbohydrates (love guilt-free fettucini.) I've laid out my shoes, shorts, sports bra, watch, shoe tags, and iPod shuffle which has been carefully crafted with melodies to sing me through the many many miles... I've even decorated my singlet with my name and a couple other special names in bright, red permanent marker. I laid out my hat and a few flowers to stick in my ponytail for personal flair. (why not right?) I'm now lying in bed, willing sleep to come before my awakening at 4am, and I have NO IDEA what to expect tomorrow. It's the most daunting, overwhelming, exciting, mysterious, scary, wonderful, humbling feeling. It's reminiscent of the night before I left for Europe... I didn't really know where I was going to end up, who I would meet, how alone I would be, if I'd end up in any trouble. It's also the feeling like before I went on stage in As You Like It last year... that nervous wonderful feeling of not knowing how the scene is going to turn out, and knowing I can do it and that I have my lines and everything down... but what if something trips me up and I mess up? It's also like the night before I performed as the Lilac Fairy in Sleeping Beauty -- my last and best ballet performance ever. I didn't know I wanted that part, I didn't think I would ever get it, and then I did, and the music was amazing and beautiful, and then it came time to perform. And I remember curling up in the fetal position in my little twin bed the night before the show, trembling with nerves and feeling the lasting sting on my toes from that days rehearsal in pointe shoes, and envisioning myself rolling off my pointe when I piqued, or landing hard and wobbly out of a pirouette, or just falling ass first in the middle of the stage in my purple tutu. Those scary, anxious feelings of the unknown... how will my body perform tomorrow? How will my mind perform? What will I think about? What will I feel? The "what-ifs" are endless. And yet, here I find myself lying in bed put before a task that I set up for myself 8 months ago, and experiencing all those anxious feelings I've felt for tasks of my choice in the past -- and I get a little comfort in knowing, yeah, I made it through those experiences - and they were nothing less than fucking glorious. So whose to say tomorrow won't be? Here goes 26.2 miles.

Dear Dodgers,

2009-05-19T23:57:00.001-07:00

Thank you for making my Dad normal again. If it wasn't for your spirit, your energy, your presence, your sportsmanship, your effort, your fun, your team... I wouldn't be able to experience a few beautiful hours with my "father-that-was." This evening's game was truly an amazing escape and perspective. Not only were we in a "help-me-FREE-zone" for more than 3 and half hours, but I had a night of actual hope. Hope that I haven't had since I first made real eye contact with my Dad the day he opened his eyes from his coma. That opening that made me see through the brain injured body and into the soul of David Nemer. That happened tonight. It happened when he cheered "OH YEAH!!!!!!!" for the triple home run hit by Casey Blake, it happened when he mustered the energy to STAND UP for the stupid wave!, it happened when he screamed, "WHOA! WHATTA CATCH!" to Eithier's awesome out, it happened when he enthusiastically sang "take me out to the ballgame" with his arm swung over my shoulder, and it happened when he offered up high fives to myself and the few fans around us when the Dodgers beat the Mets 5 to 3 at the end of the 9th. It was all around wonderful. Thank you Dear Dodgers, there's nothing blue about you. I've always loved you since I was a baby sitting on my Dad's lap high up in the blue seats over home plate, but I love ya even more with each passing season. Your best fan, Anne.

"Help Me" free zone

2009-05-15T22:28:00.000-07:00

14 minutes + 2 and half hours and counting in the "no HELP ME zone." yep -- a "help me" wasn't uttered for almost 3 hours straight and it was a beautiful amazing and releasing feeling. We went to a little dinner party at a friends house and Dad was in his element. Sipping wine slowly and observing and contributing to conversation where he could. Speaking up when a familiar name was thrown in the mix or a personal memory present. But overall, being quite normal and amazing. Just quieter. It was wonderful. All i can say is thank you dear friends for relieving my Mom and me from the manipulative, needy, baby Father for three hours and experiencing a little slice of normalcy. And bless you Dad for rising to the occasion. It is possible. and I don't want to kill you.

recent resentment

2009-05-13T00:02:00.000-07:00

Yes yes - my apologies for the lack of blogging over the past couple of weeks. It's not to say I haven't been writing -- I have. But I began something that I call "beyond the blog" which gets significantly more personal and detailed and I was inclined to document purely for future memoir purposes if that project in itself ever comes to fruition. Nevertheless, there are multiple reasons for my lack of words these past few weeks. I guess the one most significant reason is that I have hit a new phase in this journey - a very palpable, hideous, feeling that dominates most of my days - and that is resent. Now this feeling, it gets you no where at the end of the day. But in it's moment, I feel strong strong resentment for the situation I'm in and towards individuals around me, including my Dad. It comes down to everything simply being not fucking fair. Not fair that I've seen my father die once, and I miss that father, but I can't because there's this madman in his place, and I resent that the forces of love and life have not even let me grieve for my Dad, or for my grandmother, whose presence was at the forefront of my mind this past Sunday (Mother's day.) And I'm over feeling sorry for myself... so in essence that transforms into resentment. Not a very pleasing thing to read about I'm sure.

I guess then it's only fair that I give you another example as to what's been in my head and not on this blog. I've become familiar with the mindset of that of a psychopath. Because I myself feel like I could be a pychopath more than once a week - I find myself feeling so much anger that if I chose to could manifest physically. That's all I'm going to say on that. Don't think me crazy, yeah therapy is probably a good idea, but I feel too much resentment towards Robin at CNS to seek her guidance in dealing with this. Can't trust her. Also - I mean it's not so far off, parents want to kill their whining children every now and then right? Well, I want to kill my whining father. You would too if all you heard for three hours was "help me, help me Robin, help me. help me. help me. help me pleeeeease. help me. help me. help me robin help me. help me pleeeeeeease" SHUT UP! I ran six miles yesterday by accident just to escape for an indefinite amount of time.

Again let me conclude by saying the obvious that no I will not ever harm my father, and no I am not going to go crazy and become a pyschopath. I feel a little crass and bitchy and selfish sharing this information with you, but in essence that's why I haven't written, and that's where I stand. make of it what you will and go on with your day. We'll put these feelings aside because anger and resentment make no progress in life, and at the end of the day I'm still a happy, positive person. I'm also a very talented actress if you haven't already observed. :)

What's my fortune

2009-04-27T18:59:00.000-07:00

I sometimes feel like I'm locked on a perpetual, emotional roller coaster -- and I can't catch a break and get off. This afternoon, and for the past few days, I've felt moments of happy reality I haven't experienced since before my Dad's "incident." And then suddenly I'm jolted out of my happy place and into a horrible state of uneasiness. The particular event this evening is too disturbing to blog about publicly, and it shocks me back into how hideous this life can be now. Which is made even more obvious when paired next to the joys of simple, everyday, 25-year-old acts, like flirting and escaping in the company of my peers. I wish my roller coaster could drop me off in a little cave to curl up and escape. And then maybe in that cave there's a little time machine that can transport me back to before -- or just out of the now. Maybe that's what I was attempting to produce when after dinner this evening (Chinese delivery that Dad accomplished at ordering over the phone and paying with credit card) I madly tore through each of the four fortune cookies, eating the white chocolate part and discarding the plain corners, in search of some guidance via that tiny piece of folded paper. And apparently, in succession, fortune cookie say:

#1 "You have a reputation for being straight-forward and honest." really? hmm... well here's some straight-forward truthfulness for you cookie: That's not really a "fortune!" that's more like a comment. I don't want Comment Cookies. I have enough room for comments and opinions on how I lead my life -- you even have the opportunity to right here on the internet. So thanks but no thanks, cookie.

#2 "Happy events will take place shortly in your home." Hah - from your mouth to God's ears!

#3 "Soon you will receive pleasant news." ...still waiting... but that's more like it, Cookie - keep the fortunes coming.

#4 "Good things come to those who wait. Be patient." Could we be more specific please? You obviously don't know who you're dealing with here. Or was that the "pleasant news" from your cookie cousin above?

Fortune cookies may very well be bullshit, but I wouldn't mind a couple happy events or some pleasant news in this house at all. So I'll continue to be patient.

Put Your Dreams in Flight

2009-04-23T18:39:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting amidst a slew of dishes and pans and macaroni and cheese which is slowly starting to crust over. I've probably had too much wine for 6:45pm on a Thursday - but who cares, I'm alone with Dad and it's been a hard week. Mom's away on a dinner conference and together, so Daddy and I attempted dinner. For some reason when I picked him up today he was in a delightful mood - surprisingly pleasant - and then we get home and the tears and anger start spewing all over the kitchen as I attempt to prepare turkey burgers and kraft mac 'n cheese. He helped me flip the burgers and time them out correctly - and amazingly, they were the most tender, juicy, delicious, perfectly crusted turkey burgers I've ever tasted. But in the time frame of defrosting the meat up until the final product we experienced an angry phone call to his mother, an attempt at leaving the house, and an angry outbreak in which i thought he may throw my beautiful little MacBook into the backyard. Obviously that impulse was averted since I'm typing to you now -- but the array of emotion was an odd adventure given the complacent and happy Dad I picked up from CNS only 2 hours before. At one point this evening, Dad was looking through the mail and crying, and comes in carrying this very elaborate publicity for Ireland and whining, "I want to put my dreams in flight..." I'm sorry but I started laughing. when I checked the mail earlier I saw this publicity stunt and thought - wow, that is crazy. It's like a whole packet with postcards and promotion for Ireland tourism, and I too thought - "wow, if only I could put my dreams in flight and whisk off to the land of green and Guiness... how wonderful that would be..." And then, a mere 25 minutes later Dad walks in crying "I want to put my dreams in flight." I just laughed and said -- "hah - me too Dad. if only."

Weird Responsibility

2009-04-15T22:48:00.000-07:00

I had many a flashback tonight to my teenage years and being left alone on a Friday night in someone else's house with the responsibility of their child, a handful of ideas for of activities, a list of do's and don'ts, a perspective bedtime, money on the table to order pizza, the in-case-of-emergency plan, all the necessary tools to occupy and keep alive someone else's pride and joy handed over to the careful, responsible, loving hands of... the babysitter. Although -- tonight, I was the one handing over the toolbelt - not the one receiving. And it wasn't the tools to sit for a "baby" per se, but for my father. However, the whole operation was identical - all the way up to the conversation with the babysitter (a.k.a Caretaker Chris in my story) at the end of the evening: "how'd he do?" "did he eat all his dinner?" "what'd you guys watch on TV?" "What time did he go to bed?" "was there any crying?" Once again I find myself being the responsible adult in the house at too young of an age and too tragic the circumstances. My Mom is away in San Diego on a mini business trip for this one night, and meantime, Wednesdays are my night for Improv Class in Hollywood -- a three and half hour welcomed, frivolous, fun escape -- except every 20 minutes throughout the evening my mind wandered back to whatever might be happening at home. Perhaps it's my own neurotic need to be in control of the situation that made the evening stressful and strange. But maybe I should just chalk it up to another new phase in this whole new saga of life - the phase of "the Caretaker." Inviting someone into our lives, accepting and TRUSTING their skills, their personality, and their companionship, to be a presence in our family and a support system for our lives. It's something that will take some time getting used to, for all parties involved, but hopefully something that can lend more support than stress. As with everything in this new life we lead -- it's all about time. And hopefully in the coming weeks, we can bridge the gap from "babysitter" to "buddy."

Opening Day

2009-04-13T22:02:00.000-07:00

My body is sinking into my bed right now with the weight of the day, the stress, the noise, the drive, the crowds, the junk food, the beer, the cheering, the driving, the crying, the worry, the anger, and the headache that my person battled throughout this special day. Opening Day at Dodger Stadium. The place where all your cares go away, where history and tradition, excitement and joy are everywhere you blink your eye. It's true -- this is what the Dodger experience forever brought to my father and our family -- and blessedly, it still does. However, the journey to get there today was a test to ones patience that cannot be explained. (Actually, the two, dear, wonderful, amazing, friends who helped me through today can attest to the trials of traffic when riding with my Dad.) The anxiety and worry that seeped through my Dad's eyes from the moment he woke up to the moment we forced him into the car to go to the game, up until we sat down and shoved a hot dog in his hand, after that hour and ten minutes of stop and go traffic was utterly unbearable. But once we were in those seats, and the dear Dodgers proceeded to get us up on our feet cheering for each of their 11 runs, the tears and the anxiety dissipated into the baseball breeze. And it wasn't until we were back on the freeway home that the anger and worry welled up again, and there was no way to deflect it. At least not until Mom got home and popped a Xanax into a bite of hamburger and shoved it in Dad's mouth.

It will be interesting to see what the last game of Dodger season is like this year... whether they go to a championship or whatever is beside the point, but whether we'll be sitting in those seats experiencing only Dodger Blues rather than the David Blues, I look forward to with hope.

Thank god for baseball season!!!! let the games begin.

Method to the Madness

2009-04-06T09:10:00.000-07:00

Mom was away overnight last night on a business trip - so I'm the responsible adult in the house. Trying to encourage my Dad to get ready for bed last night, I say after a few kind subtle attempts:

"Dad... don't sleep in your jeans that's gross. You're a grown man." Feeling bad, I lean close and say, "Daddy -- you really should get ready for bed now." He replies eyes squeezed tight..."please leave please, please don't make me hit you, I don't want to hit you, please don't make me hit you."

Me: "well I appreciate that I don't want you to hit me either, I'll leave. But you need to go to bed the right way."

So I left, and no doubt he ended up properly under the covers somehow because he won't get out of them this morning. My inner therapist says go wake him up, get him on a schedule, get him in the shower, make coffee, have breakfast, take meds, hit the road to CNS. But with the escalating behavior - I have no desire to push it - because I'm at my last nerve as well, and I just might hit back hard. I'm busting at the seems in frustration. I really do want to punch him. I really do. I want to hit him so hard in hopes it will literally knock some sense into him and right what's wrong in his brain. And then say to him in his shocked moment of clarity, "YOU ARE MY DAD! GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, STOP WHINING, AND STOP BEING A LAZY-ASS VICTIM! YOU CAN DO THIS!" But we know that approach won't work. I have to keep my distance and I have to keep my calm. Even though I feel like a mad-hot tea kettle is screeching inside me.

So it's 9:22am now. What to do what to do. I walked up there twice, called Melvin, the dogs barked, etc etc. Dad laid in bed - he moaned a few times. I have a feeling he'll get out soon and get hungry and come adventuring down. And once he's down - I'll crush an attivan onto an english muffin and sneak it in him. Then he'll calm down and hopefully I can get him out the door and into CNS's. Then he's their problem. It's sort of like ding dong ditch -- we make it up the elevator, open the door, push him inside and bolt. It's awful. My poor Daddy.

Well Dad, it's up to you today. I'm not going to push you. You win.

Quotes of Insight... and humor

2009-03-30T17:25:00.001-07:00

car ride home today, 4:34pm: "I want to think like an adult again."

yesterday, lying in bed next to my mom: "I'm sorry for ruining your life."

attempting to get in the shower, crying: "I can't, I'm gonna melt!"

(it's so precious it hurts)

yesterday, in a fit of tears: "help me, Robin, help me - just tell me the truth!"

me: "okay Dad, it's okay. remember you had the heart attack, and it damaged your memory."

Dad: "my memory's fine!" me: "well... that's why you always call me Robin, but I know you know I'm Annie." Dad: "ohhh... I'm sorry." :(

(I'll keep updating this as more verbal insights arise...)

Love

2009-03-28T23:05:00.001-07:00

Family and friends are everything. Without them, we'd live in a land of wonder and worry. A day of just Dad, my Mom and me -- is full of whining and pain, anger and submission. Then a few hours with friends or family turns this baby fifty-nine year-old into an adult with just a minor ailment again. (But the ailment is acceptable, and there.) Not only is the presence of close family or a dear friend a comfort and relation for my father -- but a true release for my Mom and me. The eggshells disappear, a calmness is created, and for a moment all is normal again. In short -- company brings out the best in my Dad, it's the best therapy he can have. I'm almost tempted to invite Hilda (CNS case manager) and Robin (CNS counselor) over for dinner one night when Dad is in his element amongst friends. They'd never believe this was the same human being they insist needs to be admitted into a psychiatric facility for observation. No no. True to life is the best therapy. This evening, my Uncle Bob bravely asked my Dad, "so how does it feel to be back from Bakersfield?" and Dad replied in a moment of clarity, "I never should have gone there."

There will be a day when enough is enough with the therapy, but for now we'll stick with the attempt to make more cognitive gains. It will end when insurance wears out, or most hopefully, when real life catches up to him. And to get there -- Dad needs love, he needs to feel he's back in the community he can trust and believe in, the community that holds his friendships and shares his interests, wants, and needs. Some friends have left him... hell, some friends have left me -- we all have our own lives, I very much understand -- but those who prevail and believe are critical in the healing. And now is the time we need you more than ever. AND -- now is the time I THANK YOU more than ever. To those who've joined us at our table, or have invited us to yours, or who have made visits, calls, outreaches of companionship, every little bit counts enormously -- and you know who you are. And I love you. You have no idea -- NO IDEA -- the pathways of progress, faith, and comfort you shape in my Dad's brain and in our new life. And I thank you, and love you.

What a Week

2009-03-27T22:26:00.000-07:00

I have to say, I definitely prefer being called "Robin" to "Bitch." Throughout this week both names were used interchangeably pending my Dad's bi-polar perspective at the time. This morning when Dad was whining around the house, "help me... pleeeeeease, somebody help me!!!" He took comfort in hearing me shuffling about in my room, "Robin?? is that you? help me PLEEEEEASE..." yes Dad, I hug him, pat his shoulder, "what can I do dad." "Nevermind! none of you want to help me, fuck all of you!!! get out of my room!" bam!! - it switches just like that. The mornings are the worst. The trauma and pain of the unknown torments my poor Dad, he has to trust us, but he's not sure if he can. Somehow, miraculously, and through a Buddah-like patience we achieve getting him to therapy for the day. The afternoon is a solid hour and a half of nausea-inducing nerves at the thought of Dad leaping out of the car on the freeway in a random fit of anger -- luckily, sweet Jenny is our hero on car rides. And most of the time comfortably sits on Dad's lap and keeps him in place. However... if the preceeding moment before loading into the car has been particularly tumultuous, Jenny senses his anger and fear and leaps in the backseat. After arriving home and commencing in dinner preparations and relaxation -- you could at times blink and think you were observing a slice of the Nemer-nightly ritual a year ago. Everyone's calm, engaged, laughing, relaxing, eating, conversing, and overall pleasant. You'd never know this was the same raving brain injured man from a few hours before.

It's a delicate dance we're living in right now. I don't know quite how to explain it -- it's nothing anyone could ever imagine or ever experience in quite the same way. It's horrible at times, reassuring at others, comfortable and sometimes almost complete -- yet there will always be a missing piece. It's been exactly 9 months since that piece went missing... perhaps another 9 more and we'll find it.

Transitioning

2009-03-25T15:11:00.000-07:00

Dad replaced the hardwood floors in our house with eggshells. And if we step on one he gets reeeeeal angry. More unfortunately, they are invisible and extremely sporadic. So there's no way to walk around them -- you never know when one's going to crack. When it happens you just get out of the way, and you can't take it personally.

Dad's so traumatized he doesn't know who to trust. And attempting to immerse him back into the clinic routine was a nice idea... but think about it, why on earth would it be easy? Dad's learned now that when he puts himself in the trust of others he ends up in scary places like bullshit Bakersfield. So today, after my mom seemed to step on about 2 dozen eggshells, and the two "helpers" from CNS were pretty much picking them up and throwing them at Dad as far as he could tell, the wrath incurred, and Dad found trust in me. So I calmly took him out for some pancakes -- which was slightly terrifying at times and filled with tears and panic on his part. But I calmly looked at the LA Times and sipped my coffee, and Dad would settle back down a bit. I attempted to get on the 134 and head to the clinic... but after a fierce threatening to open the door mid-drive, my gut told me to just head home. Today is not the day for challenges. There's been no period of adjustment for him, everyday is a new day of realizing he's living at home again - HIS home - and he deserves some time to gain a little control.

After a nap and a stroll with the doggies, Dad took us to In-N-Out. He asked me to drive, articulating, "I just don't feel up for it." (note: obviously, I or my mom ALWAYS drive, but for him to articulate that rather than just go with the flow is pretty insightful). At in-n-out we ordered at the counter, and Dad paid. He instructed me to sit outside and hold the table while he waited for our number to be called. I did just that. It was a really nice lunch -- worlds different from our pancakes a mere 3 hours before. And CNS may think I took a risk, I probably did, but I know Dad well enough that he won't have an erratic eggshell break-out if he feels in charge and independent enough. I give him space, and I let him know I trust him - and he can trust me.

I'm not your most avid astrology follower -- and I didn't check my horoscope til just now, but eerily it states...

GEMINI: WHEN YOU PUT YOUR MIND TO IT, YOU CAN CHANGE SOMEONE ELSE'S MIND. OBSERVE AND STRATEGIZE. IT'S NOT THE TIME TO WAGE YOUR ATTACK. THERE IS A GENTLE WAY TO DO THIS, AND YOU WILL FIGURE IT OUT.

Home Forever

2009-03-22T21:57:00.000-07:00

My bed is empty for the first time in two months. Yes, I'm sleeping alone again. (Not that there were any real, long stretches of time in my life that my bed was shared with someone special... but the past two months have been comfortingly cozy.) However, tonight, Jenny snuggles under my Dad's arm, in his bed. I didn't have to coax her there, I didn't have to urge her in knowing Dad needed a little unconditional love - no no, this snuggle bug automatically leaped into Dad's nook the moment he crawled into his big, comfy bed. I can only imagine how wonderful that feels after two months of sleeping on a tiny ass twin mattress in a cold, secluded room far off in B.F.E Bakersfield. I hate that town. I hate everything about it. It's so damn depressing. And I'm SO glad I NEVER have to go back. I couldn't blog last Sunday and relive the depressing experience that day was. I could indulge on the palpable, dirty, lonely, boring, smelly, feeling that permeates through the air as you kill time in that town -- but why look back on the past? What's done is done. We took all the roads we thought possible were in the best interests of my father, even if that road lead to a two-month stint in hell, but it's over now -- and we can only look ahead.

I felt calm today. Nervous... but calm. What else can I be? We have to stay incredibly even-keeled and steadfast for my father. He has been a perpetual waterfall of tears for the past week... nonstop. My mom said the past 48 hours she was in Bakersfield - minus going to dinner where Dad always rises to the occasion for good food - were a constant sobfest. Flowing tears, with an ongoing mantra of "help me... help me..." We can't even tell him we are helping him anymore. He doesn't believe it. I don't blame him. He trusted us -- and we allowed him to get himself into the scary situation that was Bakersfield - taken away by a team of people in starched blue blouses and forced to live in a tiny apartment with strangers. Now he lives with fear -- his confusion was challenged and expanded. Rather than "shocking him into sense" which was my greatest hope for this situation... it was an overwhelming displacement out of his control. I ache for him more. Time will heal. I know it will. He'll accept our trust again. And hopefully, in the future, he'll accept his reality. But for now we take it day by day, we'll try and appease the tears - or at least just change the subject. And at least there's always a nice dinner or a furry friend under his arm to bring him moments of joy and comfort.

It's a new journey. It's not all bad, and it's much better than where we've been, but it feels more official now. This Dad of mine is home for good, for better, for worse, and for best.

Someone's Coming Home

2009-03-21T14:01:00.000-07:00

Mom's on her way up the 5 and I lie here on the couch with ice on my foot, the dogs at my side - and we'll stay here and patiently await the arrival of the fifth member of our family. I don't think Bakersfield worked out quite as well as the "experts" expected... and we're not in the place of recognition I was hoping for him when these 2 months were over. And now they're over, and we move on. Dad is no doubt different... but how different remains to be seen. Having him gone has made me miss him more than ever, and pushed me to accept that he will no longer ever be the Dad I had before June 27th. That's the hardest thing to accept. I fear typing it because once you write something down it becomes reality in a way. So now I know, whoever Mom brings home, is sort of a mystery, and only time will tell how close this person will become to being that remarkable father I have in my memories.

TBI Part 2

2009-03-18T18:42:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I speculated too late. Rest in peace Natasha Richardson. A devastating turn of events. It's right to count the blessings we have and be thankful for our life and loved ones.

Celebrity TBI

2009-03-18T15:25:00.000-07:00

You know why there are conflicting reports of Natasha Richardson's status in the hospital right now? Because that poor family has no fucking clue what to say. And they shouldn't have to. All they are concerned with is if their loved one will miraculously come back. There is no room for any other sense in the world except to see her come back. My understanding is she is lying there still, hooked up to the trinity of life support: breathing tube, feeding tube, IV drip. Her eyes are closed -- her body there to touch -- her soul and thoughts, far off in another universe. But hopefully her family is there communicating to her anyway, singing to her, talking to her, because most certainly - something in her is hearing and receiving. It's only Day 3. Dad opened his eyes on Day 3. I wanted to throw a party. And we could tell people -- "he woke up!" Which, if the news was pounding down our door I'd probably tell them. Then I'd get the hideous slap in the face -- ooops, no no, he didn't wake up -- there is no response to "wiggle your toes", "squeeze my hand", "blink your eyes..." therefore, no cognitive function i.e. "brain dead." Perhaps Natasha is in this place. Which leaves you with even less answers -- you see the body moving, perhaps there's the persistent fevers, sweating, thrashing, moaning... and this can go on for a long time -- but it's indescribable, scary, and mysterious. Here is your loved one in a persistent vegetative state. They are far from woken up. And there are no answers as to when or if they will -- but their moving body and their open eyes give you more hope, you can look into them and try to communicate and penetrate the brain. But the brain persists to not respond, and the verdict of "brain dead" is more palpable. So when do you stop hoping? When do you give a verdict? In this case - is it when the paparazzi hassle you until you feel forced to say something? Or more familiar, when insurance starts knocking down your door demanding the next best move -- pull "the plug" and see what happens: let body die of disease and infection, with two weeks to hope it may reeeally wake up -- OR leave in "plug," keep hoping, keep paying, and sustain the loved ones body. It's unpredictable, it's terrible, it's life. I know that's vague - but there are no right answers, there is NO timeline, and there should NOT be any pressure on the fragile family right now. They'll know in their hearts what decision to make - and what if, if any action should be taken. I never gave up on my Dad. He told me not to. And no doubt he would have told me if I was supposed to. When the day for death-decisions was forced upon us by statistics, by insurance, by neurologists, by lack-of-belief, I knew when I looked in his eyes the first day he opened them, that this decision would not have to be made. There was a knot, in my heart, pulsing to me, that no - this decision, would not have to be made. And then he woke up. He made me believe 9 months ago... there's reason to keep believing when he comes home on Sunday.

My heart goes out to Natasha's family. I feel so deeply sad for them and this wondrous pain they are suffering. My hopes are they will give it time, ignore all the outside forces pressuring them, and listen to Natasha, and listen to their hearts.

Perk Up

2009-03-10T14:03:00.000-07:00

"Don't look too excited." The funny man behind the counter at the coffee shop said to me as I waited to get a blended ice mocha to ease my aching tonsil. It took me about 5 seconds to realize he was indeed talking to me, awaiting my coffee request. "oh... hah, sorry I'm sick." I say with a fake smile. He takes four steps back in case I breath too hard on him. I order my blended mint mocha and then step back. And while the funny man entertained the following customers with more sarcastic coffee jabber, I think, "what I should have said was the truth - there's nothing to be excited about." There isn't. I'm feeling very resentful of life today, yesterday, lately. I'm so so sick of being the Nemer family cheerleader. I'm sick of putting on a smiley face and pretending all is okay -- and so the ONE TIME I stand there, not smiling, allowing myself to live in my own little rain cloud, I get called on it by the stupid barista.

Daily life would be a different world if I spoke the truth on my mind any minute - I guess that goes for everyone. But seriously, if I had said - "there's nothing to be excited about" and he asked why? Would I have to go into the whole story? I doubt I would - I'd probably give a pissy, shortened recap of events and make him feel reeeeeal sorry for asking. But that gets none of us anywhere - he's much better off happily frothing lattes as I observe while I type. Another example of wanting to speak my mind occurred this weekend on our visit with Dad, he was whining and crying as we were taking a walk outside the residence, and I just couldn't take it anymore.

"Dad stop crying..." I urge gently. "oh shutup you don't know anything. don't you have any friends you can go bother..." He retorts. I walk away, thinking in my head of replying: "Wel, yeah I had a best friend once but he went and got a brain injury and now here we are." But I didn't say that -- I just walked away, and bit my tongue and held my breath to fight a tear or irrational impulse. Deep breath.... deep breath.

these are endless two weeks.

Going thru the motions

2009-03-06T23:05:00.000-08:00

It's hard to believe it's an hour til midnight on Friday night. I just barely made it through this week. After a week cluttered with multiple birthdays, one performance, one audition, one day of 101.9 degree fever, and two days of sore throat (not all necessarily in that order), I rewarded myself with a relaxing bubble-gum, chick flick movie by myself - while my Mom is out enjoying herself at a fun concert with girlfriends - exactly the type of fun she so well deserves. Just before turning in I take my little loves Melvin and Jenny up the corner to do their business - and Melvin, yet again, ran into something exceedingly smelly and gross ending up on his fur. After hustling them back in the house where I could hear the tea kettle screaming and the answering machine beeping - I look at Melvin's neck to assess the dirty damage, and there are disgusting brown gops of something stuck to his fur. I almost vomit. I immediately get soapy towels and start scrubbing away the grossness - Melvin stands patiently, Jenny observes from a distance, ears perked and head cocked in curiosity. And the phone beeps on, and the kettle steams. Finally when I think I've scrubbed sufficiently, I pick myself up off the floor, pitch the towels in the trash, throw a cookie at the dogs and a tea bag in a mug, pour the water and check the message machine...

"Hi Barbara... this is [so-and-so] from CNS residence in Bakersfield, I'm the Case Manager for David this weekend. He was complaining of chest pain and so we took his blood pressure a few times every hour, and he took his medicine and it seemed to go down-- but just in case he's at the hospital" the perky voice stated.

Ummm, fuck. Okay, think, process, act. I turn to the bulletin board and dial CNS. Mom's still not home yet (in fact she's still not home as I write this and I'm assuming has no idea of the whole incident yet -- unless she's actually checked her cell phone messages). I call and ask for the Case Manager. "Tiffany" gets on the phone and explains the whole story. Dad complained of chest pain at 5pm. Blood pressure was taken, meds administered, it went down a touch. 6pm - they take it again, still a little high. 7pm - I talk to Dad on the phone - he sounds great, strong, content, still non-sensical but I don't hold my breath for sense anymore, but he wasn't whining or sad. 8:30pm they take him to the hospital because he screamed everytime he got up or sat down. 10:30pm they discharge him saying he simply pulled a muscle. I talk to Sarah and to Dad -- he sounded exhausted and upset. Sarah said he was doing okay, ready to get back to the apartment and go to sleep, and she was holding his hand all the way.

What do we do with this information from 200 miles away?!!!! Tell me! Can anything happen or not happen in the next two weeks he has to be there?! It's fucking agonizing. I know we've got a lifetime of drama in store for us when he gets home - but at least we'll be in contorl, and he'll be in control of his life again - because this is his life - here, on Royal Blvd, with his two girls and his two dogs.

I spent the following 15 minutes after I hung up with Sarah debating how to tell my Mom. If to tell her at all. She'll be terrified and want to steal him away tomorrow when we're there. I think I'll start by telling her, "Dad pulled a muscle.... in his chest... and to make sure it wasn't his heart, they took him to the hospital." yes, that should be fine.

I'm feeling rather calm, but I think it's honestly because I know he's asleep now, and I know he's okay. I feel he's okay. but dear god make this be over with soon.

Out of Sight, ALL on mind

2009-02-26T15:46:00.000-08:00

I'm just not sure how much more of this Mom and I can take. They said part of the reason for Dad going to Bakersfield, was to make it easier on us. Well - hi, IT'S NOT! He's on our minds all day -- and I feel terrible because I haven't talked to him since Monday, and I haven't seen him in 11 days. I saw him every single day while he was in the hospital -- this is just not fair. I feel like I've turned a blind eye, like I'm being ignorant, like when I'm out and about trying to live my life I'm automatically succumbing to this "out of sight, out of mind" attitude and it eats away at me and I feel guilty. And then I call on Monday night and this is how the conversation goes:

Dad, timidly, "hello?"

Me, "DADDY!! Hi!"

Dad, whining, "ohhhh get me out of here!!!!! (starts to cry) take me home! PLEASE take me home!"

Me, "ohhh Daddy, we're going to take you home. You're coming home soon, in a few days I promise."

Dad, "I wanna go home now!"

click. he hangs up.

Mom, "how did it go?"

Me, "ummm... not good. awful. the usual."

HOW can this pain be beneficial?! And yes, we ask this to all the professionals there, and we get "well - he's making gains in therapies, he's really doing well, if he wasn't doing well and we thought he was in danger we'd definitely stop this program..." etc. etc. So what are we to believe?? We're both TERRIFIED every time we call or visit because he instantly starts crying and wants to come home. so painful. We're at the end of week 5, he still doesn't know where he is all the time. I don't blame him. We're in the same boat. I don't know where my Dad is either.

I had one of those electric shocks of emotion today sitting at the carwash. (sidenote: the carwash ALWAYS smells like chocolate chip cookies! I have no idea why, it's so deliciously perplexing and inconvenient to smell cookies baking at the dirty car wash - but it does, don't know why.) anyway. sitting there in a plastic chair on the asphault, sun beating down on me but it feels nice, watching the immigrants dry all our cars, I get a flashback memory to going to the Red Sox/Dodgers game in Boston with my Dad the week after my 21st birthday. Three images - bam! bam! bam! then a heave followed by tears. Dad and I sitting in our seats behind home plate decked out in Dodger Blue, Dad and I pushing through the flow of fans on Yawkey way into Fenway Park, Dad and I cheers-ing with our plastic cups of beer - our first beers at a game together (our first drink together, period) - and then sitting back and watching the game. Then a fan came down and tapped me on the shoulder and said in a thick Massachusettes accent, "is this your Dad?" "yeah" I say. He reaches over me, "Let me shake your hand, Sir, I hope one day I'm sitting here with my Kid and sharing a beer. He's up there - he's 7. It's just nice to see. Despite the fact that you're Dodger fans and all." They shook hands, Dad gave a laugh of pride with the words "thank you" mixed in. The fan turned and walked back up to his son. Dad looked back at the game but threw his arm around me and squeezed me hard. That was the biggest, beaming smile I've ever seen on him.

ohhhhhhhhhhh it hurts.

Curious Case

2009-02-20T17:19:00.000-08:00

[pretend this is yesterday, Monday, when reading. and then pretend it's last Thursday. I really need to get more on top of this!]

I just sat down and looked out the window - the sun had just cracked through and yet, rain was pouring down. I seriously checked the roof to see if someone was spraying a hose because it was the oddest phenomenon. I was blinded by the sun, yet these huge drops of rain were sprinkling down. I raced to each window peeking out to see if there was a rainbow - I stepped outside but it was raining too hard and I had just blow dried my hair. I didn't see a rainbow - but I'm sure there was one somewhere! Hhhm - oh well, on my solo trip to Bakersfield two weeks ago I saw FOUR rainbows, one of them I was chasing all the way through the grapevine. It was really incredible. What was my point of all this? Hmm. Just an odd phenomenon I guess - make of it what you will.

The Oscars are stupid. It makes me really think how I would use my celebrity if I in fact got my acting drive into gear and really made it (which by the way won't be happening via USC's MFA program, the missing piece of disappointing news from last week). First, I would totally pull a Sharon Stone and wear something from Gap and make it look stunning. I am so so so disgusted even more this year by all the coverage of the fashion. Not the fashion itself, I understand that there's a time and place for glamour and it cannot be ignored, but the coverage of it is appalling. The fact that Sarah Jessica Parker's gown is deemed by these tacky, gaudy, entertainment "journalists" as "such a huge disaster" - it makes me want to puke to see where some people's priorities lie. But I know I'm not alone in this, and I know it'll never change, and I really don't have the energy or heart to devote much more bitching to the whole thing - it just is curious and hideous distraction from reality. Or is it the reality of it itself that's so ridiculous?

(I started this little paragraph last Thursday after seeing the movie.) What an odd reflection of reality Benjamin Button was. To have a life's worth of memories and experiences, trapped in a body too young to contain them, and the confusion of it all competing with your environment and people around you telling you differently than what your brain believes - sounds awfully familiar. Benjamin Button basically had a brain injury - his brain cells told his body to age backward (or was it that clock Mr. Cake made??? I didn't quite get the connection) - and so Ben Button appeared an average old guy to everyone around him, but his mind was telling him the opposite truth. I wonder what my Dad would think if he watched that movie... I can't imagine. Regardless, it left me sad, achey, and depressed. It also left me annoyed because seriously - why did they need the old Cate Blanchett dying in the hospital with Katrina hitting outside the window?! The movie would have been dramatically improved if it had just been the story itself - not some cross between Titanic and Forrest Gump.

Still Cloudy

2009-02-18T20:39:00.000-08:00

The rain went away despite how much I appreciated it. I love the way the clouds force a sense of coziness whether you want to stay in or not. I enjoy that. Monday, after lying on the couch with my mom all afternoon watching Sex and the City's in front of the fire and eating leftover Chinese food - I got up to make brownies from scratch - baking on a cloudy day is so theraputic and lovely. We deserved that day of relaxation no doubt, especially after the three hour drive in the downpour from Bakersfield. anyway - my point of tonight's entry was not to linger on the past weekend - but to ponder the disappointments of today. I'm sure you're just itching to read on now with such a promising introduction like that. Today was not all bad, but was bookended with unfortunate circumstances that just leave you feeling a little empty inside, as if we need to be drained any more.

Let me start by saying, with the clouds cleared and the sun shining this morning, I woke up with a bright energy - excited to take the dogs for an extra long stroll. My ankle didn't hurt so much, and I even broke into a little jog every few minutes. I decided to take the pooches to the stream up in the hills from our house. It's typical that we run into a dear neighbor named Burt when we walk up Imperial Ave around 7:15am in the morning. Dad formed a sweet relationship with this neighbor over the years - Burt almost considered my father like a son. He lived alone, except for his sweet little overweight Yorkie - Geoffrey. Geoffrey always accompanied Burt every where he went. And Burt always had dog biscuits in every pocket of his coat on the off chance we ran into him with Melvin. When Burt and Geoffrey first met Melvin and my Dad about 8 years ago, Burt used to make fun of Melvin saying he ate black jelly beans cause of the spots on Melly's tongue. He would leave little surprise bags of black jelly beans and a bottle of scotch for my Dad as just a kind gesture every now and then on the porch. Dad was there for Burt and Geoffrey when Burt's wife developed Alzheimer's, and later died about 4 years ago. And the man and his dog continued to grow old together, alone. In his old age, Burt doesn't quite understand the complexity of why my Dad hasn't been around lately on our walks or to check in on him. And I hadn't seen Burt and Geoffrey in quite a while. Well - this morning as we were coming up Imperial, Melvin spotted Burt's gold Lincoln continental car parked in it's usual spot. He instantly perks up, and I let him off the leash and watch him race to Burt, then proceed to pounce on him and sniff his pockets knowing well where the treats are stashed. Jenny, stuck to her leash, has no idea what this exciting encounter is. I look to see if Geoffrey pops out from the car... but there's no Geoffrey. I greet Burt, and cautiously ask... "is Geoffrey at home?" "Coyotes got him." He says simply. "oh... Burt. I'm so so sorry." "yeah - it was pretty terrible" his voice cracks. I didn't know what to say. My heart broke a little bit. "are you thinking of getting another?" I ask... trying to be optimistic. "I gotta get better at walking them first." he says. Interesting response. I wonder why on earth little Geoffrey was out in coyote range late at night. The wheels in my head instantly start turning, trying to think of a way to be helpful to this man. Maybe if he adopts a dog, by the time Dad gets back, Dad could help take him on walks every morning. Or maybe they could meet us at that same spot every day at 7am and we could walk the new dog with Mel and Jenny and then drop it back off with Burt. Maybe this could be Dad's new routine or job. Maybe... maybe... ahh how do I explain that Geoffrey died? ahhhhhhh. too much. Meanwhile, Melvin keeps pouncing. "he's gonna clean me out!!!" Burt says cheerily, as he searches for more dog biscuits, leftover from the Geoffrey days I assume. "and whose this? She's too big to be a snowflake..." I laugh. "This is Jenny... Say hi Jenny! meet Burt!!! Burt always has the best treats!!!" Burt searches his pockets more. "I'd give ya one, Snowflake but Melvin's cleaned me out! I outta call him Ex-lax!" I give him an awkward laugh. "Cause he cleaned me out!!!" Burt repeats. "Aww haha, that's okay." "well you all have a nice day now." Burt says. and he starts to walk away. "you too, Burt!! Melvin, say thank you to Burt!!!" But Burt's already started to wander away, tuned out. And Snowflake and Ex-Lax and I attempt to continue on our walk. I couldn't enjoy it though, the crisp, freshness of the morning was tainted, and we turned and headed for home.

you know - that's enough for tonight. I'll save the other bookend for tomorrow -- who knows, things may have changed.

Happy Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T23:14:00.000-08:00

yet another holiday meant to set oneself up for disappointment. I didn't expect to kiss a boy this year -- it would have been nice, no doubt, reeeal nice, but I haven't really put myself out there enough recently to garner a valentine -- I've been a little preoccupied. This whole Dad drama sure put a damper on my social life, not just timewise, but effort-wise. Geographically, I'm separated again from social circles I used to frequent on any given weeknight or weekend. Emotionally, I've stayed so involved with my Dad and Mom that I've fallen out of touch with people and out of practice in what it takes to muster up the energy to go out and be in a crowd. It is quite exhausting, even in a normal living situation. And I miss that - I miss seeing my wonderful variety of friends every other night. And I guess what I'm getting at in this is that I need to start to step it up again - I need to take full advantage of the next 5 weeks of freedom - and make the effort more, and immerse myself in my old circles again, and get back in the social groove, because it's truly re-energizing. (I can do it alone... but it helps with a little push! :)

I spent today finishing up my grad school auditions - which went surprisingly well and were truly encouraging and inspiring. Both the auditioners from USC and UCI were so gracious and kind, I felt so comfortable, and I honestly feel like I did a pretty good performance. My fellow auditionees were extremely cool as well - not your typical annoying dark, heavy breathing, persistant stretching, voice tuning, competetive theatre crowd you often can be immersed with in these situations - but these people were really down to earth and lovely. It was an all around good vibe all day - my confidence was rockin' to the point that I almost asked this cute boy Brian that I chatted with while waiting in the wings what he was doing for V-day tonight... but I'm just not quite that bold yet. :) baby steps, Anne. baby steps.

I came home to sweet, Jenny. We cuddled on the couch. My little furry valentine. Meanwhile - up the 5 somewhere in Bakersfield, Mom, Dad, and Sarah were at Black Angus sharing a most unique Valentine's Day dinner. I wished I could join them. But I'll be heading up tomorrow morning with Jenny - to meet Mom and Melvin at the Double Tree for the rest of the weekend. Everyone sounded exceptionally positive over the phone this evening... Mom said she sees something happening... changing... the wheels are really turning, and it's different. I can't wait to get there and see for myself, and it's only been three weeks... five more to go.

I can tell my brain is tired. But I wanted to send little words of love out on this Valentine's Day. love to my family, love to my friends, love to my dogs, love to my acquaintances, love to my readers, love to those around me, love to those around them, love to those who make chocolate, love to those who make wine, love to those who make theatre, love to those who heal people, love to those who research brains, love to those who caretake, love to those who clean, love to those who give, love to those who make a difference, love to those who help, love to those who understand, love to those that sacrifice, love to those who take risks, love to those who motivate, love to those who play, love to those who take pictures, love to those who take time, love to those who sing, love to those who hug, love to those who reach out... love to those who love. I think that covers everyone. xoxox

Bridge Over Troubled Water

2009-02-12T22:33:00.000-08:00

My parents song. It's playing on my newly updated iTunes right now. Mom and I went out to dinner tonight. And she said, "I'm starting to accept, that the Daddy we knew, is never going to be the same again.... I mean, I know he'll get better, I have no doubt he'll improve, no doubt. But he won't be the same." I said, "I remember that Daddy more lately, since he's been gone, I'm remembering more how he was before this." And then I started to agree with her -- that I'm accepting that he won't come back the same... maybe he'll be like 80% what he was. And then I immediately slammed my wine glass back down on the table and said, "NO. nevermind. I take that back. I don't mean that. I can't mean that. Because the moment I accept a fate that he won't ever return to be the best he can be again then that instantly kills that dream and possibility. And if I did that long ago Dad would be dead today. So yes. He will come back, more than just 80%." He will. And hi - he will read this. Did ya ever think about that? He will read this one day. It's his story, and he's the star. It's only fair. God do I miss him. It's truly the weirdest longing - because, he's not dead, there's no sense of finality or closure - and I can't just talk to the air and hope he hears it - all I can do is send positive energy and love and hope to his spirit that was before June 27th, and try to pull that energy back into his body, which is far away in Bakersfield and a million other places mixed up in his mind. Well - I just cried.

(This is one of my favorite pictures - it lives on Dad's blackberry. And now that I'm almost iPhoto savvy I'll aim to upload more fun pix. :)

Hooray!!!

2009-02-11T16:59:00.001-08:00

don't get too too excited - the enthusiasm is strictly for the purchase of my NEW LAPTOP AND FREE PRINTER!!!! woooo!!! I got a brand new pretty white MacBook! Dad is cringing right now somewhere in Bakersfield. He always frowned upon anything Apple and consistently purchased P.C.s. Well, sorry about it Dad, but the mother board flipped out on the HP and it's somewhere receiving technical therapy and hopefully under warranty. whatev. I'm over it. I'm on to cleaner, brighter, and better. I'm sure many of you have seen that Sex & the City episode where Carrie's motherboard dies in her computer? And the whole episode revolves around the theme of "mothers." Miranda's mom dies from a heart attack and they have to attend her funeral in Pennsylvania. And when our motherboard died here, I felt like I was wrapped up in my own little episode of "My Motherboard, My Self." Between my Mom's tears, my own, and then the computer - sheesh! It also got me thinking about one particular Mother I haven't paid much mention to in this blog as of yet, but who means so so much to me. Mimi. My mom's mom - who passed away just six and a half months ago. I'm so grateful that she has not had to bare the weight of the pain our family has been hit with, the universe was working in strange ways the day it set a stroke upon her - while my Dad was in a coma. But that's a detailed story for another time and page. I'll let the birth of my new motherboard be a tribute to Mimi. Below is what I spoke at her funeral service - words from a lucky, and grateful granddaughter.

Put your shoes on Lucy don't you know you're in the city, put yours hoes on Lucy... I forget the rest! Mimi, how does it go? Angie? Katie? can you girls finish it? hmm... mimi used to sing that to us... as we put ourselves together for the day - a typical weekend with Mimi and Goen. Katie and I would sleep over, wake up and sneak into the kitchen to see Mimi behind the counter and Goen behind the paper, a little bowl of prunes in front of him. After teasing and tickling and toast, we'd start our day. We'd put our shoes on, we'd play outside, we'd go ride the marry-go-round at the mall while Mimi came and sang at this church, and we'd come back to Mimi making us sandwiches for lunch. Lunch was followed by total immersion into Mimi's make-up, an all around free-for-all where Katie and I painted our eyebrows, cheeks, lips, anything that Mimi did that could make us one day as beautiful as she. (she? her? - I didn't catch the grammar gene.) That was "typical weekend with grandparents: Mimi and Goen, Tradition #1." Cut to a few days before Christmas Eve, a most special day, devoted to just me, my mom, and Mimi. A trip to South Coast Plaza, every year for the past 22 years. TWENTY TWO YEARS! It started with Mom and I spending the night at 4440 Faculty with Mimi and Goen, then waking up in the morning and embarking on the most epic day of shopping ever, always starting at Nordstroms - so Mimi could buy a pants suit for Mom, meanwhile I'd try and pick out an "adorable" pair of shoes that she just had to buy for me. Then we'd venture into the plaza - gaze at that beautiful tree - then hit the stores as we pieced together the presents for our family gift exchange on Christmas Day. I went from sitting and crying on Santa's lap to sitting and crying over a bottle of Pinot Grigio split between the three of us, Mimi squeezing my hand across the table, and watching our eyes dart from generation to generation - sharing stories of our phenomenal family, Mimi's past, my future, and everything in between. A precious once a year outing only my Mom, Mimi, and I can share. the one and only time my mother liked to shop. That was Mimi Tradition #2. Nine months following Christmas, the matriarch and her Goen offspring gather at Alisol. A tradition sparked by Cowboy Goen - where there's nothing but fun, family, and food on a farm for three days. An amazing excursion I think we all looked forward to more than we'd admit. For truly, every year on that first Friday - we all look at each other and say, "WOW! are we back again already?" and three days later "it always goes by SO fast!" And through the horseback rides, the lounging at the pool, the endless milkshakes, and endless bottles of wine, the late nights at the ranch bar, running up the tab with cosmopolitans, which got more expensive as we cousins crossed the 21-year mark... or didn't. And through every moment - she was sitting there - enamoured and engaged, watching us, and admiring with endless pride the remarkable family she created. That "Mega-watt Mimi smile" in turn spread across every Goen girls face, that vibrant, cheek to cheek smile that made me feel so so so special. That strong, charismatic, and contagious break of laughter - rings through all of us. That was Mimi's ultimate tradition. To laugh, cry, smile, and be together. We are her passion, and the only other passion of hers that can hold a candle to her family, is music. So Mimi, in accordance with your will, I hope I fulfilled the part of "Brief anecdotes and music, music, music." Let her music, tradition, and passion carry our Mimi through with us, for the rest of our lives. To the most magnificent grandmother. I love you.

TRUST

2009-02-09T11:11:00.000-08:00

I had quite a little journey this weekend - and way too much thinking time on the 5 freeway all by myself. Friday morning El and I (that's my Prius' name - short for "electric" :) hit the road in the rain to spend the day in Bakersfield with Dad, and follow him through his therapies. After a terrifying 2 hours through a torrential downpour in which I swore El was going to fly up and spin out everytime we hit a puddle, I finally arrived at the clinic, shaking and thankful for my life. I walked into the maze that is CNS Bakersfield -- down the busy hallways -- scanning the people, observing the variety of clients and their caretakers at their side. I felt quite reassured at the variety of clientel, there was a great mix of people - young and old, people who Dad could easily be buddies with - not like he ever had a problem making friends with anyone, but I just want him to feel equal amidst the population there. He was excited to see me - but I know a little thrown. It was strange. He closed off during therapies, and both the speech therapist and the occupational said, "come on David, you've done better than that before", which makes me think rather than trying to impress me by doing really well - he felt silly for having to do such menial assignments in front of me, and his pride and insight kicked in and got the best of him. That right there is his biggest deficit. The fact that his inherent impulse for competition and success in whatever he's doing, is telling him that he's smarter than this and knows his shit - while his brain is trying to unpuzzle the task - is why he's not succeeding at normal human capacity. If he could let this pride down, let his guard down, and trust the situation - he'll succeed and strive to be at his best.

My faith was renewed when we went into counseling with Joe, the 6 foot 5 Asian man with a big belly, barely busting the buttons of his green Hawaiian shirt, a man so friendly, gracious, and delightfully eccentric, Dad is instant buds with him and introduces me right away. We sit down in Joe's office, a cluttered accumulation of his 28 years of doing this, and Joe gets me up to speed on what he and Dad have been working on together. And basically, they talk. And Dad trusts him. And they are friends. Joe tries to put in perspective for me what Dad is going through, something I already pretty completely understood, but I'll relay this on to you...

Joe: Imagine that I said to you, "that's a great yellow shirt!"
(my shirt is a vibrant purple)
Me: okay... but it's purple.
Joe: Nope, no it's yellow. trust me.
(I look down)
Me: no it's not, it's purple.
Joe: No Annie, trust me, your shirt is yellow.
(obviously, this could start to get aggravating...)
Me: umm no it's clearly purple.
Joe: I'm sorry Annie, it's yellow. I'm a professional, (he indicates to his certificates on the wall), and I'm here to help you, so you need to trust me that your shirt is yellow.

this in essence is what David Nemer is dealing with. So now Joe turns to my Dad,
Joe: David, do you know why you're here?
Dad: ...ummm not really, no.
Joe: well I'll let your daughter tell you.
(thanks. I turn to Dad, and as routinely and matter-of-factly as possible, so as to not flip him out I say the usual...)
Me: well Dad, remember you had that bad heart attack? and it stopped pumping oxygen to your brain, so now your memory is a little off.
Dad: my memory is not a little off.
(now it's Joe's turn... 28 years of practice in action...)
Joe: well David, actually it is. you have a brain injury. and you're an incredibly intelligent and smart guy, we've become good friends now over the past couple weeks, and what you're daughter, who loves you, is saying is true. And I'm a professional (indicates to certificates again), and the people you work with are, and you have to trust what we're saying is true - because your family loves you and cares about you, and we love you and care about you, and we want to help you get your memory better. But you just have to trust us.

Joe's manner is extremely calm and rational, not babying, very friendly and sophisticated. Dad shifts in his seat a bit, his eyes watering up a little, but he remains calm at hearing this information, and processing it. And I have real faith for the first time that this will work. I see my Dad in there, accepting it, the David Nemer of the past and the David of the present slowly merging. I get chills.

We move on to talking about the rest of the weekend, possibly going out to dinner on Saturday night somewhere in town, we're talking about steaks. The "here and now" conversation so normal and accurate for about 6 minutes. "That sounds so good Dad maybe we'll go tomorrow night after I get back in town." "tomorrow?" Dad ponders. " oh too bad I'll be in Phoenix." Enter Joe to save the day.

This is how it will work. The daily therapies of memory exercises and games will tackle that part of the brain to get it working again, through tons of repetition, eventually training the brain to stick those memories into place so that everytime Joe gives his little speech, Dad inches closer to believing it.

To Lose Him

2009-02-05T14:34:00.000-08:00

We're approaching the end of week 2. If only the next 6 will go as swiftly. This transition has been difficult no doubt, but my Mom has seemed to wear the weight of it most openly. The departure was painful, the visit was dramatic, and the distance in between is an open ended agony. I think we both feel that. I had not cried a tear since Dad left that Friday two weeks ago - I think I got them all out in the moment, and then sucked it up and looked ahead. However, my mom's tears were daily, along with the mantra, "I just keep losing him." I've had to remind her - one, "we" keep losing him, and two, it's not about us. It's for Dad, and he's not lost. He's only going on the most important business trip of his life for simply 2 months. We know and are well aware of the logic around it all, and I understand it gets blurred in the pain. Yet, again, I did not cry until Saturday night when we were mid-visit with Dad. After we finished dinner, we went back to the hotel to take the doggies for a little walk before Sarah took Dad back to his apartment. Sarah and Mom chatted in the room, while Dad and I took Jenny and Melvin for a stroll around the grounds of the Doubletree. There was little bits of chit chat, I can't deny it sort of felt awkward. :( I sort of didn't know what to say, I didn't know if Dad thought he was staying in the room with us or what. But we got back to the door and met Sarah and Mom there. "Okay, David, Sarah's gonna drive ya back to your apartment and we'll meet you in the morning for breakfast." Mom says, cheerily. "She is?" Dad says. "Yep! we've gotta head back to the residence now, the dogs are staying with Annie and Barbara at the hotel." Sarah chimes in. "ohhh... okay." Dad plays along. There are hugs goodbye on the steps, while the leashes gradually get more tangled around our legs by little Jenny wiggling all about. And Mom and I head inside, closely the large, heavy glass door as Sarah and Dad turn to walk away. That's when I lost it (and I lose it now as I'm trying to type). We turn and walk toward the room, and Melvin would not turn to follow. Instead, nose pressed to the glass - paws splayed out in front of him as I'm pulling his leash, he planted himself in such a strong stance - watching his Dad walk away. And I can only imagine his little doggie mantra running through his canine brain, "no no no! Don't take him again! where's he going? where's he going? where's he going?" It broke my heart. Dad may be away from us now, by choice, circumstance, and distance, but Melvin is the one who keeps losing him. And there are no words of reason to tell him why. But I know, I know he knows something. He feels something. Just have faith Melly - Daddy's coming home.

trip #1

2009-02-02T10:00:00.000-08:00

MUST FIX COMPUTER AT HOME. I simply write better during the evenings. But I wanted to briefly state that this weekend was our first trip to Bakersfield. It was no doubt a rough experience, but at the same time, quite positive. Before I indulge on the details of the weekend in a later post, some images I'm left with include walking into Dad's apartment and meeting his roomate and the handfull of resident assistants, all of whom look like high schoolers sitting in detention, forced to smile as they work on homework in these big massive binders used to document my Father's every move. Then there was taking Dad to our hotel room to visit with the dogs and watch a movie, and Jenny doing her job and snuggling up under Dad's arm like a teddy bear for an entire 2 hours. And then miraculously snagging four seats at the bar at Black Angus for dinner - where the wait was 1 hour and 15 minutes - there were 4 seats in a row left for me, Mom, Dad, and sweet Sarah, Dad's "personal assistant," right in front of the big screen to watch the Laker game. Dinner was so classic and so fun - and if anything, left the impression with Sarah that my Dad is a social, outgoing, fun-loving, FOOD-loving, distinguished, smart and amazing man - who deserves the best environment and life to facilitate these qualities in him. Fortunately, Sarah is incredibly down to earth and cool - and Dad clearly enjoyed hanging out with her, if not more than Mom and I that night! So with Sarah on our side - you better believe I'm raising a fuss to get this high-school dropout apartment situation changed ASAP. But all discrepancies aside... Dad seemed content, and had an understanding that this is where he's supposed to be right now - and it's his job to do. Sarah also reassured us by saying, "if it's any consolation, he asks for Robin all the time..."

? story

2009-01-28T10:51:00.001-08:00

I'm at the office, a bag of spinach on my blue ankle. It's not better yet. And I want so desperately to run my half-marathon on Sunday. I had it all planned out with my group - run 13.2 miles through the Huntington Beach SurfCity race, then veg out, and drink and consume the amount of calories just burned off at Uncle Smooth's sports bar in Long Beach while watching the Super Bowl. doesn't that sound fun? well who knows if it'll happen now. :( i'm optimistic, but my phsyical therapists aren't.

I had a little cry this morning in the car, on the way to the office. I was singing along to Wicked, and Melvin had his paw linked over my arm while I was driving - he always likes to hold hands in the car. (we had just dropped off Jenny for a bath - she's white - didn't really consider the grooming part of the bargain when adopting her). Anyway, passing by the Hollywood Way exit off the 134 made me remember all the times I'd follow behind Dad's yellow corvette on the way to breakfast at Western Bagel. No matter what, we'd always try and squeeze in a bagel morning once a week. He'd always get poppy-seed, not toasted, with lox spread and red onions. We'd have coffee, chat for about 30 minutes - and go our separate ways to work. I miss that.

Yesterday marked exactly 7 months since the "incident." That's the nice little, consise word the medical world uses to signify the moment your world was rocked and pain ensued. The night before Dad left for Bakersfield, he was studying the little chalkboard hanging in our kitchen which always had the date and schedule for the day:

"Thursday, January 22nd, 2009
David and Angela to CNS
10am
Barbara - USC
Annie - J-nex"

Dad would read this everytime passing through the kitchen, as if it was a new thing even though nothing ever changed on it but the date. He'd question it everytime, "David and Angela to CNS?!!!! that's bullshit." Except for some reason that evening, he made no verbal comment -but erased the schedule, and left the date. I watched him pick up the piece of chalk and slowly draw a big "?". I kid you not. He drew a question mark. and it remains on the bored. The ideal symbol for the past 7 months, and the future.

Brace Yourself

2009-01-27T09:50:00.000-08:00

Nothing works! Did literally every functioning computer system in this house decide to break down in the same day? Seriously – when my Dad’s brain broke-down, so did every electronic in the Nemer household. I’ve been meaning to write – but everything is broken, or bad, or difficult. So I’m writing now on my laptop which is not connected to the internet and I’ll have to somehow transfer this file to a computer that is connected and then cut and paste it onto the blog – so it took quite a feat to get these words to you, and there are many of them, since it has been a week since my last update, and things have changed and taken shape in dramatic ways, but I appreciate you bearing with me through it. Here’s a play-by-play of the past week, picking up where I left off…

Tuesday 1/20:
morning – bagels, bacon, and Obama! we watch the inauguration, tears all around – mostly from Dad. Mom leaves for work, I leave for a run with the dogs so that Angela can get Dad out of the house. all successful.
afternoon – I pick up Dad, and he’s oddly serene the entire way home. We make a simple dinner consisting of shrimp and rice which Dad picked out. All is calm... I’m wondering, why? Mom gets home – informs me that Dad refused all of his therapy that day – he bit, kicked, spit, threw punches, and resisted until they stunned him with a shot of Ativan.(sp?) ((A drug they also used to subside his aggressive and thrashing behavior when he was in his fighting vegetable state back in the day 7 months ago.))

Wednesday 1/21:
morning: all quiet on the Royal blvd front.
afternoon: leaving CNS – semi-tumultuous. It was after a conference where we met with Jessica, the behavior analyst from CNS-Bakersfield, who reinstated that what Dad needs is constant structure and a hand-over-hand approach to therapy that forces him to complete his tasks. Mom can’t believe that he’s been biting and spitting at the therapists there. We find him in one of the rooms to say, “hey Dad! time to go!” and he yells at us, “oh would you two just get out of here!!!!” we skulk over to the lobby and wait. “so who wants him?” I say to my Mom sarcastically, since we took two cars and one of us would have to brave the beast on the ride home. “Well… let’s see who he goes for.”
(I’m realizing now this day deserves some detail…)
For some reason, Dad has decided to hate me this day. We get in the elevator, and Dad snatches his backpack from me, “gimme that!!!!” he says. Mom initiates cheerily, “so who do you wanna drive home with? me or Annie?” “I don’t wanna go home with HER!!!” he snarls at me. okay…. I shrink into the corner and act somewhat offended, (I’m really not I just want him to think so.) We get out of the elevator and I walk far ahead of them and get my car. As I drive past them I lean out the window, “byeeee! see ya at the house! are ya suuuuuuuuuure you don’t wanna come with me??? I’ve got the snacks!” Dad nods a distraught “no” at me, so I inch slowly forward, watching them in the rearview mirror – and I just knew that Dad would feel bad and change his mind. Mom waves me down, “ANNIE!!! he wants to go with you now!” ah hahaha. Part of me is excited my Dad wants to ride with me, and part of me is terrified that he’ll get angry and try and escape. Surprisingly – we make it home – the power of pistachio nuts acting as my distracting savior.
evening: Mom’s starving, Dad’s starving and lying on the couch, dinner out is suggested. “let’s go to Jax!!!” our classic, comfortable, delicious neighborhood favorite – and they always give a generous and much-needed pour of vino. With ease, we exit the house and head out. Going to sit down in the booth, Dad says, “I have to sit next to HER?!!!!” “yes – she’s your beautiful daughter, she loves you.” Mom says. I give a puppy-eyed look to my Dad, and he obliges and sits down next to me. (I wonder if he really does think I’m his sister Robin sometimes – I’ve heard their daily life together wasn’t a too far off reflection of his aversion to me on this day…) anyway, he sits next to me. The waiter comes to take our order – I’m silent since anything I say gets snapped at or shunned. But deciding what to order is such a feat – Mom’s helping guide Dad towards what he wants, “how bout the tri-tip?? or the steak Diane with all the mushrooms, you love those!” “where’s that?” Dad says, he’s totally on the wrong page of the menu. I lean over and start to turn the page kindly, “it’s on this page of the menu, Dad.” “I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT’S ON THAT PAGE!” he snaps at me. the poor little waiter-boy clearly stunned by this dysfunctional-family moment. I make eyes at him behind Dad’s back in an attempt to communicate that I’m okay – Dad doesn’t mean what he says. We order, we eat, we’re happy, we go home…

night falls: Dad lays down on the couch for 5 minutes, I put on the TV. He gets up, “ugh I’m tired, I’m going to sleep.” “Dad, it’s only 7:45… do you really want to go to sleep now?” I say, gently. “I’m going to bed.” He goes upstairs and crawls in bed. I head to the computer for some mindless Facebooking, perhaps a blog. I hear Mom in the bedroom with him, tucking him in. She comes into the study and says, “okay – teach me how to work this thing.” And there I begin Facebook101 with my Mother – a trying attempt at teaching her new technology and quite hilarious all at the same time. We’re giggling and engaged with the computer, when all of the sudden, the door slams.

Mom goes over to her bedroom door, turns the knob. It’s locked. “David???” she says. “open the door! you locked it!” no answer. “DAVID???? open the door please!” no answer. we exchange looks of panic. “DAVID!!! open the door!!!!!!!! OPEN THE DOOR!!!” she’s banging on it now. ask for Melvin – I suggest. “DAVID!!!! Melvin needs to go out!!!!” nothing. bang bang bang bang bang bang on the door. nothing. she knocks for what seems like 15 minutes – and panic ensues. We have to get in. What could he be doing in there?! Why isn’t he answering?!!!! Mom decides we should sneak in through the balcony sliding door. She’s trying to get the screen off the window but can’t – I intervene – pull her away from the window and disengage it myself. I throw the screen to the side and crawl out – carefully across the slats over the patio. I climb over the fence to the balcony – and Dad is simply asleep in his bed. I slowly open the screen door – and he pops up. “GEEEETT OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!!!!!!!!” He leaps out of the bed and chases me across the room. I duck and run to the door and open it for my mom. “Dad you locked us out!!! we couldn’t get in!!” “DAMN RIGHT YOU COULDN’T GET IN – GET OUT THE WAY YOU CAME!!! GET OUT!!!!!!!!!” and he’s throwing punches, and his eyes are bulging out, and he’s swinging at us and threatening – I dart back to the screen door to close it – I lock it, then think twice and unlock it again, then I dash back to the door as he’s yelling at me to get out. He slams it behind me – Mom’s still in there. “DAVID CALM DOWN!!!” she screams. he screams back, I hear yelling, pushing, my Mom’s voice crying. I’m terrified. I scream back from the outside, I hear her say – “it’s okay, Annie! I’m okay!” She comes out and closes the door – holding the door knob as Dad’s trying to lock it again from the other side. the Evil Monster is in FULL SWING. We’re both shaken and terrified. She doesn’t want to let the doorknob go or it’ll lock again. So I creep back out onto the patio so I can see Dad through the window. He’s pushing the door shut, he won’t give up. They stand like that for ten minutes – I’m waiting to give my mom the cue that she can let go, that Dad’s gone back to bed to let the monster rest. It isn’t until I see him turn, whimper and shake his head, then walk back and crawl in bed – that I give her a silent cue that she’s safe to let go. I crawl back through the window – bruise my ass on the metal frame – and sit down with my Mom. We stare at each other, frightened with disbelief. Was that our David Nemer that just attacked us??? No, no it wasn’t. It’s a brain damaged human being – and he’s dangerous.

We call the CNS hotline to report to our case manager. There’s no doubt now that he’s got to go to Bakersfield. We operate on super-silent mode the rest of the evening, as to not risk waking the beast. Mom sleeps in my bed that night, Jenny wedged between us. Poor Melvin probably frozen in a ball on the floor in their room – not knowing what the hell to think.

Thursday 1/22: it’s a new day, and it’s raining.
morning: Mom creeps back into their room when the sun comes up. Once Dad’s awake, he comes into my room – cheerily, his face awash in smiles and pure joy as he sees Jenny curled up on my bed. He curls up next to her and places Heartly, (my stuffed hippo that I’ve had since I was 9), under her paw. It’s precious, heartbreaking, and stupefying all at the same time. He cuddles with me and her for about 5 minutes – not recalling an inkling of what occurred a mere 10 hours earlier.
8am: Angela arrives, and the morning routine carries on with ease. I decide to go for my 30 minute run and sweat away the drama of the night before. 15 minutes in, just at the turn-around point, I hit an evil pinecone and come down hard – rolling my left ankle and smashing into the asphalt on my right knee. ohhhhh wonderful. of course. Running - my one escape and outlet – shot to shit by a stupid pinecone. I try and get up, oooh it hurts. I’m crying - for so many things, the rain starts pouring, my knee is bleeding and my ankle is assuming the shape of a softball. I limp home. A pathetic sight as I walk through the door, Angela comes out of the kitchen, “I fell…” I cry. “ohh mi…” she hugs me sweetly muttering something in Spanish. I limp upstairs, knock on my Mom’s door, she opens it, “Mommy I fell…” I cry. (maybe I needed to fall just to feel how wonderful being so truly nurtured is, not that I feel that I need it, but the physical sight of a scraped knee elicits instinctual nurturing – the kind you crave when you’re five years old). Dad, however lacked that instinct, “oh get over it” he grumbles, waving me off.

evening: after a day of ice/elevation and an attempt at work – I pick up Dad. He’s fairly complacent, I heard it was a good day from the therapists, and we head home. As I’m setting the table for dinner – Mom walks in. “they’re taking him tomorrow.” Shocked, “tomorrow? already?” “yep.” she says. “Angela’s coming in the morning for routine, then Laurie the nurse is arriving to give him a shot of Ativan for the ride up, and then a van from Bakersfield arrives to take him there.”

with this daunting, scary, information – we have our last dinner together. and go to sleep.

Friday 1/23:
the plan is in action, Dad’s completely compliant, pleasant, and of course making this more difficult. If it had been the Evil Monster we had to say bye to that morning it may not have been so hard.

after they took him, my Mom and I sobbed. “I just keep losing him” she weeps. I understand… but it’s not about us. it’s about him – and it’s going to make him stronger. I just know he’s going to fight until he figures out what the fuck is going on – and, we’ve already made it through so much – this is just two months out of the rest of his life, and it can only help from here. We’ve hit a wall where we lived in danger – and now, Dad’s got to get through the grapevine, and climb over that wall – all by way of Bakersfield.

A Pleasant Place

2009-01-19T21:42:00.000-08:00

I get out of the elevator on my way to pick up Dad at CNS this afternoon, after a day of transcribing hideously boring interviews at the office, and right when i reach for the door handle - the horn blows. They blow an air horn every time someone tries to escape from CNS. And usually - it's my Dad that's the culprit. I open the door - and low and behold - there's Hilda, our case manager, guarding the door, my Dad trying to push his way to it, and 4 other CNS therapists and staff ready to pounce. I walk into the mania - "oh good - you're here, did you come to take me away from these people?!" my Dad says in surprise at my impeccable timing. "no David, you have twenty more minutes of therepy, we have to finish." says Hilda. "fine - i'll wait here." and Dad sits down on one of the seats in the lobby area. "well no, Dad" I say "you go finish and I'll be here and then we'll go at ten to 4." Hilda turns to me and says, "do you mind waiting outside? we have to intervene." "Umm sure..." okay. whatever that means. and I know what it means - it means they're going to use physical restraint to get my dad to calm down and finish his exercises and they don't want me to see it. my question is why do they have to do it if i'm already there to take him home in the first place and end all the drama? But whatever. So I wait in the hall, by the elevator. I lean against the wall, and then sink down to the floor - and sit on the cold tile indefinitely. -- let me interrupt myself to say real quick that as I'm attempting to complete this blog I have to stop every 2 minutes to keep Jenny from eating Pickles, the poor traumatized bird who sits in it's cage right outside the door from the study. sorry Jenny. -- anyway, I'm slumped by the elevator, imagining what they're doing to Daddy in there. and it doesn't sound good. ten minutes later, Shimone, one of the other clients there, about the age of my Dad and with much more cognition but less speech competency than he, comes out of the clinic with his son. Let me preface this by telling you that Shimone is one of those classic kissing Europeans. Everytime he sees me, "HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!! *muah* *mauh*!" kisses on my cheeks. And he is also sort of buddies with my Dad, when Dad's being compliant. But with this latest behavior Shimone feels the need to tell me about it, as if I didn't know. He sees me slumped there - "heeeeeeeeey!!! ohhhhhhh - you're Dad..." and then he grumbles something and throws punches in the air to illustrate whatever just happened behind closed doors. His son intervenes, "Dad, eet's okay -- eet's okay! don worry about it!" and he smiles at me. "you okay?" he says. "yeah" I nod. then Shimone leans down, and squeezes my face and lands two kisses on my cheeks. "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh mi....." whatever he grumbles. And they get in the elevator to leave and I wait.

Finally Hilda comes out of the doors and makes a beeline to the bathroom - as if purposefully trying to avoid me. I wait til she comes back to say, "can I come in now?" "ummm... let me just check." She goes in. finally she comes out, "yeah you can come wait in the lobby, he's destressing now." um okay. So I sit there in an actual chair, and I know that whatever aggression just happened Dad is coming down from it now. Robin, Dad's counselor, (whom I hate for having that name), comes out and lets me know that Dad acted out again. Supposedly, after I appeared he calmed down and started to do his exercise again, and then he decided he had had enough and started lashing out - at which point 6 people jumped on him to restrain him and finally he became calm and was now relaxing on the physical therepy bed - they wanted him to wait for the adrenaline to wear off before attempting to head home with me. Finally they escort him to the door and he goes, "let's get out of here. let's get away from these assholes." "okay okay" I say and I wave to them and we walk out the door. door closes, and Dad instantly starts sobbing into my arms. "they're just so awful!!!! get me out of here! they want to kill me!!" "shhh shh it's okay daddy i know, I know" I say. calming him. Hilda just on the other side of the door listening to this opens the door and peeks her head around and says, "everything okay?" and Dad, embarrassed to be caught crying says, "get away!" and slams the door at her. I jump in the middle to break up the scene and tell them it's fine it's fine - i've got it from here. The blessed elevator arrives and we get in and away.

down the elevator, Dad keeps crying. I give him my sunglasses so he can hide his tears. He's clearly drained and sore from the drama. I would be too. I ache for him. As we're walking to the car he goes, "those goddamn assholes. THOSE GODDAMN ASSHOLES." loud enough so every random at the Baja Fresh around the corner probably dropped their burrito to look and see where the crazy person voice was coming from. "Dad!!! it's okay it's okay - let's get in the car, we're going home now."

We get in. I put him in the back - hoping that my childproof locks were engaged - and terrified that he may make an anxious attempt to get out on the freeway as he has tried in moments of panic before. Luckily, only one weak attempt. He was too busy sobbing and marinating in the drama of the day. I distract him with a bag of pistachio nuts I keep in the car for snacks. They helped a little. Finally, we get home.

He's totally drained, and totally hungry. After about 9 minutes on the couch, just enough time to allow me to retell the story to Mom in privacy, Dad walks in, "I want a steak! let's put some on the grill." Mom and I look at each other -- "ummm okay" and after devising excuses of lack of coals for a BBQ and the fact that the steaks were still frozen we make the executive decision to head to Columbo's for dinner, our classic, favorite, family Italian steakhouse restaurant, where there's always a little live jazz. We throw some food in the bowls for the dogs, and head out the door. The event of going out to dinner, so innately normal and easy.

At Columbo's, we cozy up in a booth directly across from the best piano player ever. Dad's face is awash in smiles and joy watching this sweet, big, Black man musician with the softest touch on the keys and a sweet attempt at a Nat King Cole voice, serranading the restaurant. We order fried calamari - they get devoured in a flash. We talk about my day at work, my upcoming auditions, Mom working at USC, tomorrow's inauguration, we toast to Bush's last night as president, and we sing and sway along to the classic jazz melodies -- all of which the lyrics are somehow ingrained in my Dad's brain - and he's openly singing and whistling along. I'm amazed. Well, not amazed, but more dumbfounded and dissapointed. How can a day in the life of David, be so bad - so extreme, so difficult, so dangerous, so painful, so sad, and then so so good and true to life, so full of spirit. How can one body handle such polar emotions in a span of 10 hours? I hate it. A night like this was out of a movie; seeing my parents squeezing hands, swaying over half-eaten plates of pasta, tears running down Mom's face as they sing along to "these foolish things." I didn't cry today until that moment - and even then it was just a couple tears. But it was pure wonderful.

We get in the car, and pull out of the parking lot. "that is a pleasant place." Dad says. "yep... it sure is." Mom and I agree.

I'm home!

2009-01-16T13:22:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone! I'm Jenny! I just moved in. Melvin's nice - but I can tell he's a little possessive. men. anyway. I can't wait to meet the rest of my family. I hear Mommy-Barbara is going to kill Annie when she sees how big I am. I wasn't supposed to be this big. But I promised I wouldn't pee in the house or eat any of her autographed collected works by significant playwrights. (Annie filled me in about the-dog-who-shall-not-be-named and her affinity for books and journals.) Anyway -- come by and visit me. Can't wait to become part of the fam. :P

not fair not fair not fair

2009-01-15T22:56:00.000-08:00

I don't care who reads this or who doesn't - but I'm pissed right now because I miss everything I had before I had to stay in almost every night with my brain damaged dad. I miss my friends, I miss being social, I miss men. I was thinking - this time last year I was makin' out like crazy. yeah! it's true. but all making out and relationships aside - I had like multiple men in my life, some significant, some not so much: there was the Ex, the Scene partner, the Power Ranger, the Cast member... my Crazy whatever-we-were, my new Roomate, and my Dad. wonderful, significant, men in my life. hmph. who would have thought - one year later.

it was too much looking around at pictures of happy people on facebook, my old ones included, that prompted me to whine and bitch. sorry about it.

on Lockdown

2009-01-15T14:40:00.000-08:00

I get a call at 12:10pm. It's Kathy at CNS. In so many words, this is what she told me. "Hi Annie, okay so your Dad won't leave the house. He's locked himself in - and Angela, Karla, and Jennifer are all outside. He wanted to drive his car and when Angela told him he couldn't he got really angry and agressive. We think it would be dangerous to take him in to CNS even if we do get him to cooperate, but he's not listening to anyone and he's starting to act out." oh man, I'm thinking. damnit Dad, damnit! why can't you just cooperate and go?!!!! These people aren't trying to hurt you!!!! This place is nothing new! Just fucking get with the program!!! and dear lord PLEASE don't hurt yourself in the house alone! I take a breath, "okay - um... okay i'm on my way." Kathy suggests, "maybe try and call him, and talk him down a bit." "okay - yeah. I'll try that first but I'll start to head over regardless." I hang up. I dial home. The phone's off the hook. Oh man. I slam my laptop closed - 4 pages from finishing my neverending script - grab my keys and bolt out the office. Another call, "Annie it's Kathy again - okay so your Dad's disconnected the phones." No shit. "yeah I just tried. okay i'm on my way - i'll be there in 10 minutes." "Drive safe." she says.

I'm on the 134 freeway - speeding - having flashbacks to the night I was enroute that same direction after the heart attack. Rehearsing that same monologue in my head in case I got pulled over. "officer I'm sorry, it's my Dad, he's in danger at home, I know i'm speeding just please follow me and write me the ticket when we get there." Meanwhile I'm thinking all these horrible things. What if he does get the car to work? What if he starts feeling aggressive towards himself? Should we have hidden the keys better? Should we have hidden the kitchen knives?! Ahhhh! Who knows what his damaged brain can come up with?! All it knows is it's not happy, and feels trapped. And therefore, it's trapped my Dad's body inside his house fending off these people who are trying to take him somewhere against his will, out of his control.

I finally get there - whip my prius into the driveway -and see Angela crouched on the curb by the garage, and two other therapists from CNS sitting on the porch. The garage door is open, all doors locked. I go inside. "Daddy? It's me..." I hear Dad's voice, sounding soft and surprised: "oh are you here?" "hi I'm here." I find him, shaking, he's almost crying. then he gets angry. "OH GET THESE PEOPLE OUT OF HERE!!! they're calling the police on me, they're trying to get me. they're gonna shoot me. I'd shoot them if I could. get them away!" deeeep breath. "it's okay Dad, let me talk to them, it's okay. " "NO IT'S NOT OKAY! DON'T YOU DARE TALK TO THEM." it was as if he was upset that I would even try and reason with these imposters - that I wasn't on his side fending them off. "it's okay, it's okay." I shut the door slightly behind me and get the story from Karla and Jennifer on the porch. Then I hear the door slam shut and I think oh fuck don't lock me out too. So I tell them - "thanks, guys I got it from here." and I race around to the back and run inside. "ARE THEY GONE YET?!" "they're leaving now..." i say calmly. "THEIR CARS ARE STILL HERE!!!!" "they're LEAVING NOW I PROMISE!!!!" I say back, firmly. He watches til a car pulls away - "Bye bye fatties." Dad says.

I go into the kitchen and give him space. Mom calls - he's still furious and rips the phone out of my hand, then hangs up on her. the evil monster is still in him. I just go into the kitchen and let him lay there in the living room, steaming. Silently waiting - not knowing what to do - what will set him off - how extreme this evil monster could behave, I stand leaning on the kitchen counter, scooping a spoon in a jar of peanut butter, wondering when I make an entrance again. I decide to set the tone. I turn on "I Love Lucy" and stick a bag of popcorn in the microwave. three minutes later, just before the last pop, Dad walks in -- "what's going on?" he says, timidly, softly. I decide to say nothing. I just take the bag of popcorn out, and wave it in front of my face, smiling in delight and looking at Dad through the steam, the buttery smell floating up, waving the bag in front of me like a pendulum so as to tempt Dad a bit. "ooooooohhh can i have some?" "most definitely" I say. I pour the popcorn into a big bowl. He reaches in -- "wait!!!" then I pour an extreme amount of melted butter over the top. Dad reaches his hand in again. he takes a big scoop, and starts to feed his face. "Ohhhh it tastes sooo good!" he says whimpering, the warm comforting taste breaking the evil and bringing him to tears. "Aww, I know Dad. Popcorn makes everything better." "almost everything" he says.

We take it in the living room, stretch out on the couch and relax. The evil has subsided. For who knows how long.

And now I sit here, wondering when or if we'll leave the house today. Meanwhile, I know my Mom's at work, with the same pressing issue at the front of her mind, more present and serious than ever: Bakersfield.

missing

2009-01-14T22:47:00.000-08:00

Okay fine, I don't know why I tried to cop out from writing my true feelings by covering it with a Melvin story. I missed my Dad tonight. I miss him everyday - but there are those particular days where I see him more, I mean I see who he was before this, and I miss that Dad soooooooo much. oh it hurts. Tonight I saw it when I was trying to make us dinner. And I wasn't a bit hungry, but I didn't want him to eat alone, and I wanted him to eat a lot of fat because he's a freakin' twig, so I was in this annoying predicament. And I kept asking him what he wanted to make and then he'd get frustrated after staring at items in the freezer and have an inkling about what to do with them but then not the thought to follow through and then he'd slam the freezer door and walk back to the living room. This happened about 3 times until I took the initiative to just fucking cook us something. So I went for Italian sausages and Kraft mac 'n cheese. A daughter/daddy favorite from the past when Mom happened to be out for dinner. although tonight I enhanced it with grilled onions on a bun. I guess I shouldn't have expected much - but Dad sat there at first, not thrilled or excited by my dinner, (nothing compared to mushroom night), very apathetic, and bitchy. I was so disheartened. I wanted him to get excited about it, and devour it, and then devour mine so I wouldn't eat it and he'd get twice the calories because he's seriously sororiety-girl-skinny, weighing in at 166 pounds!!!! And I look at him and I just, ahhhh I miss my big, jolly, energetic, enthusiastic, wonderful, happy, Daddy. I miss him.
skinny people are bitches.

one shoe

2009-01-14T22:10:00.000-08:00

Ahhhhhh!!! I just saw it! One of the most rare and precious phenomenons that only ever occurs in the quiet late hours of the night when no one is paying attention. Melvin and one shoe. Sometimes in the Nemer house, you'll wake up in the morning and find one shoe by your bedside - and you wonder, "hhhmm... where's the other one?" then you remember you kicked them off downstairs by the couch. And the only explanation is Melvin. His sweet little habit of sneaking one shoe of yours upstairs and dropping it by your bedside. I just let him out to do his business before bedtime and as I was heading up the stairs I heard him at his water bowl. I sit down here at the computer by the top of the stairs, and then I see him come around the corner, one of my grey boots hanging from his mouth. He never chews, he never bites, he just carries it - and puts it down for you. what a strange, special little habit, don't you think? What in Melvin's little brain triggers him to see a shoe and carry it up with him before bedtime? It just makes you wonder.

this story probably doesn't read half as adorable as witnessing the acutal event. but I had started to write an annoying, whiney, blog and who wants to hear that when I can discuss my dog's shoe fetish.

Mushroom Monday

2009-01-12T21:29:00.000-08:00

Food makes everything better. There's just no doubt. The two best things in life to lift a person's spirit I've decided have to be food & Melvin. Both offer unconditional love in a non-judgemental, very passive and understanding way. you may judge them - but they are not judging you back with any negative eye, they just want to be doted on and appreciated. Which my Dad does amazingly well. A simple trip to the grocery store after picking my Dad up at CNS turns into a 40 minute amusement-park like adventure. We simply need 3 items: ground beef, sour cream, and Wondra flour. (all to make my Mommy's amazing beef strogonoff, truly my favorite comfort food). So I use these 3 items as a simple memory test - 6 minutes before walking into Vons we talk to Mom on the phone and she tells Dad the 3 ingredients we need. We pull up, we park, I ask him - "now what are we here to get?" "I don't know." Dad says annoyed. no matter - I'm not surprised. we enter the store, and it's immediately and overwhelmingly stimulating.

D: "WOOOWWW look at these apples!!!" me: "yeah pretty huh, we don't really need apples right now though."
I leave Dad to ponder the wracks of pre-chopped vegetables and such while I go collect other produce. There aren't a lot of people in the store, and I've noticed that no matter what, Dad tends to gravitate quite close to whomever tends to be standing there -- I think it's his inherant desire to engage and be social -- as if perhaps he's looking at the same box of pre-chopped red onion, he could strike up a conversation about it and make a new friend.
"Robin! come look at this!" I hear from the other side of the produce area. I walk over, and sort of pull his elbow so he's not standing quite so in the other shopper's personal space. "look at these!!! $2.49!!"
"wow - that's funny, we could chop them ourselves for much cheaper than that!!"

ohhhh why did i say that! i burst his excited bargain bubble! "oh" he says, somewhat defeated, the recognition that they're really just expensive chopped onions starting to make sense. "let's go get the meat" I say, and we move on...

As we make our way through the meat - my eye on the ground beef section - I get about 8 feet ahead of Dad when i hear, "WOWWWW!!! Robin you gotta come see these!!! they're beautiful!!!" I pause, take a deep breath, smile, and go over to him. He's standing in front of the butcher area gazing at all these pre-assembled meat dishes. "CHECK OUT THOSE MUSHROOMS!" "mmmm yes..." I say... as we all know my aversion to the fungus vegetable. and of course immediately - the sweet, hard-working, Vons butcher pipes up, "can I help you with anything?"
Dad: "yeah!!! those look great!!!! what's in em?" Butcher, a little caught off gaurd by Dad's over-the-counter enthusiasm, "It's sausage that we took out of the casing and stuffed into the mushrooms, mixed with some fresh parsley and peppers."
Dad: "We'll take three." he says not skipping a beat, so instantly sold on the indulgent treat.
me: "Dad, well, Mom's making dinner, maybe we should just get one or two to share as an appetizer?" Dad: "but aren't there three of us?" Me: "yes. yeah. okay get 3."

I just smile, and let the transaction occur. Because it's truly beautiful. The excitement those mushrooms gave to my dad, and the sense of accomplishment - that he made the executive decision that we must have these mushrooms tonight, because they are truly special, and even though I don't like them and we're having other food - we must have three, because there are 3 of us - and we all deserve to share in this special treat. It all may sound overexaggerated, but when you look at the core of this interaction - it's really pure and precious.

With the brown sack of stuffed mushrooms in the bag, and our three necessary ingredients, we head home, munching on another impulse purchase of Baked Cheetos on the way. We walk through the door, hugs and greetings to Melvin, then plop down on the couch and watch the Laker game. A bowl of cheetos on the table, and our mushrooms doing their thing in the oven. Dad is 100% engaged in the game. And for a moment, life feels normal again.

Mom gets home an hour later and walks into our kitchen that is filled with the yummy aroma of the sausage stuffed mushrooms, and I tell her about our little adventure at Vons. Then Dad comes in, "ooooh look they're crack--ca-ked on top" he stutters. "they're baked on top you mean?" I say. "yeah. look at 'em." "I think they're done" I say. I grab a hot pad and pull out the mushrooms, Dad's already been sidetracked by the Lakers game and his attention is gone from the fungi. I slice the treat, and put them on a plate. Dad instantly launches in. "Robin, you gotta try these they're amazing." "Annie, you mean." "Annie yes." It's really fine. I stick a toothpick in a mushroom and go for it. "mmmmm...." I notion, and smile at Daddy, a mouthful of mushroom. We share a mutual "oh yeah - we done good" nod of gratification. Then turned back to the Lakers.

And okay, I'll be honest, that was a pretty damn good mushroom.

14 miles

2009-01-09T22:27:00.000-08:00

tomorrow. 8am. i'm runnin' it. Training for the L.A marathon has been the best therepy for me; aside from my evening ritual of glass of wine on the couch while flipping through a food magazine and munching on my new favorite rosemary-salty crackers and watching the evening news (wow I really have aged 20 years in 6 months). but yes, aside from forced relaxation-therepy, running has become an amazing outlet and new little adventure. I have to run 14 miles tomorrow! FOURTEEN! I've never run more than 12! And up until 3 weeks ago I had never run more than 11! and so on and so on! it's exciting! I never know if I'm going to make it to the peanut butter and jelly triangles at the end or pass the fuck out. But I do look forward to it more than anything because it's a new experience every Saturday. It's a new community of amazing, sweet people. People who never knew me before this happened with my Dad. Which - I've only dispelled to two people in my running group - simply because I wanted to remember what it felt like to NOT have this as my burden. And to remember what it felt like to make conversation that wasn't about my Dad. And to remember what it feels like to socialize, and make new friends, and talk about work and common interests. And hi - those things are challenging!!! I find myself feeling so out of practice sometimes in social situations because I so rarely go out anymore. (don't get me wrong, I do go out, I'd say I average a once-a-week social outing, but true that is far more infrequent than before June 27th.) Regardless, I kind of wanted to keep my story separate from this new community. However, at about mile 7 a couple months ago when I knew the end was not near and somehow we had to pass the next few miles I decided to start talking to kill the distance. I'm sure I'll share my story with the rest of the group at some point, if they haven't already heard from eavesdropping along the way, but there's a precious feeling of escape when I head to Griffith Park every Saturday morning; armed with my supply of GU and sporting my groovy little running ensemble. It's revitalizing and refreshing. I wonder how we'll run off those 14 miles tomorrow; what we'll talk about, what we'll bitch about, what I'll be thinking of when we're not talking or bitching. And maybe in that thinking time decisions won't necessecarily be completed - like the one of sending Dad to Bakersfield for 6 weeks, the daunting, life-altering, difficult recurring dilemma - but I hope to accomplish some perspective or at least a little clarity. I also hope to burn about 800 calories and get myself back on track so my Wii fit doesn't chastise me anymore for my happy-holiday-hips. with that said, I'm off to bed!

JENN-AYY!

2009-01-07T22:34:00.000-08:00

Don't you just channel Forest Gump when you read that? "JENN-AY!!!!" I just want to yell it from our porch step on Royal Blvd. Because Jenny, is coming to live with the Nemers. Yep! We found, I do believe, the one. The one little furry companion that will complete our new way of living. She's a small, furry, white, half terrior-half labrador (hah! I know what you're thinking.) Her job - to be Daddy's girl. It's indescribable the way he lights up when there's that unconditional love and attention only a dog can provide. Now - you're probably thinking, what about Melvin?!!! Okay. It is only truly because of Melvin's heart and actions that I believe additional dog-love will bring my Dad more joy. If we could clone Melvin, and maybe shrink him a bit, and make him stop eating mud, that would be ideal. Because Melvin is a true wonder and soul-mate. Once, when Mom and I were at the end of our chain, pissed at Dad for being pissed at himself and being so unbelievably stubborn and selfish, we were standing in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed, anger fuming, Dad laid in the bed - unbudgable - fending off our tense energy - there was Melvin, who crawled half-way up on the bed and stretched his paws across Dad's chest, then laid his head below Dad's chin - protecting his master from our fierceness. My mom turned to me and said, "okay -- we've clearly gone too far." Melvin - this amazing protector, endless companion and friend, is absolutely irreplaceable. And it's my Dad's attachment and yearning for his companionship that makes me think - well, the more the merrier! So my motto is, double the dog, double the joy, double the happiness, lessen the pain, lessen the stress, ease reality. welcome, Jenny!

"magic" me

2009-01-07T21:50:00.000-08:00

It's a bi-polar world we're living in these days. That's the best way I can describe it. On my drive home yesterday after a 15 hour shoot day commencing at 4am, awash in exhaustion, bloatation, and cramps, stuck somewhere on the 5 in the middle of Newport Beach and Downtown LA, a glass of wine and my pink flannel donut pajamas as my light at the end of the traffic, I called my mom to check in on the day and see if she and Dad can hold out for me for dinner. She's crying. Anguish and stress bubbling through my blackberry. "he's just awful, Annie, he's just awful. he's so angry. he keeps yelling, 'where's Robin!?! where's Robin?!'" --- I guess now would be a good time to introduce to you all the fact that 9.99 times out of 10, my father calls me, "Robin." His sister's name. who the hell knows why. He knows I'm his daughter. Just like brushing your teeth in the morning, Dad and I have this daily routine:

Dad: "Robin..." Me: "what's my name?" Dad: "Robin." Me: "DAD. what's my name?" Dad: "ROBIN!" Me: "Dad, who am I?" Dad: "you're Robin!" Me: "no - who am I to you?" Dad: "my daughter." Me: "and what's my name?" Dad: "Robin." (i know it's exhausting right?) Me: "and what's your sister's name?" Dad: "oh. Robin." Me: "and what's my name?" Dad: ".... eh I don't know." Me: "I'm ANNIE!" (although sometimes he embellishes that last question and picks a name out of nowhere like "Hildagard" or "Gueneviere" just to make fun of the situation.)

Okay so now you're up to speed. Back to the 5 freeway. So Mom says, "he's just awful... just get home soon." I finally arrive - braced for the expected worst - and Mom's a wreck. I walk over to my Dad, who is hunched at the kitchen counter eating rainbow sherbert. "Hi Daddy..." I say calmly, putting my arm around him. "how ya doin?" he looks up a little. "fine." he says softly. His gaurd and demeanor sinking a bit. "mmm that looks good..." he offers me a bite off his spoon. "mmmm oh that tastes good." I say. "oh my god Dad, I'm so tired - I had the most stressful annoying shoot today." "really? where?" he says. and then we talk. and sit at the counter. and share some more snacks. and laugh at Seinfeld on the TV. Meanwhile, my Mom is doubling over in tears, me not knowing that 5 minutes before I walked in Dad was in such a depression and so angry with himself he uttered the words, "I want to die." "Just let me alone."

I hate seeing my Dad so miserable. It's frightening to think about how awful he must be feeling. For a man of such amazing qualities - the man who knew everything about everything - the glass 3/4 full all the time - mister social, mister optomisim, mister jeopardy, mister everything. For him to walk around daily, spitting out the wrong words in conversation, being carted to and from CNS, who can't drive his yellow vette and doesn't know why, who can't say his daughter's name and doesn't know why, how PAINFULLY excrutiating this battle in his brain must be - we just have to remind ourselves that his anger is justified - because he's working so hard to find the word, the name, to be the best David he can be again. If I really was magic - I would wave a wand and whip him back into shape so fast, these past 6 months would feel like a bad dream. But I'm not magic. And I'm certainly not Robin. But that's okay - I'll be his daughter by any name and by his side everyday if that's what it takes to wake his spirit up, just like the day it did - 12.9 days after dying.

ohhh Lexapro...

2009-01-05T21:03:00.001-08:00

It's amazing how a little laughter and silliness can wash away a whole day of drama. I just tucked dad in and Mom and I persuaded him to take his medications - my approach was singing songs about them.
this was my first hit: sung to no particular melody
no heart attack pills, no heart attack pills, Dad's gotta take his no heart attack pills, thump thump thump thump.

this cracked a smile, and a little humor back at me. "you go thump thump thump" as he reached his arms out of the covers and thumped on my heart, then tickled my ribs. It was a perfect little giggle fest. Then, since notably not all the pills are for his heart, there's that one lovely little one called Lexapro that when working, defends off some of Dad's aggressive inclinations. We love this pill. so I sang (in replace of the words from James Taylor's Mexico)
Ohhh Lexapro, you're just so sweet we thought you should know. ohhhhh ohhhh ohhhhhhh Lexapro, we sure do love you right now.

no need to document the drama, lets just end on a happy note. :)

awake and anxious

2009-01-05T04:01:00.001-08:00

hello 4:01am. wide awake and can't fall back to sleep. and i HATE that anxious feeling insomnia brings. I feel bad. I miss you Daddy. I'm sorry I said, "fuck you" today. I know we'll have a better day tomorrow - and i know you're just extremely frustrated, it's okay, we are too. and i'm sorry i wrote all about it. I better get to sleep cause kyle and I have a big day at work tomorrow. goodnight again. love.

Into the Wild

2009-01-04T17:21:00.000-08:00

Sometimes we live with an evil monster. And through this new journey with my Dad, the evil monster sometimes comes out. I came home from my happy breezy 6 mile run today to find my Dad in a very grumpy state - Mom said he just got out of bed. I encouraged him to take a walk with the dog. And I'm sitting eating my pb&j in the kitchen watching Ina on Food Network, and I say to my Dad, "I'm ready when you are." and he says, looking up at the TV, "oh this lady can go fuck herself." yes. This is a classic non-directed accusation towards any person, place, or thing we frequently hear when the evil monster comes out. And with those words I knew it was lurking for an indefinite amount of time. We proceeded on a terrible attempt at a walk where Dad spit at me multiple times. And so I spit back. It's all a tumultous amount of unknown anger as a result of Mr. B.I. (Brain Injury.) so i don't take it personally. but i tell him how i feel so he knows i'm hurt and it's not okay - and usually this calms the beast for a while, though it's marinating inside him.

After Dad gets some food in him we attempt an afternoon of minor activities - visit a dog to potentially adopt, then pick up lunch and have a little picnic in the park. Dad's face lit up during the interaction with the dog, and Mr. B.I was gone completely. Lunch was well enjoyed and devoured, and then the attempt to get back in the car turned into Dad attempting to escape and walk home on his own. This was a first. and this was bad. He wanted to cross Victory Blvd, cars passing swiftly as they go about their own lazy Sunday, and me behind him trying to get him back towards the park. He yells at me, "quit buggin' me! you go back in the park! I'm walking home." I step back. I give him space. but i'm not about to let him lead Melvin into the stream of traffic. I yell back at him with concern in my voice, so he knows walking into the street is a threat and not okay. He gets back on the sidewalk and there starts the spitting again. He spits at me. I glare. He spits again. i yell, "Dad don't spit at me!!!!!!!" he then starts pressing his boundaries, casually spitting around me. I stop. and I pull the big gun out. "FUCK YOU." I say to my dad. My dad. I said fuck you. i didn't think i had it in me. but that got him. He walked ahead, I stayed behind and didn't make eye contact, arms crossed, head hung in defense. Mom who had been creeping around us in the car casually pulled to the corner to pick us up. Knowing he's done wrong and pretending everythings fine, he kisses mom and calmly gets in the car. I roll my eyes and shake it off.

It's no big deal. I'm sure this sounds incredibly frightening. But this was just a new tactic to deal with the behavior. he has to know that it's not okay to be hurtful to us. and he responds when we're honest, real, and on his level. we also have to know that it's not his fault - it's Mr. B.I's. but to speak truthfully - today was a new scary level of behavior. I'm a little afraid to go out in public now. and we had been getting so good at grocery trips, walks, and restaurants. and now i'm a little nervous.

I apologize for the surprise of drama that many (if any) of you who are reading this are feeling. Brain Injury is scary stuff. and no one knows but my Mom and I. I was hesitant to share this story because of what people may think -- but then I thought, this is exactly what this space is for. And if no one reads it now, at least i'll have typed it all down for my memoir one day. :)

We came home and watched Into the Wild. I hate that empty depressed feeling it left me with. My Dad was engaged though. After the movie he put on this stupid floppy old person hat and walked outside with Melvin. Moving at the speed of molasses, and dressed in bulky, smelly, grey sweats with that stupid hat as the cherry on top of his brain injured body sundae. Mom and I peered from the shutters in the dining room, wanting to give him his privacy and alone time. "jesus he looks like he's 85 years old." my mom says. And then he started to cross the street. She ran out to follow him, and I put the dishes away waiting for their return.

They came back; Melvin, my teary-eyed amazing Mother, and the evil monster. and it's only 5:41pm on Sunday... the countown til Monday is on -- when Mom goes to work and can be in her element, I attempt to fill dad's shoes at J-Nex, and my own, and blessed Centre for Neuro Skills takes Dad for his day of therepy. until tomorrow!

Personal Statement

2009-01-03T20:34:00.000-08:00

Happy Saturday! The first Saturday night of 2009. aaah. I spent the day jogging with my beloved labrador, Melvin, lunching with my dear friend Brittainy, catching a movie with my Dad (we saw Marley and Me - oh jesus, bring the kleenex,) making amazing spaghetti bolognese with my Mama, and chatting with a new sweet friend on the phone ;) all in all - a very fine day. I want to cling to this last weekend of "vacation" before launching back into reality on Monday January 4th. But "real-time" for the future has a lot to hold. And a lot to look forward to. Though I plunge back into producing at Dad's company come Monday, I birthed a new potential adventure last week - GRAD SCHOOL! (don't worry Kyle, we don't have to actually think about this until September '09... and odds I get in are what they are) so anyway - i finished three applications: to USC, UCI, and UCSD. and i'm stopping there. but I wanted to share with you my "Personal Statement". The reason these schools want to hear why you're attempting to be a Master in your field of choice. and in so many words (plus or minus a few pending the schools requirements) this is what I told them. I hope you enjoy. (And for those of you who aren't aware of the situation of my life right now... this will get you up to speed a bit.) love,a

The time in my life when I knew I wanted to be an actor, was the time I knew I needed to be. The spring of 2008 had been chugging along so gloriously well, every new years resolution met, every goal achieved: lose ten pounds? Done. Get my own apartment? Done. Get cast as Phoebe in As You Like It with a professional Shakespeare repertory company? Yes! I was young and independent, busy professionally and socially, and I’m not ashamed to say, pretty damn proud of myself. When all of the sudden at 11:04pm on June 27th, my world was rocked forever.

“Annie?” my mom’s quavering voice spoke, “it’s Daddy. Hurry. It’s bad.” “Is he okay?!” I ask in instant hysteria. “Just hurry.” Ten minutes of life later we learn that my Dad had such an irregular heart beat, it fluttered erratically until it stopped, cutting off oxygen to his brain and leaving him dead for 10 to 12 minutes until the paramedics arrived. Three shocks later, my Dad was in a coma. Three days later, he was in a persistent vegetative state. And 12 days later he was a human being again, but one with significant brain damage and memory loss.

An only child, and a complete definition of a Daddy’s girl, my absolute worst case scenario was this night. My life from that moment on became entirely about my Dad. Everything else was meaningless. My only objective was to be by his side throughout the day - reading him excerpts from Stephen King’s Red Sox novel, “Faith,” and singing him James Taylor songs by his bedside at night. Squeezing his hand, willing it to squeeze mine back. A week and a half of summer daylight spent in my Dad’s hospital room while his mind was somewhere else became my fulltime job.

It’s easy to lose yourself to someone you love so deeply, but you have to recognize that they silently are telling you not to do that. And I had another job to do, I had to be Phoebe at that Sunday matinee of As You Like It. The thought of leaving my father for more than two hours was almost unbearable, laughable even. Then my high school drama teacher, Mr. Bailey had a little come-to-Jesus moment with me on the phone. “Anne - do your show. I think you need to do your show” he said. “No no, I can‘t yet… I don’t know” I stuttered. “Go escape. It’ll make you stronger. It’ll make your Dad stronger. He wouldn’t want you to sacrifice this.” Mr. Bailey, of course, was totally right. Every day before his incident Dad would say to me, “hey Kiddo, did ya Phoebe today?” as if it was a verb, so excited for me that I was doing what I loved. And up until then he still hadn’t seen me perform. My friends in the cast were all on Mr. Bailey’s side. And I told the Stage Manager that Friday, “okay… I think I should do it. I think I can.”

That Sunday, I spent the whole morning with my Dad as per usual, reading him the sports section, sharing a lame egg sandwich from the cafeteria with my mom, watching the Olympics on the mounted TV in his room, all while harboring this inner nervous anxiety about stepping back into my old world, my circle, my environment of everything I had achieved, and everything I thought was so important. I was more nervous for that than performing. But as I stood in front of the dressing room mirror tying my big pink sash around my waist, precisely placing flowers in my hair that I had taken from Dad‘s hospital room, brushing on the last touches of blush, I kept thinking, “Daddy, this one’s for you. You’re gonna see me “Phoebe” one day before the run is through.” And then I raced onstage to play with Sylvius, and I escaped.

I returned to the hospital that night and rushed to my Dad’s side with that post-performance high pulsing through me and a surprising smile on my face, “I did it!!!” He turned his usual vacant gaze swiftly from the TV, his face awash and bright-eyed with the radiant energy I threw at him upon my entrance. “There’s a cutie.” he smiled and said casually after taking me in and processing who I was. Then I knelt by his bed, took his hand, and told him all about it. My strength renewed, and pulsating from my hand to his.

Though my ultimate desire in life now - to get my Dad back - will never change, I can’t lose sight about what makes me fulfilled. The experience of performing comes from my soul, nothing but that feeling on stage could have taken me away from my Dad. He instilled my love for theatre in me from day one; by driving me to my ballet class four days a week for 13 years, by taking me out of school in third grade to see the Phantom of the Opera, by organizing a week in London to see three hit musicals in the West End with a detour to catch Taming of the Shrew in Stratford. He nurtured this passion in me, and now it is my goal to continue to see it grow in myself, by furthering my education and experience in theatre. Because of my Dad, acting became my touchstone of strength - for both of us.

Two months later, and one week out of the hospital, he got to see me “Phoebe.”

enter 2009

2009-01-02T23:52:00.000-08:00

A new year, a new me, a new effort, a new perspective, a new family... new new new in '09. Welcome to my new blog! Suffice it to say, last year offered less than to be desired, and I welcome a new start with wide open arms. Many a time through these past 6 months I needed an outlet to share my feelings, fears, thoughts, and experiences - so I turned to a little red journal that my dear friend Stefanie gave to me at a most appropriate time. That little red journal became a scrapbook, memoir, daily log, scribbley compilation of my Dad's tragedy and life thereafter. I finished that little journal on December 26th 2008. In it contains moments of death, questioning, waiting, doctors jargon, awakening!, recovery, hospital wristbands, newspaper clippings, a secret letter, a funeral speech, scribbles, phone numbers, business cards, characters, new friends, old friends, lost friends, family, transition, hope, love, and lots of ink. I feel it's only appropriate that that journal was bright red -- that scary emergency sign red. I never liked the color red, and I remember when Stefanie brought two journals to my friend Nicole and me, she took the pretty, sweet, pink one. But make of that what you will - my point now is that today I start a new way of talking and spilling - into a pretty light purple and lavendar network of words where I can share. I'm sure I'll keep another bedside journal as soon as I get a new one (not red) -- to write the stuff that only a few of you may be so close-hearted to me to hear, but if you're nice, I may dispell those secrets to you too. :)

Christmas warrants presents, New Years warrants resolutions. Neither of which meant anything to my mom and me this year. The biggest gift was having my Dad there to open presents with - a possibility that wasn't six months ago. And it's true, when real life kicks you in the ass, the material shit doesn't matter. (Although I do enjoy my new martini and pink donut pajamas.) I guess though resolutions don't necessarily need to be thrown out the window... so let me take this time to think of some, and if you have any suggestions, please feel free...
1) adopt a dog (is that really a resolution or just a desire?)
2) organize my music collection. (ahhhh!!!! it's a true catastrophe I tell you. I have a CD case with a random assortment of burned DMB discs, LFO and Big Willie Style albums, intermixed with Tori Amos and my favorite musical collections. heeeeeeellllp!!!)
3) finish everything i start (i think i made that one last year too.)
4) throw things away.
5) wear high heels (eeek!)
6) organize my DVD collection. (another minimal but true disgrace to media collections)
7) learn guitar with my Daddy. (aw)
8) cook more with mushrooms (even though I think they taste like dirt but keep trying!)
9) don't be quite so easy-going all the time...
10) something to do with love, friends, family, life, and how it's all so precious and worth the time

okay, I think that works for a first attempt at a blog. 'night 'night. ;)