It Wasn't Me

This photo was captured through the window of an Amtrak train on a flip phone camera. It was taken eleven years ago, May 10th, on my way from Hollywood to San Diego.

Dad wasn't doing well. He’d fallen twice in one day. I was going to take care of him for a week. Maybe the most taxing weeks of my life.

He and I had a couple of difficult conversations, like did I believe he was going to get into heaven.

We also had to go to the doctor (it's own challenge to just get him to wear pants) and get him a hospice referral. Fun stuff!

I saw Dad for last time on May 16th, 2010. He died a week later.

Below I've posted a piece I wrote about that week. It may feel a little disjointed in that it's also about joining a writing class that became a major part of my life and got me through a time that might have otherwise been impossible as I wallowed through the grief of losing Dad and then Mom six months later.

Richard Herd was in my class that summer and heard me read that piece. He asked my to perform it again at a public reading he was hosting at an art gallery. This terrified me. But he said that it could help others going through similar situations. So I did it. Maybe it can continue to help people.

The format is a little weird because I wrote this way back when using Microsoft Word. Now I need a license to access these documents as anything other than a PDF. 😕

Headed South

I sat sideways in the passenger seat, door open, and pulled off my sneakers. The red Converse tilted and coarse sand spilled out onto the asphalt and white painted line of the parking lot. A gust of wind smacked my face with salt from the breakers below. I thought of the warm bath at home, steaming the mirrors, decadent bubbles rising to the edge. It would have to wait.

A whistle told me another train was coming. I tossed my shoes on the floorboards and stood up, folding my arms on top of the car and resting my head. The thick knit of my sweater cut into my chin. It would leave a mark bright as a poppy but it made me forget my feet were cold. Now I could feel the train approach, a low rumble keeping rhythm with my heart which was beating faster and faster. It grew louder, drowning out even the crashing waves and all my memories. I waved at the passengers staring out the window at the sunset. Most didn't see me.

Once the last car disappeared to the South and the ocean reclaimed the atmosphere, I tumbled back into the Camry and reached into the backseat for my purse. I found a tissue and tried to wipe away the grit mixed with tears staining my face.