Dear Lola

Dear Lola

Sometimes I wonder how I am able to go on breathing knowing that you passed away less than four months ago. Sometimes, it just engulfs me in this feeling… I don't know how to explain it, except that it is some impossible combination of the deepest sadness and even deeper gratitude. Writing this helps make the tears stop flowing. I don't cry all the time when I talk about you. Most of the time, it's not any different than when you were still here on earth with us. I talk about when I used to lay in your bed and you would rub my back when I had a tummy ache, and whisper to me that I was your favorite grandchild, even though I'm pretty sure you said that to all your grandchildren. Thinking about those moments makes me feel so proud, I feel invincible. I knew you would love me no matter what, that I would always be the most beautiful, and perfect to you.

I remember when we left California to live with you and Lolo, when things were no longer working between Mom and Dad. You and Lolo have always been there for us, without condition. I once read that true perfection is undetectable and invisible, because it functions so harmoniously you don't even notice it's there. Your love for me was perfect. I wish I'd told you this sooner. I hope you know that ever since I was a little girl, even trying to estimate the magnitude of how much I loved you brought me to tears. I couldn't. It was impossible, and overwhelming. I was never perfect for you, I never could show you how much. You were not perfect, either…. but I loved you Perfect. I know you loved me Perfect.

I have gone on breathing, though. Sometimes when I decide to feel guilty about something, I think it's possible because I have forgotten about you, forgotten that you are gone. Other times, when I decide to feel smart I think it's possible because I know you will always be here with me, in many forms because I've learned that everything changes with time, but nothing disappears. That life and death are a series of transformations and that consciousness is in a way immortal, transported into the minds of you and me through words and actions and acts of love and hate and compassion and all those other things that affect not only ourselves but everyone we touch. We are alive and contagious in our activity, I like to think that as our molecules take other forms (because they never cease to exist… except for maybe/maybe-not if you were sucked into a black hole….) they continue to be active… and forever. Did you know you would be Forever, Lola? Sometimes I KNOW you are Forever, when I'm feeling smart.

I could never forget you. You are part of me… your blood runs through my veins. Your life gave birth to my mother, who gave birth to me. The lessons you taught us will resonate in the decisions I make every day of the rest of my life, along with the mistakes you've made- and both of those things have given me both wisdom, and humility. You make me brave, still. When I forget my own self-worth, all I have to do is take a look at Perfect Me through your eyes, which were a gift from you, through my mother.

Thank you, Lola. I hope you know how much you meant to everyone you touched. You probably didn't, did you? I remember two Christmases ago listening to you argue with Lolo in the living room, saying you wanted to die. I remembered that just now. Like me, you were dramatic, you did everything with passion.

This last December I waited at the front door as our family helped you from the van and into the house… it took so long, and you were so tired. The first thing you said was, 'Where is Josette?' and I came to you, and you hugged me, and with strength, even though you had so little.

You said to me, 'Are you feeling better?'

You were so sick, and I was just sad. I told you yes, I was feeling better, because I was… because I realized right then, I had you. I had our family. You taught me so much, Lola… about compassion, and grace.

That night you could not stop coughing and the sound of you in pain was terrible. I cried silent tears with my head rested next to your legs, rubbing them like I would when I was 15 and I'd wake to you screaming, trying to comfort you when they would cramp up in the middle of the night. My aunt, your daughter held your head, telling you, 'You did good Mom, just try to relax..' because you felt so bad for waking her up.

On Christmas Eve, you could not breathe, and your children took you to the Emergency Room. You spent holy week in the hospital. We spent that week hoping and praying… I think, more for ourselves than for you. The last time I spoke to you, I was holding your hand, you asked me where I was, you thought I was someone else at first. When you realized it was me, you told me you loved me. I love you too, Lola. Always. Always.

On New Year's Eve I got a call- 'Settie, I think it's time… you'd better get here quick.' I ran red lights. When I got there, you were still breathing, but you were drowning… you were alive but you were in and out of sleep, and somehow I knew you would never wake up again.

I will never forget Lolo's lullaby to you… 'You're sleeeeeepy….. so sleeeeeeeeepy…….'

Do you know, that he held your tiny feet and repeated that chant to you for hours? He loved you so much, Lola. I know some part of you knew that, without question. You were alone with him when you gave your last breath. Lola, everything about you was beautiful and romantic.. and your death was just as poetic.

I wish you could have seen us together the week we waited for you in the hospital… and the week we spent saying goodbye. I just could not feel that I'd lost you, seeing how well everyone took care of each other, and how strong brother was for sister, father was for daughter, and so on. We love each other because of you, you know. Do you know what you taught me? You taught me about family, you taught all of us, and I just cannot fucking believe, I cannot even fathom how blessed….

…. I just have no words for what I saw in those two weeks. It changed something in me. It will awe me, for the rest of my life.

I don't know why I think about this as I am sitting in my cabin on this ship, far away from everything I know. Maybe because now I finally understand deep in my heart that neither distance nor death separates those who have love for each other. We can't even separate ourselves from the people we love, even if we try, because we are a part of each other, and no matter how much we try to convince ourselves that love is gone, it never will be….. love is immortal, and ever-changing. Love is always there.

I read something like this yesterday in a book, only it was about music… about space. It said, 'If there were no rest, all Music that ever played would still be playing. The thought of there being no rest was disturbing. Right then, I was really appreciating the existence of that element.'

So much that is beautiful in this life is about space, and rest. The last few years you were here you were halfway across the world from me. I wonder why I didn't call you more, but it doesn't change the fact that I missed you more than I ever told you, and feeling guilty for it doesn't change anything. I like to think that you knew, anyway. Space has a way of filtering out the noise and emphasizing the meaningful bits with its relative tranquility… with its calm. I can see how there could be no beauty without space. I can see how life could be muddled with noise, without rest.

Because I know this, the idea of the space between me and you, geographically, metaphysically or otherwise takes on an unanticipated light. Space is not for nothing. It is not a void, or just an emptiness between me and you and everything else. It is, in itself, a necessary and beautiful thing because it is an integral part of what makes its absence stand out so much. When you were with us, it was outstanding. You shone to the world, you gave it so much. Now that you are resting, you continue to give it so much in your absence.

If there were no rest, all music that ever played would still be playing. It is death that gives life it's meaning… and from the moment we laid you to rest, the very thought of you punctuates every breath we take, makes the air sweeter in our lungs, makes the rain more comforting as it splashes against windows (or portholes), makes every gesture of love more meaningful, and I am thankful for your resting.

I brought one photograph with me on this trip… of you holding 10-year-old me in your bed, as I am reading a book to you. You were probably whispering to me that I was your favorite grandchild. I have not visited your grave since your funeral, but I look at that photograph every day because it reminds me that this is who you are to me, this is who you have always been to me… and this is who you will always be to me, even when I am gone and I have passed my love on to everyone I have ever touched.

It's hard to know what to do when you lose someone in your life… do you 'let it go'? Do you 'move on'? Do you forget? These are all very different things in my mind… forgetting, is out of the question, and I don't think it's necessary to let go… that sounds lonely… and anyway, would You let Me go? I don't think so…. but the idea of 'moving on'... has a transformative, if not magical quality to it in my head.

I think 'moving on' has something to do with the realization that Love is eternal, and not in a vampire sort of way. I mean, it is like all the music that ever played, and how it would still be playing now. I think if we look for it, it's all still there, it's a joyful caucophany of Love songs made immortal by every act of compassion every individual, which might have been passed down from the very first act of Love, whatever it was… and this goes for any sort of love I think…

When friends stop being friends, and lovers stop being lovers, its a bit disconcerting to think that what was once there no longer is. Yes, in a way, it isn't… but in a way… it is… isn't it?

IT always will be.

Love transforms translates and transfers… it is exuded and absorbed…. it may be received but not reciprocated but it never, ever disappears. It never dissipates, and there is no shortage of it… I can't prove it, but something in me knows its true, and I trust that. I find comfort in that. The same kind of comfort you gave me Lola, with your Perfect love.

You were human like me, you made mistakes. You had regrets, and things you wish you'd said, and things you wish you hadn't. You were like me, and not perfect. But you loved me Perfectly, and I loved you Perfectly. It was Perfect, and WE were perfect. That Perfect part of us is all-knowing, all-seeing, immortal, and life-giving. It sounds… extraordinary, celestial, fantastic and mythical, because it is… it is all those thing, and it is REAL.

It's funny, I'm looking at this photograph of myself reading to you… as I am writing you this letter. As I reflect upon all this, and my love for you… one or two people might be reading this because I've posted it on my blog… and because I am only being honest, it's possible I have shared my love for you with them… it's possible they are experiencing Our love in some way. Do you see what I mean, Lola? It's forever. You're forever. I love you. Forever.

24 hours

In 24 hours I will be in Mobile, Alabama. I've never been there before. I'll be picked up at the airport by people I have never met, and I will be taken to a harbor I've never seen to live on a ship that is similar, but somewhat different than the ship U.S.N.S. Stockham, this ship I worked on in Boston harbor about one year ago.

I keep thinking to myself, am I ready? But I know it's not what I really mean. Today my good friend Chris reminded me, 'you are always ready', which was fitting, since I'd ended my last entry saying, 'you are never ready'. In a way, we're both right. Which doesn't make sense, but the truth rarely does.

What is really going through my head? I am so overwhelmed with emotion these last few days. My boyfriend Cody told his sister when we were having dinner together that I was leaving, maybe forever. That really terrified me. I don't want to leave forever, but I don't think anyone ever really does. What am I afraid of? I'm afraid I'm not done here, that my time here is incomplete. I am faced with the possibility of being hired for a job in NYC.. in the event that I am, I will have to cut my time on the U.S.N.S. Martin short, and move to NYC to start work May 24, which is in about one month. What makes me more nervous though, is that if this happens, I will not be moving back home to Texas (or to Cody) at all, at least not any time soon.

Possibilities are exciting, I live for them, I live them. I know that the choices I make in my life are the only choices I could have made at the time. It is pointless to regret one's decision, or to think you could have made a better one- these are the things that add texture and vibrance to our life's history, without them, there is no 'us'. But with every road taken it's impossible not to wonder what could have happened if I'd gone left, instead of right. It's hard to know what possibility you'd given up to pursue another, and subsequently hard to accept that you will probably never know exactly what it is that you have given up by making the choices you do.

But choices must be made. Every minute that goes by there are different choices to be made, and they have to be made, because time will not stand still for your indecisiveness. I often question whether I'm making certain choices for the right reason. Today, I am wondering why I chose to work on this ship. I tell people it's a good opportunity to make money, that it will be a new experience and something I've never done before. I'm not sure what I'm looking to accomplish except that I know it will be, at the very least, interesting.

On the other side of things I'm leaving someone behind who loves me, this I know, without sitting around and wondering about it. And I feel like I've gone through enough at this point to understand the value and rarity of that. As I make this decision I leave the comfort of my family and new friends, and the relative predictability and peace that I find here in Texas, which I'm proud to say, I've finally learned to appreciate.

Which leaves me wondering, as I abandon it, have I REALLY finally learned to appreciate that which I have? I have always made decisions based on how interesting, or colorful they are. Would this be a good story to tell, would this go well in a book? Will I see something I have never seen before? Will I learn something I could not have learned anywhere else? Often this has involved me moving myself somewhere totally alien, often alone, and struggling through all the unseen factors that one must adapt to in a new environment. I don't regret the life I have lived so far. But it has admittedly been very difficult, and required a lot of bravery that I may or may not have had at the time.

Sometimes, I get worn out. This past year, I finally allowed myself a chance to heal and recuperate by going home and to be honest, I have never been happier. Which makes me wonder, if it's necessary for me to make my life so much harder, lonelier and unpredictable. Is this the ONLY way to have a good story to tell, to see something I've never seen before, to learn something I could not have learned?

As I get older I start to see things differently. I've been running and running, what would life be like if I just stood still? Certainly I'm old enough to know now that I could never escape experience, that it is to be had no matter where you are or what you are doing. It makes me wonder, perhaps there is an adventure out there that doesn't require loneliness, or difficulty.

Somewhere along the horizon I have daydreams of some day accepting unconditional love into my life, for better or worse... daydreams of COMMITMENT. Settling down and starting a family is a new chapter, and an endless adventure of it's own sort, and while it's still very far away I am starting to see things I never could have a decade ago, which is that marriage and parenthood is an alien adventure in and of itself, that I hope to have some day for the same reason I leave tomorrow on this ship- for the same reason I moved to Boston, and to Maui before that-

- because no matter what you choose to do, there is no turning back, there is only moving forward... and while sometimes it is more fitting to move forward alone it is also wise to realize your own humanity; that love, and family, and happiness are just as necessary as learning, adventure and discovery. That the two are not mutually exclusive. That the adventure doesn't stop even when your feet are planted and your roots have taken hold. That you really can have it all, and that 'having it all' probably just doesn't look the way you thought it would when you were 15, daydreaming about your 20s.

That's ok, though. It's really nice to know what you have now, and that it is good, even (and especially) when you realize that you never would have realized it, had it not been for these years you've lived.

I'm not sure what's going to happen, or where I'll be.. but I feel like I've learned what is important to me.. every year that goes by I am a little more understanding and a little more appreciative and I think this is a good sign, that I'm doing something right..

I have not grown distrusting in the face of deceit, nor have I lost my faith in love in the face of heartbreak. My heart has not stopped beating in the face of absolute failure and I have forgiven myself and others for unforgivable things. I am learning to stop being contrary for the sake of being contrary, and instead am learning to use my stubbornness to hold onto things worth holding onto, like love, or compassion- and to let go of things not worth holding onto.. I look at myself and while it may make sense to be distrusting, or resentful, and it may be understandable to be angry these things don't feel good! They are weights on my shoulders.

In the face of lost love and trust violated, in decisions made that have led to pain and suffering, I choose to continue to live.. choose to continue loving, and trusting and making risky decisions... not because I have not learned my lesson but because I have, and my lesson is this:

I love and trust because I have faith in myself, and I have faith in you. And nothing will ever change that.

Beats and Boats, part 1 ... prologue

Beats and Boats, Part One

Wow.

I haven't written in a while, which is regrettable since, just as in the past, these are the best times, the blissful times, the times when my heart is not afraid and this life is blessing me with something that I can only thank God, or the universe, and all you people for, which is peace of mind, and happiness.

These past few years were not easy, but to be honest, few of the things which shape us ever are. What did I learn? So much. I learned how much love can leave a deep wound in your heart. You could say this isn't a new lesson, and in a way it isn't- now after 26 years I have given my heart to many chances, and exposed it to many elements, and it has been worn and beaten into new shapes, sometimes unrecognizeable, sometimes, without a sign of life… but scars are not the only things these wounds give us…

… wounds give us the opportunity to heal, and to experience the beauty and the wonder of that healing. Their scars will remind us for the rest of our lives, not of the mistakes we made, but of the bravery we are capable of. Through it all, our hearts keep beating, even if we wish they would just stop because something in every single one of us, if we're lucky, has this thing called Faith. Whether it be in God, or in science, or in humanity… it pulls us through the impossible dredges of misfortune and consequence… to the other side, where we are given a chance to take a breath of fresh air, and to feel it in our lungs for the first time as survivors, reborn with greater self-awareness, compassion, empathy and strength. It might seem like I'm waxing optimistic, and what do I know about human life… all I know is what I've lived, and in this moment I am thankful, for everything, and I can only hope that you are blessed enough to be thankful, too.

The other day I learned about the monarch butterfly, which I didn't know much about.. except that it was beautiful. I didn't realize It was born to migrate north from wherever it hatched, and something in every one of those creatures told it to go from that one place in Canada, 2000 miles away to hibernate through the winter upon the trees of one forest in Mexico, among the millions of other monarch butterflies. I didn't realize that they would lay their eggs half-way through their journey back, and then die, never to return to their home and that their offspring would be the ones to continue toward complete the cycle. It was a beautiful story about every-butterfly, wrought with tragedy, community and new hope. It was so beautiful it took my breath away.

There is nothing new about the concept of death, or rebirth, or tragedy. The metamorphosis of a butterfly is a universal symbol of rebirth- but what I could not stop thinking about was that relentless desire to return 'home'… however futile that effort may be. Because of their lifespan, the monarch butterfly only lives for two of the four months required to complete the journey, but it continues on, anyway.

It got me thinking about all the places (and people) I have called home in my own life. I look through the pages of my journal and re-live everything, from laying on the warm concrete driveway of my grandparents in high school on hot Texas summer nights looking at the stars, to drug-fueled hedonistic parties clouded by glitter in the Hollywood hills. I daydream of bathing in the waterfall pools of Shangri-La in Maui, and of losing myself in the Vibe behind the decks at Dub War NYC for the first time.

Sometimes, I can't believe that person was me, that this is my life I have been living. As I sit here in my mother's house, I think in the past year I've finally realized that 'going home' doesn't exist, we do not live to crawl back into the womb. We do not find paradise just to stay there, and have it be that way forever, and if that is what we expect, when we return to the places we have been, we will be disappointed. Because just as we are no longer who we once were, these places have changed through our eyes. Life happens in a time and a place, made flexible by our memories, but always changing and becoming something that will never again be what it once was. That said every day of our lives, as we look for home in different places and activities and in each other, we find a different kind of home, often in the most unexpected places. And that is exhilarating.

I am glad I have finally accepted this in my life, because as long as I remember that, everything in the past will always be a part of me- and everything in front of me will be just Perfect.

This is not to say that Big Change doesn't frighten me, it does, very much! Big things are happening, wonderful things, and I am afraid. I have so many decisions to make, and soon. But I have to be brave. Because I think bravery is what got me here in the first place.

It's weird, but I really feel like the past six months have been so good to me, even though I lost my grandmother, who might have been the most important person to me in the world. Maybe it's because I realized, when I was holding her lifeless hand, full of still blood, that I had not lost her, that her blood flowed through my veins and the veins of my family, and that I would love her forever, and that she would continue to live in all the love I would give from then on, and in all the love that my love would inspire. When I cry about my Lola it is not really out of sadness, I am just so overwhelmed… every little thing we do MATTERS, everything we give in this world is immortal, and never lost. That is just the most beautiful thing I've ever realized.

I fell in love again this year. I totally didn't mean to! But he has taught me so much in the five months I've known him, just like those I've loved before him, and at the same time in a way I've never experience before, and never will again. I don't know what will happen between me and him in a month, or a year. I just hope he knows, for the rest of his life, how much I I will always appreciate his being a part of my life, and how much love I will always have for him.

The future is full of uncertainty and I feel like after six months of relatively predictable days and nights someone has hit the fast forward button, and all of a sudden I've got to make some decisions, and fast. It is not a curse to choose between one good thing, and another. In a few days I ship off (quite literally) to Mobile, Alabama to work in a shipyard. I have no doubt that it will be a great adventure. At the same time, I have been interviewing for a more permanent position in New York City. I don't know what will happen, but I know that either way I will be happy. Don't ask me how :)

In spite of this knowledge though, I am still afraid. I remember when I was younger, every time I would approach the last pages of a book I was really enjoying reading, I would experience great sorrow. Sometimes, as I turned to the last page, I would cry. When things are good, it's hard when there are no more pages to turn. I don't know what I am more afraid of, the end of things as they are, or the possibility that I am not yet ready for what's next to come.

But that's silly. We're NEVER ready! I'm really not ready. But there's no turning back, so here I come.