“Papa wasn’t a talker,” my aunt reassured me about my grandfather. I didn’t get to really talk with him in the couple weeks leading up to his passing from prostate cancer.
He told me very little but what he did say after I moved to Hollywood to pursue my acting career was “why don’t you just come back home.”
I am not sure that he liked that I was all alone in Los Angeles with little money and no apparent success.
The phone rang. “Get ur plane ticket. It’s time,” my mother sounded harsh and tough in the speaker phone.
I looked at my phone, still groggy and half asleep.
“She’s still asleep,” my mother called to my step-father.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I demanded. I told her to call me as soon as she heard anything from my step-grandmother. There is an unspoken chain of command in my family and I’m usually the last to know.
“I found out at 3:00 am and there was no need to wake you up. I’m calling you now,” my mother answered.
I was silent. I knew she was hurting deeply, too. He was her father. She cooked & cleaned for him; helped & served him for years. She loved him and tried hard to make him happy. And then one day, she just gave up.
“Are you alright?” my mother asked, expecting me to be weeping out of control.
“Yeah.”
I got up, peed, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, pulled some cargo pants on, grabbed my keys, my phone, two bags and got out the front door.
I saw something move on my neighbor’s patio. I longed to see life. Anything innocent of immediately sizing me up, bullying, correcting me at such a sacred time.
I longed to honor my grandfather by celebrating life so I went to pick oranges for orange juice.
I felt empowered. I felt better.
I think I cried a little but I was picking oranges, on a mission. I had a task.
I replayed a Willie Nelson song a little bit in my head as I started walking.
I’m sad. Sad. The only father figure that was consistent in my life was gone. I loved him so much. I went back to see him every chance I could. I tried to prioritize people, family, over career. I gave up auditions, callbacks to go see him but I wasn’t there at the very end like I Longed to be.
I regretted not being there enough.
He asked me to stay longer on our last day together but I couldn’t.
It was winter in the Midwest & my mother needed to go and feed the mules before it got dark. Leaving him that cold day was so hard. He wanted me to stay. Said that the freezer was full of my favorite ice-cream. I checked and it was. My mother was like, “Now! We have to go.” I left him in the garage. That was the last time I saw him alive. It broke my heart.
“Don’t feel bad about it, he loved you and he was proud of you,” my aunt reassured me.
