Religious Freedom or Legalized Discrimination?

In the words of our Pope Francis: “If a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?”  These were bold words coming from the leader of the Christian world; a world that historically speaking has marginalized and shamed the gay community. 

It is encouraging to see how far gay rights and even acceptance of the gay community has come.  From just ten years ago, Massachusetts being the first state in the county to legalize same-sex marriages, to just last June when the Supreme Court ruled that DOMA of 1996 is unconstitutional; saying that DOMA violates the rights of gay men and women. 

Though as promising as these victories are, it’s equally disheartening when the recent scare of an Arizona bill was up in the air; a bill that would have given business owners the right to refuse service to any gay man or women.  Truly, this left me stunned and appalled!  With the premise of the proposed bill defending religious freedom caused me to question whether it would rather be religious beliefs being imposed on others, and causing backlash instead.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for religious freedom, but when a proposed law has the potential to cause people with strong held beliefs the license to screen and stereotype and discriminate; it’s just asking for trouble.  On that same train of thought, with a bill so broadly worded and no specifics in place there comes inevitable issues of discrimination.  For example, it is one thing if a church respectfully declines to perform a marriage ceremony for a same sex couple; but when those specifics aren't put in place, the potential for a restaurant owner to refuse service to a gay man or women becomes legal.  That’s ridiculous; shameful even!   

Then the slippery slope of stereotyping and judging comes into play coupled with gender identities.  How can you tell is someone is gay based on outward appearance?  Deem a man who walks into a business gay because he looks a little metro-sexual or his mannerisms are more feminine?  Deem a woman gay because she wears collared button downs, paired with trousers and a blazer, topped off with a “boyish” haircut and seems a little rough around the edges?  Com’on!  

When I first read the news about the bill, I couldn't help but think about racial discrimination:  “Irish Need Not Apply” signs, “Separate but Equal” restrooms, drinking fountains and restaurants.  And while gay rights may not be the exact same comparison as the civil rights history and movement what it boils down to is judgment, condemnation and alienation. 

What leaves me so much beside myself when talking about gay rights and religious freedom is this: people have their deep seeded beliefs about gay men and women being an abomination; well why stop there?  I know there’s morality about divorce; morality about pre-marital sex; morality about gluttony; morality about greed; the list goes on.  So why not just carry (at all times) an identification card of all the litany marks against us.  This way we can take religious freedom full throttle. 

Going too far?! Hope it made a point!

Being a practicing Catholic myself, I couldn't help but think of Jesus sitting at a table and eating with tax collectors and prostitutes.  The Pharisees and Scribes were quick to judge and alienate sinners; while Jesus said: let the person without sin cast the first stone.  How is a bill that discriminates not a modern day stone?!

Again, yes, religious freedom: good; great; I’m all for it.  That gives citizens the right to respectfully voice their opinion; pray and worship how they see fit; abstain from vices they see as harmful; respectfully yet boldly decline to perform procedures and deeds that are innately wrong.  This is free will; we all have it. 

Now as it were, I personally, support gay rights and marriage.  For example, I voted no on proposition 8.  First off, in a country that doesn't have a national religion; it would be showing partiality over certain religious beliefs.  Secondly, from a secular standpoint, giving same sex couples the right to marry and all the legal rights that go with it doesn't make a heterosexual couples’ marriage any less.  Thirdly, passing a secular bill on gay marriage doesn't infringe on any one person’s religious beliefs and held teachings; maybe makes them uncomfortable, but that is something totally different.  People are free to participate or not participate; because of religious freedom and their free will.  Same sex couples are free to marry; and heterosexual couples are free to marry.  If you aren't gay, don’t marry a gay man or woman.  How does a consensual same sex marriage affect any one person’s decision not to marry gay?  And passing laws that infringe on people’s civil freedoms based on religious freedom is, simply put: imposing one groups set of beliefs on the whole.  Again, we do not have a national religion, where this might be binding.   

For myself, it comes down to this: being gay isn't a choice; and it’s been proven time and time again; it’s a predisposition.  Therefore, I have a hard time accepting a predisposition within a committed consensual marriage as wrong. 

Yes, there are plenty of Biblical passages that condemn homosexuality; but name me one passage that Jesus himself said that condemns gay men and women.  It’s no secret that Jesus challenged and changed old traditions and teachings from the Old Testament in his three years of ministry.  Once more in the words of our Pope: “If a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?”  So, if the Pope isn't judging; who are any of us to?!    

...Tears...

Early mornings

sunrises

thinking of you

...tears...

     Morning coffee

     morning runs

     A familiar song

     on my ipod 

     ...Tears...

          Commute to work

          thinking of…

          students say good morning

          ...tears...

               The time when...

               This other moment when…

               Watching you decline…

               Why couldn't I save you…?

...Tears...

     In my dreams

     sometimes I see you

     and it’s good

     and I smile…

     and I wake up

     missing you

          While other times…

          it’s haunting

          and I wake up

          in tears…

               And there are times

               when you cross

               my mind

               and I wonder…

               Do I cross yours…?

               Or, might you be

               too busy for me?

                    While I know

                    that train is

                    un-railed  

                    All the same

                    I need

                    to feel

                    your presence

                    again. 

It's a Funny Thing: Time

“Time has been transformed, and we have changed; it has advanced and set us in motion; it has unveiled its face, inspiring us with bewilderment and exhilaration.”  ~Khalil Gibran

It’s a few and far between occasion when an email stops me in my tracks and really makes me think.  Days before Thanksgiving I received an email from a certain Chris Geraghty.  Chris and I met just over three years ago as we both found ourselves teaching for the very first time as first year teachers; and swimming in the deep end of West Philadelphia.  Both teaching middle school minds (and all the liveliness and opinionated minds that came with the territory) and coaching the track team on the side, Chris and I forged a friendship that has sustained itself to this day.  During my two years in Philadelphia, we grew close, and he became a friend I could connect on many a levels.  We were there for each other in the exhaustion of teaching in an intercity school as first year teachers; we were there to share funny stories and hear each other’s rants on other days.  The fateful and stormy night in July on 2012 when I got the prognosis of my dad – Chris was there with ice cream in hand – as he, Colleen and I talked, cried, sat in silence, and took ice cream as a remedy. 

Chris; or otherwise  known as Mr. Geraghty

My 8th grade class 2010-2011

But I digress; his email was short and sweet – as it normally is – but it spoke volumes to me as I was approaching the Thanksgiving weekend.  There were happy Thanksgiving wishes, but the line stopped me and made me recollect was this: “It was three full years ago that we were gifted this long weekend as a much needed respite from the energetic children of Girard and Lancaster!”   

My 6th grade class 2010 - 2011

Three…full…years ago…  Had it really been three years ago since my first long break as a first year teacher?  Has it really been three years ago that I was still getting acquainted with Colleen and Gabi in the SSJ Mission Corps? Had it really been three years ago that I had recently left the hilly streets of San Francisco to bear the four brutal seasons of the east coast and found myself teaching alongside many other first year teachers in the notorious neighborhood of west Philly? Huh…three years ago?  

SSJ Mission Corps 2010-2011

When I stop and really think about all that’s happened in three years’ time, I can’t help but feel a sense of fullness; fullness of life that is.  In three years’ time I’ve taught as a full time teacher (now at two different schools, on two different ends of our coasts).  And in those first two years in the trenches of West Philly, those boisterous preadolescent teens taught me more than they will ever know; they forced me to grow and assert myself more than they will know; and they gave me the gift of them – every single day.  In three years’ time I’ve made some of the dearest friends out in the city of Brotherly love (Colleen, Chris, Seth, Peg, Nancy, and Rosanne just to name a few); while maintaining some other dear friendships in California (even with the three hour time difference).  In three years’ time I’ve reconnected with childhood friends and even a childhood teacher who I can now confidently call a friend and mentor.  In three years’ time I’ve traveled to all the iconic east coast cities such as: Boston, D.C., New York, and Baltimore; and never took it for granted.   In three years’ time I’ve run two full marathons and helped coach numerous other youth in the multitude of benefits that comes from running.   In three years’ time I’ve effed up a time or two; picked myself up and kept going.  In three years’ time I’ve grown into my own – even more so than before – and felt more comfortable and confidant in my own skin.  In three years’ time I’ve put myself out there; danced, dated and flirted with a number of undisclosed men – cause Lord knows my hips don’t lie!  In three years’ time I’ve asked for forgiveness, and in other circumstances gave it.  In three years’ time I’ve had a couple of fall outs with people I never thought I would, and despite the hurt that comes from a fall out, learned to let it go; learned to forgive ‘em and learned to move on.   In three years’ time I’ve faced demons of my past, and in time and with help learned to address them in a healthy and mature way.  In three years’ time I’ve been thrown under the bus and learned to hold my own - and in turn learned a hell of a lot about myself in the process.

SSJ Mission Corps in Boston Spring 2011

Kelly Drive - my running route while residing in Philly

NYC Statue of Liberty 2010

Coll and I in NYC fall 2010

Baltimore for my 25th B-day - 2011

Philadelphia's annual flower show - 2011

Philadelphia Marathon fall of 2011; with a student of a running buddy!

Philly marathon - 2011

Philadelphia city hall

Seth and I - karaoke! 

Independence hall with Nick - a SFSU college friend!

A Winter scene in Philly. 

Bryson and I at the top of the Rocky steps in Philly - 2012

A night out with a couple of gents in Philly!

And yes, in three years’ time I’ve uprooted myself back home after a cancer diagnosis; and in that time I’ve – voluntarily – took a step back professionally for the sake of time with my dad; and now I can say I’ve experienced a promotion as well.  What goes around comes around!

A SFSU Newman reunion via hike!

A long standing friend's birthday via wake boarding!

Color Run - San Diego 2011 with Justin!

With the girls at an Angels game! 

Bungie Jumping! 

Yes, it HAS been three, very full years! 

Gah, three years - where did it go; how did it go?!  And that the thing - so often we (myself included) become numb or even apathetic to that time and that value of time spent.  The Monday drain; the deadlines; the drama; the "to do lists;" the "I don't have time for..."  And while all this is real and everyday living - I know I feel like a cheesy mush when I have moments where something so simple causes me to recollect in gratitude; and even motivating me forward.    

And so, as it has been said that the first holiday season without a recently deceased is emotionally rough, I can say that was indeed the case for me this past Thanksgiving weekend as thoughts of my dad came to the surface.  Despite that fact, the other truth is I am truly grateful for my life and the fullness that it has and continues to be for me.   And while the past year and a half (of that three year stretch of time)has been the roughest year and a half– second to none – with my dad’s diagnosis of cancer, treatment of cancer and death, I can’t help but look at that fullness and not focus too terribly on the trenches of now.  In simpler words: reflecting on my past, gives me hope for what’s to come. 

“You may delay, but time will not.”  ~Benjamin Franklin

Standing in the Aftermath

More than two months after the fact of my dad's death and I still stand in the chaos of the aftermath. 

“Honestly, I don’t know how I am going to be a day; a week; a month after my dad passes.  So if you don’t hear from me, do me a favor and call me and just ask how I’m doing.”  This was the phone conversation I had with a friend the eve of my father’s passing – not knowing he’d pass in the wee hours of that night.  After a restless sleep; I was jolted awake at 3:55AM by my mother, who had found my father dead, moments before waking me. 

Throughout the whole cancer battle, people have said “yes you know his death is coming, and you can spend that time with him, BUT no amount of ‘preparing’ will make you ready for that moment when death takes him.”  And they were right!  The sound of my mothers’ sorrow waking me; hearing the news “he’s gone;” feeling the shock in my gut; seeing his lifeless and pale body; and letting the tears overcome me as my legs collapsed under me – nothing, not a thing, not one wise word could have prepared me for that inconceivable moment. 

The days following are all but a blur.  Being in and out of work that week, with students of ranging ages reacting to the news of my dad’s death; and some not knowing what to say or even how to act around me - I indeed felt like the elephant at the school.  Feeling like I was perpetually on the phone with friends or family or replying to emails from friends or family – certainly it was comforting to be consoled so much.  With ten out of the twelve of my dad’s siblings flocking in from across the country, and a fair number of other relatives in town - we were hardly alone in that first week.  Flower deliveries flocked our door steps; home-cooked meals that gave us the luxury of not having to cook for a week.  Constant company from friends and family alike gave us comfort and consolation as condolence cards and care packages seemed to have caravanned its way to us constantly.  Managing plans at the mortuary while blinking back tears; tying up loose ends at the church for the funeral while pushing back bitter sweet memories that became hauntingly painful to me; grappling and wrestling with words for my father’s eulogy as I struggled to write without breaking down – this was the emotional state I often found myself in the preceding week after his death.  And the irony is, as emotional as I was that week I could really be emotional - there just wasn’t time to really mourn. 

As the days of the viewing/Rosary proceeded; and as the funeral preceded the burial, the out-pour of people who showed up to pay respects truly surprised and moved me.  Even those who either didn’t know my dad that well, or at all for that matter came out of the woodwork to show their condolences to my family and me.  In this way I truly learned the funeral was just as much for my family and me, as it was to honor and remember my dad. 

Now, more than two months after the fact I still walk in a fragile state of emotions that simply lay just below the surface of the façade I sometimes put up.   From where I stand, I can honestly say, I feel bipolar – no offensive intended – either that or I feel like I’m perpetually PMSing.  On any given day or week I don’t know where my grieving will be at.  In some days or circumstances I might find myself recalling his memory and in turn (of course) missing him – A LOT; wishing I could just see him walk through the door, or give me a hug, or hear his voice.  But I can’t, and I won’t – and it breaks my heart. 

Other times I think: what if we had detected the cancer sooner?  Would he had more of a fighting chance?  Would he still be here?  What if my folks hadn’t visited me in Philadelphia in May of 2012; would the lack of walking all around town not triggered symptoms; and would he have gone sooner; and (hypothetically) not having a lot of notice would I have been around? 

His memory visits me in the early morning as I run and gaze at a morning sunrise – as it reminds me of the morning he passed and the gorgeous sunrise he gave me and my family.  I think and picture him as I get ready for work, and how he and I were often the first ones up in the morning; to find him plugging away on Quicken or sittin’ on the front porch was common place and a fond presence to my morning routine.  I replay memories of outings and conversations of the past year; conversations I never thought I’d have with my father.  It makes me smile in gratitude, yet sigh in the fact that I wish we could have more.  Songs like "The Scientist" and it's words "nobody said it was easy; it's such a shame for us to part; nobody said it was easy; no one ever said it would be this hard; oh take me back to the start," and with that the tears come rushing down.  I gaze at pictures old and new of my dad; me and my dad, and notice how the stress of life really weighed on him at times; while other times his disposition really is quite sweet. 

In the mist of the unpredictable highs and lows of the grief I treated myself to a weekend getaway to Chicago to visit my SSJ Mission Corps and Philadelphia dear friend Colleen.  On the Sunday morning of the long Veterans Day weekend I sat in morning Mass with Colleen when the presider gave his homily on death.  Oie – just when I thought I could evade the grief for one freaking weekend!  As he spoke with sincerity I couldn’t help but think of my dad as the priest spoke of the dying process and comparing it to someone sailing into the ocean horizon.  “Little by little we (the loved ones) see less and less of the one dying; while more and more they sail into the unknown waiting for what awaits them.”   My dad’s declining time in hospice was all I could think about; my family and I more and more watched him straddle that line between heaven and earth; life and death.  As the priest continued he talked about grieving the death of a loved one is a very human experience; that grieving is preserving (really preserving) that memory of the person. 

And so as I sat there in a parish I had never sat in; in a city I had never been to, the grief I could not evade came rushing through that façade, and it was all I could do to breathe back sighs of tears, as my dad’s memory came back to me.  Try as I may to keep up the façade, tears came steadily down my face, as I first dabbed them dry with my scarf; then with tissues from Colleen’s purse, who sat next to me and offered them, before she offered her hand as some comfort in the church pew.  Without hesitation I grabbed her hand in support and strength in some relief from the grief. 

And so goes the question I’ve been wrestling with: how do people comfort when I’m at the mercy of the emotions that take me captive?  And the answer: just be…present.  When all I need to do is recollect and process memories of my passed dad– just listen without fear or uneasiness.  When all I need to do is let the tears fall and let them be heard – take me without question in an embrace, and hold me in my sadness.  Let me know my mourning is warranted and approach without anxiety or hesitation.  Let me know you care enough to ask me how things are, and not look at me like you’d like to ask me but you’re too nervous to – and in a sense making me the elephant in the room.  While I know it’s never an easy conversation starter; know it’s better attempted then dismissed.  

Let it rain; let it pour; let it come down on me.  

How Do I Say Goodbye?

Every morning as I laced up my sneakers; young and shy

I’d say goodbye

Before I’d hike up the school bus; it was easy then

I wasn’t thinking how I’d see your face that night; worn from work

A conversation; a moment in your lap; what a perk

But when I think of the goodbye ahead

I can’t fathom that

How do I say goodbye for the rest of my life?

As I grew I never quite could wrap my head around

The distance you placed between us, and how it would compound

The drives to school bright and early; ready and waiting for

A word and complement; anything

All I wanted was a bit of your affirmation and time

Perhaps, maybe a nursery rhyme

It was easy to say goodbye then

But when I think of the goodbye ahead

I can’t fathom that

How do I say goodbye for the rest of my life?

By and by though I would mature,

And have to say goodbye after the sun fell

And I secretly hoped

You’d wait for me to come in and be well

You wouldn’t and you didn’t

I persisted to keep my thoughts hidden

It was easy to say goodbye then

But when I think of the goodbye ahead

I can’t fathom that

How do I say goodbye for the rest of my life?

A goodbye for the day: simple

“See ya later.”

A goodbye for a week: more affectionate

“Have a good week.”

A month; and year: complicated and prolonged

“Take care; call if you need anything; don’t forget to do…”

And as I’ve grown

There is forgiveness, peace and gratitude

For the time we’ve reconciled

Over the youthful confusion I harbored towards you

When I think of the near imminent future 

I can’t think of how I can

Or will

Be able to

Say goodbye

And even when

Memories replay, rewind and replay again

In my mind, as I think over the course

Of this most recent year

How difficult and draining it has been

I am grateful for just

The time

To be with you

All the same though

When I think of the goodbye ahead

I can’t fathom that

How do I say goodbye for the rest of my life?

For a dad who would carry me when I was young and couldn’t speak

I now do that for you

I carry you; even when you can’t speak

For a dad who fed and watered me out of parental instinct

I now do that for you

I feed you and give you drink out of loving instinct

For a dad who would tell stories of his youth and early years

When I was young and simply listened

I now do that for you

I tell you stories of the father you’ve been for me

Despite your inability to respond

I know you can hear me and are listening

As your time approaches

I see the signs of your body giving way

A little more; each and every day

And all I can do is just be

With you

And all I can do is

Grab some serenity

In knowing you will be at peace; and we will be at peace

As we’ve said our peace

Words become unnecessary

And we will just be

A loving expression

Of father and daughter

Truly I know

I will never be ready

For your last breath

Yet I give you my

Consent, to go from this world

And into the next

You know that I love you

So goodbye dad

But only for now…

A Year Ago Today

My dad and I sitting by the water in Santa Barbara. 

Today – to the day – marks a year since hearing the news about my dad’s final diagnosis of his cancer.  Weeks upon days of suspense piled up, as I received updates and news across the county and being three hours ahead, of what doctors detected was cancer or not; then the final wait of the stage he was in, built up to one stormy night in July, this day last year, as I listened to my dad from across the country, filled with sorrow and tears.  The words: terminal, stage 4 lung cancer, four months to live without treatment, 12 months at best with treatment filled my ears.  A whirlwind of a summer had me consumed as I wrapped up my two years living in Philadelphia, attended a wedding in San Francisco, before coming back to Philly to finally pack my final bags and hop on a one way flight home to the west coast.  It all went by too fast as I dreaded leaving my friends on the east coast; and at the same time not fast enough as I anticipated seeing my dad and reconnecting with my friends I grew up with.  

Well, 12 months later to the day, and he’s still kicking!  Surely, it hasn't been easy.  If anything – emotionally – it’s been the roughest 12 months of my life.  Please don’t get me wrong, I am very fortunate and blessed to have this time to intentionally spend with my dad, and have whatever closure I feel I need; and let him know in my actions and words that I love him.  All the same I am weighed heavy again with recent news of where his cancer has spread.  

The cancer has spread to his brain; on both sides no less!  With one mass of cancer the size of a pea, and the other the size of a walnut, we are again thrown another emotional hit.  Consequently, now, the implications of it spreading to his brain could have side effects like I never thought.  We’re talking: memory loss, personality chances, loss of functionality; you know how you operate yourself – no biggie!  As he told me this most recent update, for the first time in this whole cancer battle, my dad showed a very human emotion: fear.  Up to this point, he had a very calm serenity about the whole thing – hardly ever showing distress over it.  He was at peace with his life and what he had accomplished, and was doing things to make peace with God and his family.  But now, I could see it one his face, and in his eyes – he was scared of losing himself before death takes him; and I think what scares him the most is his fear of what it will do to us.  In simpler words: he doesn't want us to suffer as we watch his functionality go before death.  In his own words: "it scares the hell out of me!" 

As the days and weeks have passed since this latest update in June I have seen these symptoms run my dad ragged.  Be it watching my father pass out and collapse with no warning; be it forgetting what he was talking about or having to repeat the same answer to a question he asked me 2 minutes prior; be it watching him lose his train of thought; emotionally it’s daunting and draining. 

Above all of that though, something very interesting has happened.  I've expressed before that I've tired over my dad’s emotionality.  He keeps his emotions very close to his chest, and it’s caused our relationship to be that at a distance.  By all means, I've come to a place of acceptance and understanding of why he’s behaved this way while I grew up; yet I see his walls coming down.  It was first evident, when my two sisters and I took my dad on a father/daughters day trip to Santa Barbara and Vandenberg Air force Base.  On the drive up, as we weaved in and out of LA traffic, talk of my dad and his time in the Air force during the Vietnam war became a major part of our conversation.  For a war he didn't have a lot of choice in fighting in or not (you either enlisted, or were drafted) he recalled a lot of the painful and traumatic memories – all of which he has suppressed since the war.  Memories of dodging bullets and bombs; memories of explosions; and memories of the ridicule and scorn he and other soldiers received after the very unpopular war.  In this moment as we were beach bound it was all coming to the surface, and for the first time – ever – I watched my dad get chocked up and shed some tears over his time in Vietnam.  Truly, he held a lot of painful memories; to hold all that in for decades, I certainly can’t imagine it. 

His personality change became evident again one morning. As I stammered and stumbled to the kitchen (I hadn't had my two cups of coffee yet), my dad had a sleepless night (another side effect once it’s in the brain), and was enthralled in a re-run of CSI.  As the episode and plot was coming to a close, I noticed my dad getting emotional over the ending of the episode.  Totally uncharacteristic of my dad!  In my life, I can count on one hand the number of time I've seen him cry or shed a tear – and those moments have been a far cry from a TV drama.  Coming totally out of left field, and not having my caffeine fix yet, I wasn't sure to either be stunned and taken aback, or amused and chuckle at the slight comedic scene; so I just patted and stroked my dad’s back in comfort, as I said, “it’s going to be okay dad.” 

What really threw me for a loop was one morning as my dad and I sat and chatted on the front porch, he began to express his concern and interest in my dating life.  What?!  Something to understand about my dad: there has never been a time – ever – that he has invested interest in my dating life or who I've dated.  So this little heart to heart pep talk about my love life came truly out of the blue.  Again, I wasn't sure if I should be stunned or amused; nevertheless though, it was nice to be able to talk to my dad about that aspect of my life that I've never shared with him.  In a later conversation with a friend of mine, he mentioned, “it could be the personality change due to cancer spreading to his brain, but it might have something to do with the fact that he’s looking at his own mortality.” Perhaps he is right; but I suppose I’ll never know; regardless I treasure the new vested interest.       

As all this has been happening over the past month or so, life has definitely gone on, and I've been wrapped up and preoccupied with many a things.  A new promotion, a wedding, a baby shower, social outings of summer of a twenty-something year old, committee meetings and tasks of a Gala, studying and taking the CBEST, helping my two sisters move (one in the area, and the other to North Hollywood), grandmother in and out of the ER, helping my brother navigate going back to school have all done well to keep me and my emotions distracted from the precedence of my dad’s recent update.

Truthfully, and admittingly, I was a little proud of myself.  Being someone who wears her emotions on her sleeve (something that is a double edged sword); I was impressed at how long I was able to evade the impact of the news.  It finally caught up to me one night as I sat around the table at the house of some girlfriends of mine (often called the girls house – original I know), and the topic of my dad came up (as they all are well aware of his illness).  I couldn't get two minutes into updating the ladies with the news till the efforts to hold tears back failed miserably.  It was all I could do to just weep – and I mean cry and mourn.  As the tears that I had held at bay for a month came running like rain, my weeps and mourns were intervaled with brief seconds of profound silence as the girls just listened to my words in between weeps.  Once the update was given, and my tears started to subside, one friend – Theresa – asked a difficult yet profound question: “when you pray, do you ask for God to end your dad’s suffering.”  To which, I answered, “I can’t pray that prayer!  I know it sound selfish, but I can’t; I just can’t fathom praying that.”  That night was the first of other times in a weeks’ time my tears would catch up to me.  One time they caught up to me during a women’s prayer night; and again during a visit to my grandparents.  And here I thought I was outrunning the emotions of the news!  It sounds awful, I know, to avoid the emotion of the news; but after a years’ worth of this roller-coaster, there comes a point where you just tire of being emotional.       

With this year anniversary of life – if you will – it comes with a lot of thoughts, questions and new treatments.  One: being my dad’s week-long outpatient radiation treatment in LA to just target the masses in his brain; another thing to struggle with emotionally. Two: twelve months ago today, doctors said my dad would have died; and against all odds he hasn't.  Not to say that we don’t think it’s coming – cuz it is – but more to say that, we really don’t know how much longer he has.  Part of me thinks his length of mortality has to do with his trip to Lourdes, France he took with my mom back in January.  Call it superstition; call it faith; call it what you want.  All I can say is there is a reason he’s still around; there is a reason God is extending his life longer than the twelve months given a year ago today, or even the three month prediction we were given in January.  Three: aside from the new found interest my dad has in me, and how he has opened up about traumas of his past; what more will I and other members of my family be surprised with?  What other kinds of closure will occur as his mortality weighs heavier on him, and he inches closer to death?  To that, I really don’t know; but you know, I’d rather not know, not even wonder, and just be surprised with that gift anyway.  In three words: let it be.   

On the way home from Santa Barbara and Vandenberg Air Force Base.  We stopped off at Anderson's Split Pea Soup - photo opp for my dad! 

Soundtrack of My Life

I don’t know about some of the rest of you, but with almost every significant moment in my life, there’s an equally significant song that has branded my memory to associate that said moment with.  As of late, I’ve been re-savoring these said moments – for reasons unbeknownst to me.  For those unknown reasons I simply smile to relive where I’ve come and how far I’ve come. 

For artistic reasons, these moments I describe and associate songs with are told in a kind of shuffled order.  

…(Summer of 2010)...One afternoon in the foggy summer’s day riding and peddling the hilly streets of San Francisco, after leaving a rondevu with co-workers and supervisors (who I looked at more as friends) as I made my rounds to say good bye to a city that had forged so much for me, a quiet and soft song queued on my iPod.  A song that almost whispered to me of returning to these wondrous streets of cable cars, eclectic characters, and iconic sights; “Do you have to…do you have to…do you have to let it linger…Oh you know I’m such a fool for you… you got me wrapped around your finger…do you have to let it linger.”  That song by the Cranberries speaks to me of my love for the city by the bay; how I’m hopelessly intoxicated by its originality, by its intrigue, by its allure, but most importantly by its people, and how I came into my own there.    

…(July of 2012)...One angry and stormy night in July, I found myself alone and hearing devastating news of my dad’s health.  The words: stage four, terminal, 12 months to live echoed in my ear as I simultaneously collapsed in a rage of tears and sorrow.  After many more words and tears exchanged between father and daughter in a cross country call I promised two things: one to make the arrangements to come home to California, and two, to get some friends over and help me get through the night with devastating news and an angry storm.  Before those two dear friends came rushing over in loving aid and presence, the rock song with heavy emotion from 3 Doors Down came on…  “It's down to this, I've got to make this life make sense; Can anyone tell what I've done.  I miss the life.  I miss the colors of the world.  Can anyone tell where I am 'Cause now again I've found myself so far down, away from the sun, that shines into the darkest place I’m so far down, away from the sun again.”  It was all I could do, to feel thrown in that darkest place, as I tried with all my might to simply walk down the second floor hall, but instead found myself gripping the banister railing to keep me from totally falling in a rage of sorrow that pierced my gut.  As I crouched there in a haze of tears and screams, one hand on the banister, the other on the opposite wall, it was all I could do to inch myself closer to the stairs to get to the first floor before my friends arrived.  

…(Fall of 2009)...Another song, sung by none other than the Michael Jackson, graced my ears one afternoon, after being distraught from friends and confusion.  It was all I could do and hop on my bike (yet again) and sail down a steep 45 degree downward decent from my San Francisco abode to the sands of Ocean beach.  As I listened to the hums and rhythms of the opening melody, it granted me an instant serenity.  “Hold me; you are my friend; carry me; love me; will you be there; when wrong will you scold me; when lost will you find me; care enough to bare me…”  As the words resonated with me, the sunset I gazed at, as I continued to soar downhill, embraced me, and all I could do was surrender with arms wide open (still on my bike) into the sunset.  And in an instant, serenity overwhelmed me.  

 …(December 2010)...One serial afternoon I found myself visiting San Francisco via the underwater rail system (BART) one late December day, after living and teaching in Philadelphia for a mere 5 months.  It was Christmas break, and I was home for the holidays!  As I anticipated the city that I love so much and all its sights, sounds and people Vanessa Carlton’s blissful keyboard playing arose on my iPod just as I stepped off the BART train and up the escalator to the hilly streets of the city and song “San Francisco.”  “I know what you did; Like a boy of summer gives his first kiss; Love, is dancing on my finger; Now I'm walking with the living; I always liked Steinbeck and those old men whistling; We're back, we're back in San Francisco; We're back and you tell me I'm home; Talking in the Mission; Over coffee this is my utopia…” The song and its melody sang to me of my love of my city. 

…(Spring 2006)...Walking through the coble stoned streets of Rome one warm spring day, I and new earned dear friend and I played hooky from our study abroad class.  Italian Cinema; eh, I’ll pass for one day!  Passing the flower covered Spanish Steps, the tourist packed Trevi Fountain; and charming and quaint streets till we passed other ancient landmarks preserved in a modern city full of romance, subways, busses, food and delicious gelato.  In an instant; on this delightful sunny day; we both impromptu put on the first song in her iPod: “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield.  “Staring at the blank page before you, Open up the dirty window, Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find.  Reaching for something in the distance, So close you can almost taste it.  Release your inhibitions.  Feel the rain on your skin, No one else can feel it for you. Only you can let it in.  No one else, no one else, Can speak the words on your lips.  Drench yourself in words unspoken.  Live your life with arms wide open.  Today is where your book begins.  The rest is still unwritten.”  As we strolled down Roman streets sharing earphones, a kind of beauty and potential for my life came over me.

…(September 2008)...In another moment, James Taylor and his soothing vocals played in a Tai restaurant a block away from Golden Gate Park, as two friends sat across from each other in a kind of unrequited love.  “I’ve seen fire, and I’ve seen rain.  I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end…I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend…but I always thought that I’d see you again…”  As my heart was aching in this moment of unreturned love, I listened to this song as a promise of retaining a dear friend.   

…(November 2011)...In the final stretch of my second marathon, I found myself searching for a power song to carry me the rest of the way down the scenic Kelly Drive.  Florence + The Machine should surely do the trick!  “Dog Days Are Over, and it’s playful trickle like melody was the winner.  “The dog days are over.  The dog days are done.  The horses are coming.  So you better run.  Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father.  Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers; Leave all your love and your longing behind.  You can't carry it with you if you want to survive.”  In the height of autumn colors and leaves, I ran and sprinted down that final Philadelphia marathon stretch without an ache in my body…that is not until I finally crossed the finished line; then I could barely walk.  What can I say; 26.2 miles will do a number one you.  Lots of ice!  

…(January 2010)...In another instant I found myself by coincidence reconnecting with a missed connection of a fireman.  A tall and handsome brown haired and eyed man and I almost collided on ice in the middle of Union Square, San Fran over holiday ice skating.  What were the odds I’d run into this dangerously charming man?!  One or two weeks later (like it matters now) him and I gravitated towards each other over Naun and Curry, Mass, and dare I say rock climbing.  Nothing like muscles, sweat, and our bodies sprawled on a rock wall to build some tension!  Needless to say it was a short lived lil romance; especially since I was about to move to Philadelphia to teach intercity youth; yet I found myself in my SF abode cooking dinner as my Pandora played, “Here we go Again” by Demi Lavato.  “So how did you get here under my skin; Something about you is so addictive; We're fallin' together; You think that by now I'd know; 'Cause here we go go go again; But I start to go insane; Everytime that you look at me; so here we go again.”  How was it that I fell for this man’s charm again?  Shake the dust off - it's all good.  

…(Spring 2009)...One spring day turning to evening I joyfully hopped on my bike, zipped and zoomed through the twilight lit streets and iconic campus of Berkeley.  In this moment I felt a sense of zeal for life after leaving a dual campus ministry event between two Newman clubs, that I had a large part in forming.  In this high of joy and bliss MC Hammer and one of his better known hits, hit my ears – “U Can’t Touch This”  “Give me a song, or rhythm…Make 'em sweat, that's what I'm giving 'em…Now, they know…You talking about the Hammer you talking about a show…That's hype, and tight…Singers are sweating so pass them a wipe…Or a tape, to learn…What's it gonna take in the 90's to burn…The charts? Legit…Either work hard or you might as well quit…That's word because you know... You can't touch this.”  Without a doubt, I felt nothing could “touch” me. 

…In the fall of one of the years I addressed San Francisco, my dear Ethiopian and alluring friend/coworker and I departed from an evening gathering of prayer, as we both by spontaneous chance began obnoxiously singing to Don Mclean’s “American Pie,” in his car, riding through a moonlit night in Golden Gate Park.  “We were singin' bye-bye, Miss American Pie; Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry; Them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye; Singin' "This'll be the day that I die; This'll be the day that I die"”   For a friend that challenged me quite a bit in my Catholic beliefs; but who also brought out a care free kind of go with the flow way of being, I felt a huge sense of gratitude for him in my life and the gift of his friendship. 

…(Spring 2011)...Bright and early one spring Monday morning, before the sun had even completely risen, I found myself driving through Center City Philadelphia on interstate 676, before transferring to interstate 76 on route to my classroom in intercity West Philly.  First year teacher; Monday morning; coming off the weekend – need a say more?  I needed a Monday boost of energy to kick start me – and my two cups of coffee clearly wasn’t enough!  Queue Jennifer Lopez’s “Let’s Get Load” please!  “Let's get loud, let's get loud; Turn the music up, let's do it; C'mon people let's get loud; Let's get loud; Turn the music up to hear that sound; Let's get loud, let's get loud; Ain't nobody gotta tell ya; What you gotta do.”  There’s something about the song’s contagious energy that gave me the energy to handle the energy of my boisterous students.

You may ask yourself, why do you smile at some of these moments; as some are clearly painful?  To which I simply say, all good, bad, difficult, joyful, have made me into the strong independent woman I am; full of opinion (sometimes to the dismay of my family, as some opinions have changed), full of life and itching to live and see more of life here in California and elsewhere.  These moments remind me that if this is how colorful, eccentric, exciting and passionate life is now at 20-something, imagine how much more there is to discover.