Who are you seeing?

Sjoekje had a dream the other night, and told me about it. It's poignant, so I want to include it here, exactly as she e-mailed it:
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I had my first dream of Alice a couple of days ago. Although the details are muttled, I'll try my best to tell you about it.

It started off completely unrelated. I was sitting in the passenger seat of a car, teaching a blind man to drive. I was telling him where to turn, how to stay on the road, etc. (If you see "Music From Another Room", one of the characters teaches a blind person how to ride a bike. It can be either that or symbolically Alive and her accident...I'm not sure.) Well, we ended up at the bottom of the front gates at Rose Hills. At that point we were all instructed to get out of the car and walk the remaining way to the gavesite of our choice. I was thinking to myself, "Alice is burried so far from here. It's going to be a bitch to climb and walk all that way." I went inside one of the gift shops to gather my thoughts. The gift shop was gold and antique white, with very bright lighting and had a short spiral staircase to the open second floor (like a loft). Alice was standing in front of me on the first floor. Yet, I kept look up the entire time. I was telling her how I didn't really want to walk all that way and she told me, "Why are you even here at all? Who are you seeing?" I couldn't have the heart to tell her that it was her grave that I was visiting. All I saw was her smile and I was starting to well up with tears. Then, I woke up.

I guess I can say that perhaps me being in the passenger seat is me feeling out of control of myself, like the blind leading the blind? Maybe, the blind guy is the masculine energy of myself, telling me that I need to take more control and direction for myself. Perhaps the gift shop was so heavanly...like seeing Alice there was like a gift from God so to speak? I'm not too sure. I'm bad at interpreting dreams. There's more too look at, like rose and hills and what they independently mean. like the spiral staircase, the loft, the colors of gold, antique white and the bright light. But nonetheless, I had a dream of her and wanted to share it with you.
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Packing Up

We were packing to leave CA for NY last night and I found myself remembering Alice. I'm not going to reference the sorrow, pain and tears that accompanied my thoughts--I know, just did--because it seems I always do and it's getting tired.

Well, I'm tired.

I'm exhausted by Alice's absence. And my despair wears me down.

Searching for solace, for meaning in this tragedy, plumbing the depths of my consciousness to locate my relationship with Alice consumes me. I want her back so we can go on like we were meant to.

I've diverged from my original train of thought.

So as I was in my room loading luggage and making the bed, I was missing Alice. She would usually hang around during our departure, take advantage of last moments with L, and help however she could. I never told Alice how special those passing minutes were for me.

Instead, I closed myself off to make leaving hurt less. Alice was able to revel in the fleeting moments of our farewell, cherishing the time we were spending together. She'd ask when we were returning, why we weren't coming back sooner and talk about her plans to visit us in NYC.

There was none of this while I was packing up yesterday.

To be sure, it was different. My mom spent time sitting next to L in the backseat of the car. I had my memories of Alice to occupy me. And my beloved Peter was making sure everything was in order, that I was OK, that we would make it back home.

Someone, anonymously, submitted a comment to the last entry suggesting essentially that I appreciate my relationship with Sophie more. It's true I need to focus on those who remain here with me.

This photo, while a scan of a photocopy of the actual photograph, is definitely one of my favorites. Alice is all glamourous cheer!

Christmas Eve

I woke up from a dream this morning. The beginning is a little convoluted, so bear with me.

Peter and I were shopping, and we started talking with the store proprietor. We had received some plants at our doorstep with no note, and asked her if she had sent them to us. As she was answering, I heard Alice's voice.

It was hard to believe, so I cautiously turned the corner and looked downstairs; indeed, I more clearly heard Alice talking about her students and, there she was! Now in my mom's house, I actually jumped over the banister and floated down to the first floor from excitement.

I stood in the doorway and looked at Alice, she was her animated self, talking and laughing. Then I made eye contact with Sophie, incredulous. Going back and forth between Sophie and Alice for a moment, it was as if I were watching a tennis match.

With my eyes I asked Sophie if she realized what was going on and could she freeze this moment forever? Something was tugging me back upstairs and I had to will myself to stay a moment longer, not to let this eden end so soon.

I couldn't stand it anymore, I lunged for Alice and hugged her, pressing her head close to my face, running my fingers through her hair even though it wasn't really socially acceptable. I had missed her so f`cking much, I wanted to feel her as much as I could. The pulling force got stronger, and I quickly floated away.

This is when I came to consciousness, although my eyes were still closed. I wailed in my sleep. We're visiting Peter's family and I expected everybody could hear me, I couldn't hold back. Again, it dawned on me that I would never. again. see or be with Alice.

People feel closer to their deceased loved ones when they are sad, I've been reading. As I hold back my tears in typing this, however, my grief still feels very painful.

In time I hope I will accept these apparitions as a means to remain connected with Alice.

Whimsical

My mom, Peter, L and I went to Rose Hills today; I had been wishing to go since we were there last in October. As soon as we got off the freeway, my mom said she wanted to get Alice flowers, that she had forgotten to pick roses from the garden for this occasion.

I stopped the car at a florist along the route, and as we stepped out of the car, my mom remarked that she wanted to get a pinwheel for Alice. She chose 3, and at $1.75 each, I was relieved that the shop didn't overcharge us because of their proximity to the cemetary.

When we got to Alice's grave site, I saw that her tombstone had been set. It read:
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Cherished daughter
sister, aunt
ALICE CHAHINIAN
1970 + 2006
-----
Where the + sign is actually a cross. I stared at it, as if the longer I looked, the more real this shocking event would feel. We planted the pinwheels in the grass, and I adjusted them so that they could catch maximum wind and spin jovially for Alice. They did, and the sight of the three together was rather whimsical.

The number three could represent the number of children my mom has had, or it could be for the father, the son and the holy ghost, it could also be that this was the number of different colors of pinwheels the florist carried.

I wept for the emptiness inside my being, for the relentless pain that I'm left with, for yearning so damn much to be with Alice.

Alice. Dear, Alice.

In Images

I've been scouring the house looking for photographs of Alice. I want a framed one to hang in the apartment somewhere central. Here are some gorgeous ones I came across. Remember her vitality? She's vibrant in every single image.

If you click on an image, you'll see a slightly larger version.

When Alice visited my mom, you could usually find them on this swing in the backyard.

We had fun, just hanging out on the driveway.

Just chilling, in my mom's backyard circa 1998.

My dad and I, as the two men in Alice's life. Would you believe these days I look worse than in this picture? Mourning does that to a person.

Alice, all smiles. Meanwhile I'm worried about the camera's self-timer.

My mom had a barbecue in May 2004. Lately Alice wasn't much of a drinker, actually.

Alice beaming in front of her Jeep. Damn it.

What kind of world is this if Alice doesn't live in it anymore?

I don't know.

What I Want, and Will Not Get

Maybe I'm talking about my Christmas list here. What I want is one more chance with Alice. If I had one, I would:

*Hug Alice, really embrace her, and not feel like running away to get it overwith.

*Tell her what a fantastic aunt she is, how much I appreciate the love she has given her niece, and how lucky L is to have her as a relative.

*Soothe her -- when she told me on L's first birthday that she was sorry for not getting her a present this year and would make up for it next year -- and tell her that indeed in July she got her niece an adorable Hello Kitty tank top and the cutest camouflage Hello Kitty skirt for her birthday, and how Boubrig loves wearing this outfit and how precious she looks in it.

*Forgive her for all of the meanness she directed toward me, for all of the pinches and scars she inflicted. I would ask her to forgive me for all of the times I hit her and for all the coldness and pain I hurled her way.

*Make a pact with her, that when she died we would open a line of communication so that we could still hear and talk to each other.

*****

Maybe L gets something special this year. While she has lost an aunt, she will now and forever have her Auntig Alice as a guardian angel. OK, maybe I get this same present, too.

Dear Dear Haig

I just found another watercolor underneath the previous one! This depicts six roses, and on the back is an undated message:

"Dear Dear Haig -
I love you. I'm very sorry about this evening. Let's try to make up for it tomorrow. I'll be back later tonight -- hope you'll be up, if not, sleep well & I'll see you in the morning light!
Love you,
Alice"

What a gift, I love it. While I don't remember what prompted the inscription, Alice's love is so obvious, and I hope I responded to her in kind. I imagine she left this in my bedroom for me to find as a peace pipe, a surprise one at that.

Reading the note, it feels like we were both hurt, that we had wounded each other. We certainly were good at doing that.

Thanks for the beautiful roses, Alice.

My Very Best Work!

Alice painted this rose around 1999 and gave it to me with the words on the back "My very best work! Hope it makes you smile! [smiley face] I [heart] u!"

I love the detail in the leaves. It's one of those big puffy roses in full bloom, and the scent almost comes off the canvas. My mom roses exactly this pink-lavender color in our front yard growing up. Alice, Sophie and I sometimes ate the petals in the morning before jumping in the Dodge Colt and being carted off to Armenian Mesrobian School.

I have it in a frame in our living room, and wanted to share it with the world.

Sweet Stuff

There was a pack of Freshen-up gum (like the visual aid?) in my closet when we moved recently. Alice had mailed it to me a year before, reminding me of a special treat we shared as children. My mom always insisted we chew Carefree Sugarless gum -- never mind that saccharine caused cancer in lab rats -- so on the special occasion when we could chew whatever gum we wished, we often chose Freshen-up. The sweet gel stuff inside was a special treat!

Alice and I liked to jog each other through pleasant recollections from our past, and so for our visit this past July I brought her "Greek gum" (see above), another staple from our days at Mesrobian. When we went to Andy's deli, my mom would pick up a pack of these sugar-white tabs that tasted so good! I recently saw on the ingredients list that the special ingredient is Mastic oil. Sends me right to the 4th grade.

While I continue to mourn Alice's loss in different ways, it's nice to remember the sweet stuff. I've heard that the good memories are what linger, and this blog is certainly helping me chronicle as many of them as I can process.

Last Night's Dream

At 4:23 a.m. this morning I was startled awake from a dream. I was sad as I realized what I had dreamt, but it was a more complicated sadness than usual.

I dreamt that I was washing dishes in the kitchen of my mom's house, feeling alone because my mom, dad, Sophie and Alice were all against me for some typical reason. Then Alice came into the room to antagonize me further, saying I was wrong about something -- I hate that the details aren't so clear to me.

My feelings of loneliness, ironically even in the presence of all immediate family members, were more enlightened than usual. When Alice approached me, she was doing so only as a representative of the rest of the family, and that this tension wasn't between her and me only. I had some patience for her, and resented the rest of the group for putting her up to this.

I retaliated by yelling back and throwing grape juice on her. When the juice hit her clothing, I noticed that her outfit was already a kind of berry color, and so the spill didn't make a big difference. However, I saw that the blue in the grape juice was permeating the red-based berry color; her top was turning bluer.

She reached for the coffee pot in the sink, and was attempting to douse me with the brown water and grounds when I suddenly woke up.

On one hand it felt like typical Alice that I couldn't get to her -- her clothes were already the general color of the juice. In my conscious state so early in the morning, I was reminded about the rage I could feel towards Alice, and wished that I could have felt more compassion towards her when she was alive, because I do believe she carried alot of aggression on behalf of all of us.

The meaning of the colors isn't so clear to me right now.

In a weird way, it felt good to have this dream, to re-live one aspect of being with Alice.

Come to think of it, I'm the blue one in her absence.

Pass it to Ben

We just got back from having Thanksgiving dinner with friends, and I'm still thinking about how Alice was there with us, in an odd, unexpected way.

Dessert time arrived, and among many sweets there was this big white cloud of cake, a frosted angel food with chunky shavings of coconut. Ben, the 14 year old son of family friends, loved this particular cake, so he was the first to be served. As Fred our gracious host plated a piece, he said "Pass this one to Ben" and I heard "Pass it to Ben" in Alice's voice.

Flash back a solid twenty five years -- boy, am I getting old -- when I was playing city-sponsored soccer one summer. Ben was Filipino, a tall fairly-skilled teammate of mine. During games, his mother would run up and down the sidelines yelling to all of us "Pass it to Ben! Pass it to Ben!" encouraging him to be a ball hog. My sisters and I got a big kick out of this, and since then Alice especially has loved saying "Pass it to Ben!" invoking a cheerful moment in our childhood.

I excused myself from the dining room and shed a few tears in the kitchen. It was a pretty big dinner, so it wasn't long before I was engaged in conversation with Ben's dad, actually. I was sad to miss for the rest of my life Alice's quick quips. Pass it to Ben, indeed.

Westgate Park

For Alice's 30th birthday back in 2000, Peter and I sent her 30 presents to celebrate. One of the presents was a poem I wrote, about a happy moment in our childhood, that she had on her refrigerator in San Diego on the last day of her life.

I thought I would reprint it here, in part because I'm scared I will lose the blue piece of paper on which it's written. It's called
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Westgate Park

Going over the hill
my pulse starts to race
in the Dodge Colt.

Look to the right
see the crowd gather
'round the wading pool
not yet wet.

Do you remember
the jet stream?
For ever young
Three tykes
Too excited
One summer.

Whoosh
Water whirls by in waves
Wait in line
My turn next
Sit and splash down
Cool exhiliration
to the center of the small sea.

Look ma
I'm swimming underwater

Like an angel with wings

Silently creating a masterpiece

Under the tree

With a watchful eye

over her young.

Hurry out

One more go

before it gets too deep

Watch out for the sprinklers

Water water everywhere

Not a moment to rest

until the pool closes.

Red cheeks and

Red eyes

Hi mama

Oh for heaven's sake

You kids really

overdid it this time

I want pita butter and jelly

First dry off

Give me my towel!

If you kids are good

We'll get ice cream at the dairy

Before your father gets home.

Next week

Let's come back

for goldfish.

-----

Alice read this poem to me over the phone about 6 months ago. She cried a little, and I was touched that she saw the love I meant to express in it. It was also a paean to our childhood, which while often wrought with pain and misery, had its blissful spots. Going to Westgate Park was definitely one of them.

Over the Grand Canyon

About two weeks after Alice died, I caught the last 20 minutes of Thelma and Louise on television. The ending brought a flood of tears because, well, Alice died in her car, too.

I mention this because yesterday morning I flew to CA for Alice's hokehankist (Armenian for "the resting of her soul" -- in the Armenian Apostolic tradition it's believed that it takes 40 days for the deceased's soul to rise to heaven) and the Grand Canyon featured prominently in my experience.

Usually I'm too occupied to notice beauty around me. Peter often points out the gorgeous light of the afternoon sun as it hits certain buildings, while I'm busy staring at the sidewalk. So on the flight yesterday I was immersed in When Will I Stop Hurting? Dealing with a Recent Death which Iris sent to me, when the captain announced that for the next 3-4 minutes we would be flying over the Grand Canyon to the right.

I thought "I've seen it before, I don't want to be bothered." Then, I thought of Alice. She appreciated the intense, and fleeting beauty of sunsets. Something so common that I overlook it, when its grandeur is truly rare. Alice could revel in the moment.

Dad's Heartbreak

My mom, my dad and I are going out to dinner tonight, an experience Alice would have loved. In her death, she brings her family together.

While the three of us were visiting at my mom's home yesterday, my dad recounted his experience of seeing Alice for the last time.

Before the funeral proceedings began in the Memorial Chapel at Rose Hills, dad asked if he could see Alice in her casket. The ushers obliged.

He said that she had a bruise on her face, from the impact of the car. He said that she was perfect.

My Alice

My mom called yesterday morning, her voice shaking. She had written a poem, and said "it just came to me, so I wrote it down." Here it is.
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My Alice

You are a bundle of energy
A bundle of love
You are my angel
Watching from above.

Emptying the dishwashwer
Or filling it up
Cleaning the oven
Wiping the countertop.

At a moment's notice
She would vacuum the house
At the next moment
She would cut the grass.

Always asking and almost begging
If she could only wash up the cars
Then quickly would add, if she could
Weed the garden and water the grass.

And now that you are gone
And left me behind
I will do all these things
And keep you in my heart and mind.

I love you Alice and miss you allways
Feeling you next to me on the swing
In the morning sunrays.
-----
This poem is totally Alice, in the rhyming, the structure of the verses, the imagery.

My mom remarked that she doesn't completely understand the significance of the change in pronoun, from second person to third person and back to second. She wondered if she should make it uniform, and I offered that if this is how the poem came to her, this is how she might keep it.

I added that it was clear that my mom was open, she was listening to the universe with her eyes, ears, and heart, and that these are ways that Alice lives through us.

Midday Dream

I woke up at 8 am today, took a shower, brushed my teeth, ate Shredded Wheat with a sprinkle of Lucky Charms, moved some boxes around our new place, then went back to sleep at about 11 am.

In my slumber, I had a dream in which I was visiting my mom for the 40 day anniversary of Alice's death, and I was in my childhood bedroom getting dressed. While I was deciding what shirt to wear, a guy friend of Alice's came to pay his respects to my mom, and she was showing him Alice's bedroom. While they passed by my room, I looked outside and saw a young girl across the street wave to me, as if to embarrass me for being shirtless. I quickly decided to wear a rust colored sweater my mom had made, one I did not bring with me; rather, it had stayed in Cerritos for a few years.

As I was pulling the pullover over my head, I had a quick one-two thought: 1. As soon as I went to see who came over, Alice would give me grief for wearing this sweater. I dreaded that she would call me on putting on something so blatantly to please my mother, when I likely had no intention of wearing it, then 2. "wait! is Alice here?" and ran to my mom.

Of course, Alice wasn't there, and from my momentary excited hopefulness, came crashing down to the present reality. I unabashedly balled my eyes out at Alice's certain absence, felt guilty for dreading her reaction to my sweater, and willed that I could take back my guilt in exchange for having my sister back.

It was the kind of crying that is wholly for Alice. The kind of crying that takes all my might, tenses me in my core, and while I feel pure horror in these moments, I get a wisp of possibility that in some realm I may be connecting with Alice. Mostly, though, it just hurts to grieve and sob like that.

I feel it's necessary to do, if I'm going to keep living. Interestingly enough, when I cry like that, I don't feel like eating for a while. Like shedding tears nourishes me.

Are you ready for Sossi?

I just found my ticket stub.

On August 13, 2002, Alice and I went to see Siouxsie & the Banshees at the Grove of Anaheim. Must I say it was gorgeous that day? Because it's raining and rather dark here in New York as I write this. We drove there in Alice's Jeep, and took a photo of the two of us in the parking lot, Thelma and Louise-style. Even though I haven't seen the picture in awhile, I can see it clearly in my mind's eye. The evening sun is hot orange, Alice is beaming in her sunglasses, and I'm squinting into the camera.

I must rely on my mind's eye for everything about Alice now. At least it portrays things in the present tense.

The opening act was a highlight, The Distillers, who were still growing on the music scene. Brody Dalle, as was her name back then, said a couple of times, "Are you ready for Sossi?" said "Soh-see" which is an Armenian girl's name. Alice and I got a big kick out of that, and from then on, referred to "Sossi and the Banshees." She called me a couple of times when "Kiss Them for Me" came on the radio, and I felt bonded with her talking about Sossi.

Brody Dalle was happy to concede the spotlight to Sossi, because, well, she was the headlining act after all. What resonates for me as I type this is that Alice and I really got into the Distillers' performance, as they kicked ass on stage, led by their frontwoman. You know, just like Brody, Alice was a badass. She took sh`t from nobody, including me. And I tried to give it to her, often.

Right now I guess I have to think of Alice as hard and tough, because if I'm internalizing her in her death, I need that toughness to get me through these wrenching waking moments.

Well, tough on one hand, and so very tender on the other, as you see in the photo above. I still have a few things to learn from Alice's tenderness.

What Songs Make You Think of Alice?

I hadn't been able to listen to any music; it distracted me from my sadness, and I've felt compelled lately to stay with my grief rather than run away from it.

So it's with some relief that I finally opened iTunes and listened to Alanis Morissette earlier this week. On "Hands Clean" she asks "What part of our history is reinvented and under rug swept? What part of our memory is selective and tends to forget?" Alice had this CD among her collection in San Diego, so that's one connection, then the sentiment about revising history rings true for me, too. I don't want to airbrush or reinvent any of my past with Alice. I yearn to remember all of her -- the ups, downs, and all-arounds.

Alanis has a way of speaking the truth, even though sometimes it comes out a bit awkward, like when she lists a bunch of stuff, and it's a song. Alice sure had a way of speaking the truth, and she definitely knew what hot buttons of mine to press, and she pressed them with ease.

I listen to Alanis also because Alice (yes, the names sound alike, don't they) "borrowed" my Jagged Little Pill cassette back when it came out in 1995. I really like that album, and only in the last couple of years did I buy the CD version for myself. I remember listening to "Hand in my Pocket" with Alice going from the 605 South to the 7th Street exit in Long Beach. She would blast "All I Really Want" and the opening line "Do I stress you out?" resonated between me and her in my mind.

This entry is to be continued, I hope you'll feel free to join in.

Alice's Kite

This isn't a photo of Alice's actual kite, but I think it's close. Sjoekje, is this it?

I've had the privilege to get to know or reacquainted with a good number of Alice's friends. The afternoon of Friday, September 22nd will stay in my heart as a very low, and very high point of my life. I was at Pavillions with Sophie and my mom, carrying Alice's mobile phone with me, when it rang. "Sook" appeared on the screen.

I answered it, and heard Sjoekje's vibrant voice on the other line. "Is Alice there?" she asked.

We had never met, even though Alice had talked about her often. I felt immediately close to her.

"This is Haig, Alice's brother. Who's this?" I asked, as I walked from the pumpkins and broccoli closer to the front door of the supermarket for better cell reception.

"It's Sjoekje, Alice's friend. Is she OK?"

"No, she's not. I'm very sad to tell you that on Tuesday night Alice was in San Diego, driving from the 8 Freeway East to the 5 South, when she hit the center divider and her car rolled, and she died."

Sook's exact response is cloudy; she said "Oh my god" as well as "No, I can't believe it." I know she said "f`ck" at one point, and it made me feel better, that indeed I was talking to one of Alice's friends.

It was an auspicious first meeting, and we had many conversations thereafter preparing for Alice's funeral. I know, I know -- the kite. She told me that she and Alice had bought butterfly kites together for $12 each, and they kept them in their respective car trunks for spontaneous kite flying. Alice loved flying her kite at the beach.

"You should get Alice's kite and fly it," Sook told me.

It was I'm sure in Alice's trunk on September 19th, yet one of the investigative sergeants didn't retrieve it for us when we asked her to provide us all the contents of Alice's car. The officer said she didn't go into "detail" in gathering Alice's belongings. Today I wonder what she meant by that, if she was protecting us from something we'll never know about the condition of the car after the wreck.

Flash forward to the funeral, a beautiful September day in the California southland. At Rose Hills Cemetary, we all blew bubbles into the gently blowing wind in Alice's honor -- it was a tranquil, playful tribute to her buoyancy, and how easily she moved with the rhythms of nature.

Sjoekje approached me at the tent and said, "Haig, I have the kite with me. Do you want to take it, or maybe fly it right now? There's enough of a breeze for it."

I hadn't flown a kite literally in about 20 years. Alice had that one on me, by a longshot. I asked Sjoekje to help me, and she constructed the kite while I took a few steps with the kite string for the launch. I went too far, though! Sookie suggested I get closer to her, so I reeled in the string.

She threw the butterfly up in the air, and I started to run. I let the string go, allowing the kite to reach higher into the sky. Up, up in went into the sunny limits.

I took a break, to take in the sight of the skyward butterfly. Within a second, it started to descend. No! I had to run more, to create enough tension to keep the kite airborne. I ran as fast, and as far as I could. Alice's friends and family watched the kite soar, as she herself had loved to do. I became this dark blue figure getting smaller and smaller on the horizon as Alice's butterfly took off.

Exhausted, I kept running for Alice's sake. She was so physically fit -- how could I, as her brother, be panting so soon? To be sure, I was running uphill. Within a few paces, I ran out of breath and stopped. The kite glided downward, while I wished it wouldn't hit ground. It did, and the sweet spontaneity of the moment faded.

The memory, and the rush of joy and despair I felt flying Alice's kite, still linger.

25 Days Later

And I'm still full of deep, intense sorrow. Yes, Alice would not want me to be this down, yet I can't help retreating from social situations and spending my time, well, sleeping as much as I can. What I'm doing in some ways is solidifying within myself the relationship I have with Alice, in a form that I can carry with me for the rest of my life. It's not easy to do. I'm remembering painful exchanges and joyful moments, sometimes blurring them together. A recently recurring happy flash:

I was going to call this entry "'I Don't Give a F`ck'" but then I didn't want to be so bold. Bold isn't what I've been feeling lately.

Alice had come to New York for my birthday in the spring of 1999. One day I had jury duty, and had gotten out early so we could frolic downtown. We went into Century 21--the big clothing store, not the real estate agency--and headed to the women's footwear department.

Alice had been on a quest for shoes since she arrived. We were browsing through the aisles of boots and heels and flats, when we both overhear a conversation between two women. One says, "What do you think of the color of these shoes?" to which her companion replies, "I don't give a f`ck." As soon as we round the corner, maybe/not out of earshot, Alice repeats, in a perfect impersonation, "I don't give a f`ck" and we erupt in giddy, secret laughter. Such an odd response to a reasonable inquiry.

To this day we still reference that memory with the quotation, using the same intonation the woman did, and reinforce our bond with each other.

I realize I wrote "to this day" and that the tense of this anecdote changed mid-paragraph from past to present. I guess it's a way to deny, momentarily, that Alice is gone and to feel her presence again. I suppose I can let go of present-day descriptors and still keep Alice close. 25 days after her death, though, it's hard to do.

See the previous entry for a reference to the photo above.

My Eulogy

Alice's funeral was last Wednesday, September 27, 2006. After the priest started the ceremony with his prayers, it was about 11:35 a.m. when I spoke. It went something like this:

"It's hard to organize my thoughts in a time like this.

I've been looking for Alice ever since I got the news from my dad that she had been in a car wreck -- and I found her this morning, in the phone book. Not in the white pages, in the ads section in the middle of the book. I was thumbing through, and a little roller coaster caught my eye on the page, so I took a closer look. It said "You: lightly roasted in a sea salt and cocoa butter stress reduction. Anxiety, pain, leave them at home. Book your next vacation at sandiego.org" Alice didn't need to book her vacation in San Diego, because she lived there. My mom, dad, Sophie and I went to her apartment to clean it out, and we found her snowboard, her hula hoop, bubbles. It wasn't all play, she just knew how to balance her work and life. She had just moved four weeks ago to complete an internship at San Diego City College, teaching health and exercise science as part of her master's degree from Cal State Long Beach.

So this was the context in which I got a phone call from my dad last Wednesday morning at 2:45 a.m. He spoke to Peter -- well, when L was younger, Peter was better at waking up in the middle of the night, and I was better at sleeping. So Peter answered the phone, and very soon sounded serious, he repeated "Alice has been in a car accident." and I thought, "Oh no. OK, well, what do we have to do? Where is she? What kind of wounds does she have on her body? Should be go to the hospital and help her recover? How long will her recovery be? Soon, right?" Then Peter echoed "And she died." I didn't believe it. I got out of bed, and stood there, taking steps away from the phone. Peter asked if I would talk to my dad, so I took the phone, yet all I could tell him was "I don't have anything to say." I was in shock.

For those of you who don't know, I should tell you what happened. Alice was driving eastbound on the 8 Freeway in San Diego in her Jeep. She loved that Jeep, and how she was a woman driving a Jeep, typically a man's car. We don't know, yet we think she was coming from the beach. I think it's OK for us to fill in the blanks as we would like to here, so she was coming from the beach, because she loved the beach. She was feeling really good, dusk was approaching, and she had her stereo on really loud. She was going fast when she met the junction to the 5 Freeway south. She couldn't negotiate the curve, according to the investigator at the California Highway Patrol. Her car hit the center divider, and she tried to overcorrect by turning her steering wheel to the right, causing the vehicle to roll, two or three times. She died instantly.

The thing is, I've been working on my relationship with Alice for all of my life, really. Maybe most of us here today know that it wasn't easy to have a relationship with Alice. Alice was intense. She loved intensely, and she was angry, too. I'm angry, as well. We got alot of anger from growing up in our family.

Now it feels like I was in the middle of a sentence with Alice, that has been interrupted, forever. I will continue to work on my relationship with her, just now it will be different. I will work with my mom, and my dad, and my sister, and with her friends. I hope and pray that Alice can hear me talking with her as I move forward in my life."

The photo at the top is of Alice, of course with L, and my mom on the swing in my mom's backyard. They're looking so intently at L in the middle.

Some Armenian words, which I cannot repeat

Yvette, our neighbor throughout our childhood, surprised us at Alice's funeral with this memorial, which she read out loud, and which I paste here, unedited:

"A TRIBUTE TO ALICE

Lord our God, the death of Alice recalls our human condition and the brevity of our lives on earth. But for those who believe in Your love, death is not the end, nor does it destroy the bonds that You forge in our lives. Today as we mourn the sudden death of Alice, show us the immense power of Your goodness and strengthen our belief that she has entered into Your Presence.

Alice, is a French name that comes from the word Adelaide derivate of the German name Adalheids, which means noble and kind. That is the best way to describe Alice, noble and kind.

True to her zodiac Aries, Alice was a young ram full of adventure, ambition, enthusiasm and energy for life. She was a pioneer both in thought and action, very open to new ideas and a lover of freedom. She welcomed new challenges and would not be diverted from their purpose except by an occasional impatience. She was unwilling to obey or submit to directions for which she could see no reason, or with which she disagreed. She was concerned about good health, plenty of exercise and eating healthy. She was a courageous leader, with a genuine concern for those she commanded. She was proud of her heritage, so much so that she told every class she taught on the first day about the Armenian genocide. Alice was very creative. She loved to paint. She once showed me her painting space in the garage. The colorful stool she had finished. And the beautiful lamps she made to shed her light!

I remember that Alice loved animals, loved people and loved life.

I remember playing as kids. The days the Chahinians put up a basketball court, was the happiest day of my life! I probably used it more than they did. But, I got to see Alice follow her sister and throw the basketball underhanded lifting from between her knees.

I remember watching her grow up. I often remember sitting next to her on the porch. I remember her long hair when she was little. I remember her mom trying to comb out the knots. Alice hated it. Sometimes she would slip onto the front porch before Mary could catch her. I remember how she would get upset and pet the cat in silence and we’d feel the cold shoulder for a while. I remember Alice taught me some Armenian words, which I cannot repeat! I remember when we went to the movies and her mom packed apples. And she passed one to me but I couldn’t bite it because it was so hard to eat with my braces. So I smacked it against the edge of the armrest and broke off a piece and ate it. Alice and I were laughing hysterically, but Sophie and Haig weren’t too amused since they were concentrating on the movie. Eventually Haig joined in the laughter.

As an adult, I remember when I used to watch her jog and prepare for her soccer games. I remember how many times she’d open the front door and welcome me in to listen to my crazy life stories, whenever I was in Cerritos. And just a few weeks ago, I remember waving and smiling at Alice as she pulled up in her jeep – but I never imagined that was the final goodbye!

It is said when a child is buried that the parents feel their hopes and dreams will also be buried. Mary & Leon, do not let this sentiment take over. Remember Alice’s achievements and how she reached them with your love and support.

Sophie & Haig: your best friend, your sister is only missing from the physical world. There is no possible way to drive down Hart Street and not remember the laughter, the noise, the games and the boys! We laughed, we cried, we fought and we died. Alice when you left us you took a part of us with you. You will be eternally missed but never forgotten. REST IN PEACE, GOD BLESS YOU!"

The Power of IM

I cherish what Alice's friends have sent in about their life with her. Katarina wrote and shared some of her experience, and included what Pati read for Alice at the reception last Wednesday. Has it already been a week? Here goes, verbatim:

"One of the things we talked about during the reception was the way Alice's energy and spirit could be contagious. She affected me in a profound way that I did not realize at the time.
First of all, just a brief history. Pati and I became easy friends with Alice almost immediately upon entering college. While we did end up drifting apart, we kept up with how Alice was doing throughout our time at La Verne.

Pati and I thought of Alice frequently through the years and a little over a year ago, fate and circumstance brought her wholeheartedly back into our lives as we had a close mutual friend in Adi all these years and were until that time, unaware of the connection. I realize now that we reconnected so that her memory could live in us more fully.

My last conversation with Alice took place just over a month ago through the power of msn IM. I am not a frequent IMer, but Alice was a pro. The last thing I said to Alice, was "I love you, Alice." She replied, 'I love you too, Kat." What is profound about that is that while I do love my friends wholeheartedly, I do not usually say it. Alice made it so that one could say it unabashedly. I am so grateful for that.

Seeing you and Sophie made us feel closer to Alice that day and gave a glimpse into a part of her life we did not know so well.

I am including also what Pati read at the reception. It does not include the personal words she spoke, but is simply the quote she read. I sent it to several friends as a reminder for them to live their lives boldly and without reservation, as did my friend, Alice.

I appreciate the opportunity to share this with you.
-Katarina

Our biggest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light and not our darkness that frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel secure around you. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
-Marianne Williamson"

Preppy shorts... nice white socks and a pair of Vans

After all, Alice did go to high school in the 80s. Iris wrote this letter for her -- I'm smiling and crying at the same time, having just read it.

"My Best Friend, Dingey

There are not enough words in the dictionary to explain the friendship between Alice and I. We had a special kind of friendship that can never be replaced. I have my friends, but Alice was my best friend. She has been a part of my life ever since junior high school and we have been through just about everything together.

We were born just three short days apart, but we wouldn’t come to know that until 13 years later when we first met. I still remember how silly our meeting was. We attended Whitney, which was different than most high schools in the fact that you could spend your breaks inside the carpeted hallways of the building. I had a friend at the time who was kind of boy-crazy and would often run off and leave me standing in the halls by myself. One day, I thought to myself that I need to find a new friend. I’m not sure how or what directed me to Alice, but I was walking around the halls and then I came upon her sitting on the carpet in one of the hallways (as many of the students did), talking with a friend. I still remember the exact spot where we first met. I approached Alice and I think I just straight out asked her if I could sit and hang out with them. (I can’t imagine doing that now as an adult!) I remember that Alice and her friend were both very friendly and invited me to join them without hesitation. Alice and I hit it off right away and we hung out every break and lunch from then on. I still remember Alice back then – she had very long hair and she wore the front of it pulled back into a cute little ponytail that was gathered at the back of her head and draped down over the rest of her hair. She often wore those preppy shorts that were in style at the time and she would pair them up with nice white socks and a pair of Vans. As far as I can recall, we were both a little shyer back then, but we formed a close bond that I had yet to know would only grow over the years to come.

Fast forward a few years and Alice had grown into the most beautiful, spunky, fun-loving, high spirited, genuine, and caring person. Anyone who met Alice loved Alice. We soon learned to drive, and off to the beach we went! We spent our summer full of fun and laughs and friendship that I’ll never forget. It was as if we were attached at the hip, because I remember rising each morning knowing that I would see Alice. We would take turns driving to the beach, where we would chat and sunbathe for hours. A good day at the beach for us would always be followed by a Taco Bell bean burrito with a large iced tea. We would head home, but that didn’t mean it was the end of the day for us. Sometimes, we would meet up again at night just to see each other again and have a little more fun before the day ended. The next morning, it would be the same thing all over again. We would never tire of each other’s company.

Somewhere early along the road, Alice and I stopped referring to each other by our names and started calling each other by a nickname. Our nickname for each other was Dingey. It came from the many times where we would act so silly together. Our sometimes pea-brained behaviors led to a joke about calling each other dingy, but then we agreed that if we were so dingy, we wouldn’t know how to spell or say it correctly. So, we agreed that a truly dingy person would mistakenly call it dingey, which of course has an entirely different meaning, but made it even all the more funnier for us. I called her Dingey and she called me Dingey. I know that it’s a silly name, but Alice and I were silly, and the name to me brings tears and so many memories of my best friend. It’s hard to explain our connection in words, but I can only tell you that somehow being born three days apart made it seem like Alice and I were made out of the same mold. We had similar issues with growing up and we struggled with the same insecurities and so much more. We both had love for the same things in life and we seemed to feel the same way about everything. Alice and I would often be amazed at how similar we were. We shared many laughs and fun times, but we also shared our deeper feelings and thoughts with each other and I feel like we really knew each other through and through.

When Alice left for LaVerne, we kept in touch over the phone and we would still try to get together as often as possible. After we both finished college, there were new responsibilities to take on, but Alice and I were back to being best buds again like nothing had ever changed. I think we still liked to think of ourselves as still being young kids without a worry in the world. As time moved on, I started traveling for my career and was on the road each week. It has hard for us to keep in touch the way we used to, and eventually we lost touch entirely a few years ago. I knew that Alice and I would be in touch again, though, as I thought about her all the time and had been wanting to send her a letter recently to see how my Dingey friend was doing. I’m heartbroken to say that the call about the accident came before I ever got to write that letter.

Alice was so beautiful inside and out. Anybody who had the privilege of being a friend of Alice’s knew her golden heart. She was one of the most truly genuine and caring people that I’ve ever met. She was the kind of person that was always thinking about everyone else around her and would come to the aid of anyone in need. It truly made her happy to make others happy. Where can you find a heart like that?

And of course, I can’t fail to mention Alice’s creative, bright, and silly side. Alice was born with a talent to paint, to design, to create new and beautiful things and share them with everyone. Her art was bright and beautiful, just like her. I remember when she first started making those wonderful lanterns and I couldn’t believe how unique and bright and beautiful each lantern was. She showed me her little “studio” in her mom’s garage and she explained to me how she constructed them. I was amazed at her talent and when I showed my excitement at her creativity and her gift, she was very modest, but couldn’t help beaming one of those fantastic Alice smiles at me.

Alice and I have shared so many wonderful years and memories together. There are so many things to this day that remind me of her. She was so precious to me and I miss every single thing about her. I wish I could hear that heart-felt laugh or see her bright smile again. I wish I could see one of those funny facial expressions she would make or see her in one of her cute summer outfits that she wore so well. More than anything, I wish I could hear her call me Dingey just one more time. Friends come and go, but best friends are forever.

I am personally so lucky to have met her and become as close as we have. I love this girl like I have loved few others in my life. I love her as a sister. I always have and I always will. I miss you, my friend. You will be in my heart forever and I promise to hold your spirit with me until the day we are reunited. Until then, always remember, I love you my best Dingey friend…always and forever. "

Comforting Words

A friend of mine, Harriet, sent me these two readings from the Yom Kippur memorial service she attended yesterday. They were comforting to me; they may comfort you, too.

We turn our thoughts to yesterday...to a world that lives only in our memory.
As we recall the days gone by, we know the past is irretrievable.
Yet --through the gift of memory, we recapture treasured moments and images.
We are thankful for the happiness we knew with those no longer here, with whom we lived and laughed and loved.
We praise the Eternal wellspring of life who links yesterday to tomorrow. We affirm that despite all the tragedy bound up with living, it is still good to be alive.
We understand that there can be no love without loss, no joy without sorrow. May we have the courage to accept the all of life -- the love and the loss - the joy and the sorry, as we remember them.
-by Evelyn Mehlman

ON HEALING

I had thought that your death
Was a waste and a destruction,
A pain of hardly to be endured.
I am only beginning to learn
That your life was a gift and a growing
And a loving left with me.
The desperation of death
Destroyed the existence of love,
But the fact of death
Cannot destroy what has been given.
I am learning to look at your life again
Instead of your death and your departing.
-by Marjorie Pizer

I've been thinking alot about the first one, the idea about love and loss necessarily going together. The idea has crossed my mind that it is better that L have no siblings so she never knows the pain I endure now that Alice is gone. I don't know.

Still Listless

Today I woke up, ate breakfast, and then sat down and stared into nothingness. I'm feeling shock again, similar to when I first heard the news from my dad. It's a numb feeling that's accompanied strangely by no specific thoughts. Like, I ache for Alice to be back in my life just as she was, and I see her vivacious smile in my mind, yet there are no other concrete thoughts about her in my head.

After 2 hours of being up, I took a nap for the rest of the day, until it was time to get ready to go to my cousin's place for dinner. It was nice of him to make chicken and rice and other fixings, because I'm not feeling like cooking. And I have always enjoyed cooking.

The News Stories

These three stories were printed the day after Alice's death. They break my heart, and they're still hard to read.

From http://www.nctimes.com/articles/2006/09/21/news/sandiego/16_05_139_20_06.txt

Intern killed in freeway crash

By: North County Times wire services -

SAN DIEGO - Authorities today released the name of a 36-year-old Long Beach woman who died when her Jeep Wrangler crashed after veering off a freeway connector in Old Town.

Alice Chahinian was pronounced dead at 7:34 last night, according to the San Diego County Medical Examiner's Office.

Chahinian was driving from eastbound Interstate 8 to southbound I-5 when the Jeep traveled off the connector and rolled over, said Medical Examiner's Investigator James Buckley.

She was the sole occupant in the vehicle, Buckley said, adding that it did not appear that she had been wearing a seat belt.

Chahinian was in San Diego working on a teaching internship through Cal State Long Beach, according to Buckley.

The California Highway Patrol was investigating the cause of the crash.

----------

From http://www.10news.com/newsarchive/9893449/detail.html

10News.com
Freeway Accident Kills 1 In Midway Area
Driver Dies; No Reported Injuries

POSTED: 8:22 am PDT September 20, 2006, UPDATED: 9:53 am PDT September 20, 2006

SAN DIEGO -- A deadly freeway accident happened in the Midway area Tuesday night at about 7:15 p.m. on the eastbound Interstate 8 onramp to southbound Interstate 5.

Authorities report Alice Chahinian, 36, was apparently trying to get onto Interstate 5, when her Jeep hit the center divide and rolled over.

Chahinian died at the scene, officials said.

No other cars were involved, and no one else reported injuries.

----------

Long Beach woman killed in accident [C Edition]

The San Diego Union - Tribune - San Diego, Calif.
By: Pauline Repard | September 20, 2006

MIDWAY DISTRICT -- A Long Beach woman died last night when her Jeep overturned on the ramp from eastbound Interstate 8 to southbound Interstate 5, authorities said.

The woman's name was not released. She was 36, a California Highway Patrol official said.

The cause of the accident was under investigation.

CHP officials said the Jeep driver swerved off the ramp to the left about 7:15 p.m., then overcorrected to the right and flipped the vehicle on its left side. It came to rest where the ramps from eastbound and westbound I-8 converge to southbound I-5.

The driver was pinned to the ground by the Jeep's rollbar. She was declared dead at the scene, the CHP said. The ramps were closed for nearly three hours.

Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner.

Changes

I'm torn about addressing these photos. Am I giving away too much by describing them? It's just that Alice is so alive in them.

She referred to this occasion as "the reunion" because she, Sophie and I hadn't been in the same place at the same time in several months. My mom insisted on a photo of the 3 of us together. There had been some space between Sophie and me for insignificant reasons, and there had been space between Sophie and Alice, too. Actually, there had been space between Alice and me as well, yet with this visit I was feeling her all over again. Naturally.

So we lined up as we are, and I didn't know this until later: Alice was upset that we weren't in the order in which we always have been in photos. Always, the order of the three children were Sophie, Alice, Haig. Or, Haig, Alice, Sophie. Alice was always between her brother and her sister. Except in these photos, hence her very lively corresponding facial expressions.

In the last photo, L did something cute on the grass to grab Alice's and Sophie's attention, although why not mine? I'm just her dad.

Like me, Alice had difficulties with change. Why should we change the order in which we've always been? This time it was different, so what we get are snapshots of a very animated Alice.

To be sure, Alice was a ham for the camera when she felt like it, and this was no exception. She was having fun with us. May she have fun for eternity.

Alice graduated from USC, too!

Mission accomplished in returning to New York much earlier than I wished. We're moving, and yesterday we settled some time-sensitive business related to starting life in a new apartment. Peter reminded me of the following goodie the other day:

At my graduation from USC in May 1993, the ceremony was pretty impersonal. No surprise at such a large university, really. From this detail Alice created an opportunity for herself, and a fun spectacle for the rest of us.

Dressed in my cap and gown, I got my little blue card, on which I wrote my name and major. Heaven forbid anybody know who's graduating that day and what they'd been studying for the past four years. When I got to the podium, I handed the card to the announcer, who read it, and voila -- I graduated. I walked off the stage, and when nobody was looking, took off my regalia and handed it to Alice, who couldn't wait to graduate, too. She donned the black robe and cap, got her blue card, wrote her, er, name -- Skya Soblue -- and her major, darnit which I forget, and walked to the stage. Very entitled, for all the hours she had studied in the Doheny Library to get to this moment, Skya got to the podium, handed her card over, and walked proudly to pick up her diploma scroll, which looked exactly like mine -- blank. When she returned to where we were standing, she took off her cap and threw it in the air and we snapped a picture. She was so giddy! Now that I remember it, the boyfriend of a fellow graduate also walked with Alice, so she had a partner in crime. The picture in my mind is of the two of them side by side, caps in the air.

While this anecdote brings me so much pleasure to recount, there was another, less pleasant element to my graduation. Alice was in charge of filming the day's events. I suppose any time you hear the words "Alice was in charge," you should be weary. Unfortunately, I wasn't, I had only known Alice all my life.

By the end of the day, I was so excited to see what it all looked like, how future Chahinians would get to see their great-grandfather on his fateful graduation day from USC. We pop the video into the VCR, press play, and what a lovely picture! There I am, walking in my cap and gown towards the graduation area. There I am talking with friends. There I am, CLUNK. There they are, blades of grass and the bottom of a tree trunk, while sound remains, and there I am faintly audible talking to someone. For another minute, then I'm no longer audible. The grass doesn't move, nor does the tree. For about twenty-five more minutes. Alice clearly had something more interesting to do, like graduate herself, which took precedence over chronicling mine. It still kind of pisses me off, yet at a moment like this, I regret not taking over the camera duties and catching more of her graduation from my alma mater, as well.

This is What I Want to Tell You

I'm still thinking about how Lynette C. from the WHS class of '88 came to Alice's funeral services. Earlier in the week she had written an e-mail to me expressing her condolences, and some regrets about not having been in touch recently. Of course I related to everything she said in her e-mail, yet I had no idea she intended to be at the funeral.

Standing inside the Rose Hills Memorial Chapel, I was receiving guests when I turned to my left and saw Lynette standing in the pews. She looked hot, if I may say. Even in her sadness, she had this elegance about her. Because her e-mail domain was "southernwine," I thought perhaps she lived in the South now? Actually, I don't know where she lives, and while it's not impossible she travelled from Athens, GA to be there, I have the sense that she likely lives in the Los Angeles area. I went up to her and told her I received her e-mail, and how kind and thoughtful it was. She reiterated her remorse, and I offered that Alice had Lynette in her heart, too. I remember Lynette, Iris, Deonna, and Melissa -- there may have been a few others? -- were fast friends back in 7th grade.

And so this is what I want to tell you. Lynette and Alice probably last saw each other 18 years ago. That's half their lifetime ago. I don't take lightly that a busy professional such as Lynette can be at a funeral in the middle of the workweek; I know that takes considerable energy to arrange for onesself. What this tells me is even in physical absence, people hold other people dear. Lynette has had a special place in her heart for Alice ever since they met. And from this fact, I know that Alice held a very similar place in her heart for Lynette. While sure, it would have been nice for them to be in touch in the recent past, absence does not diminish the meaning people hold in our hearts. I don't want to talk from a soapbox-- although, what is a blog if not a virtual soapbox?

Just know that whom you hold close in your heart will remain there forever, regardless of frequency of contact.

High School Drama, and Some History

Friends from Whitney are writing in, and so I want to write a little about the funeral relative to folks from our high school. Details from the funeral service I will write as I am able to synthesize them.

Generally, the funeral was what I had hoped -- well, what I said a few days prior was that I wanted it not to be "generic." Mission accomplished, in that way.

Jodi I. and Bill R., who were Alice's, Sophie's and my drama and history teachers, respectively, arrived together at about 10:50 a.m. At the moment I was greeting people who were arriving. Actually I think the word is "receiving" people who were arriving, because blubbering hardly feels like greeting. So Jodi walks toward me, and as I look up, I see her gorgeous face, smiling. What a surprise, a relief, a vision of loveliness. I hug her and immediately start sobbing, telling her how Alice was always smiling, and how her smile was similarly bright like Jodi's. What a revelation, really, to experience a smiling face that was there to bring comfort in a time of sorrow. She said not to worry about what I say, in reference to the eulogy, I think -- again, bringing me comfort. Thinking back, of course Jodi would be thinking about the performance aspect of the eulogy, she teaches theater! I would not be telling the whole truth if I also didn't say I also had considered, well, what one might consider the entertainment value of the speech. Sounds cold, yet, it crossed my mind. As did my memory of Cher's fabulous tribute to Sonny back in 1998 or so. She was so sad, weeping, and glamorous. Would people draw comparisons between Cher and me? Next I turned to Mr. R. and shook his hand. It was very heartwarming to see him, and he offered his condolences. I didn't remember his beard being as long as it was, although I do remember the baseball cap.

Later I would learn that he admonished a fellow member of the class of '89 for not participating in the alumni e-mail network. Have you signed up since, Susan?

The photo at the top of this entry again is one of Alice and L. I thought you'd like to see Sophie, too. Aren't they a trio of pure beauty? Alice is so close to L, she wanted to be cheek to cheek with my baby, and take her all in. And Sophie is all pride and joy, holding the little bundle of love.

Lighten Up!

Alice was really athletic, so it's no surprise that she worked with many coaches in her time. Coach Paul from ULV just wrote in, offering a further glimpse into Alice's life, and how folks are responding in the aftermath of her burial.

"I regret that I will be unable to attend the service as I will be between classes and meetings. While these seem minor to me at this time, other people are counting on me to be at these as well. I would like to think that Alice would understand.

I remember Alice fondly as someone who did not take life too seriously, and always had us laughing about something. I can imagine her in heaven now, going, "Hey! Lighten up! I'm in a better place you can only imagine, and I can't wait for you to join me!" And this should inspire us to lead our lives so that we CAN join her when we pass on from this world. I think the only time I ever saw her down is when she felt she let others down. I know she struggled at times in the classroom, and yet regarded it, not so much as a failure on her part, but as a disappointment to others who had so much faith in her. Then she would work even harder to get the job done.

I know Alice felt bad that some of us at ULV had written letters for her to get into graduate school here a couple of years ago, but she changed her mind at the last minute. However, we know that she was seeking the best program to meet her needs and to help her move on to other things. If I recall correctly, she wanted to look for better opportunities in teaching, and with her energy and enthusiasm, should have been a joy to watch in the classroom. I have not heard from her in a few years, but hope that she found the opportunities she was looking for.

I spoke with Coach Wendy, and it is my understanding that there will be a moment of silence before the Women's Soccer home game today at 4pm. Although Men's Soccer Coach Gonzalez came after Alice's time at ULV, I made him aware of the contributions the Chahinian family made to improve the soccer situation at ULV. In recognition of this and of Alice, Coach Gonzalez is also planning on a moment of silence in Alice's memory before the men's home match on Saturday evening at 7pm.

My thoughts and prayers are with you all at this time.

Respectfully,
Paul
Professor of Movement & Sports Science
Athletic Training Clinical Supervisor
University of La Verne"

An Owl and the Olive Capital

Sjoekje just sent in the words she expressed at Alice's funeral yesterday. Thanks, Sjoekje. Here they are:

"This is a personal first for me. Spoke at many events, not one like this. When I was asked to speak today, I didn’t think I had the strength to do so. In true Chahinian fashion, her brother Haig was so encouraging and supportive. It goes to show that many of Alice’s positive attributes are inherited through her family.

Alice would be so incredibly honored to have such an event as today. She would give us all a big, "YEA!" She would humbly express her love and gratitude to everyone.

What I am most grateful for was her visiting my parents. Alice and I grew up, literally, just a couple of miles apart and didn’t know it until college. She would shout out at college parties (each and every college party) across the room, "Sook we’re neighbors!"

The first time she came over to my parent’s house, was a great first impression. My parents have this huge fan (like from home depot...gigantic) that sits on the floor and that you can have it tilt up to the ceiling. It was by the front door, and when she walked in, it blew her skirt straight up! She screamed and laughed and my parents got such a big kick out of her. She knew that I was unable to see my parents as often as they would like to see me, so she totally pinched hit for me and became a regular guest. She would visit them on the way to seeing her mother. She would bring them a basket of fruit and would have a conversation with them for hours. She would tell me how "wise" my parents were and how she cherished their advice to give her some insight into her own relationships with others. She enlightened me into what I took for granted in my own family. It seems like my parents did the same for her.

One time, Vicky Garcia and I went to Lindsay (the Olive Capital of California) for Vicky Haas’ graduation. (A little back story) Those of you may not know that whenever Vicky Garcia is in the car with me, it’s like the animal magnet. Vicky and I have had run away horses coming for us, Big Bucks (like the Ring 2), mice and cows. Well, now we are in the car with Alice, driving back, listening to Alice’s Justin Timberlake CD and this owl’s huge wing brushed against the windshield of her jeep. We are all instantly screaming, followed by tears of laughter. (It was like it was out of the movie "The Sweetest Thing") Every moment was an adventure with Alice, you never knew what to expect.

Alice loved nature and it always gravitated towards her. As a matter of fact, I noticed that there was a bird’s nest in the eaves of the chapel outside the window and there are three birds with red chests fluttering about. There’s actually one looking as if it’s trying to peek in and get into the chapel.

Alice was very conscious about living a healthy lifestyle. She was very active, jogging, shooting hoops, riding her bike, roller blading. We were all looking in one direction with her in terms of health and fitness. What we all didn’t see was something like this coming.

Alice, in her own wisdom has taught us all to look at every direction in life. I can just imagine Alice, in all her excitement, seeing things that we can only imagine in heaven. Seeing colors that humans have never seen. Talking with ancestors that she has never met. Continuing to love and laugh and make everyone up there "laugh contagiously" with her. I’m a jealous that they get to have her now, but she deserves such an ornate, loving world without war, stress, pain, bills, rent... other things that frustrated her in life.

She will continue to touch all of our lives from this day forward.

Take the parts of Alice that you loved and live it."

Leaving Cerritos

Today we're leaving to go back to New York. It feels premature, I don't want to leave my mom and sister and dad, yet life calls us back.

Right now as I look through my (former) bedroom window, my mom is holding L's hand while crossing the street to go see the neighbor. L has been a very engaging presence in the family during this awfully painful time. Grandma a.k.a. Nanoug and granddaughter are very cute together.

The funeral was yesterday, and along with posts on this blog that Alice's loved ones have written, and e-mails I've received, I was so very heartened by the friends and family that attended. I spoke, my sister Sophie spoke, Alice's friends Sjoekje and Tom spoke, and our neighbor growing up Yvette spoke. I will post their remarks as I compile them electronically.

Know that I will continue to write, I hope you will continue to check back. There is more I want to say, and this Internet is a funny thing -- I have this strange, irrational feeling that the Internet reaches heaven. Maybe that's just a statement to how ubiquitous it often is in my life. It's as if, if something exists online, it reaches everywhere, including Alice. I'm going to go with that feeling.

We'll be back in Cerritos fairly soon.

What was Alice doing in San Diego?

It's a fair question, asked to me tonight by one Melissa in Alice's high school class. So I'll tell you.

Alice had moved to San Diego on August 23, 2006 to pursue an internship at San Diego City College. I know the exact date because when we were moving her things from her apartment yesterday, I came across a painted-over frosted candle holder. Alice had painted some pretty designs, along with I think a Chinese symbol, and the words "love," "faith," and "hope." Actually I don't remember all these details, I quickly packed it away when I first picked it up. Her dear friend in Long Beach, Stephanie, told me about what specifically had been painted on it, and told me the significance of the August date.

The intership was a requirment for her master's degree in kinesiology at Cal State Long Beach. She was working with Kathy, the chair of the Health and Exercise Science department at SDCC, assisting her in the classroom. I know Alice also served on a curriculum design committee along with many high-level decision makers at the College. Kathy was quickly impressed with Alice, not to mention smitten with her, and had already suggested that it would be likely that Alice would be offered a paying gig for the spring semester.

She was scheduled to take the comprehensive exam for her degree on October 20th so as to graduate in December. She had been dilly-dallying a bit lately, yet I knew she would pull together in time to feel prepared for the big exam. She'd worked so hard for this degree, and the end was finally in sight.

Alice also sought out a bible study group in San Diego. From a friend of hers in the group, Dina, I understand that Alice wanted to know God more intimately, and that studying the Bible would help. Her favorite passages included The Beatitudes in Matthew and some selections in Jeremiah. I'm not so familiar with the Bible, so this was an education for me.

Naturally, Alice also was flying her big butterfly kite at the beach. I've never seen it, yet I understand that it's big and majestic. She was going to her favorite destination as often as she could, and when she was there, she was taking full advantage of the elements. I came across a bottle of blowing bubbles and a hula-hoop in her apartment, so she was clearly finding time to engage her playfulness, of which she had an abundance.

Mostly, Alice was starting anew in San Diego, making new friends, and seeing what it felt like to be 100 miles from home once again. Her neighbors all expressed how much of an impact she had made on them during her short 3 weeks there. Dina recounted how Alice had made her lentil soup when she wasn't feeling well last week and would need to miss a bible study session. Her daughter-in-law Maxine told us there was still a smidgeon left in the fridge. I wanted to ask her for it, but that felt weird. Truth is I don't need to eat from her cooking to feel her last days. There are other ways to know, that I'm still exploring.

Auntig Alice

I had asked her if she wanted to be known as "Auntie Alice," which is rather American or "Tantig Alice," kind of French or "Alice Horkoor," very Armenian. When she first met L in December 2005, Alice said she would be "Auntig" Alice, a cross between "Auntie" and "Tantig" and said "Aunteeg." It stuck. And she was a phenomenal Auntig, can't you see by the pictures posted here? We were in California just in July and whenever we wanted to photograph the little cutie, there was Alice right beside her!

I'd like to consider myself a pretty good father. I look after what my daugher eats, I make sure she's comfortable, I change her diapers and on and on. Well, at the end of the day, I may not always have the attention to detail to introduce her to new and exciting things, all the time. Enter Auntig Alice. She brought L to the piano in my mom's home, sat her down at the bench, and there went L, pounding at the keys to her heart's delight. For her part, Alice was beside herself, quite proud to have introduced to her niece the wonders of 88 keys. She is totally beaming in this photo, while L's hands are blurred from the excitement of her aural creations.

N is for "No one can compete with Ms. Chahinian"

Yesterday while moving Alice's belongings from her very cute apartment in San Diego, I came across the following letter, written on standard notebook paper. Written on the front" is "To Ms. Chanian From: Jackie Rm. 11. Blue little hearts adorn the whole area. It reads (misspellings included):

"Dear Ms. Chainian,

You are the best substitute there ever was! You are pretty, nice, and smart, also did I mention,? FABULOUS! I never ever wrote to a substitute before. I don't know if anyone other than me have ever wrote to you but nobody could love you as a substitute than me! I like Ms. Morales as a teacher but if I had you!, It would be so heavenly. I didn't write this note just because you were my S.T. [Substitute Teacher] but you were such a great role model.

-Jackie Shim-
Rm. 11"

On the cover of the letter she writes:

"Can show of the groove.
Heavenly as can be
As you can see Ms. Chanian rocks.
Happy, what makes me (Jackie) feel you are great.
Important to me (Jackie)
Never a bad person
I LOVE Ms. C as a S.T.
Also the prettiest
No one can compete with Ms. Chainian."

How many students feel compelled to write a love note to their substitute teacher? No disrespect to Ms. Morales, of course. I can't tell exactly how old Jackie is, but from her handwriting I'd say she's about 12. Alice, you have brought so many of us untold joy.

"and now you guys will never rest"

Two weekends ago my daughter L walked for the first time. We immediately staged a dramatization of her first steps, starring herself of course, and videotaped it and took a couple of still pictures. We then e-mailed the evidence to our immediate family, including Alice. Her reply follows:

"Bedig!

Thanks a mil for that precious clip!! Whahappen to the sound? I guess she was concentrating too hard! She is a total pro!! She has greatbalance!~and I loved the victory dance at the end! She is my living,breathing Boobrig and I love her!!

I forwarded this message to my mom... was wondering if you could include her with the group mailings... Thanks pal!

Keep 'em comin...and now you guys will never rest!

love y'all,
alice"

"Bedig" is Armenian for Peter. That last statement "and now you guys will never rest" -- could she know what it would mean exactly one day after she wrote the e-mail? It's true, I haven't rested since.

The Gift of a Peach Tree

Written to Sophie from Alice's colleague at Cal State Long Beach, with minor edits:

"Hi Sophie

Sharon asked that I send you the email that I sent out as Graduate Coordinator to our Grad students about Alice, I have attached it below.

A number of students and former students have dropped by my office already to share with me how saddened they are by Alice's death and how much they enjoyed her as a classmate.

I'm very sorry for your loss.

Alison
Associate Professor
Department of Kinesiology
California State University, Long Beach

Subject: Some sad news for graduate students and faculty

I wanted to inform you that one of your KIN[eseology] Graduate Program classmates, Alice Chahinian, passed away as a result of injuries suffered in a caraccident on Tuesday, September 19, 2006.

Alice, who was a student in the Sport and Exercise Psychology Option, was in her final semester of the program and was in the process of preparing for her Comprehensive Exams. Those of you who were in classes with Alice will remember her cheerfulpersonality that enlivened class discussion.

It was Alice who came up with the idea last Spring of donating a Peach Tree to the CSULB campus in honorof the Kinesiology Department. She believed that a living memorial would be more significant as a "Class Gift" because future students could appreciateits beauty.

I will place a card for Alice's family on the board outside my office for those of you who would like to sign and I will send it to them on our behalf.

Alison"

Alice Appeared Today

When I got out of the shower this morning at about 10 am, my sister Sophie and my partner Peter were at my bedroom window a bit frantic. I heard fluttering, and then saw that Peter was trying to capture a hummingbird that had found its way into my mom's home. Maybe it was following the scent of all the flowers we've received, I don't know. I closed the bedroom door and the closet door so we could contain it. I was a bit panicked; I didn't want the bird to be hurt. Finally, Peter got his hands around the hummingbird, and it became calm. We ran downstairs -- I in my towel still -- we opened the door and Peter released her. She flew immediately skyward, free again. I know it was Alice who came by to let us know that she is OK, exactly one week after her death. And as I write this through tears, I am comforted by her surprising visit this morning. Thank you, Alice, for letting me know you're happy again, and free.

Inspired by, and Props to QueenB

This blog is the result of the entry I read at http://dj-queenb.livejournal.com/13342.html

Take a look at what's already been written about Alice, and the responses of many friends and loved ones.

"Bring Some Bubbles"

Sjoekje (said "shookee"), has been instrumental in thinking of what we as a family may need to remember Alice in the best fashion. A million times thank you, Sjoekje. She sent this message, with minimal edits, to Alice's friends two days ago:

Subject: Funeral Services for Alice and other details...

Again, it is this Wednesday, 9/27 at 11 am at the chapel. She will be buried at Rose Hills Mortuary www.rosehills.com
The address is:
3888 S. Workman Mill Road
Whittier, Calif. 90601

*****There will be a few opportunities for people to share there memories throughout the morning. If you would like to make something to be displayed or given to the family, all is welcomed.

*****If you do attend, please bring some bubbles to blow in her memory*****

*****We are collecting $$ to donate a wreath to her family from her friends to have at the services and at the gravesite. If you are interested, please e-mail or call me ASAP so we can order it ahead of time with however much you would like to contribute. We can work out the logistics when you contact me.

*****For those of you who would like to send something to the family, e-mail careertalklive@yahoo.com to get her mother's address.

*****Following the services, the family will be hosting a lunch at an Armenian restaurant in Montebello (which is minutes away from Rose Hills).

*****Finally, as everyone knows, Alice was deeply proud of her Armenian heritage. It exuded in even a simple gesture, such as if anyone came to visit, she would have a cup of her delicious Armenian coffee ready for you. She was very rich in her culture, love, knowledge and generosity. If anyone is interested in making a donation under her name to her former school, "Armenian Mesrobian School"
The address is:
Armenian Mesrobian School
8420 Beverly Rd
Pico Rivera, CA 90660
Phone Number: (562) 699-2054

Please forward this to everyone you know who would like the information. Any other questions, concerns or ideas, feel free to contact me and I will answer them as best as I can.

Take care,
Sjoekje

ULV Soccer Alum

"Alice Chahinian, ULV Soccer Alum, tragically killed in auto accident" was the subject heading of the e-mail sent today from Alice's brother-in-law, Peter. The message with minimal edits, and a reply sent by one of her soccer coaches:

"To all friends of Alice Chahinian, who played soccer for La Vern in the early 1990s:

Alice was killed in a sudden and tragic auto accident on Tuesday, Sept. 19. For all of us who knew Alice, it is incomprehensible to imagine that someone with so much life and spirit is no longer with us, at least here on Earth.

Please join her family and friends at the funeral this Wednesday, Sept. 27, 2006 at Rose Hills Memorial Park, 3888 Workman Mill Rd., Whittier, CA at 11:00 a.m.

Any memories, thoughts, etc. are very much appreciated by her family. A blog has been established at: http://alicechahinian.blogspot.com or feel free to call Peter (Alice's brother-in-law).

Please share this tragic news with all who knew Alice, and let's keep her memory alive through all those she touched in her short, vibrant life...

Thank you."

Alice's soccer coach responded:

Peter,
I'm stunned and saddened to hear about Alice. She is a bright star on a bland planet.
She is loved by the athletic department at ULV.
Don, Head Football Coach

Open Letter to Alice

Dear Alice,
I didn't cry when I woke up this morning -- on the outside, at least. I want you to know so much, and I'm really struggling to find out if you can hear me talk to you. I hope and pray that you can. I've been talking to your beautiful and loving friends, Stephanie and Sjoekje, who are grieving right alongside me and Mam and Sophie and Dad. They're telling me about how they knew you, and we're remembering your life. Your short, and intense life.
We're on our way to see your apartment in San Diego. People are concerned that it will be difficult for us to go, and I agree. However, we're going to see the scene of your life, and that's what I want to see with my own eyes.
We're leaving now, this is to be continued...

Our Loss

Alice Chahinian died on Tuesday, September 19, 2006 at the age of 36. Her funeral will take place on Wednesday, September 27, 2006 at 11:00 a.m. at Rose Hills Memorial Park in Whittier, California.