Listen for Alice

I can't stop listening to "Boys on the Radio" and thinking about Alice. Press the play button and you might experience the same. Much of the imagery in the lyrics evokes Alice for me, and, she liked alot of boys on the radio -- Jack Johnson, Tupac, Justin Timberlake. It's all noise, hooks and melody and Courtney Love's pain and anger come through so clearly. I think she's an amazing artist. Have I already said that here? I just had a sense of deja vu.

All the songs here [playlist.com now defunct] remind me of Alice. She borrowed my Alanis tape when Jagged Little Pill came out and never returned it, or lost it, doesn't matter now.

The Date: September 19, 2009

Eneri's comments put something significant into perspective for me.

On Friday I called my dad, asked how he was doing, then asked what he was doing the following day. He said he was gearing up to continue planting his fall garden, he was a quarter done, yet it's getting difficult to be motivated as he gets older. I said Saturday was a big day, and effectively reminded him about the anniversary of Alice's death.

It wasn't at the top of his mind! He was more concerned with his garden, and a part of me envied his... forgetfulness? Blissful ignorance? Cold-heartedness? He reported not remembering the date his sister died back in June, and I offered that she was 80 and died in her sleep. He corrected me on her age, missing my point.

On Saturday he called me to tell me that he would not go to the cemetary because "it's too far." He explained that "you people chose the location," and he wasn't going to be bothered. I allow him to "grieve" as he will.

Then I spoke with my mom, who said that she has found herself pushing Alice out of her mind because it hurts too much, that it's easier to focus on her homework and other more immediate concerns. It was a kind of relief, like permission not to dwell on the misery that is Alice's absence. While my mom's car had broken down on Friday, circumstances worked out so that she could go to Rose Hills. We all know Alice is "not there," yet I know it's a way to feel closer to her.

On our end, Peter and L brought home a lovely bouquet of sunflowers and other blossoms, and I made shish kebab as I had planned. We had a guest over who was game for commiserating. There was a moment where it felt festive to prepare such an elaborate meal, but my melancholy mood soon washed that away. I went to sleep early so as not to wallow too long.

Which brings me to Eneri's input. I think it's helpful to leave it to the universe to remind us of Alice. I don't always have to be in despair--to be sure, in the last year it's been the exception to the rule--since Alice persists with me, and I can allow her to move to the forefront of my consciousness as the cosmos dictates. I just need to keep my eyes and heart open at all times.

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Aside, I was wondering recently if my posts are too long, that I should embrace something like Twitter to keep the main ideas shorter. While a long-form blog is very 2005, I think it serves my purpose better in providing a larger canvas on which to express what happens over 3 years and beyond after someone so close dies so suddenly, so young.

In search of a tradition

For the one-year anniversary of Alice's death, I returned to California--I couldn't imagine being anywhere else that day. My mom, dad and I went to the cemetery and then we went to Warehouse Pizza in La Verne for dinner. Eneri, Alice's new friend from San Diego, and her friend Helena(?) came all the way up to visit Alice's grave site, and then joined us for pizza. It was really heartening to spend time with my mom and dad and others who loved Alice.

On the second anniversary of Alice's death, I had work to do out of state. I wrote about it here, but it was an outlier; certainly it wasn't the way I intended to spend every September 19th.

And now the third anniversary is upon us, and I'm not sure what we will do. It seems this year's marker is keeping the Chahinians separated from one another. My mom said she'll go to Rose Hills, then she'll be off to school, because she's a college student now. My dad, I don't quite know what he'll do, and I don't know what Sophie will do although I know we won't be together.

I think I may just make an Armenian dinner, I suppose. Alice enjoyed Armenian food.

Anyway I prefer to commemmorate her birthday with a certain ritual rather than mark the worst day of my life, the day she died.

As Expected

"Last published on May 3, 2009," and now, Saturday will mark 3 years since Alice died. In the interim, I've had fleeting moments of feeling exposed by my words here and have thought about taking the blog down. But I want L to see these passages when she knows how to read and is ready to understand more of the details of what happened to her aunt--her Auntig Alice--and how her father coped. OMG she is learning so quickly, and according to her pre-kindergarten teachers, soon she may be writing more than her name. Yes, thinking about L helps take my mind off my numbing sadness.

Although, it's hard to admit that I'm not as devastated lately. My feelings aren't as raw as they were, despair doesn't taunt everywhere I go. I am generally uncomfortable, yes. I grieve silently, mostly on my own. I haven't cried in a few months, I think because I've already cried so much.

Inside somewhere, and this is hard to admit as well, I feel good about having allowed myself to feel the true misery of Alice's death and to let it all out in the form of this blog. It's been messy, for sure. Still, I suffer most when I consider the forever part of not seeing and feeling Alice in person. Oh, Alice.

As I deal with getting older--it's true, I am--I sense momentary relief that Alice doesn't have to experience the continued indignities of losing aspects of her youth. Then I feel angry at her, and resentful that she left before we could experience the challenges together.

When I think about it, Alice seemed on her way to growing older defiantly, just the way she approached so many things in her life. She wasn't fighting maturity, yet her physical fitness and unadulterated looks suggested a kind of f`ck-you attitude towards certain expectations of how women should age. What the f`ck am I talking about, she was 36, still at the prime of her physical beauty.

By the way, this blog has a new look, for a couple of reasons. One, to say I'm still here and living life without Alice changes all the time. Two, so browsers such as Firefox don't jumble the text.

I remain missing Alice like crazy.

I'm going to go sleep more now.

The rose for Alice

My friend Tami e-mailed me with this yesterday:

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Haig, did I ever tell you that I planted a rose bush in memory of your sister? Orange-a color to stimulate creativity. Always thought of alice as artsy. She shared and made lots of things for me in crafts class. Chose the brightest color i could find to represent her smile. Chose a rose because they're simple enough to care for and provide a lot of color all season long. But they can be a little sharp if mishandled. I cut blooms for indoors and share them with friends. Every year I get more flowers. I'm on this year's 2nd round.
Big hugs.Tami

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She included a beautiful photo. Then I wrote back:

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Hi Tami, Wow, I did not know this. You know, we look for Alice everywhere, and now we can find her in your garden, too. That color is so brilliant! It's the color of the sun, and just as bright -- thank you for sending the photo. I was smiling on the outside, and crying a bit on the inside at the same time as I read your email. Thank you, Tami. I appreciate the poignancy of their sharpness, too. Oh, Alice.

This really touches me, Tami. That you planted the rose bush, for Alice, that you share the roses, and that you told me about it. I'd like to share your e-mail with my mom. And, what would you think about my posting your email and photo on Alice's blog?...

The day before my birthday

Sunday night I was walking the 14 blocks(!?) home from the parking garage when from the corner of my eye something in the sky caught my attention. I turned and looked over the Hudson River at the stars above New Jersey, and slowed my pace down to savor the eyeful I was taking in. The moon was the brand-newest I had ever seen, just a hair of a sliver thin, and on its back. Which is to say at first it looked like a wink. Then it looked like a smile. A gorgeous, playful smile.


"Huh," I thought. "Tomorrow is my birthday. Could this be?" And immediately I felt "yes. It must be," and I smiled back at the moon. "Thanks, Alice," I thought, considering my sister's celestial presence and how she manifests herself sometimes.


Am I projecting something here? Maybe. The fact is, when something beautiful in nature strikes me, I think of Alice. Which is not so bad; I will take what I can get.

Thank you for your playful birthday anticipation wishes, Alice.

And on the 3rd birthday without her

On Alice's birthday, March 26, I left work early, and so did Peter, and we went to pick up L from school early. First we met at home and gathered our butterfly kite; we had told L we were going to fly it in the afternoon because it was Auntig Alice's birthday.

We set out for the park, and of course since it's March, it is gray and rainy, in the high 40s/low 50s. There's a new park by where we live that juts out into the Hudson River. We were sure there would be ample wind there, especially given the crappy elements.

When we arrive at school, L is sitting in a cute circle, listening to the teacher read a book before everybody goes into the gym for "gross motor skills development" aka recess. She willingly joins us, and off we head to the park. The video three posts down shows a more seamless moment in kite flying; to say, the kite set sail in fits and starts.

Afterwards, we went out to eat at the Dinosaur BBQ, then went grocery shopping. My spirits really haven't lifted, but I know as I have distance from these two somber occasions, I might feel a little lighter.

Reinventing mourning

Am I still mourning Alice's death? I am. Yet I'm getting tired of weeping for her. It doesn't move me forward anymore; crying keeps me stagnant.

I have to figure out a way to remember Alice, and not to forget her. How to live with her, and not live without her.

And I think what I have to do, is to talk with her. I need to develop a dialogue with her in my head. Which isn't easy to do, because she doesn't really answer. Yet I think that's not the point. I need to do this for myself, to comfort myself a tiny bit, and to continue to hold Alice's essence in me.

I will tell her about L's development, how L can throw over-hand, at age three! Auntig Alice would be loving L's growing athleticism. I will tell L about growing up with Auntig Alice, sift through the memories to find the good ones to share. I will tell Alice about the book proposal I'm writing, and hope she would be proud of me.

It's like, I don't know what to do with myself, otherwise. Maybe I will write some letters to her on this blog. I really believe there's something about the ubiquity of the Internet that makes it feel like it reaches the great beyond. I still miss you like crazy, Alice.

The nature of missing Alice.

As Alice's birthday was just on Thursday--you can see how we spent it in the video below--I've been thinking alot about her, and missing her, too.

It's an incredibly confusing, and heartbreaking experience. When she was living, Alice would unnerve me readily; she would anger me; she easily antagonized me; she would attack me; she belittled me. I know that I have also written of the tender moments I shared with Alice, and of her beautiful and loving characteristics, so writing about these harsher attributes is balanced. So when I yearn for Alice, am I wishing for the turmoil?

No, not at all.

And this is where it's so very confusing. I miss the Alice I was always hoping to know, the Alice who accepted me as I was, the Alice who accepted herself as she was. I miss the Alice of the future. How incomprehensible is that? She was going to graduate with her master's degree, she was starting anew in San Diego, and everything was coming up f`cking roses in her life. It seemed. I'll never f`cking know. Was she going to mellow out? There was hope, which will not be realized.

I wish I had more time with her. She vanished from my grasp too quickly.

Auntig Alice's Birthday 2009

And another anniversary

Today marks two and a half years since Alice died. After reading Christina's comments, I felt that I couldn't go to bed without writing something about this milestone. Two things come to mind.

The loss of Alice is so very hard to hold on to. Part of me wishes to wipe this from my consciousness, yet another part doesn't know how to continue working with the grief and yearning. These last few days I've been walking around like a zombie, feeling a cold emptiness inside.

The second thing is connected to a lecture about parenting I attended earlier in the month. The speaker said that when you try to make sure your child is happy all of the time, the message you're sending them is that the only valid life is a seamless one. In her death, Alice taught me very clearly that I don't have a seamless life, and thus, neither does L. Accidents happen, death happens, sorrow happens. So I know not to fuss with smaller problems, and I have Alice to thank for this.

And L has her Auntig Alice to thank for this.

Friday in March

It's Friday night in March, and I'm sitting here crying. I've felt somber since the beginning of the month; March has become a difficult time to live through. The 19th marks the half-year anniversary of Alice's death, and the 26th is her birthday, of course. I've blocked out the 26th on my calendar already, I'll fly a kite for Alice that day.

I'm struck by grief and disbelief as I turn and look at our photos displayed of Alice with L. How is it possibly possible that I may never see Alice again? Talk to her again? When I think in these terms, I get a sharp pain in my gut that also asks how is it possible that I may never give Alice the silent treatment again? There are ways in which I was really sh`tty to her. Oh f`ck. I can hear her say, in what once was the recent past, "you act as if you don't even have a sister anymore."

More tears.

And so this is how it goes when my sister of 35 years dies suddenly and I'm left to struggle with her dire absence for the rest of my life, visiting her birthday and anniversaries year in and year out.

Well, I suppose these sad milestones ensure that I don't forget her. As if

She once was a true love of mine

Can I say that about my sister? Well, it's true. Except the "once was" part, actually. I do still love Alice; and I know she loves me too.

To me, Alice was a rock star, and I was her adoring fan. It's part of what makes living without her so sad and so difficult. Have I said this already? I feel like I have. It's been resonating in me lately.

The pretty melody and words of the Simon and Garfunkel song make me think of her. The images of USC from The Graduate also take me back.

Gumball machine

When I was 17 or so, I got a gumball machine for my bedroom. While I was living in Cerritos, I kept it stocked with colorful gumballs. From time to time I'd put in a penny and enjoy a sugary orb, and Alice did the same.

Then I moved away to college and maintained the contents less regularly, although I know I filled it at least once during my college years. Once I moved out of my mom's house, I stopped refilling the machine because it was no longer a priority.

It had a sufficient quantity of gum, though, and Alice continued to put in her coins and chew the fun bubblegum. Between her frequent visits with my mother, as well as her on-again off-again residence in my mom's house, she slowly went through all the gum in the machine.

During a recent visit, I felt a pang of pain, and yearning as I saw through the glass container, its belly totally empty. It tore me up inside, I felt regret that I hadn't refilled the machine recently so that Alice could partake in gum-chewing, and think of me, more easily.

Tears spill out of my eyes as I think of the momentary glee she might have felt, and instead, the disappointment she must have met the last couple of times she went by my room looking for a gumball.

In the end she probably consumed more gum than I did. Alice really knew how to savor some of life's little pleasures.

Scars

I was staring at L today, not an uncommon experience because she's so easy to look at, and I thought about the scar underneath her left eye. String, our cat, scratched her about two and a half years ago, and now there's a mark that will likely vanish over time.

It made me think about my forearms, and how they used to be covered in scabs -- not from scratches and pinches from our cat, but from Alice. Between the ages of 4 and 14 -- and I don't have to say who was which age because we were so close -- we frequently got into fights over something, or anything. At the time I bit my nails, and she didn't. Neither did she seem to cut them. When we fought, she easily dug her fingertips into the flesh of my arms, leaving skin hanging, and sometimes blood dripping.

During those years, the color of the skin on my arms blended into a nearly even brown, the shade of scabs becoming scars. And now as I look, and look, for Alice, I look down on my arms and see that my scars have healed. The visible scars, at least.

The one glaring scar on my existence has yet to heal. Meanwhile I can longingly remember the pinches and scratches that marked my childhood with Alice.