Telling dream

I had a dream about a month ago--oh, another dream about Alice. She wasn't in this one, unfortunately.

At my mother's home, I was in the downstairs bathroom putting some of Alice's polish on my nails. Using the brush to apply an even coat, I was thinking that it had been a long time since we were in contact. I felt that I should call her to let her know simply that I'm thinking of her; she would appreciate knowing this.

That was basically the dream.

The nail polish object is residual from L's classroom, where I recently saw a group discussion chronicled on newsprint. The heading was "skin care" or "nail care," and next to "nail polish" it said "mostly girls wear that!"Clearly this stuck with me; I'm not one who typically wears the stuff.

Today, if I close my eyes, I can imagine that I just haven't connected with Alice in a long time, that we're in the midst of one of our frequent dry spells. Soon we'll reunite and it'll be good again to be with her.

As if.

There isn't a word for it.

When someone's spouse dies, the survivor is called a widow or widower. There are cultural norms in place in our society where we look after the well-being of widowers and widows. I think of the widows of firemen who perished on 9-11-2001. Their loss is staggering, and many rallied for them and offered multiple forms of support.

When a close sibling dies, it can feel like the death of a spouse. Yet what's the survivor called? There isn't a word for it, I don't think. Next of kin? Surviving family member? These terms don't quite capture what "widow" evokes.

Not to compare whose grief is more immense, yet our language and culture don't have a word to describe the unique kind of loss a close sibling experiences. The sense of emptiness, the yearning, the broken material connection are all similar.

You have any suggestions?

Alice's light

I continue to think about Alice, and my relationship with her, and try to make sense of it, looking for resolution somewhere in the details. I was thinking alot about her over the Memorial Day holiday, so much so that I couldn't bring myself to write. A few days later, I have the clarity I need.

It's becoming hard to understand that she died almost 4 years ago. To see 2006 in the title of this blog makes the experience of losing her seem dated, and while I feel distance from the initial shock of her death, the realness and permanence remain fresh.

What I want to say here is how taken I am by the light that exudes from the pictures I have of Alice. Just see above, which is even a little blurry. It astonishes me, really, how bright the light radiates from her photographs, in ways I haven't seen from others.

Does she continue to live through these pictures? I don't think so, yet I can virtually feel her presence when I look at them.

At Ichiumi

A short while ago a friend and I met for dinner at this buffet(!) restaurant in midtown called IchiUmi. Can you imagine all you can eat sushi, sashimi, crab legs, oysters, shrimp cocktail and DESSERT in Manhattan? It's not cheap, nor is it overpriced, and this was our second visit.

My friend had placed a pancake-like pastry on her plate, and while we were shoveling, er, delicately tasting the last course, I pointed to her pancake and said "I want to know how that is."

She was silent, then looked sad. "What?" I said.

"I thought you said, 'I want to hug Alice.'"

I-want-to-know-how-that-is. I-want-to-hug-Alice. I totally hear it.

I was touched by how tuned-in my friend was with me, and how true her statement was. It was an intimate exchange.

Feeling morose for the moment, I got up and took another dessert from the smorgasbord.

Girls in Their Summer Clothes

With Memorial Day behind us, summer's here, and this weekend I heard a song on the radio that's all about summertime.

It made me think immediately of Alice.

"Girls in Their Summer Clothes" is a song by Bruce Springsteen I had never heard before -- have you? It's from the 2007 album called Magic.

Bruce's voice is wistful and it's as if he's singing about Alice, who loved to wear short shorts and mini-skirts, even on the rare occasion she went to church!

I don't love the video, yet you get to hear the song nicely. It has a pretty melody, and I'm grateful to be reminded of Alice in her essence:  a California girl in summer clothes.

Dreams I'll Take

Last night I had a dream in which Alice was present. It was connected to reality, in that we've been working to give away some of L's belongings that she no longer uses.
In my dream, we uncovered a doll house on which Alice had written some prose. I saw the writing and said "Don't throw that out!" Alice was standing over my shoulder, and thought it was a stupid idea. She couldn't understand my desire to hold on to whatever I can of her.

4th Birthday Celebration Without Her

In 2007, on Alice's birthday Peter and I flew a butterfly kite in Central Park. It was difficult because there weren't many open clearings in which to fly a kite, so we found a patch of tree-less dirt and competed for space with the light posts and school-age soccer players.  In 2008 we went to Riverbank State Park and were told there's no kite flying in State parks. The park ranger pointed to some grass in the distance and said the area is technically "city park," so L, Peter and I headed there and flew the butterfly kite and remembered Alice. In 2009, the 3 of us went to the new park--I still don't know its name--across from the Fairway parking lot and adjacent to Riverside Park. You can watch L fly the butterfly kite here.

And so, in 2010, we returned to the park by Fairway and re-enacted what has become a ritual, see video above. The butterfly flutters in the wind, which is soothing to watch. It was cold and damp again, yet at least there was wind to facilitate kite flight.

What was hard for me about Alice's absence on her 40th birthday was the reality that I'm getting older, too. Yes, we will not see Alice turn 40, 50 or 60 and beyond, and age is creeping up on me, in the meantime, as well. Alice's death reminds me that I need to look more closely at the meaning in my own life.

Fighting with Alice

Often I mirror L's affect as a way to connect with her. For example, if she has a furrowed brow, I'll furrow my eyebrows so she might see her self in me. It's playful, and sometimes it's the only way I know how to engage.

A few weekends ago, she was angry and tense, and she hit me. For a moment I met her where she was and grabbed her wrists. She is so strong, and we struggled physically for about 2.5 seconds.

That was all I needed to have a real visceral, physical memory of fighting with Alice. Between the ages of 3 and 25(!), I would try to stop her from hitting, scratching or pinching me, while trying to hit, scratch and pinch her. And she would be doing exactly the same relative to me.

As an adult now in this moment with L, I had the experience of the intimate connection it takes to fight physically with someone. You need to be attuned with them, second by second, and it's a f`cked-up way of bonding, actually.

I snapped out of it and saw myself with L and not with Alice. I got so sad thinking that the way Alice and I knew to connect was through violence. I miss feeling that connection with her, even through pain.

Tomorrow marks exactly 3 and a half years since she died. My life continues; my absence from this blog suggests that I've gone on. Have I? The grief isn't as raw as it once was; it's only intermittently hard to exist without her.

Everybody's Business

It feels like a really long time since I last posted here, and it kills me to think I may give the impression that I don't think about Alice anymore. While the pain of losing my sister isn't so much at the forefront of my existence these days, my relationship with her lives deeper inside of me. I still get sad, much more often than I did before she died, yet I am also moving forward in fits and starts.

Now, the time has come for me to announce something I've considered doing for quite some time: I'm starting a new blog. It's called "It's Everybody's Business" and I'm writing it for gay, lesbian and bi folks -- as well as their allies -- about being out at work. I'm a career counselor and this is something I care about, and the subject hasn't been covered in the way I'd like to see it. The tagline is "The complexities of revealing your true, gay self at work." The url is everybodysbusiness.org

Alicechahinian.blogspot.com will remain online, and I will post as I feel like it. Yet in the spirit of moving forward, I am working to direct my energy to this new professional venture. If you think it's worthwhile, I hope you'll let people know about it.

In her death, Alice helps me. She inspired this blog, which prompted me to develop my blogging chops. Now I am integrating what I know about blogging into my professional work, and in a f`cked up way I have Alice to thank for this. So thank you Alice. I still miss you every day. I hope to see you at everybodysbusiness.org.

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.