Today is Alice's Birthday

She would have been 37.

I'm bewildered. I don't know how to commemorate this day that marks the birth of my sister Alice.

The Story Through Photos

These days it happens less frequently.

While I'm in between thoughts, I'll get a glimpse of Alice, and feel some of her energy toward me. I see her calling me on the telephone, I hear her voice in my ear, I feel her reaching toward me and I then question, still, was I a good brother back?

Recently I came upon some pictures that suggest, at least, "sometimes."

Alice had sent L a t-shirt in a gift box my mom had prepared for Valentine's Day 2006. I was angry with Alice at the time, about what I don't know right now, and first thought "big deal, a t-shirt." With some time to think, it settled in that she had sent the gift with total love, and that I did appreciate her devotion to L.

Letting my ill-feelings subside temporarily, a few weeks later I put the cute top on L, and established a "photo studio" as we had called it during our visit the previous December. With the intent of just letting Alice know what L looked like wearing it, and hence expressing some gratitude, I snapped the following:

Note that I took these pictures NOT with a digital camera, but with a traditional camera using film that would need to be processed. Considering this, that's a lot of photos I think. Which is worth something in evaluating my goodness as a brother, don't you think?

It's been six months now that I'm no longer able to demonstrate my appreciation for Alice and all that she gave. The longest six months of my life.

Looking at these snapshots, I feel a hint that I may also have given Alice what I could.

On the Eve of Six Months

Sjoekje sent me a really heartening e-mail a couple of days ago, it made me feel good. Then she sent me the slide show she has on her myspace page! Here it is, followed by her e-mail to me. Right back at you, Sook.

Hey there Haig,

Alice has been deep in our minds lately. I think because this is her birthday month (although I'm not sure when it is/was). I was reading over your blog messages and I noticed that despite there being mention about the tumultuous relationship that you had with her, there sure are a lot of very fond and pleasurable memories. I hope that, as you read through them, you will see that the fond memories that you document, outweigh the mention of the difficult ones. We all had difficult times with her, but pales in comparission to the fun and outgrageous ones. That kept our love going for her.

The other day, Vicky and I went into Party City for the first time and we found some hula hoops in the isle. Well, we tried them and sucked miserably (how did we do this when we were kids???). I couldn't help but think of Alice and how you mentioned her hula hoop at the services. We went further down the isles and found three bins full of mini basketballs. Vicky said, "If Alice was here, she'd be going off." She proceeded to dribble about in true Alice fashion.

Yesterday, Chuck and I went for a nightly walk (since it's so Saudi Arabia hot over here) and found ourselves at the new park nearby our house. There was a little obstacle course and slide area and I did the whole thing...well improvised on the Monkey bars (I can't swing about like I used to). But nonetheless, I gave it my all.

You kow, Haig, Alice continues to be inspiring in ways that keeps us "Forever Young" in ourselves. She keeps the desire to be connected to our childlike impulses on going. For example, I've kept a tambourine in my car for the past three months and noticed the tambourine sound in the New Gwen Stefani/Akon song. I've been playing that thing whenever the song pops up. As a matter of fact, I bought the CD and had the song on repeat for a while just to play the tambourine.

As you become more connected with L in ways that Alice modeled for you, just know that we take her example and keep that "Alive". Vicky and I want to bring Warehouse to her gravesite and sit with her on her birthday (perhaps belated birthday by now). I just wanted to let you know that we continue to love her and live her each day.
PS, I'm getting a hula hoop.
Love,
Sook

Breakfast at Tiffany's

I haven't blogged from work before, I thought the firewall prevented shenanigans like this.

On Tuesday, just like right now, I was thinking about Alice. I was watching crap on YouTube, and came across a clip from Breakfast at Tiffany's. This is one of Alice's favorite movies of all time; the DVD was in her computer when we went to her apartment in San Diego. I think she understood Holly Golightly, and yearned for someone to be her Fred.

I love this movie, too. So does Sophie, and so does my mom.

So I watched the last ten minutes of the film, and by the end was crying my eyes out, feeling Alice's loss. True, I was feeling her presence as well. I was at home with L, who was sitting on my lap. She looked at me, then at the computer screen, then back at me trying to make sense of my tears. Finally, she leaned into me and gave me a tight hug. I hugged her back, with my head on her shoulder, and rubbed her back.

I'm so lucky, it melted my heart, and I felt better. I explained to L why I was upset, and when I said Auntig Alice, she pointed to the photo of Alice holding her.

Like Alice, L understands alot about people, too. Here's the clip that tripped on the waterworks.

Forever Young

It's a cliche I suppose. I heard this song by Alphaville over the weekend and immediately thought of Alice. It evokes Whitney High School for me, its origins are clearly 1980-something.


I'd like to think that on September 19, 2006, Alice had an experience that looks like the end of this video, and walked into light.

I think it's not impossible. From here on, Alice Chahinian will be forever young.

Why I'm a Zombie

It looks like I can manage. I talk to people, I get to work almost on time, I'm paying some bills. Sometimes I laugh.

Underneath this veneer, however, I exist unsettled.

Alice and I were interconnected, all of our lives. Even when we were cold, I felt an unmistakeable bond with her, and she with me I bet. True I was forever working to find my footing with Alice, seeking a kind of balance with her.

We were searching for a way to communicate that honored her insistence on living in and for the moment, while acknowledging my tendency to hold on to things past. We were getting there...

Now my life has been destabilized, and Alice isn't here to calibrate me. I'm left to figure out how to be, on my own. Which takes untold psychic energy, and I don't know when or if I will feel resolved.

Until then, I zombie about, furtively eating donuts for fleeting comfort.

It's kind of like sitting on a see-saw with nobody on the other end. For a long time.

Because of Alice

We're in Florida right now visiting my sister-in-law, and L has had difficulty napping and sleeping. Tonight it was my turn to get her to bed. Yes, since it's our second night she's more familiar with the surroundings and thus more amenable to sleep; still it takes alot of energy to soothe her and remain patiently with her until she's dozing.

So after she had some (soy)milk, I put her in the portable crib and she whimpered. I started to hum to her, to the melody of the lullaby her music box plays at home. Then I put words to it, creating a story about Auntig Alice and how one day we'll all be together. It was a sad tune, and made me cry.

In that song I started to think how one of Alice's legacies is directly benefitting L, Alice would be happy to know.

Because of Alice, I'm a better father.

Alice would interact with L like nobody or nothing else in the world existed. I, on the other hand, had always been distracted, or focused only on getting the basics of parenting done -- like changing diapers or feeding.

Today, I channel Alice, if you will, and give L all of my attention most of the time when she needs it, like tonight. I didn't feel resentful for having to be there, or eager to get away from her. I've been on the playground where instead of calling (Alice) on my cell phone, I stay connected with L, pushing her on the swings and immersing myself in the experience.

I feel like I've talked about this before somehow. It warrants another mention.

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In other news, I thought of Alice again tonight because I ate a Fudgsicle for dessert. It took me directly to a summer in the early 1980s, sitting at home with Sophie and Alice, enjoying the creamy chocolatey badness of a Fudgsicle maybe while watching "Webster" on tv.

The dessert on a stick was smaller than I recall, it seemed to be half the size of what we ate. Not a profound loss.

Caller ID

Sometime during the last several weeks, I thought I noticed an August date on our caller ID. Finally, today I had the wherewithall to scroll through all the numbers, and this is what I came upon:
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04:48pm 9/10 call # 15
562-208-1814
CHAHINIAN ALICE
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On September 10, 2006 Alice called us. I just wrote "me" and changed it to "us" because it's true she sometimes called for Peter, and lately, L. In her voice mail, she would say "I don't know if you're in the con-tree (said with a rolled 'r') or in the 'shitty'." She'd go from an Armenian accent to a hick accent in one sentence.

What I don't know is if I picked up. I don't know if we were home or not, if I returned her phone call, if I stewed for avoiding her. I'm having difficulties remembering right now, and it feels "shitty" for sure, so to speak. Part of writing this down right now is so I don't forget this detail. Distance is doing this to me.

I hate that I sometimes didn't pick up the phone when Alice called. I didn't know what mood she was in, or maybe I wasn't in any mood.

What I would do today for a phone call from Alice.

When L Met Belinda

I've been waiting to have the above photograph processed before posting here. I know it's been a while.

On the afternoon of Friday, February 2nd, Giuseppe called on my cell phone and said Belinda Carlisle was signing her new CD Voila at the Borders bookstore in the Time Warner Center. It's an album of French standards; Belinda has always felt she had a "chanteuse" in her. I do love all the songs, typical me.

At the time of the call, L and I were at the playground, on the swings and see-saw even though it was 30 degrees outside. I still can't believe we live in such conditions; Alice would have never tolerated them. So we ran to the apartment, I got a cup of water and cheese and crackers for L and we high-tailed it on the subway to the bookstore.

I was sweating -- panting, really -- from running. Once we got to the store, we stood in line for about 35 minutes, not easy with a 17 month old, then our turn was up and we finally met Belinda. She said L was really pretty and I told her how I had to wait 25 years to meet her but L only had to wait 17 months. Belinda was very charming, as was L, fortunately. We snapped the photo above and we were off.

OK, briefly, I have to include a photo of L having her photo taken with Santa Claus for the first time back in December:


Why is it that when L meets luminaries such as Belinda or Santa, she seems nonplussed?
Anyway, we walked through the maze of CDs and books to get back outside and hop on the train back home. As I entered the mall before the exit, I had to run to the nearest corner to put L down and sob. This was exactly the kind of moment when I would have called Alice and said "L just met Belinda Carlisle" and Alice would join in my giddiness. She would have understood the significance of me meeting Belinda, and the fun fortune of L sharing that.
Instead I called my sister Sophie, who didn't answer her phone. I wiped my tears, took L's hand, and together we walked out into the rain, homeward.

Reminders

This photo was lying on the desk, I think we were planning to enlarge it, and I realized it's one I haven't uploaded to the blog.

In December 2005 we came to California to introduce L to the family. My Dad, Alice, Peter, L and I went to a Thai restaurant near my dad's home. Alice and my dad cooed over L throughout the meal.

L was the great savior to our relationship that visit. We all focused on her, and not on the bitternesses between us. She does that with my mom and dad and Sophie still.

The picture reminds me that Alice was a great gift in my life. And it's a reminder that the physical gift, Alice herself, is gone. That I am without her now.

My eyes are slowly opening enough to see another reminder--that many people I love are still living, and need me in their lives too.

Peter's Birthday

Peter turned 43 on Monday, and my mom, dad and Sophie all contacted him during the day to wish him a happy birthday.

At 10pm after he and I had a cupcake each from Magnolia Bakery, I checked my cell phone voicemail. Sjoekje had called, and I couldn't quite understand what she was saying, so I put the phone on speaker.

When Peter heard the message, he said "is that Alice?"

As if Alice could call.

Hold on. When I, too, first heard the message, my heart dropped for a beat when she said "Haig." Incredibly, it sounded just like Alice. Her speech pattern, the tone of her voice, the rhythm of her words -- all evoked Alice. Within another moment, I realized of course it was Sjoekje.

Made me think that Alice called to wish Peter a happy birthday. I rarely check my voicemail via speaker phone, and when I do, nobody's around. It's like Peter was meant to overhear this message on his big day.

I e-mailed Sjoekje to tell her, and she said indeed she felt possessed by Alice when she was leaving the message, though not in a supernatural sense, in a spiritual sense. That in the past it's true they often sounded the same, and that Alice's voice was contagious.

The alternative is to accept that Alice won't be calling Peter on his birthday anymore. That when I say my family called him, that means he received 3 phone calls.

This scenario is just too hard to bear. I prefer to believe that Alice called this year along with the rest of the family.

The top photo is from Alice's flash drive that I just plugged in for the first time. Looks like it was taken with her telephone.

Even through a grainy image, her smile is luminous.

Toms Place

The memory came first, then I thought to include the video. Seems like I'm on some YouTube kick, and like most things, I expect it'll pass.

In the summer of 1982 when I was 11, Alice was 12, and Sophie 13, our family went camping. Not motor-home, running water with cots camping, but tents and sleeping bags on the rocky floor camping. This time we hauled our gear to Toms Place, California which is considered part of Sierra Nevada. About a seven hour drive from Cerritos, it's pretty with lots of green trees and blue skies.

One day my parents let us kids go to the river by ourselves; I think the novelty of our independence is one reason why I remember this incident so vividly. We brought along Sophie's single-speaker boom box, and played a cassette recording of "Vacation" by the Go-Go's, which she had taped from KROQ.

We sat on big flat rocks, under both shade and sun, with the cold rushing waters right at our feet. It was a pleasant moment because none of us were fighting, we were grateful to be just the three of us this afternoon.

I thought my sisters were the coolest -- older, and interested in fashion, and they could smack me down with their words at any time. Actually, they were cool despite that last one. We related the words "back here at home there's nothing to do" to our experience camping, with nothing to do except sit and listen to a song about same.

I still don't totally get it. Will Alice never experience summer vacation again, or does she now know only summer vacation?

Last Summer

By most weather reports, winter arrived late this year.

My experience feels different.

To press play above is to hear the song that makes me think about Alice again and again. Gwen Stefani sings "it looks like an early winter for us" and I think how winter really did start early for us, on September 19 to be exact. I know I'm taking the lyrics out of context.

It's poignant that Alice died on just about the last day of summer, given that she was a summer girl. She loved the sun and warm air and had a perpetually glowing tan. Her last summer was so full of hope, too. Hope for exciting things in San Diego as she neared completion of her master's degree in kineseology, hope for her niece as she was watching her grow, hope generally for good things ahead.

This winter has been going on for a very long time now, and the end isn't in sight.

At least the reminder is a pop song, which Alice enjoyed blasting on her stereo, too.

Alice. And Mel and Flo and Vera.

It may be true. As time passes, maybe only the good memories endure, and the recollections of more tumultuous times with Alice fade.

My friend Giuseppe is always playing something on the telephone, and this past week, in his typical wry fashion, he played the theme to the TV show Alice via YouTube. I got lost for a moment, transported to the summers when I was 9 and 10.



On weekday mornings, while my mom was occupied around the house and my dad was at work, Sophie, Alice and I would sit in front of our 19" black and white television and watch reruns while eating Shredded Wheat and Cocoa Pebbles mixed together. I Love Lucy was on at 9:00 a.m., and at 9:30 a.m. was Alice. My mom loved Vera, and we found Flo and Mel and the adult humor irresistable. This snippet is a sing-along version to the credits from the first season.

Once the program ended, it was time to run outside and find out who was around to ride bikes with, play hide and seek, or go to Pioneer Chicken for some salty and greasy treats. The possibilities in the summer air were endless.

This pleasant scene is all the happier because I know it wasn't something I appreciated by myself. Sophie and Alice shared their delight in the show with me, too. To the extent that maybe Alice has tracked down Vic Tayback in the sweet hereafter and has said hello? Huh.

Guess what I found

It happened for the second time earlier today.

I was in the kitchen when Peter yelled "Guess what I found!" My first thought was oh, something I lost, that I've been seeking, something that will make me feel better to have again? And in the back of my head was, Alice. Like Peter might find Alice while rummaging through L's things.

I had a 0.5 second hope that my emptiness was going to be filled by what Peter found, and I was going to have relief. Maybe not finding Alice herself, but some message from her, reassuring me that I was a good brother, that she would always know that I loved her dearly even in her death.

So that I could rest a little bit.

This burden, my hell, is continuing to live through the suddenness of Alice's death with all the unresolved stuff, what I never said, what I took for granted with her, what I never quite did.

What Peter found was the squeegee L had chewed, and that we need to replace. Oh, that. The first time Peter asked me, he had found her crayons.

That something lost was located somehow gives me hope that other things I am seeking can also be found. Like less sorrow. And more real connectedness.