And then my father...
And then my father…
Carla, Mac and I went to see the other show our excellent stage manager Joe Witt was directing, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, at the Roxy on Sunday before last. More on that and all the whacky LA shiznit at a later date. Suffice to say a lot of tremendous stuff is happening for Carla around her show, and we are very glad for that…
Pema Chodron, the incredibly wise Buddhist monk, observes that it is never the thing you anticipate that floors you, and inevitably something you don’t anticipate will floor you – the only permanent thing in life is impermanence.
When we got home from the very loud show at the Roxy, ears ringing, Carla was exhausted and went to sleep. I decided to check my email at midnight and got this email from my sister telling me my father was in the hospital, suffering from delirium and couldn’t walk. She had emailed me because she couldn’t find my cell #. The situation sounded very dire. My father is already suffering from Parkinson’s and other ailments, so this looked pretty grim. I involuntarily exclaimed “oh no, oh shit” and Mac came running in. I told him what had happened, and we hugged and eventually wept. In the midst of my anguish over my father’s condition I was so moved by something my son said to me. “If you love your Dad as much as I love you I am so sad for you, and I can’t even imagine how bad you must feel.” To know that a macho 14 year old could express this to his father was so powerful for me that I had to cry some more, and I am not remotely a big one for crying. As a matter of fact, I believe very strongly that most men, including yours truly, express their pain through anger, humor or sarcasm, something I am working on. At its worst it manifests itself in the horrors we are currently seeing in the MidEast and elsewhere. Fear of vulnerability, of the “female” side, causes us to lash out in verbal and physical rage. So to see my son be able to share like that was something to be very proud of as a parent. I think other parents I know will understand what I am saying.
So much rushes through one’s mind in these situations. Of course, when I was growing up I had 3 heroes, John Lennon, Bobby Kennedy and my father. He seemed a man of unstinting integrity, incredible wisdom and brilliance and almost intimidating moral clarity. As I have grown into adulthood, and especially looked more closely at how I grew up and what demons I have, I now no longer deify him (or Kennedy or Lennon for that matter). Still, what I can say is that he did the absolute best job he was capable of and gave me many great gifts. I left home when I was 18 to pursue my art and craft as a jazz player, moving 3000 miles away, and have never returned to Vancouver since, except to visit. I think that is one thing that makes what is happening now so painful, knowing that that fine, incisive and revelatory mind could be stilled for all intents and purposes, and as I got the daily reports I was torn and anguished about whether to go up.
Carla was extremely supportive, even though she is in the middle of a show that is a huge career move for her, and told me I should go, and that she and Mac would go too if it would help. From the other end, my sister and mother told me to stay, since he was getting excellent care in the facility, was not in any immediate danger of dying, and would not necessarily recognize me if I did come. He would want me to stay through the run of Carla's show, someone he loved like his own daughter. Still, I knew the situation could change at any moment, so I canceled my trip up to the Bay Area to teach at the Jazzschool camp this week, since it would be too tricky travel-wise if I did need to suddenly head up to Canada.
It’s an odd feeling to go through this. When I have encountered potential or actual death before, it has seemed very right to tell the person I was close to how sorry I was for their loss, even at times where I felt great loss, because it was always the case that their loss was greater than mine, even in the case of my grandparents. Now, I guess I am starting to look at a point where I will be a primary griever. When I have felt moments of utter despair around this, it has been an experience like someone physically ripping a part of your soul or essence out of your body. It is such a universal experience, I know, but, like falling in love or becoming a parent, it is an experience that one cannot possibly empathize with until it happens to you.
My father is still here and I am hopeful that perhaps he will recover, although even if he does there is no doubt he will be diminished, probably having to give up his beloved tennis forever, and he and my mother will probably have to move to a floor through and get some help for him. The show ends on August 6, and barring some dramatic change, I am planning to go up there after that to see him. I hope he knows who I am, because I want him to know all the beautiful things I think he is.
Perhaps this all seems a little too confessional for a blog entry, but hey, it is life, and I am confident that at least some of you reading this have gone through it. I have been deeply moved by the support I have received from friends and family around this, but in the end, we walk through this alone, every one of us. I will simply leave you with this: Jacob Zilber has shaped my life in ways simple and profound, I love him beyond expression and I am powerfully grateful to have had him as my father. As for you, faithful readers? It never hurts to let the ones you love know that, so get off the screen, and go kiss your wife or kids or dog or whomever.
Carla, Mac and I went to see the other show our excellent stage manager Joe Witt was directing, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, at the Roxy on Sunday before last. More on that and all the whacky LA shiznit at a later date. Suffice to say a lot of tremendous stuff is happening for Carla around her show, and we are very glad for that…
Pema Chodron, the incredibly wise Buddhist monk, observes that it is never the thing you anticipate that floors you, and inevitably something you don’t anticipate will floor you – the only permanent thing in life is impermanence.
When we got home from the very loud show at the Roxy, ears ringing, Carla was exhausted and went to sleep. I decided to check my email at midnight and got this email from my sister telling me my father was in the hospital, suffering from delirium and couldn’t walk. She had emailed me because she couldn’t find my cell #. The situation sounded very dire. My father is already suffering from Parkinson’s and other ailments, so this looked pretty grim. I involuntarily exclaimed “oh no, oh shit” and Mac came running in. I told him what had happened, and we hugged and eventually wept. In the midst of my anguish over my father’s condition I was so moved by something my son said to me. “If you love your Dad as much as I love you I am so sad for you, and I can’t even imagine how bad you must feel.” To know that a macho 14 year old could express this to his father was so powerful for me that I had to cry some more, and I am not remotely a big one for crying. As a matter of fact, I believe very strongly that most men, including yours truly, express their pain through anger, humor or sarcasm, something I am working on. At its worst it manifests itself in the horrors we are currently seeing in the MidEast and elsewhere. Fear of vulnerability, of the “female” side, causes us to lash out in verbal and physical rage. So to see my son be able to share like that was something to be very proud of as a parent. I think other parents I know will understand what I am saying.
So much rushes through one’s mind in these situations. Of course, when I was growing up I had 3 heroes, John Lennon, Bobby Kennedy and my father. He seemed a man of unstinting integrity, incredible wisdom and brilliance and almost intimidating moral clarity. As I have grown into adulthood, and especially looked more closely at how I grew up and what demons I have, I now no longer deify him (or Kennedy or Lennon for that matter). Still, what I can say is that he did the absolute best job he was capable of and gave me many great gifts. I left home when I was 18 to pursue my art and craft as a jazz player, moving 3000 miles away, and have never returned to Vancouver since, except to visit. I think that is one thing that makes what is happening now so painful, knowing that that fine, incisive and revelatory mind could be stilled for all intents and purposes, and as I got the daily reports I was torn and anguished about whether to go up.
Carla was extremely supportive, even though she is in the middle of a show that is a huge career move for her, and told me I should go, and that she and Mac would go too if it would help. From the other end, my sister and mother told me to stay, since he was getting excellent care in the facility, was not in any immediate danger of dying, and would not necessarily recognize me if I did come. He would want me to stay through the run of Carla's show, someone he loved like his own daughter. Still, I knew the situation could change at any moment, so I canceled my trip up to the Bay Area to teach at the Jazzschool camp this week, since it would be too tricky travel-wise if I did need to suddenly head up to Canada.
It’s an odd feeling to go through this. When I have encountered potential or actual death before, it has seemed very right to tell the person I was close to how sorry I was for their loss, even at times where I felt great loss, because it was always the case that their loss was greater than mine, even in the case of my grandparents. Now, I guess I am starting to look at a point where I will be a primary griever. When I have felt moments of utter despair around this, it has been an experience like someone physically ripping a part of your soul or essence out of your body. It is such a universal experience, I know, but, like falling in love or becoming a parent, it is an experience that one cannot possibly empathize with until it happens to you.
My father is still here and I am hopeful that perhaps he will recover, although even if he does there is no doubt he will be diminished, probably having to give up his beloved tennis forever, and he and my mother will probably have to move to a floor through and get some help for him. The show ends on August 6, and barring some dramatic change, I am planning to go up there after that to see him. I hope he knows who I am, because I want him to know all the beautiful things I think he is.
Perhaps this all seems a little too confessional for a blog entry, but hey, it is life, and I am confident that at least some of you reading this have gone through it. I have been deeply moved by the support I have received from friends and family around this, but in the end, we walk through this alone, every one of us. I will simply leave you with this: Jacob Zilber has shaped my life in ways simple and profound, I love him beyond expression and I am powerfully grateful to have had him as my father. As for you, faithful readers? It never hurts to let the ones you love know that, so get off the screen, and go kiss your wife or kids or dog or whomever.
posted by Michael Zilber at 11:16 AM
<< Home