When we drove cross-country from New York City to California’s Inland Empire almost four years ago, it was for a very specific reason: Hang out with my dad. Enjoy being with him in all his health and happiness, his art and conversation, while also pitch in and do all we could to make his life more fun&functional as life moved him on. The decision felt completely right and it is not lost on me how incredibly lucky I am that Dennis was as into it as I was. Obviously the transition was not without its drama (I’m looking at you, December 30, 2019, UHaul pod-people without a permit to park on narrow NYC street, during what felt like 13-degree weather) but once the whole parade picked up speed, the move west took on shape and adventure. We didn’t have many specific plans except to be here and see what happened. We had an apartment. We had each other. Dennis, me, my dad.

That was also the beginning of me writing this blog on the weekly. Actually, the trip across was a daily write-fest of Jumpsuits Across America, then I settled into Saturday sessions. While the topics in this space have ping-ponged from pandemic walks to thrift stores to many memory manor: music moments, the last year-ish has found me writing about the daily drama, comedy, and love I had with my dad as he began to really step closer to the end of his life. Interestingly, it wasn’t really obvious that was happening. I mean, I was well aware his cognizance was slipping ever so slightly (then pretty quickly) but he wasn’t bed-ridden or on a path with a disease. He was, quite simply, being the ages of 95 to 97.

And I wasn’t unaware that being here with him also meant he wouldn’t be here at some point. I didn’t live the days like that but it was there floating around like a random cloud on the horizon, far enough to see but changing shape all the time. Last week was two months since he exited this place and now is when I’m letting myself feel the blanket of the loss drape over me. The weight of it is not take-me-under heavy but certainly present and even in a way comforting. The He’s gone thoughts have become less startling and more settled. In my head, when that sentence pops in, I’m not baffled but I do understand the solid space it’s set up in my soul. It occupies a place in me that I knew would someday be taken up with his loss. I’d put some sort of energy into preparing for it—putting up the proverbial curtains and moving the easy chair just-so near the fire— but as everyone(!?) will tell you, there’s no emotional preparation really. You cannot plan those feelings. That’s really true for life overall, but especially I’m finding how true it is in death.

I was really lucky to have spent the time in these past (almost) four years traipsing around with him, even as my adrenaline pumped every day as I tried to figure out how best to keep him safe&sound while also respecting his autonomy. To watch Dennis and he become so much more than long-distance acquaintances so that the two most important men in my life often occupied one physical space. That was golden. And what California now holds are as many memories of my formative young years back when I struggled to become an adult and find my place in the world, my dad opening his arms in celebration as I flew across the country to figure it out, to then return older, sometimes wiser, wrapping my arms around him in love and gratitude.

What stories I have to tell now. More for sure. Topics, to be determined.