That Song

It’s the last day and night of June, little sweetheart. Today has been the hottest day of the year, so far. 97f at its peak here in the late afternoon.

Tonight, I don’t know why, I thought of looking up something on YouTube. It was something that had been on TV and rather a phenomenon at the time, so much so that my mom had sent me a link to watch it. It was that clip of Susan Boyle singing “I Dreamed a Dream” from Les Miserables. I remember it being a little extraordinary as it was one of those awful TV talent shows and as she was older and didn’t look like a model or something that everyone was rather mean and dismissive when she came out and then shocked, and hopefully ashamed of themselves, to hear how wonderfully she sang.

I remember telling you about it and although you agreed with all that you were less excited because, as you told me, you had “a relationship with that song”, yourself. I didn’t quite know what you meant, little sweetheart, but I thought I understood.

When I finally did hear you sing it, it was from a performance that had been filmed when you were only 12 years old. They played it at your memorial on a huge screen at the back of the stage. You were still a little girl but all of you, all I would come to know, was there in your eyes as you sang expressively, soaringly and beautifully.

Your memorial, of course, was held, incredibly, on my own birthday. A day we’d meant to spend rehearsing a play of mine in New York, then driving to Philadelphia that night to see Low play at the storied indie venue at The First Unitarian Church on Chestnut Street. Instead I was here at the Brava Theatre in The Mission in San Francisco about to give your eulogy.

As in all things, little sweetheart, I followed you. After they showed you singing “I Dreamed a Dream”, the tears still rolling down my cheeks, I got up with the words I’d written for you and stood at the podium in silence for a long moment before I could finally gather myself enough to begin.

When I hear that song now, I, too, have a relationship with it, little sweetheart. One that you gave me, like so many other things that I treasure, that saved and redeem me.

How I love you! Forever, my angel. Forever.

April 4

March and April are both filled with bitter anniversaries, little sweetheart. April 4 is another, almost inadvertent one. It was the day we already determined pre-tragedy for me to return to NYC.

The weekend before was meant to be closing of "Blackbird" and you and I had plans to spend the next few days together in Davis before I flew out on April 4 and then you joined me a couple of weeks later for recording sessions in Brooklyn, a workshop of "My Before & After" in the city and a quick trip down to Philly to see Low on my birthday - we already had tickets.

Instead, April 4 was the day I returned to NYC without you or any plans at all except to return to SF for your memorial, held, incredibly, on my birthday.

That feeling still of desperate loss continues to burn, little sweetheart, when this day, like several others comes around each year. I'll try to take it easy today. To listen quietly for your gracious spirit, blessed presence and hear your instruction.

Please be with me now and always and take me to you the moment heaven will allow. I love you with all my heart and soul. Forever. Forever. 

Resolutions

It's almost New Years, little sweetheart. I'm writing this sitting by the beautiful Christmas tree near the mantel in your parents's front room where our Christmas stockings, yours and mine, hang next one another.
 
At home over my desk along with lots of pictures of you and several of your little handwritten cards to me framed so I may always have them near, are two little notes to myself. One says "it's good to get things done - remember that." And today has been one of those kind of days.
 
I woke up to California birdsong and dreams of you to guide me on this last day of the year. I made the bed and went down to make coffee and get things started - I wanted to make some nice things for your mom and dad. Last year on New Year's Eve I made beef stroganoff and they really liked it, so I got everything to make it again. New Year's Eve day is actually the sixth day of Christmas also - I forget what that is in the song, maybe swans a swimming? - so, I'd made cookie dough the night before for a whole new batch of Christmas cookies. I got the coffee going and then started baking.
 
First, a graham cracker crust for that cherry cream cheese pie your dad likes and then I started on the cookies. The kitchen smelled really good with the molasses ginger baking away and the fresh coffee. Your mom came down and had a cup and we looked after the kittens and cocker spaniel who were curious about all the activity. Once had all the cookies done and cooling on the counter and the cold pie chilling in the fridge and all the dishes done, I changed into my gear and went for a run.
 
It was kind of a perfect day for running- cool but not cold, a bit overcast and foggy. I was out for about an hour and then had a shower, got the laundry in and started in on the stroganoff. Ilsa, one of the kittens, was terribly interested in that. Especially when I was cutting up the sirloin. It takes quite a while getting everything going in separate pots and pans until it all comes together in one big pot at the end with the noodles. I made a salad and frosted the cookies during a couple points of waiting during the prep and had that BBC Radio 6 show with our friends Low on the whole time - it's sort of been the soundtrack this season.
 
By the time everything was done it was actually just about dinner time. Your mom had an idea to watch an old mini series that she had on DVD - "Rich Man, Poor Man". We put that on after dinner and before dessert and somewhere around episode 3, we started to hear fireworks outside. It was cold and crisp when we went out interesting the garden to look. It reminded me of Guy Fawkes Day in London because it wasn't like just one big "official" display but half a dozen separate ones in different parts of the sky from all over. When we turned to go back inside, we could see the kittens up on their perch by the window looking out at us with great wonder.
 
And that's when I stepped in here to write all this down to you, little sweetheart and to tell you how much I love and miss you and so want to be with you in The Forever. I hope you'll come for me soon, maybe taking me in my sleep, so that I wake in your arms and find everything is finally again the way it should be. I know I must wait patiently until that day. I know I must do my best and listen quietly for your instruction. I know, as that one little note to myself says and as I did today, that "it's good that get things done". And I know, as the other little note says, that I "feel better when I'm a good boy" and to remember that, too.
 
May I do both in this new year to come. May I do the things that you want me to, work harder at becoming the man you were helping me to become, to grow my heart and learn, to honor and to conjure you. And to listen quietly for everything you have to tell me, so that I'm ready to go when you call. Please come for me soon, my love. It's all I want in the whole world- just to be with you. Forever. With all my love...

Dream Travels

Little sweetheart, you were in my dreams last night! I don't remember all of it but we were together and performing with the band. It was a new work and you were singing. It had a kind of Christmas feeling to it and was not unlike this idea - incorporating spoken word and visual arts - of an installation piece like we have for Of Love and Loss and Dream Together.

I remember parts of the dream only sketchily. You and I walking around together in a house or a something like a venue and outside around it, too. And you (and me also) feeling a bit nervous and concentrated. Very much in it together. What a wonderful electric feeling! Entirely connected and shared.

I remember a little bit about performing. You in front to the side of me on mic, singing and speaking. Me alongside on guitar and also singing and leading the band. The flash of lights and film projection. The air thick and trembling with amplified sound, sonics. The intimate setting. A seated audience on folding chairs. I wish I could remember the piece itself! But being with you there is an enormous blessing just on its own. I'm so grateful.

The part I remember most and best - as so often happens - is what we were doing in the dream just before I woke...

We'd finished playing but were still standing in front of everyone, sort of answering and asking questions in a kind of dialogue with those gathered. There was a back and forth between me and someone seated there about some element of the piece. About how we experienced it performing. And - this is the part that is so vivid - you suddenly piped up, still on mic, your voice filling the room to say "it felt the same way tonight as when we were in St. Louis".

I loved that and am still thinking about it this morning. Wherever we were, seemingly we were on tour, because we'd been to St. Louis to do it too. We were traveling. Together. I love that.

And I love you, my little sweetheart. With all my heart and soul I do. Forever.

Feb 12...

On a Virgin America plane to SFO four years ago today to attend the premiere of the short film I made with Summer the July before, spend Valentines Day together and see her Opening Night of "On The Waterfront" in San Jose - wound up replacing her castmate in "Blackbird" so then meant to stay on to do the play with her and then both of us return to NYC in time for my b'day on April 25, to workshop "My Before and After" and see Low in Philly that night. We almost got there, little sweetheart. But I'll see you very soon and forever in the Beautiful New Place. Remembering those last weeks just now and loving you with all my heart and soul. Until that day, my love. Until that day...

Some Holy Ghost...

Amazing, soulful, moving, perfect Low show last night in Brooklyn with Jason and Renee. After, we waited on the sidewalk until most everyone had gone and they were turning out the lights. Alan came out carrying his amp and I walked up and quietly spoke with him for a few moments to tell him how much their music has meant to Summer and I and all of us. He fucking hugged me. What a lovely man. God bless him and Mimi. Some music, that was "our" music, is just too painful to listen to anymore. But I will never stop going to Low shows. I know you were there, sweetheart. I could feel you. And we spoke your name like prayer...