Most people would love the opportunity to visit California. Last weekend, I wasn't one of those people.
I'm not a stranger to Southern California, and I really do love to visit whenever possible, but not this time. The last thing I thought I'd be doing shortly after returning to America was booking a round trip ticket home for a funeral.
Backstory:
I was born in California.
My parents were born in California. My parents went to high school at Paramount High and LB Polytechnic. They were married in Long Beach, had a life in California as well as two kids; me and my little sister.
To make a long story short, we left an entire network of family and friends when we moved to Arizona when I was a young kid. But that didn't stop us from visiting our California home and people we left behind whenever possible. Every summer, random weekends, nearly every holiday throughout my Arizona upbringing was spent in the LBC.
I had plans to visit California in December of this year as a bonus trip when visiting parents in Arizona. California couldn't wait.
In September, my grandfather was washing a window outside of his home and slipped. A traumatic brain injury from the fall was the beginning of his demise.
My grandmother was a mess; calling me every night, unable to sleep. She'd beg me to come and keep her company, but I couldn't because of our new surroundings. We still didn't even have our household goods from our overseas move.
It pained me that I couldn't be there for my best friend: The woman who raised my stubborn ass, the person I could relate to most in this world.
My grandfather, my second father, and my friend suffered multiple strokes due to his injuries and because of his wishes the plug was pulled. He died a few days later on September 20th.
It was terrible. I knew it was coming, but getting the call was so hard. Not to mention that an hour after I got the dreaded call, a potential job opportunity was calling me back for an interview. I was not in a good place to set up an interview. My life was surreal that day. I wanted to wake up from the nightmare.
The funeral arrangements were the next thing. My grandfather's bio son was putting it all together and unsure of when to host it because he had business dealings and what not. My grandfather was cremated, so holding off wasn't an issue, however I just wanted to get it over with. Not in a selfish way, but for the sake of my sanity and my grandmother's as well.
Once the date was set for October 14th, I reluctantly booked my ticket to Long Beach. I was going to California with an aching in my heart.
I arrived on the 12th so that'd I'd have some time with my grandmother before the service date. I'm not gonna lie: I haven't seen her in years and kinda wanted her to myself. My uncle and grandmother picked me up from the airport and there I was, back in Long Beach after years of being away, but not for a fun reason nor a vacation. The feeling was overwhelming.
After taking a moment to breathe, Grandma and I were off in her car, hitting up Seal Beach pier and going down to my old summer stomping ground: 2nd Street in Belmont. We ate dinner at her favorite Mexican restaurant and cruised back to her place. It was nice to be back with her again, but I avoided all conversation about him or how she felt or if she were alright. I figured enough people had asked her those questions. I wanted to know, I really did, but I didn't want to know...
The next day, my sister, her husband and her kids showed up (they were staying in a hotel nearby) and my dad, his girlfriend and my younger brother appeared. Grandma and I felt bad that my brother's 18th birthday was the day before, so after I made breakfast, her and I went out and bought cake stuff, goodies and some basic decorations to give him a little surprise party. She was already planning a dinner for a handful of the family that'd be around, too. I think it was her way of having something 'fun' to celebrate in an effort to escape the gravity of everything else weighing her (and the rest of us) down.
We got to cooking and decorating. The get-together turned out alright, though we all knew what the next day would hold. I got to see my eldest cousin on my dad's side for the first time in 11 years, as well as my uncles (sans the oldest uncle). It actually was nice to be around family again.
The next day was the dreaded day: The memorial service day. Grandma refused to call it a funeral service, but really that's what it was, minus a casket.
I should've paid more attention that morning.
I woke up at 6am, unable to fall back alseep. Grandma would always wake up before me and watch her recorded golf and tennis programs on mute as I slept on the couch, but that day she was still in her room. I cracked the door open and found nothing but darkness. I could see her huge pitbull's silhouette sitting on the bed, ears perked up, but grandma didn't stir. I panicked and freaked out and texted my sister. My sister found it odd that grandma was still in bed, too, so I went back to the room and tried to coax the dog off the bed with lunch meat in an effort to wake up grandma without making it seem like I was worried.
The dog hated me and wouldn't budge. Damn dog.
I went to the kitchen and made a bunch of noise by unloading the dishwasher and making coffee and breakfast. Nothing. I took a walk outside, called my husband and kids, then went back to her room and cracked the door open more. The dog was still on the bed and now grandma was gone. I could see the light of her bathroom was on, so I took a deep breath and started getting ready for the day.
My sister, her husband, and kids came to the house around 8am with a box of donuts dressed in their Sunday best. At this point, grandma wasn't dressed AT ALL, and still wandering in her robe with coffee in hand. I asked when she wanted to leave for the service and she answered "I don't want to go." Can't say I blamed her.
Around 9am, grandma finally took a hint and began getting ready, but as slow as she possibly could. When we finally jumped in the car, I asked if she wanted me to drive (her driving is scary on a normal day and always has been since I could remember). She gave me the resting bitch face glance I've grown up with, so I shut up.
My sister was following us to the country club because neither she or I knew where it was. But as soon as we left my grandma's neighborhood, she ran a stale red light and nearly got us t-boned. My anxiety kicked in instantly. My life flashed before my eyes. I yelled at her, asking her to pull over and she refused, yelling back at me. At the next light, she ran a red again. I was done. I screamed at her to pull over. She did, but nearly took out a bicyclist while doing so and left the Mercedes in drive before hopping out. My sister pulled up behind us on the side of Bellflower Blvd (a busy ass street) and looked terrified. She had witnessed it all. I climbed into the driver's seat, shaking and hyperventilating as grandma casually sat in the passenger seat like nothing was wrong, and off we went.
When we finally arrived, I was a hot mess. My sister immediately found me after parking and knew what was going through my mind. I waved her off because I didn't want to offend grandma by talking shit about her driving at that moment and escorted grandma into the venue. I had to have looked like a ghost because people that hadn't seen me in years approached me to say hello but instead asked "Are you okay?"
After my nerves calmed the fuck down, I was able to congregate with my family. I saw aunts, uncles, and cousins I hadn't seen in 20+ years! It was pretty neat, but also not the way I wanted to reunite with them all.
The service wasn't so much a service, but more of a gathering for all of my grandpa's family and friends. I was so surprised when his business partners from India greeted me and said "You must be Tara, the grand-daughter that just moved from Germany! How is it being back in the states?" It was as if these people I had always known of knew me, too. Even some of his old friends from back in the day knew who I was and I hadn't seen them in 25 years or so. It was a good feeling to know that while I was away, he thought of me often.
Sometimes in the army life, you wonder who's forgotten that you exist...I mean, I talked to my grandpa often, even the day before my grandpa's accident, but I didn't think he still went around bragging about his grand kids.
At some point in the day, I distracted grandma and stole her keys after seeing her drink a few cocktails in a row. Though the event was what it was, I honestly think she enjoyed being surrounded by family and the people who love her most. And I'm not gonna lie, the alcohol probably helped.
With my sober self behind the wheel, we went back to the house when the service was over. Grandma didn't hesitate to get back into her comfy clothes as soon as she unlocked the door. We sat and talked for a few hours before my sister, dad and a few others would be coming over for dinner. In those few hours she opened up about grandpa's passing, her early life, and a bunch of other things I might not have ever known (like where she was when man walked on the moon, her relationship with her sister, etc,). And as sad as his passing made her, she did say that she was surprised to have had a decent time at the service, despite why we were there. I squeezed as much knowledge from her as I could, only listening and taking mental notes. When my dad arrived, I was almost peeved because he inadvertently interrupted a story about her childhood that I never got the ending to.
The next day, my sister was getting ready to leave town. She wanted a few casual pictures of her family at the beach, so I hopped into her car, happy to go see the water and sand. We didn't stay long and I didn't capture the best pictures, but it was nice to feel my toes in the sand.
My sister then dropped me off at grandma's place and hit the road back to Arizona. Grandma and I took the dog (who was starting to hate me less) for a walk and came back to find my dad and his lady friend hanging out, who were also getting ready to take off back to AZ. We talked to them for awhile, they left, then grandma and I set out to find Del Taco down the road. Call me crazy, but I've missed Del Taco since I moved away from the west coast. I always try to eat it whenever I see one.
When we went back to her place, we talked and talked some more (though I never got the end of that one story) and she asked me to tell her about Paris. I told her my favorite stories about our travels and showed her a bunch of pictures on my laptop. After that, she wanted to watch one of her favorite movies Midnight In Paris, but we couldn't find it on Netflix or on demand, so I rented it on Amazon, plugged my laptop into her TV via an hdmi cord, and we watched.
It was one of my favorite moments of my entire visit. My best friend and I experiencing Paris together.
Oh, and during the movie, her dog had finally decided that I was cool in her book. She wouldn't stop licking me.
The next morning, I was being dropped off at the LAX airport by my uncle and grandma. I didn't want to leave, but I couldn't stay. She felt the same, asking me if I absolutely had to go; saying she'd pay for my return ticket to be changed if I stayed longer. I wish I could've.
After a dozen of grandma's hugs, they left the curb and I walked through security to leave California.
Loss is hard. I've never ever felt it hit me so hard in my life. That's that.
I plan to return to California soon enough, but for happy reasons. Maybe this upcoming summer it'll work out.
I'm not a stranger to Southern California, and I really do love to visit whenever possible, but not this time. The last thing I thought I'd be doing shortly after returning to America was booking a round trip ticket home for a funeral.
Backstory:
I was born in California.
My parents were born in California. My parents went to high school at Paramount High and LB Polytechnic. They were married in Long Beach, had a life in California as well as two kids; me and my little sister.
To make a long story short, we left an entire network of family and friends when we moved to Arizona when I was a young kid. But that didn't stop us from visiting our California home and people we left behind whenever possible. Every summer, random weekends, nearly every holiday throughout my Arizona upbringing was spent in the LBC.
I had plans to visit California in December of this year as a bonus trip when visiting parents in Arizona. California couldn't wait.
In September, my grandfather was washing a window outside of his home and slipped. A traumatic brain injury from the fall was the beginning of his demise.
My grandmother was a mess; calling me every night, unable to sleep. She'd beg me to come and keep her company, but I couldn't because of our new surroundings. We still didn't even have our household goods from our overseas move.
It pained me that I couldn't be there for my best friend: The woman who raised my stubborn ass, the person I could relate to most in this world.
My grandfather, my second father, and my friend suffered multiple strokes due to his injuries and because of his wishes the plug was pulled. He died a few days later on September 20th.
It was terrible. I knew it was coming, but getting the call was so hard. Not to mention that an hour after I got the dreaded call, a potential job opportunity was calling me back for an interview. I was not in a good place to set up an interview. My life was surreal that day. I wanted to wake up from the nightmare.
The funeral arrangements were the next thing. My grandfather's bio son was putting it all together and unsure of when to host it because he had business dealings and what not. My grandfather was cremated, so holding off wasn't an issue, however I just wanted to get it over with. Not in a selfish way, but for the sake of my sanity and my grandmother's as well.
Once the date was set for October 14th, I reluctantly booked my ticket to Long Beach. I was going to California with an aching in my heart.
I arrived on the 12th so that'd I'd have some time with my grandmother before the service date. I'm not gonna lie: I haven't seen her in years and kinda wanted her to myself. My uncle and grandmother picked me up from the airport and there I was, back in Long Beach after years of being away, but not for a fun reason nor a vacation. The feeling was overwhelming.
 |
| Seeing the sunrise in Dallas. Next stop: California. |
After taking a moment to breathe, Grandma and I were off in her car, hitting up Seal Beach pier and going down to my old summer stomping ground: 2nd Street in Belmont. We ate dinner at her favorite Mexican restaurant and cruised back to her place. It was nice to be back with her again, but I avoided all conversation about him or how she felt or if she were alright. I figured enough people had asked her those questions. I wanted to know, I really did, but I didn't want to know...
The next day, my sister, her husband and her kids showed up (they were staying in a hotel nearby) and my dad, his girlfriend and my younger brother appeared. Grandma and I felt bad that my brother's 18th birthday was the day before, so after I made breakfast, her and I went out and bought cake stuff, goodies and some basic decorations to give him a little surprise party. She was already planning a dinner for a handful of the family that'd be around, too. I think it was her way of having something 'fun' to celebrate in an effort to escape the gravity of everything else weighing her (and the rest of us) down.
We got to cooking and decorating. The get-together turned out alright, though we all knew what the next day would hold. I got to see my eldest cousin on my dad's side for the first time in 11 years, as well as my uncles (sans the oldest uncle). It actually was nice to be around family again.
 |
| In the kitchen with grandma |
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| My sister's youngest finally up and trying to walk! |
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| My sister and brother |
 |
| My uncles are biker dudes. True story. Grandma raised four rough and tough boys! |
The next day was the dreaded day: The memorial service day. Grandma refused to call it a funeral service, but really that's what it was, minus a casket.
I should've paid more attention that morning.
I woke up at 6am, unable to fall back alseep. Grandma would always wake up before me and watch her recorded golf and tennis programs on mute as I slept on the couch, but that day she was still in her room. I cracked the door open and found nothing but darkness. I could see her huge pitbull's silhouette sitting on the bed, ears perked up, but grandma didn't stir. I panicked and freaked out and texted my sister. My sister found it odd that grandma was still in bed, too, so I went back to the room and tried to coax the dog off the bed with lunch meat in an effort to wake up grandma without making it seem like I was worried.
The dog hated me and wouldn't budge. Damn dog.
I went to the kitchen and made a bunch of noise by unloading the dishwasher and making coffee and breakfast. Nothing. I took a walk outside, called my husband and kids, then went back to her room and cracked the door open more. The dog was still on the bed and now grandma was gone. I could see the light of her bathroom was on, so I took a deep breath and started getting ready for the day.
My sister, her husband, and kids came to the house around 8am with a box of donuts dressed in their Sunday best. At this point, grandma wasn't dressed AT ALL, and still wandering in her robe with coffee in hand. I asked when she wanted to leave for the service and she answered "I don't want to go." Can't say I blamed her.
Around 9am, grandma finally took a hint and began getting ready, but as slow as she possibly could. When we finally jumped in the car, I asked if she wanted me to drive (her driving is scary on a normal day and always has been since I could remember). She gave me the resting bitch face glance I've grown up with, so I shut up.
My sister was following us to the country club because neither she or I knew where it was. But as soon as we left my grandma's neighborhood, she ran a stale red light and nearly got us t-boned. My anxiety kicked in instantly. My life flashed before my eyes. I yelled at her, asking her to pull over and she refused, yelling back at me. At the next light, she ran a red again. I was done. I screamed at her to pull over. She did, but nearly took out a bicyclist while doing so and left the Mercedes in drive before hopping out. My sister pulled up behind us on the side of Bellflower Blvd (a busy ass street) and looked terrified. She had witnessed it all. I climbed into the driver's seat, shaking and hyperventilating as grandma casually sat in the passenger seat like nothing was wrong, and off we went.
When we finally arrived, I was a hot mess. My sister immediately found me after parking and knew what was going through my mind. I waved her off because I didn't want to offend grandma by talking shit about her driving at that moment and escorted grandma into the venue. I had to have looked like a ghost because people that hadn't seen me in years approached me to say hello but instead asked "Are you okay?"
After my nerves calmed the fuck down, I was able to congregate with my family. I saw aunts, uncles, and cousins I hadn't seen in 20+ years! It was pretty neat, but also not the way I wanted to reunite with them all.
The service wasn't so much a service, but more of a gathering for all of my grandpa's family and friends. I was so surprised when his business partners from India greeted me and said "You must be Tara, the grand-daughter that just moved from Germany! How is it being back in the states?" It was as if these people I had always known of knew me, too. Even some of his old friends from back in the day knew who I was and I hadn't seen them in 25 years or so. It was a good feeling to know that while I was away, he thought of me often.
Sometimes in the army life, you wonder who's forgotten that you exist...I mean, I talked to my grandpa often, even the day before my grandpa's accident, but I didn't think he still went around bragging about his grand kids.
At some point in the day, I distracted grandma and stole her keys after seeing her drink a few cocktails in a row. Though the event was what it was, I honestly think she enjoyed being surrounded by family and the people who love her most. And I'm not gonna lie, the alcohol probably helped.
With my sober self behind the wheel, we went back to the house when the service was over. Grandma didn't hesitate to get back into her comfy clothes as soon as she unlocked the door. We sat and talked for a few hours before my sister, dad and a few others would be coming over for dinner. In those few hours she opened up about grandpa's passing, her early life, and a bunch of other things I might not have ever known (like where she was when man walked on the moon, her relationship with her sister, etc,). And as sad as his passing made her, she did say that she was surprised to have had a decent time at the service, despite why we were there. I squeezed as much knowledge from her as I could, only listening and taking mental notes. When my dad arrived, I was almost peeved because he inadvertently interrupted a story about her childhood that I never got the ending to.
The next day, my sister was getting ready to leave town. She wanted a few casual pictures of her family at the beach, so I hopped into her car, happy to go see the water and sand. We didn't stay long and I didn't capture the best pictures, but it was nice to feel my toes in the sand.
My sister then dropped me off at grandma's place and hit the road back to Arizona. Grandma and I took the dog (who was starting to hate me less) for a walk and came back to find my dad and his lady friend hanging out, who were also getting ready to take off back to AZ. We talked to them for awhile, they left, then grandma and I set out to find Del Taco down the road. Call me crazy, but I've missed Del Taco since I moved away from the west coast. I always try to eat it whenever I see one.
When we went back to her place, we talked and talked some more (though I never got the end of that one story) and she asked me to tell her about Paris. I told her my favorite stories about our travels and showed her a bunch of pictures on my laptop. After that, she wanted to watch one of her favorite movies Midnight In Paris, but we couldn't find it on Netflix or on demand, so I rented it on Amazon, plugged my laptop into her TV via an hdmi cord, and we watched.
It was one of my favorite moments of my entire visit. My best friend and I experiencing Paris together.
Oh, and during the movie, her dog had finally decided that I was cool in her book. She wouldn't stop licking me.
The next morning, I was being dropped off at the LAX airport by my uncle and grandma. I didn't want to leave, but I couldn't stay. She felt the same, asking me if I absolutely had to go; saying she'd pay for my return ticket to be changed if I stayed longer. I wish I could've.
After a dozen of grandma's hugs, they left the curb and I walked through security to leave California.
Loss is hard. I've never ever felt it hit me so hard in my life. That's that.
I plan to return to California soon enough, but for happy reasons. Maybe this upcoming summer it'll work out.
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