I wanted to \u2013 as briefly as possible \u2013 share and reflect on a couple of anecdotes I have with my father\u2026. But before that I wanted to publicly acknowledge and thank my uncle Andy for giving my dad eight more years to see the world, play guitar, and make people smile. Uncle Andy has always been there for my dad. Thank you for being a great uncle and brother.<\/p>\n
Even at an early age, my father picked up on and fueled my enthusiasm for whatever hobby I had decided to take up at any given moment. For example, during elementary school \u2013 before I decided to move into the lower register of the musical realm – I was somehow persuaded that the clarinet was the instrument for me. Of course, I never heard of a band with a clarinet prominently featured, couldn\u2019t name a clarinet virtuoso, and \u2013 until recently \u2013 hadn\u2019t fully acknowledged the existence of the instrument known as a clarinet. Up until a music teacher suggested I play the woodwind instrument, I had existed in a clarinet-less universe. It was due to the enthusiastic story my dad shared with me \u2013 over one of our standing weekly breakfasts before school \u2013 that I found out about the pop history of the clarinet. Namely, my father recited the story of Glenn Miller\u2019s orchestra and a trumpet player\u2019s 11th<\/sup> hour injury leading to the spotlighted clarinet \u2013 the story was entirely too dramatic for as flimsy an instrument as the clarinet \u2013 likely from its heavy-lifting of the James Stewart film. However, the next thing I knew, the clarinet was what belonged \u2013 it was my instrument and unabashedly, my father became my biggest fan \u2013 and by extension \u2013 the biggest fan of clarinet squonks as they were irregularly practiced within the Garcia household. Invariably, as I switched from one instrument to another, the entire routine would begin anew – exciting story, instrumental cacophony and all.<\/p>\nAnother example of this came while I was in high school; for a good part of my high school career, I spent an exorbitant amount of time inside a lion costume trying to make a fool out of myself. However, in order to attain such a worthy distinction, I underwent a rigorous tryout process along with dozens of cheerleaders. Though my father was at that time undergoing treatment at the City of Hope in Los Angeles, we would spend time on the phone discussing movements and skits. On the weekends, Kyoko and I would make the three hour trek to the City of Hope, where my father and I would spend large blocks of time discussing the nuances of making an oversized lion appear to be catching a fly Karate Kid<\/em>-style \u2013 with chopsticks or how to delicately balance on an invisible tightrope. I guess all of that Chicano Theatre training my father had came in handy – I was able to land the role as Monte the Lion for two years in a row. I should note that one effective trick I did in the lion costume was mimic my father\u2019s goofy dance he would perform for me as a giggling toddler \u2013 claiming to be stricken with a case of \u201chappy feet.\u201d Shuffling feet erratically and hopping around the living room in mildly panicked histrionics because of this \u201chappy feet\u201d affliction would send me into a fit of laughter, which was exactly what I strived to do in front of a Friday night football crowd. I think that\u2019s what \u201chappy feet\u201d were made for.<\/p>\nLooking back it feels too simple to take my dad\u2019s happy-go-lucky demeanor at face value. It was no secret that his health was declining year after year. Occasionally, when I was in town, or if my father was in Los Angeles and we met for lunch or dinner, we would sit down and discuss his medical updates, the news delivered was never exactly what you were hoping for.\u00a0 At some point I was reminded of a quote from Ernest Becker that \u201cto live fully is to live with an awareness of the rumble of terror that underlies everything.\u201d For me, it was hard to really comprehend the literal inner turmoil taking place inside my dad and the warmth and humor of his unchanging personality. I couldn\u2019t connect the two: talking with my dad, watching a movie with him, going for a spin with him \u2013 I never did get a sense of the \u201crumble of terror\u201d to which Becker alludes. Which leads me to one of the final lessons that my father would teach me.<\/p>\n
Though tolerance and acceptance were concepts taught in our household as long as I can remember, I learned from my father of a different kind of acceptance. Instead of a fretful worry about the future or of that unrelenting \u201crumble of terror,\u201d I learned \u2013 in the soothing croon of George Harrison that \u201call things must pass.\u201d I came to view life in an ecclesiastical cycle. And while I struggled with any kind of reasonable way of really saying \u201cgoodbye,\u201d it became clear that the refrain was superfluous. Entirely unnecessary.<\/p>\n
We talked \u2013 at length – about this kind of acceptance several weeks before my father went into the hospital and its jellyfish iv tentacles for the final time. After our discussion, I gave my dad a hug, we said goodbye and I got in my car to go home to Los Angeles. Driving through the hills of Mount Helix and across the overpass of the 8 freeway, I reflected on the words we exchanged, postponing my destination home a bit longer. As I drove that afternoon, radio off, lost on empty, I continued to think about, to dwell on, the idea of really losing my father \u2013 it always felt like a phantom threat dangled in the air \u2013 until then. I drove next to but not in the neighborhood of my childhood, turns and signals distantly familiar \u2013 like the swoops and whorls of someone else\u2019s fingertips.<\/p>\n
Though more than enough people have asked me how I was feeling, if I was scared, or worried. I can say with certainty, that that afternoon was the last time I really felt fear about what was happening. I\u2019m sure that this is as my dad wished. These past weeks have helped renew my understanding that family is a gift not to be exhausted. This period of losing a loved one is also one of rekindling and reaffirming familial bonds. It has been a blessing to see many of you as you have been there to support and remember with my mother and our family.<\/p>\n
In \u201cLittle Gidding,\u201d T.S. Eliot writes: \u201cWhat we call the beginning is often the end and to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.\u201d Like many of you, I\u2019ve felt the dull thud of emptiness that comes with the loss of someone as enigmatic and vibrant. I can only assume that this is an ending from which to move forward, to take the lessons, take the memories, take the jokes, the warmth and generosity that Joey left, and take off running with happy feet.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n