I Never Failed to See the Pacific

A little (or lot) of Valentine's Love for you all...I’m sure I made some grammatical errors and it's long, but I wrote this for all my friends, to share my recent adverse experience, what I learned, what I still don't know, etc. Hopefully you can take something from it.

I never failed to see the Pacific. Some may say this is an easy task considering I live a block away from the ocean, but I mean really see. In order to really see, one must focus. One must notice the different shades of blue, of green. One must observe when the white caps form and when there is glass. One must monitor the surface in morning, before noon, in mid-afternoon, before sunset, at dusk, and during the night. Part of this survey includes listening to the 8AM peel of the barrel and the nighttime crash upon shore when the city has gone to sleep. Part includes the salty taste and thick aroma elicited by an Alaskan swell. For three months, November through January, I was determined. I never failed to see the Pacific.

Although the haze of November and December still blurs most the vision of their days, they are not strangers. They brought back January—its hot Santa Ana days and its powerful rainstorms, clearing the air for beautiful bike ride coasts. Late October is still a foreigner to me.
Late October brought the news of complications from my father’s knee replacement surgery. What I thought to be another slot on the routine roulette wheel of my dad’s life’s operations became painted green, the trick upon which no one ever gambles. We had all been through this before, be it angioplasties, herniated disk, shrapnel through the back of the leg; the money had to be on red or black, odd or even, it didn’t matter, he had survived it all. But something happened. Somewhere in the procedure the echo of gunshot from George Milton’s loving hand buzzes piercingly close…and there is a ripple in time. There is an oscillation that causes a wave to crash distantly onshore and scatter the peace of the warm day’s Pacific onlookers. They will return to their days and their loved ones, but in the back of their minds they will remember the wave that disturbed the tranquility, and they will wonder…

I never failed to see the Pacific. One November day I decided to take pictures of it to show my dad—my dad the ship captain, my dad who would point out Santa Barbara and San Nicolas Islands on rain-washed day afters, my dad who has spent a majority of his military and professional career at sea. Within the walls of Torrance Memorial Hospital, my dad was merely less than three miles away from the ocean. Yet within the walls he remained. The affects of anesthesia and oxygen deprivation from the knee surgery had carried over to my dad’s vision as well. He could not see the pictures on my digital camera. Most of the time post-surgery, he thought he was in a boat. Perhaps hallucinations of the Pacific calmed him at times, made him feel at home amidst the sterile walls. Sometimes these hallucinations were of soldiers, spiders, and machinery. I can’t imagine those were too comforting. I can’t imagine being wheeled out of his own home after being released from Torrance Memorial was too comforting either. Doctors were washing their hands and my dad couldn’t remember how to wash himself, or tie shoes, or how to lie down on a bed or couch. We did not make eye contact when my mom and I made the phone call to the paramedics to have him removed from his own house for the second time in four days. Enough adrenaline supplied my dad with clarity to the situation; memories of this image caused me to memorize my ceiling’s white stucco patern—I could do this with the lights off, since I could not sleep. The stucco was an angry fog blanketing happiness. My dad’s actual hallucination of fog rolling in from the hospital walls put him inside a Kesey novel; so he was transferred to a psychiatric care center in Cerritos. Before this, the news from the doctor that he had brain damage, most likely irreversible. The feeling was the end. The adrenaline gods gave my dad enough dosage to be his true self for about ten minutes—he comforted me and my mom after this news instead of us comforting him, the way it should be. Forming in my tears was the image of the ocean. I could not forget it. Though the days were dark, I never failed to see the Pacific.

There’s a scene from the movie Field of Dreams that has always captured my imagination. Though there is plenty of surrealism, the moment where Costner sees the message on the Fenway Park scoreboard jolts my body electric. I think we all hope for this moment in life. We all want some clear message from beyond to let us know someone is watching. Simultaneously, it is frightening and comforting. Later James Earl Jones dramatically admits that he saw the message from beyond, too. Costner is furious that Jones didn’t say anything when he first saw it, but relieved that he wasn’t losing his mind—that there was someone else who shared that gripping moment. Again, we all want this connection. We all want someone with whom to share the beauty and awe of a God-revealing flash—whether it’s on a baseball park scoreboard or in the waning seconds of the visible Sun before it disappears beneath the horizon. My flash was compliments of technology, through one of my least favorite items (for lack of a less complimentary word), the cell phone. And I knew it was coming, too.

(Let me first save you the details of the psychiatric care center in Cerritos, at which my dad spent two and a half weeks. I referenced Kesey before, if you want to know the setting of last December, just read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Kesey worked at a psychiatric ward, he knew what he was talking about. My respect and appreciation for those who work in such places stretches for endless miles. So let us move on with the story…)

Deliverance is not on our time. Deliverance is not painted into a landscape serene. I’ve seen the beauty of Deliverance in dark trees watched over by ominous clouds. When Dr. Lau pulled us from urine-soaked floors into a room that smelled like urine, the words, “He’ll be fine” altered all unpleasant senses into the smell of pine in the nostrils of hope of a child on Christmas Eve. If the prepositions of the previous sentence confuse you, imagine such perplexity of being pulled from darkness into a blinding light—ultimately positive, but the not easiest revelation. Nevertheless, one’s eyes adjust and over time one realizes that eyes aren’t the only thing we use to see.
Positive energy radiated through my body and into my hand clutching my cell phone the whole drive home from Cerritos. It was only a matter of time before the phone rang, or a text message came through, confirming my belief that we can translate our positive energy unto others. I knew someone besides my mom and I would feel the news. Thrice my phone beeped about 5 minutes after I arrived home. I had a picture message from my friend Magee and the text read, “I lit a candle at church today for your father.” The picture was beautiful, there were prayer candles lit next to stained-glass window, through which the sun was shining. It’s glare powerful—like the golden trail showing God to us across the mighty Pacific about an hour before sunset.

The next morning I was up earlier than normal, giving myself enough time to get to St. Lawrence Martyr Church. I went to my favorite pew, kneeled, and felt energy flowing through my body up to my brain to the two locations the doctor said my dad’s brain was damaged. I directed the energy to the center in Cerritos, imagining my dad lying in bed, waiting to be healed. I did this every morning from Church, and every night from home. I still do it, now directing my energy just a few short miles away to Palos Verdes where my dad sleeps peacefully at night. I imagine the process is no different than any form of meditation—it takes focus and belief. It comes from within.

Short-term memory escapes my dad at times. Names are hard to remember, and with time remote control functions are relearned and memorized. Time is a Friend, so when my dad was able to come watch my high school soccer team play against a more talented Leuzinger squad back in late January, I had no despair when we went down 2-1 with ten minutes to play. I looked up into the stands and saw my dad watching, and that day it was not about wins and losses. Don’t tell my dad that, though. I’ll never forget how the one of the only things he could remember about my life back in late November and early December was how my high school soccer team beat Loyola High School in our pre-season scrimmage.

Consider that. Every day my dad battled hallucinations, memory loss, bouts of anger and frustration, etc.. He couldn’t always remember my name, or my sister’s name, or my mom’s name, or even his name, but he could remember that we beat in Loyola in a scrimmage. So when we dropped our first game of the season to Culver City, 3-0, he told me it would “be okay, because we beat that Catholic school.” Amidst the darkness and confusion lived on his love for me and what I love.

That is why all I wanted out of this soccer season was to make the playoffs. It was my own selfish goal. Monday at 12PM hopefully I’ll see vindication. I coached this season for him, and nobody else. He’s come to three games now, including my solo gig against West Torrance last Tuesday (our head coach got a red card). We won that game 1-0 in overtime and put ourselves temporarily in the playoffs. That was probably one of the greatest days of my life. Wow, six weeks ago I still, at times, feared the worst. My dad’s presence at a soccer game ever again was doubtful, at best. And now we is watching me coach again. Unfortunately we lost two days later to Mira Costa, knocking us down to fourth place in league and out of automatic playoff contention. But right now the word from CIF is good, most likely we will get one of the wildcard berths into the playoffs because of our entire season. I know that ultimately it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what I want. I’ve come to realize this as the days pass. And that’s okay.
What matters is that we find solace within. There is not an event that can save us. We cannot be saviors for each other; salvation comes from within. Salvation comes from the God-given love instilled within. We can, however, always strive to be Good. We can pray to help each other. We can focus our energy to heal each other. That is our gift from God. One can hope. One can look out at the Pacific every day and see God, I am grateful and blessed that I never fail to see the Pacific.

It should not take a President to tell us it is time to change. We can lead each other, we can inspire each other, and again, we can heal each other. As Mahatma Gandhi said, “You must be the change you want to see in the world.” So it is up to the individual to do his or her best to create change. Perhaps what’s frustrating is when we ask for favors, or for healing for a loved one or for ourselves, and we feel our request goes upon deaf ears. Tragedies are hard to account for, and for these I have no answer. But let me share this--another one of my favorite movie scenes is in the movie Rudy, when Father Cavanaugh tells Rudy that in all of his years of religious studies, he’s only come to two conclusions: one, there is a God; and two, he’s not Him. I, too, am fortunate enough to have had enough experiences to know that there is a God. And, I consider myself wise to come to the realization that I don’t know how things work. I can’t prove that my mornings at St. Lawrence were real. Real in that I sent positive energy to the damaged areas of my dad’s brain to help heal him. My mom did the same thing. My friends did the same thing. Friends of friends did the same thing. My sister and brother law asked massive amounts of people to pray. Perhaps over time quantum physics will prove us right and science and religion can unite—I don’t know. Did Magee’s candle help? Did our family friends, the Heilmanns, who kept calling to ask if there was anything they could do give my mom strength which in turn helped my dad? Did the fact that Debbie, my friend Steve’s wife, who went above and beyond in helping us with legal advice and support help give me strength and belief so that I could concentrate on prayer and meditation for my father? Did the fact that most of you who are reading this offered all your prayers and support that helped my family feel loved make a difference in my father’s health? To all of these questions I say yes, it did make a difference. But I can’t prove it. But really, would it matter if I could prove it? What should that matter to you?

At some point in your life, you know you’ve felt a connection to someone or something. Perhaps it was the energy rush you felt at a concert or a sporting event or when kissing that special someone for the first time. This intuitive energy flow is something we could all stand to better befriend. I forced myself to see the Pacific every day, to prove it was out there, to confirm my belief. It became my focal point. I knew if I focused on it just a little bit every day, I could stay in touch with my dad, and I could stay in touch with God. And that made all the difference.
I wrote this today because it is Valentine’s Day. I see a lot of us attack the commercialism of the holiday, and probably rightfully so. I hear a lot of us stress over this holiday, and its expectations. I read articles about what’s acceptable to give as a gift dependent upon the phase of the relationship. To all of this, I say nonsense. The answer is always within. Happiness is always within. Healing is always within. Love is always within. We don’t need calendars to tell us when to appreciate our loved ones. A calendar should not tell us when to buy flowers. Dates are relative. Time is not within our control. A calendar should not tell us when to make a resolution, to change our lives. A calendar should not tell us that during the cold and dark month we should be nice to each other and give money to the homeless, and then forget about each other the other eleven months of the year. Yes, we may have quantitative minds, but we all have qualitative hearts. We stress out about the 14th of this month, the 1st of another, and the 25th of that one. If we worry about numbers, we cannot worry about each other, thus we cannot help each other. Let us instead be concerned about what is within, and the change we can make with ourselves, and the support we can offer others…

I haven’t been able to write for almost three months now. And that’s okay. I had to direct my energy elsewhere; this was asked of me and I answered. My family’s situation was no more important or remarkable than anyone else’s. I don’t feel nor do I wish that anyone else would have to go through seeing a loved one not have his mind for two and a half months, but we’ve all had our trials. Some of us have lost loved ones, some of us have lost jobs, some of us have lost relationships. I lived alone for these three months, slept on the couch because I didn’t like the lonesome feel of my bedroom, got stood up twice (this had never happened before in my life, I swear) and had two other girls who “wanted to go out” never call back, had a walking cast on my foot, gained fifteen pounds (which I recently lost), etc. But the world doesn’t stop, the sun rises every day, and life goes on. My dad could have never recovered and life would have had to go on. My foot might not have gotten better, I may be single the rest of my life, etc., but life goes on. You have to deal with it, stay positive, and make all forward change you can. And although this ultimately comes from within, I am grateful for all of you and your support for my family during this time. It meant the world to us. Although we weren’t always able to express it, it really did mean everything. And that is why I write today.

Today had to be one of my favorite Valentine’s Days ever. I was able to write again for the first time in a while, I had a good soccer practice with the team (regardless of whether we do or don’t make the playoffs), and I spent some time with my parents who were both very grateful to see me. And of course the first thing my dad asked me about was the soccer team, just like when his mind was barely there a few months ago and he was telling me how we’d be okay because we beat Loyola. Oh yeah, and I went for a bike ride to Marina Del Rey and back, all-the-while admiring the beautiful ocean immediately west. I never fail to see the Pacific…

I hope your Valentine’s Day was as good as mine. Love always…