August 4th

2010 Calendar Zine August
Originally uploaded by teleflux
This is directed to the people I know who wonder why I'm kinda weird and distant in the beginning of August....



August 4th is always a weird day for me. It usually sneaks up on me but when I realize what day it is I get emotional, or at least I used to; I'm less and less visibly emo as every year passes.


In the summer 2001, just before I began my Senior year in college, I was working a sweet summer job as a Summer Service Ambassador for Continental at Newark Airport. We bid on our positions a bit differently than regular Continental employees in that we got seniority from our SSN. So of course your girl was lucky enough to have a pretty early pick and I chose to work with the Unaccompanied Minors. I absolutely loved working with the kids and we usually got to eat for free when we had a bunch of kids with unexpected layovers add to that the fact that I flew domestically for under $20 roundtrip and you can tell why I enjoyed this job so much.


Well on August 4th of that year, which was a Saturday, I worked my 10-6pm shift like normal and then proceeded to take the bus home. I got home somewhere around 7ish and started to unwind from my day. About an hour later my doorbell was ringing (which was unusual because no one ever stopped by without calling first and we werent expecting anyone). I was the one with the most clothes on so I proceeded downstairs to find that the neighbors on the 1st and 2nd floor had also been disturbed by their doorbells ringing. When I reached the main entrance I was greeted by the glum face of Ms. Morning. Ms. Morning was the former girlfriend of my father (we'll call him AB3). She proceeded to tell me that AB3 had had a heart attack and passed away that day. Of course, I immediately broke down crying.


AB3 and I had a great relationship when I was growing up. He and my mom were not able to stay together as a couple but he was always present in my life; he transported me to and from school until I started taking the bus in the 4th grade and I was with him every other weekend, not to mention the road trips to NY, Boston, DC and SC to see family. He was def a strong presence in my life and I have to say that the only real "daddy issue" I have stems from the fact that he is not alive and well today. As I grew older we started to bump heads because we are a lot alike in that we are both very outspoken and detest when people try to force us or prevent us from doing anything.


The last time I saw AB3 we argued, it wasnt a knock down drag out but it was an argument nonetheless. The last we spoke we had made peace from our previous argument and I was actually supposed to go see him on the 5th when I got off of work. While standing on my stoop hugging and crying Ms. Morning told me that she had to use some detective work to track me down to give me the news; apparently one of my aunts remembered the name of my street and another remembered my house number (we hadnt been living at this spot for very long) so she hopped in her car and found her way to me. She didnt know which apartment we lived in hence why she rang all 3 doorbells. The story gets deeper in that my two younger brothers (who have a different mother than I) were spending the weekend with my dad the weekend he passed away. They were 13 and 9 so you can imagine how traumatic the experience was for them. The older one, J, called 911 and summoned the ambulance. The EMT's were able to revive AB3 in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and the ER staff revived him once again but his heart was weak and they were unable to bring him back a 3rd time.


Through our ups and downs I was always a Daddy's Girl (spoiled beyond belief but I was a good kid and I deserved everything I got). The drama that surrounded his passing, handling his memorial and dealing with crazy family members was probably one of the worst experiences of my life. I did get through it but there's a part of me that died when he died. His absence was terribly obvious when I missed him at graduation when I got my Bachelors, and subsequently Masters. Though I think of him all year round, Fathers Day, August 4th and his birthday, October 28th, are always kinda weird days for me. I dont cry anymore but I'm very nostalgic in remembering the good times that we shared. I love my Daddy and I miss him.


In 2004, I was living in FL working my first real 9-5. The job was cool and the money was decent so I really had nothing to complain about. During the first quarter of that year I lived with my grandparents. One afternoon in April I received a phone call from my older brothes mother. My older brother, we'll call him Nomad, was adopted by my dad and his first wife long before I was even thought of. Nomad, lived with me and my parents for a time when I was very young. He was 13 years older than me so the age difference kept us from being very close until I got older. I dont recall the exact details on how Nomad and I reconnected but we were building a solid brother/sister relationship and he did attend my college graduation in 2002. We road tripped it back north in the U-Haul I rented to transport all my worldly possessions back to NJ. I dropped him off in Baltimore at his "friends" house. You see, Nomad was gay. Its not something that was talked about much amongst the family, especially not to me seeing as how my entire family goes out of their way to "protect the babygirl" from EVERYTHING that isnt roses and sugar cookies.But I digress... I loved and accepted him regardless of his sexual orientation/preference; he was my brother, plain and simple.


Back to the phone call from Nomad's mom. She called me to tell me that Nomad was in the DC prison system and he was in the jail's hospital. They would not give her any information and she wanted me to call and see if I could make any headway. Well, I called and was able to get someone to tell me that he had been diagnosed with AIDS Dementia (I'm almost 100% sure they gave me the info and not his mom because Nomad and I share the same last name). The woman I spoke with explained the visiting hours and what I had to do to get on his list as well as get the visitors pass to go see him. You see I did know he had AIDS (which I found out when I was a Juniorr in college, years after he had contracted the virus, because he had a bad episode and Drs werent sure he would pull through so the fam HAD to tell me) but I wasnt sure how far the disease had progressed. The story I got of how he ended up in the DC prison system was something about him sticking up an elderly woman; I never got the full deets on that one but it really doesnt matter why he was there. I was concerned that he was in the DC jail system and possibly not getting the healthcare he needed. Well, I thought about it for a few days and decided to hop a plane to the DMV to go check on my older brother.


I had friends and family in the area so I didnt have to worry about where I would stay when I hit town. I flew in on Tuesday and the case worker made arrangements so I could see him every weekday that I was in town. I had to go to the main jail to get the pass (every day) and then travel to the hospital for my hour long visit. Seeing Nomad in his condition broke my heart. He was very frail (he was always on the skinny side but this was beyond skinny) and the dementia was evident because I could tell he didnt know who I was. During my visits I would talk to him about AB3 and the few family gatherings we attended together. There were points where I believe the conversation sparked for him some recognition of who I was but overall he didnt talk much, just sat quietly and intently listening to me inserting a "Yeah" or "Umm Hmm" here and there. I called Nomad's mom daily and gave her updates on his status and overall well being. She was very grateful to me for going, getting info and sharing it.


The following Sunday I flew back to FL. Nomad's mom and I talked periodically and she eventually told me she was working on getting him a medical release from prison because the AIDS was taking its toll on his body and his remaining time was very limited. Sometime in mid-summer the medical release was granted and Nomad's mom moved him to a hospice type residential center in NJ. She and I spoke weekly and I got my updates on his mental and physical condition while trying to help her stay sane during this hard and trying time.


The calendar slipped to August and I realized perhaps, the day before, that the 4th was approaching. I had to work and figured work would be the best way for me not to dwell on the memories the day would bring to me. Shortly after I came back from my lunch break a got a call on my cell from Nomad's mother. When I answered and heard her speak I could tell immediately that she had a heavy heart and something was very wrong. She proceeded to tell me that Nomad had taken his last breath; she was at his bedside all day every day and she stepped outside to use her cell phone (the reception in the place was not good) and when she came back he was gone.  We cried on the phone together a bit and then I had my boss and a co-worker take me home because I was in no condition to drive.  Nomad's mother decided to have a memorial for him about a month after he passed away as she didnt feel a funeral was a good idea.  I flew to NJ for the memorial and it was lovely.  We all celebrated him and talked about the good times; it was a day of tears and laughter...


Damn August 4th!!!! And to top it off, Nomad's birthday is a few days after the 4th so basically the entire 1st week of August is a bit nostalgic and emotional for me. I usually get quiet and reflective around that time...As I said earlier, every year I'm less sad and concentrate moreso on the happy memories but it still sucks that my father and older brother are no longer with me. I miss them both dearly.