30 Days To A New Life- Day 24

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I feel nauseous. I developed an infection after a dental procedure five days ago and now have swelling and a sizable pocket of pus in my gums. Sometimes an infection is just an infection, but being seven days away from completing this 80-day public visualization to manifestation process, I can’t help but see this discomfort as timely purging reflecting painful memories that are surfacing in the last days of this blog. I feel anxious and vulnerable. I have no control over how this process will end. It feels like it has been predetermined by someone else and I am just living out the final pages.

The final play that my father saw me in was a Russian tragicomedy called The Lower Depths. Making the trip from New York to Boston for him and my mom was no easy task. He had been made extremely weak and nauseous from the daily HIV drug cocktail. My brother in law transported my father in a van that was large enough for him to lie down during the 5-hour ride.

Everyone felt that this would likely be the last time he would see me act in a play so all precautions were taken to get him to the theatre safely, including a doctor and nurse that joined him from New York. Having my father see his son perform in college was a big deal for the Rodriguez family and a major sacrifice in my honor. I was just hoping he would stay awake during the show. My character, Bubnov, was on stage for most of the play but said very little. Just as well. It gave me an opportunity to continually peak into the audience looking for him when I thought all eyes were on someone else.

After the performance, I went out into the house and asked him what he thought.

“I liked you better in Grease.” He said half-smiling

I laughed. “Papy, that was a high school play. This is college.”

“I know, but I really liked you in Grease.”

Of course he did. I played Danny Zuko which was equivalent to playing his 70’s twin dance brother, John Travolta!

We got to my apartment and my family did not waste any time packing up to head back to New York. I understood. He saw his son. My mother came out of my bedroom with a container carrying 12 medicine bottles. The image of my mother standing there holding my father’s life support, made my heart sink. I noticed that my father was watching my reaction. What do I say? Nothing.

How do we say goodbye? I can’t.

With tears in his eyes, he broke the silence:

“Do you need money for a new coat?”

This time it was my heart that had broken. I was five years old again. He wanted to take away my pain. He wanted to be a father but in his terminal state all he could do is offer me a symbol of dependency-money. It was a beautiful moment. He just wanted to feel useful. I did not respond with words. I just turned, gave him a kiss and hugged him goodbye. He left my apartment wiping his eyes. I turned to my mother and all she could say before leaving was: “No esta bien.” He is not well.

I was ripped apart by the moment. Did I deserve him sacrificing his health and comfort to see me perform one last time? He wanted to somehow be a dad, to give me money so that I can be kept warm but for some reason, I did not let him. There was no sign of his ego. AIDS had claimed it a long time ago. All that was left was a naked purified man-one who was not well.
I drank until I could cry, called my best friend to keep me company as I attempted to purge myself of guilt and shame. That was 18 years ago and I here I am- feeling nauseous.