mysteryoriley

Two years ago tonight, Owen had what he called “the best night of my adult life”.  I wonder, how could he spend the best night of his life with friends in our home, and go missing within 48 hours?  Simple.  Because nothing is certain in this life.  The best of times, the worst of times…I hold onto the times in between.  But, for tonight, I’m committed to the past, and ultimately, to the future…

Dave and I are on vacation from work as of today at 5:30 p.m.  It doesn’t feel much like a vacation to me.  What I feel tonight is so far from “vacation” it’s almost an adventure into the forever-unknown…again.  That’s how I feel about life in general…all of it is unknown until it’s been experienced.  And, oh, there’s that part about “if you live it and no one knows, did it really happen?” (if a tree falls in the woods…).  One thing IS certain, Owen experienced his last days, people know, they were there, and they are still not sharing.  I won’t be able to live these memories without wondering how different things might be if those individuals did that thing they still cannot do – tell us what happened.  So I, we, live in the forever-unknown.  But, someday, someone will crack…someone will realize they have an obligation to LIFE, to share What Happened to Owen Riley.

Of course, almost every song on the radio tonight is a reminder that Owen’s life was something precious, something we hold onto, something we can’t imagine living without (but do), something we take into the future.  Pink Floyd (Consciously Numb), Lynard Skynard (Sweet Home Alabama), ELO, Paul Simon, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, Poison, Rolling Stones, Nirvana, Marcy Playground, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Beatles (Revolution – we all want to change the world!…freakin’yeah! – ha!), REO (it’s the end of the world as we know it)…I can’t recall everything we’ve heard tonight because Nat, Dave, and I are here on the patio, talking, remembering, crying, remembering, crying…on and on….

The night is young, but I am not.  I’m waiting to see the 4th star of the Big Dipper, then I’m off to bed.  My eyes have to work hard to see that dim star in the sky, the one that holds the ladle to the handle, the 4th star, the glue, Owen’s star, the dim, but integral star.  Oh, hey, the next song is:  ”You Really Got Me” by the Kinks.  And, by the way, I’m okay with that.  LIFE, ya really got me!

I’ve made it my life’s mission to live, love, and laugh, since you left us, Owen.  Really?  Weren’t you just here with me, saying, “Goodnight, Mumma, I love you.”  Two years ago, a lifetime.  So many have left us, so many are in our hearts.  I love you, Bubba.  Nat is here with me.   He keeps saying, “I know.  I know.”   He loves you still, always will, ya know?

Song for the night:

Song after THE SONG:

If you’ve actually scrolled down here, you might want to look at: Eye in the Sky, Alan Parsons Project (I can read your mind…looking at you, I can read your mind…):

Ha!  Who wouldn’t want to explore?  There’s plenty out there, ya know?  

This song takes on new meaning when I’m recollecting my past.  I saw the Stones back in the 70s, at the Forum in Los Angeles.  I’m thinking I went to that concert with my first husband, Danny, but really, I’m not sure.  I’m not sure about a lot of things in my past.  I just try to remember, and revel in the music as I hear it now, and as I remember listening to this song with my kids.  Good times. 

This thing I’m doing now, reconnecting with people from my high school years – weird, and awesome.  I think Owen would be right there with me, had he lived to see this chapter.  I’m watching Nat when I talk about those years, and I’m unsure about what he’s feeling.  He just wants me to stay connected in whatever way I can, and I honor his sentiments.  This is May, and he’s acutely aware of my own particular worm hole into the ethers, and his, to that place that Owen lives in our minds, to that place we see Owen laughing and making jokes about the world at large.  God, we miss him.

In talking with people from my past through emails and phone calls, I’m reminded that life is circular – all rolled into this thing we call the present.  The memories of my old friends are welcomed, but not necessarily the same as what I recall.  And, while it’s comforting on one level, it’s disturbing on another.  Where was I, really, when we were living those lives?

I ask the same question when I recall the times of our family together.  And, I’m glad to say, “I was there.  I lived those times with you.  I loved being a part of your lives.”

Song for the night:  Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones (I was about 14 or 15 when this song was released.  I have a special place for this song – part of it is attached to the movie, Interview with the Vampire.  Owen and I watched this movie together a bunch of times, and there was something there that we couldn’t articulate at the time.  Timelessness, maybe.  The idea of living beyond this life.  Whatever it was, we loved this song then…and now.)

After a few weeks of reconnecting with people from my past, I have nothing more than this…and everything else we knew together…I’m guarded by the angels.

Song for the night:  Citizen of the Planet, Alanis Morissette  (you would have loved this song, though you might have thought me…daft (one of our favorite words, ha!))

Ya gotta love today’s social media sites, if you’re even remotely interested in reconnecting with people you knew in high school.  Or, maybe you’re way on the other side, and find those sites handy for business and family, but can’t imagine looking  back as far as high school.  I get that.  If we didn’t stay in touch, what makes me think we have anything in common now?  Still, I’m on the side of reconnecting, and I’m loving the stories of the last 30+ years from friends I used to know.

First, I heard from someone I’d actually been good friends with in high school and for a few years after.  She found me on Facebook.  Her brother got sick a few days later, and we’re keeping up an email correspondence.  Then, one recent Sunday morning, she called me (we’d exchanged phone numbers).  Two hours later, I hung up, and was fairly exhausted.  The last time Laurie and I had talked, we were living in San Diego.  My mom and Owen were still alive, and life was rather routine compared with the last two years. 

The two year anniversary of Owen’s passing is coming up soon.  I’m not sure how it will hit me this year.  Talking about my family with Laurie felt so normal, until I got to the part about Owen dying at 20.  Her son was born the same year as Owen, so many similarities.  How do I respond?  With stories, of course.

Yep.  Life happens all around us, and within our own homes, and I’m here to tell those stories, too.  

Several other friends from high school have found me now.  Or, I’ve found them.  All good.  All too amazing.  The thing about reconnecting is that we share our life stories, all 30+ years of them.  That thing, that reconnecting thing…is that…well, you know…

My favorite word today is…cry.  Not because I’m so freakin’ mercurial, but because crying is so much a part of life whether or not you’re living in an open space such as this one.  And, so much a part of life within the confines of my car on the way home from an evening in San Francisco where I thought I might find something worth taking FORWARD.  I did.  Did you forget?  I’m one of the lucky ones.  Nat, Anna, Ruby, Dave, Lea, Emmitt, Karma, jeez, so many others are here to converge on our communal lives together, and I am so thankful.  Really, it seems to all come down to this…

Song for the night:  Cry, Baby, Cry, the Beatles (”can you take me back where I came from…)

Can you?  Where is it?  Home, which has most often been my family, my friends, and nothing more, lives in my heart and in my head.  That’s where I find peace.

I was a teenager when this song was released.  Late 60s, I think.  After Cream, if I’m not mistaken.  Nothing hit me in the gut like Steve Winwood’s voice back then (and still).  Add acoustic guitars, and a slow tempo…and finding my way home became my mantra.  The things that hit me there now, are, well, deeper, but with all the hope of those old days.   Nat, Owen, and I made a promise long, long ago, that if one of us left before the rest, we would always live thereafter in our hearts and in our heads.  That mantra lives within the walls of my heart and head to this day.  I love that safe, comforting, lovely place I call…home.

Two years and two days ago, I took two pictures of Owen at the desk where he planted himself most nights in our living room.  I didn’t know then, that those would be the last photos I took of him.  I used one of those pictures on the missing-person flyer we distributed around town in the days he was missing, a little over a month later.  The way he held the remote control to the TV, the way he sat in the chair, the page on the computer that shone in the background, the way…

Song for the night:  Can’t Find My Way Home, Blind Faith (Hey, Baby, you found your way home.  What’s it like?)

How often do you doubt that magic happens?  Yep, me too.  I always hold out hope, though, because once in a while, it actually does.  I’ve been fortunate to observe magic, and magic has been fortunate to accompany me on many journeys.

It did today.  Magic happened.  And, Dave, Lea, and I were on the phone together this evening to witness a magical event, a moment in time, when all the cogs clicked into place.  Serendipity, magic, call it what you will.

13 years ago, Lea had an art show in San Francisco.  This would make it 1996.  A gentleman, Zac, attended and wanted to buy one of her paintings.  They talked at length, as often happens at the convergence of artists and those appreciative of art, and Lea learned that Zac knew members of the Meat Puppets.  Lea agreed to paint some jackets for the Puppets for their upcoming engagements, and she gave Zac a painting in honor of the contact he’d afforded her.  

In February of this year, I sent an invitation to Zac for Lea’s art show in Malibu.  Yesterday, a package arrived for Lea, care of me.  When I told her about the package, she asked me to open it.  Dave went into the house to retrieve it, and tore the paper, bit by bit from the box inside.  As each piece slid out from the brown paper enveloping it, I narrated the opening of said package to Lea by phone.  Inside, were things of importance to Lea and Zac, but also a lengthy letter, and a money order.  Zac was paying Lea for the painting she’d gifted him in 1996.  This gift, this piece of magic, was unexpected, unbelievable to a certain extent…except that Lea’s life has worked this way since I met her in 1984.  We were once again aware that good deeds do, indeed, go noticed.

Right about then, Nat came home from a weekend at UC Berkeley, where he was part of the Model Arab League, an exercise for college students involved in political science and international relations.  He brought home an Honorable Mention from the 3-day event, along with a whirlwind of information and experience.  He was full of stories and exhaustion.  He was brilliant.  

As Dave and I sat on the patio, in the aftermath of our phone call with Lea, having just listened to Nat’s stories of the weekend, and with the contents of Zac’s package still lying on the table, I was aware of that thing, that indescribable thing that happens when we least expect it.  Magic.  I watched the sun dip behind the trees, enjoyed the butterflies dancing their evening waltz, and remembered a time when magic was an every day event.  I remembered when Owen’s laugh blessed our ears, blessed our souls, and I thanked him for reminding me that magic happens, and if we’re listening…it’s always on the rise.

Song for the night:  On the Rise, Meat Puppets (…how much salvation can my stomach stand…)

After an evening in San Francisco with Nat, Anna, and Michael watching my niece, Laura, in “Improvised Western”, her first appearance on stage, I came home to watch this youtube video of some of Carla’s images.  Tara and Dave stayed home with Ruby (thanks guys).  A moth is sitting on the sewing table next to my computer.  A good time was had by all.

Music by Plone, photos by Carla.

That’s what I thought of today, for most of the day.  Wow, I’m having a good day.  It sounds so trivial at this late hour when the day I just lived seems so far away.

March 19, 2009 – this is the eve of the anniversary of a day I’ll never forget as the day I knew what happened – but couldn’t prove.  Last year at this time, I was distraught, fretting the idea of my next breath – not because I didn’t want to draw it, but because every breath meant I would continue to live, feeling that interminable pain of losing Owen.  I’m still here, breathing.  I still feel that interminable pain of losing Owen, yet I have hope – that I’ll survive long enough to tell his stories.  I’ve told many, not all.  All of them can’t be told – because we, his family, simply don’t know all of them.  He was almost 21 when he died, so he had stories that were meant only for him, and we were sometimes background for his experiences.  This is the way of a parent, the way of an adult child.

I’m going to see a lecture tomorrow night, Endangered Languages, Lost Knowledge and the Future, sponsored by the Long Now Foundation.  I often wonder what happens to those languages that are gobbled up by time and technology.  I’m saddened when I hear of cultures that fall away, when they experience the Last-of-the-Mohicans-syndrome.  Owen loved that story, Last of the Mohicans – we watched the movie so many times, we knew the lines.  I wonder what of Owen’s language, that special message he had for those who would be left here after his life ended, will continue into the future.  What message did he share with others that lives in their hearts?  I know what lives in mine.

I have no song for tonight.  I have this – stories that live on in me, in Nat, in Dave, in Lea, in Michael, and the rest of our family.  As Owen once told me, “they’re not my stories, they’re not yours – they’re everyone’s.”  I look forward to a time when the stories live in a future that is beyond all of us.  Carry on.

Finally, a let down, like when I was a new mother waiting for my milk to come in.  But, not that.  

I haven’t been sick since before Owen died.  Except for that time last year when I was poisoned by an over-chlorinated hot tub when Dave and I were on a short vacation.  (Oy, that was a miserable three weeks.)  I’m sick now.  I’m staying horizontal, to allow myself to heal.  Just a flu-like thing, a head cold with that aching-all-over-headache-must-lay-down feeling.  Odd, foreign, and strangely familiar.  Sitting up for too long is much like that effort I remember from when Nat and Owen were little kids and I’d gotten a cold that made me want to stay in bed for days but couldn’t.  I have a cold, my stomach is sour, my head hurts, and you’re waiting at the front door for me to drive you to school.  ”I’ll be there in a minute, guys.  I just have to brush my teeth, and stretch these jeans over my ass.  I’ll be there, no really, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dave and I had a wonderful weekend in San Francisco for my birthday.  I just turned 54, and more than double that, when I think about it – in terms of life experience.  How did that happen?  Huh.  It did.  Figure it out, girl.

I left work early today, couldn’t keep my head up.  When I got home, I logged on to my work email, answered a couple of messages and fell asleep.  When I woke, I mapped out my work for tomorrow.  I have an L-1 visa to process for a guy relocating from the UK to the states.  I think I can handle that.  What else?  

Well, those other things I have to manage tomorrow will be dealt with in due time.  Right now, at a late hour on a Monday night, I’m considering how Led Zeppelin’s Communication Breakdown can contribute to my tomorrow.  How?  Because most of them will probably drive me insane.  And, you know? that’s really okay.  That’s what I do.  I handle things that would make most people insane.  I’m gifted in this job, because those things may drive me insane…but I don’t stay there.  AGAIN, I’m lucky.

I have my pals here with me: Elton John, Phil Collins, Radiohead, Dead Can Dance, Carolina Liar, Beatles, James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, k.d.Lang, Rolling Stones, Alanis Morisette, Hoobastank, Alice in Chains, Nirvana, Mamas and Papas, and so many more…all of whom carry me into the future.  I consider who they are were/are, and I’m whole if I just do this exercise – bring my family and friends with me.  The night is long and the journey is dark, but the sun will shine tomorrow – and we’ll all still be here – here in this place I call home – my head, my heart.

When I’m feeling particularly vulnerable, I think of things that may have been Owen’s thoughts in his last days.  I can only guess that he didn’t know he was going to die so soon, but he was always prepared – just in case.  Tonight’s song always comes up, because, well, who wouldn’t think of their own videotape showing on the big screen of god’s TV while waiting at the pearly gates in hopes of gaining entrance into the kingdom of goodness and light?  I cry every time I hear this song, but I also smile  - because I figure Owen’s videotape is much more worthy than mine, I suppose.  

Song for the night:  Videotape, Radiohead (…this is one for the good ol’ days…)  I’ve probably downloaded this video before, and that’s okay.  It works tonight.  (…no matter what happens now, I won’t be afraid, because I know today has been the most perfect day I’ve ever seen…)  And, from my perspective as Owen’s mother, I will always ask,”why weren’t there more days, Buddy, why weren’t there a thousand more perfect days?”  But, get ready…Communication Breakdown is coming.  It plays in my head all day, so surely, it will show up here soon.