I'm sad, happy, numb, relieved, more sad, more numb.

We were running our show to prep for Seacoast Fringe this weekend, and I finally began to love my new piece.  I had tears in my eyes at a moment or two, because it was finally becoming perfect, powerful, expressing just what I wanted it to say.

After packing up all of our belongings, chatting with dancers, getting a park bench into a station wagon etc, I read a text from my mom:

'Grampa is at peace,  Auntie just called me.  They just called her that he just passed away.  I don't want to talk so excuse the texting.  React with love and relief for him that he is out of the nightmare he was in in his broken body.  Lisa told him we all love him and named us all to him and said he will be in our hearts forever.'

I passed his hospice/home on the way to rehearsal, passing through Needham, and had just said a few nice words and by usual 'hello' as I passed by without enough time to stop.  I knew from my mom yesterday night that he had finally committed to dying, telling the nurses to freeze all of his Ensures, raising a fist to the Armenian national anthem, and then saying to family members that he was going to try to die now.  Always a philosophical joker, this is all taken with a grain of salt.

Fast-forward to 10:59pm.  I got that text from my mom and just have been a bit numb since.  I've spent so long (7 months, really) preparing for this very moment, and now I'm just so unsure of how to react.

For some time I've thought this piece I am creating was linked to his death.  I was wondering whether it would be linked with our October performance, or the November showing of the piece, and as I sit here I realize it is perfect.  The new piece has found its finality, though yet to be performed, I've told the story correctly, and now he can go and find peace.  Biologically/scientifically, who really knows if there is a link or a convenient overlap, but I like to believe in the power of my art sometimes.

I feel guilty that I am sad and a bit angry at his death.  I've had so much wonderful time to visit and talk and prepare for death, but I feel so robbed and unsure.  I feel guilty that I haven't visited in over a week, I am sad that I left him alone in the drab room with the dated floral window treatments and slow-moving nurses.  Death's a real pain in the ass.

Looking forward to spending time performing this piece, and taking Luminarium to Portsmouth, not everyone has something they love so much to occupy a whole weekend and make them focus.

Sad, sad, sad, more sad.  The end.

(because now I don't want to write anymore...)