My Dad and I had a complicated relationship, as any son would with an addict father. We loved each other deeply, but I let my anger towards him get between us. With all his shame and depression he wasn't able to bridge the distance either. He was immensely proud of me and my interest in meditation and spirituality. After my first 90-day retreat he said "not a lot of people could do what you just did." At one point he even mentioned listening to a talk by the Dalai Lama, but for some reason I didn't have anyting to say so we didn't get into a discussion about it. He watched all my youtube videos though never mentioned it. As an agnostic he had a firm stance on not conditioning me with any philosophical, scientific or religious beleifs or ideas and only encouraged me to read and investigate the matters myself. My Dad was a voracious reader and absolutely brilliant. He read a book a day or several books a day from age 5 till 51. He dropped out of high school after receving an early acceptance to Harvard. Apparently, he didn't study much for it but only got 4 questions wrong on his SATs, a 1560 out of 1600. Him and his buddies on the debate team were stealing college tuition checks from the admissions office at the University they volunteered at. This was Iowa City in the late 1970s. The town cop was onto him and approached him and his friends. He told them he would at some point definitely catch them. My Dad got spooked so ran away his senior year to Canada with his high school sweetheart. In high school he was taking laboratory grade LSD that his classmate woud steal from his Dad who was a professor and researcher at the University of Iowa.
He'd tell me about all his wild trips on acid, how much pot they used to smoke and how they really had nothing to do out there but get high and listen to Pink Floyd and Grateful Dead. In high school he began using cocaine and amphetamines. He continued to do so through his 20s as he traveled across the country on a motorcycle following the Grateful Dead around. At some point he decided he'd had enough being broke and hungry and entered a trade program in Missouri for Respiratory Therapy. Afterwards he moved to California to pursue a career in that field. It was there he discovered crack and meth.
My grandparents divorced while my Dad was in high school. My grandfather was a famous eye surgeon and research professional at the University of Iowa. My grandmother was a painter, artist and later political activist. Growing up my grandparents would visit often and supported my sister and I as best they could. During one visit in Santa Barbara my grandpa and I were on a walk and he told me a story about a picnic he and my Dad went on with his siblings as a kid. Grandpa said when they'd arrived at the park that day Dad had realized he'd forgotten his inhaler. My Dad nearly died from asthma attacks as a very young child. Grandpa got furious with him and said with tears in his eyes "but I was his Dad and it should've been me that made sure he had his inhaler."
Dad specialized in neo-natal resuscitation. He did that for many years until one day he told me as a kid "there's only so many times you can watch a baby the size of your palm die in your own hands." One time in middle school he worked for a few days in San Francisco. This was the first time he'd ever gone away for work and I remember thinking how nice it was for all of us to have a reason to miss him. When he came back that weekend, it was one of those moments where just for a day we felt like a normal family.
One day randomly he told me to come outside. I must've been in high school by this time. He'd always say "step into my office" and it'd just be two chairs outside. He said to me "son there are only 2 kinds of people in this world. People who serve themselves and people who serve others. We might not be able to change the world, but we can change one person's world and to them that means everything." He paused and then asked me "what kind of person do you want to be?" I said of course the kind that would like to serve others. He was the first Bodhisattva I ever knew.
As the years went by the drugs began to take their toll on his mind and body. He eventually lost all of his teeth and had become too unwell to find work again. My mother became the provider for the family as he sank further into depression and despair. Every now and then he'd check and see if I was awake and we'd listen and watch bands play together on his computer. Even though I knew he was high, I always wanted to keep watching with him but would get too tired. After a while that stopped too and our conversations would just be had in passing. One night I was stoned with my sister and she'd told me she ran into my Dad at a local supermarket. She said to him "Dad I've missed I feel like I haven't seen you in so long." He gave her a hug and only said "yeah I've been around." I don't know how long I held her for and I was too high to really feel it in that moment. I don't know if in the end my heart broke more for myself or if it broke most for her.
In September 2012 I had returned to Thailand on a trip with my grandmother on my mom's side. Her sister had a stroke and developed a lung infection. She passed away within 2 weeks of us arriving. She was Khun Yai's (grandma in Thai) last sister and remaining member of the family that raised her. I decided I would take this chance to stay in Thailand and continue to study Buddhism and meditation. I applied for the 2-month winter retreat at Panditarama in Yangon, Myanmar after reading Mastering the Core Teachings of the Buddha. I was set on stream entry and in staying in Southeast Asia for several years to master meditation. During my last phone call with my Dad he asked me when I was planning on coming home. I told him I didn't know when I was coming back and that I'd be staying in Myanmar or Thailand maybe for years.
He went silent for a moment and then said "well we'll miss you son..." and he followed with "hold on let me get your mother."
I said "wait Dad..."
"what is it?"
"I love you"
"I love you too son"
Those were the last words we ever said to each other. After a couple weeks of retreat at Panditarama, one morning I started to get this strange, blaring and unexplainable feeling that something was wrong and that I needed to leave and go back to Thailand right away. The intuition was persistent and unrelenting. It went on and on for several hours, which was totally unusual for me. Fortunately, I followed that hunch so the next day asked the acarya (teaching monk) for permission to leave and then I was on my way. Everyone thought it was strange especially since I had a 6 month visa to stay. I take a cab back to the airport and land in Bangkok within a couple hours. I checked my laptop right away since I didn't have any phone service in Myanmar and the monastery didn't permit internet access. I opened the laptop and there it was, a facebook message from my best friend that said "your dad's in a coma, you should come home" which had only been sent within the last few hours. I flew back to LA that night.
I knew from the moment I read that message that his life was over. I was in shock and couldn't feel much of anything. After taking my sister on a tour through UCLA that day, my Dad seemed to have more trouble breathing than usual. Later that night he burst out of his room to tell my mom and sister to call 911. He collapsed on the floor from not being able to breathe. Looking up at my sister his last words were "help me." He lost consciousness and although panicking my sister called emergency services. It took them 10 minutes to arrive. To this day when my mother hears ambulances going by she tells me "I dont like that sound."
My dad's lungs had collapsed from a lifetime of cigarettes and asthma. Within the 10 or 15 minutes it took to get him oxygen, his brain suffered massive damage from asphyxiation. There was only some very minor functioning left in the brain stem. After the doctor explained this to me and to my mother and grandparents I went to pick up my sister from her high school. When she got in the car she asked me "is Dad going to be ok?" I had to tell her that it didn't look like he was going to make it. I don't think even till now I've ever had to say any words harder than those. She cried the whole car ride home.
A day or two pass and by now the whole family has flown in. We decided to take him off life support, which would result in death quickly so we thought. He breathed without oxygen machines for an entire 6 hours. I remember being in the hall outside his room with my Grandpa. I asked him how he was doing. He looked at me and said "that's my little boy in there."
My sister was refusing to come to the hospital up to this point. I called her and asked her to come. She said "no that's not Dad, Dad's already gone." I yelled at her and said "DANA GET THE FUCK OVER HERE NOW." So she came. Within 2 minutes of her walking into the room his vitals begin dropping and his breathing becomes arrested. His body began struggling to breath as he took in deeper breaths. Suddenly, he took in a deep inhale and his face scrunched up. A tear fell from his eye and what felt like half a minute later he let out a big exhale. The blood drained from his face and I understood the meaning of dukkha the first noble truth: life is suffering. His parents who I'd never seen hug each other, held each other crying. My grandmother just kept saying "no one should have to go through this." Everyone cried except me. The nurses soon after covered his mouth-open face and body with that white sheet. Just like in the fucking movies.
At the funeral a coupe days later I was asked to give a speech. I opened with "my father taught me many things, but one of the most important lessons was Son if you're going to lie don't get caught." People laughed and I said a few more words about how much he loved my sister and I but that's all I remember. People said they were so surprised I didn't cry and that I was so strong. I guess it wasn't apparent that I was too dead inside to cry or feel anything at all.
My dreams of staying in Thailand to master meditation vanished. I had to support my greiving mother and family. The night before we pulled the plug on Dad, my mother, aunt and I were seated and kneeling on the floor Thai style while Khun Yai sat higher than us on a couch. Everyone began crying. She patted each of us on our head and while trying to hold back her tears. She said to me "Ryan your father is dead. Today you become a man." And so I did. The dreams and hope and love and faith I had that things would get better, that somehow if I went to Thailand I'd be able to come back and save him, died.
I lost all hope. Every wish and every prayer from the moment I held the picture of me underneath the crack pipes to the moment he took his last breath, died with him in that crematorium. The love and heart opening that characterized those early days of youtube all but disappeared as I entered pain unlike anything I ever knew. I had no idea what to do with my life anymore. I didn't know up from down. So I wandered from one job to the next, one relationship to the next. Failing at everything I tried and touched.