sometimes you win, sometimes.......

I was a 12 years old when  my parents  decided to separate. The household instantly changed and  it now consisted of  just my Mom, brother sister and me . There had been no preparation, no crazy fighting but apparently things had changed between the two and they were no longer happy. So, one day they told us the news and shortly after, me, my sister,  and a neighbor friend were helping my father pack up his things and move to a new apartment.  It was was a bit surreal but  true to form, we acted like it was okay as it was the new reality.

Thus, the transition coming into my teen years was a bit unstructured and without fatherly discipline. My mother did her best as she worked full time and managed  three teenagers under her roof as well as dealing with her own aging parents. At the time I was clueless on how much she gracefully balanced.

My brother, the eldest of us 3 siblings was passionate for music and our home became the local musical hangout.  All his friends and band mates would meet at our house and spent countless hours and hours in the basement practicing their instruments, creating, replicating and 'Jamming". During a break, they would congregate in the living room around the stereo which was cranked to full volume and played the latest LPs , extrapolating all the nuances and seeping in the artistry from whatever genera was being played. This was the 1970s in San Francisco so the musical tastes ranged the entire spectrum. Sometimes the Grateful Dead would be blasting the speakers or another day John Coltrane or Igor Stravinsky. This was the beginning of my musical education. The house became infamous in the neighborhood as loud music and scents of cannabis seeped through the walls.  Not the average household but one that by default was mine.

 I looked up to my brother who was extremely talented for music but also a had a  personality that attracted a  range of other colorful teenagers. The volume of the room was always high, not only the music but the voices, and the energy was off the wall. There was always some passionate discussion that turned into a yelling match, of a musical idea, or an argument over another. There was  rarely a moment of silence. It was busy with young energy and life and certainly not the typical household.

His friends were numerous, full of talent and passion to form bands and perform. I fondly recall a young man named Jon P who played trombone and started spending a great amount of time at our house. His genre was more funk, soul and R&B and as a member of  a horn section,  he always dressed the part. Style inside and out.

 Jon started to be become a regular and not only played music in the basement but began joining us for dinners. He was talented, witty,  and could command the room with his presence. He treated all of us with respect while livened up the dinner table. I really don't know what the circumstances were but he became "homeless" and of course, my brother insisted he stay with us.  Our mother had a heart of gold and took him in as she would many others for years. Jon was the first. I enjoyed having another brother. He had a girlfriend who would also stay in the basement with him. Jon was smallish in stature but large in personality.  His girlfriend was twice as  large as him, was a beautiful black woman with a warm smile and soothing voice. Perhaps the fact that they were a biracial couple was the reason he had to leave his family house? I have no idea but these "kids" were truly in love. 

True to his  gregarious character, Jon supplemented his musical income with being a "barker" down on Broadway street at a strip joint. He was the guy who stood outside and coerced folks to go in the club.  The perfect job for a man who was quick with his words, could make jokes of everything and had an infectious laugh and smile. He did not have a bad bone in his body. It was eyeopening for me to know someone who worked "on this side of the tracks" and realize the humanity of all beings.

Either he was back at his parents or he found an apartment , I am really not sure what happened but I do know I never saw him again. Not long after he moved out, I heard the shocking news.  He was killed in a car accident. My heart broke for the first time. How could he be dead? He was so young, so talented, in love, so fun......

Little did I know this would be the first of many sad and unprepared losses I would face. Learning to accept, grieve and move along is a task I have become a pro at. Not that I am proud of that, more so I have learned that it is the task that was set out for me in this lifetime. I have lost a number of close friends too young and of course,  my husband Yves was only 39 when he was accidentally killed. 

"Life is not fair",  I will never forget this quote from my Dad . When as a child,  I whined why my brother and sister were allowed to do something I wasn't ... "it's not fair" I would say.. Sure enough he was right.

Yet, somehow we  can pull from it all. I've learned to stop and magnify life's simple pleasures and relish the moment. As each and every fleeting thought and experience will come and go. All things must pass and they do.