The End

 

My father, who had been in steadily declining health, took a turn for the worse early last week. While driving from Texas into New Mexico, Sustainable Living Roadshow's Right2Know Tour behind us, I received a call from my sister, the essence of which was... come now! The sands of time were running out.

In New Mexico, we stopped at Carlsbad Caverns, one of the largest known limestone caverns in the Western Hemisphere, its grandeur and awesome speleothem - stalactites, stalagmites and soda straws; curtains, ribbons and cave pearls - a paean to Earth's wonders, providing a reality check of how insignificant civilization seems in the greater scheme of things. I was reminded of something I'd seen in school, a time-line of geographic history described by a 24-hour clock beginning at 12:00 AM with the formation of the Earth. The planet is bombarded with meteors for over three hours, the origins of life emerging at 4:00 AM, single-celled algae forming at 2:08 PM, mammals arriving at 10:56 PM and us humans coming on the scene just 2 minutes and 43 seconds before midnight, or 11:58:43 PM. Yet civilization  with its human-centric ways has managed to sully this incredible miracle by poisoning its water, polluting its air, compromising its protective atmospheric membrane, all the while showing neglect, disregard, most of all, hubris. Shame on us!

We are solutionaries, as opposed to revolutionaries, educating through entertainment, engaging in conversations to find common ground, effecting change through peaceful demonstrations, pointing the way to a more sustainable future. Of the three political protests of which we were a part, two have converted in our favor. The Keystone XL Pipeline proposal has been sent back to the State Department for re-review, for all intents and purposes killing it. The Delaware River Basin Commission has refused to permit new hydro-fracking wells, delaying them indefinitely. Each of these the result of calmly-plotted direct actions. It gives us a reason to believe that the third, GMO labeling, is just down the road. That road probably in California next fall.

In Tucson, Arizona, while my road dogs discovered Dirty T's 4^th Avenue, I prepared the last meal I will cook aboard Priscilla this outing - an Italian-style vegan feast consisting of tofu in a rich marinara sauce, a crispy salad of Napa and red cabbages, red kale and red bells with a red wine vinaigrette and yes, served alongside the now ubiquitous quinoa. Though its procurement comes with a startlingly-heavy carbon footprint (it's grown high atop the Andes in Bolivia), it is rare among grains (though actually a seed) for its complete protein profile. I'm sold on it.

As the days had grown shorter, the inevitability of tour's end setting in, we had begun reflecting on the truly life-changing experience we'd collectively gone through. How difficult it would be, if not impossible, to convey to outsiders.

Thus it was an incredible gift that that Wednesday night, my daughter, a senior at the University of Arizona, got to experience first-hand the powerhouse of energy and talent, the wellspring of unbridled affection and unconditional love, trust and compassion that for a third of a year has been my daily bread. Between the throw-down, beat-box, hip-hop Ode to Michael, a grace to end all graces, and the parting human spiral hug, Anya got to witness what most will never be able to understand no matter how many blogs they read, Facebook photos they see, or YouTube videos they view.

The next morning Anya drove me to Tucson International for a flight to Los Angeles. My brother Robert picked me up at baggage chauffeuring me directly to my dad's condo on the aptly-named Ocean Avenue, just north of the beaches that were my summertime hangouts growing up. After asking everyone to give me a few minutes alone, I exercised my 9^th Step option with my father. I had always heard about people who hadn't gotten an opportunity to tell someone they loved them while they were still alive. The same applies to apologies and making amends to those harmed during one's active alcoholism. I had a chance to do just that.

I know not whether my words penetrated his Alzheimer's-ravaged mind. Perhaps that's not the point. As my sponsor used to remind me, we are in the efforts business, not the results business.

My father breathed his last breath that night. Tomorrow at 10:00 AM, he will be put to rest next to my mom, who left us 16 years ago. If I know her, she's probably kept a light on.