another one...

Last night my uncle Mike, Miguel Estrada joined my mother, his big sister, in the afterlife.
At 3:30 in the morning he had a third and final heart attack.
This is all my father told me over the phone earlier today.
He also told me there would be no services.

A month after my mom passed two years ago this August, my tio Chayo and month later my tia Rosa both on my father's side passed.
My dad had a rough year in '09.

I barely knew Chayo and Rosa, but I grew up going to Mike's house in the hills of El Sereno. Up there I rode my bike with my cousins Micheal and Francis as their sisters Linda and Lulu played inside. I don't have their numbers to give them my condolences. We are not a close family.
I haven't seen them in years. Their mom, Mike's wife, passed three years ago after a long hard battle with diabetes.

Readers here know I try to make sense of my life in writing about these things of life.

I looked up to my uncle Mike as I look up to my other uncle Kiko, both on my mom's side.
I also look up to my uncles on my dad's side, in particular Chelo, Manuel, Adolfo and Abelardo. Even though I know Adolfo and Abelardo less, the few times I have met them and the stories my dad tells me, for better or worse, have left an impression.

Miguel was the second to youngest of four. My mom, Kiko, Miguel and Leli, grew up in the Loma of Elysian Park/Chavez Ravine. They were displaced from the house their father had built, over the proposed building of public housing that never came to be. I grew up hearing them speak about their animals, trees, friends, games they would play, and the ghosts in those hills.

My earliest memory of Mike was his big BMW motorcycle that looked like a cop bike. My mom said they never had problems in their south central neighborhood, where I grew up, because of that bike. He also had a cool dark blue MG. He worked for Lockheed in the Valley. He was married to my aunt Kitty, don't know if that is her real name. I grew up knowing her as Kitty. Lulu, Linda and Micheal were older than me, but his youngest Francis was born one day after me. We were tight as kids.

Mike grew up in an LA where you had to hide your Mexicaness to get ahead. Even though they were all born here, their accents and burritos in their lunch pails announced they were not "American." Both Mike and Kiko served in the Korean War. Kiko actually went to Korea. In an issue of Stars and Stripes, there is a picture of Kiko standing next to a chalk drawing he did on a large stone of La Virgen de Guadalupe. I didn't know he was artistic. Mike got to serve in a local desert working on radios and other communication devices for the military. I didn't know he was techy like that.

Mike was good man. Loyal. Family man. He took care of his wife til her last days going up and down the long flight of stone stairs that lead from the street down to his hillside home. I loved that house.

He was always interested in what I was doing and learning. The last few times we talked we debated his newly found right wing politics that he picked up via AM radio. I was supposed to go to his house and bring him books and such that he could read and see my point of view. He said I worked at that radical hippy campus. LOL. I was going to take him a copy of "Addicted To War." I would always tell him "Just follow the money. Who benefits from the fear, the wars, the criminalization of people with no power?" It would make him think and he wanted to know more, but then he would get back to repeating the sound bites he heard on the radio. He was cool. I will miss his big hand shakes. His nose that looks like mine. The way he just was. He was my uncle.

I hope my mom, grandma and grandpa are showing him around the spirit world. Maybe he can find some time to stop by and visit me. Check out my books. I will leave some out for him. I hope I get to see my cousins and just tell them he will always be there, just remember and feel.

Roberto Sifuentes, Presente!!!

One of my favorite professors died today after years of battling various maladies.

Sifue, as many would call him, came to CSUN in the early 90's. He was very debonair, he wore a suit and tie everyday.

He was from Mexico, but was a devout Chicano. He had a thick accent that made his reciting of poetry, from memory, or reading of passages from books enthralling. He was too cool.

He was always hanging out with the students in the Chicano Lobby, always dropping stories, jokes, dichos, one liners and up for a little party. He came over to a couple of bar b ques and hang outs that we would have in our apartments around campus. Never drank with us, health issues he claimed, just smoked his cigs and once played some dice with us. Maybe some cards.

I had him for several classes as an undergrad and grad student. My cohorts through BAs and MAs loved his passion and love for life and knowledge. He would always want to know what we were into and doing outside of school. Everything he did, or said, or asked was with passion. One of my co horts was so moved by his description of Guanajuanto while reading a Carlos Fuentes novel, she packed up and left for Guanajuato at the end of that week.

He was a tough and loving professor. If you didn't read or come prepared to speak up in class he would kick you out of the class. If the whole class was lagging, he would just walk out and say "Don't waste my time and yours." He was always available to us. Anyone who met him, was a new friend.

He never told us anything about jobs and the future, he wanted us to learn our stories, culture and to dream. He was a man in love with knowledge and loved getting his students turned on to learning and to love life.

He was a painter and poet. He helped students find these talents within themselves, walking along with them.

He had lived his life like baller. He told me about all the jobs he had in his life from glamorous to menial, but at each one, he had a great time. That is living.

One of my favorite Sifue moments was in La Paz, Baja Cal. Mex. A lot of us from the dept went there to present at a conference. Sifue was presenting a paper on his Chicano identity. All of his students, about 5 of us and other profs, rolled in with him. We knew what was about to happen and we needed to be there. See, the Mexican academics don't really 'get' Chicano. They are very Euro centric and parochial. When Sifue ended his presentation the Mexican academics threw a fit. "How can you be born in Mexico and now call yourself a, a, Chicano!" He simply said, "Didn't you pay attention to my presentation?" and laughed!!!! They were so pissed off. He let them stew for a couple minutes and then said "Chicanos are down to fight for the underdog, anywhere. I see myself and my revolutionary spirit in that attitude, that consciousness, so I am a Chicano. If you aren't down to fight for your people or people who are oppressed you can't be a Chicano. You almost can't be a human if you aren't down to fight oppression of humans." He said this in the most eloquent Spanish I had ever heard him speak. He left them silent. Like on cue all of us from CSUN began to stand up and applaud. He then walked towards us and said, "Let's get out of here."

They don't make men like him anymore.

He was our profe.
Un chingon de aquellos.
Suave, smart, hip, passionate, intelligent, and inspiring.

They don't make men like him anymore.

I'm so glad and honored I knew this man.

(Sifue, Frank Colon & Harry Gamboa Jr.)
*all photos taken from FB CSUN heads who have posted his pic. All rights reserved to each and all.

Dia de los Muertos

Today, three months ago, almost to the minute, my mom took her last breaths in this plain of reality. I have been grieving in my own way. I feel her with me, helping me make decisions and pushing me sometimes to step out of my comfort zones. Her voice in a whisper tells me its ok to just go for it.
I've been told that in the Lakota tradition the dead stick around retracing their life path, figuring out their new reality, while still being able to see this one and their loved ones. After a year of going between the worlds of the living and of the dead they move on and stay in the next world.
I guess this has stuck me and I don't feel the need to build an altar or be all DoD about my mom. She is with me still. I don't have to invite her to visit me.
Last night a friend let me watch her set up her altar in her house for her loved ones. I went home and made a small one for all those I know who are beyond our realm of senses.
In the middle of the night there were quite a few noises in my house. Bumps, creaks, steps and claps. I didn't get scared. They are welcome. All who come to help me reach my highest potential are welcome in my house. Those who lost their way and are not working with the light know they cannot enter my house. I can destroy them. I let all of them know this: be with the light, bring it, share it or go back to where you came and find it within.
I miss my mom. I have a long ride back to LA today, I take that alone time to reflect. I will remember, to never forget.
To all our relations.

8/2/09 Thanks Mom, Goodbye

When I was a kid I would have dreams where I would come home and my parents were gone and new people lived in my house. I would be told that my parents had moved and forgot to tell me. Other times I would be told my mom had died and my dad was on one of his yearly trips to Mexico to take care of lands he holds there. I would wake up crying. A heaviness on my chest scared me because it would be sitting there making breathing n swallowing hard. I would get up and look for my mom.

Yesterday she barely spoke. The last thing I heard from her was telling my daughter "I love you too." We knew it would happen any day, but she had surprised us for so long. It would have been a week without eating on Monday. For an 80 yr old full of cancer that is impressive.

This morning I felt a shock in the middle of my chest. Seconds later my father called and said it was getting real bad. He hadn't slept all night, she was throwing up most of the night. She was losing her voice and sight. I jumped up and jumped in the shower. It's like a reflex to shower in the morning. Half asleep, sick, hungover, tired, I just end up in my shower. It heals me and readies me.

When I got out of the shower my father called and said she had left us. I went to tell Q who was still asleep. 13 yr olds need at least 12hrs of sleep and she really takes advantage of that when she stays with me ever since I told that little bit of science. I was dressed n ready to go. She decided to stay at my place, her great grandma and uncle live next door, she would be fine.

I have made the drive from the Eastside to my parents house thousands of times in every possible state of mind and sometimes out of my mind. It's very easy, the far right lane on that 5 to the 10 west takes me straight off the freeway at Los Angeles street. Two lights, left onto Main, to 28th and I'm home. This time the tears were like none before. I remembered those dreams of my childhood. This time I knew my mom wouldn't be there but my dad would and we would be starting a new way of life. He as a widower me as a son without a living mom. Is there a term for people like me?

I burned the sage I had rubbed on her the day before. The smoke filled the room and rose up as her soul did just minutes earlier. I imagined my grandma, her mom, was here to help her in the end. The smoke followed them up, or over, or on to wherever they are now, which is definitely better than here where they had both had rough final days.

We called hospice care, a funeral home and my cousin Lucy who had cared for mom like she was her mom. She is like my distant sister. My father called the comadre and people started arriving. I texted work and friends who had helped me. Told work I needed at least a day. Haven't taken any calls.

Everyone is gone now. They picked up her body. My dad is finally getting some sleep. He says he maybe got an hour in last night. I gotta wake him in two hours. He doesn't want to sleep more, he wants to sleep at night. Lucy is here, we are listening to the Platters that my mom would play for me when I was a kid.

The comadre wants to host a rosario at her house. Mom didn't want anything. No one to see her, no funeral, no services. Others have said services are for the living. I see that, but at the same time why pray for someone you know was good and went to a good place? I can see if the dead were jerks and needed people to pray/put in a good word to get them to a good place.

I'm writing to process. I tell my students if u can't say it, u can't write it. For me if I can't write it, I can't handle it. I've been told all week to stay strong. Can I be weak now?

Of course there is some relief in knowing my mom is no longer hating life. Good memories hurt to remember. Pictures bring those memories. The music playing reminds me of dancing with her. I couldn't dance with her no more in the end.

My dad's first words to me when I got here were "Ahora estamos solitos." He has ten brothers n sisters. I have none.
This is my life. I'm grateful for it. For the parents I had/have. Gracias por la vida y las vidas que crusan la mia. Ojala que tenemos mucho mas a~os. Healthy n happy.

Tomorrow my father and I will go to a sweat ceremony together for the first time. New life.

Passing

She will be passing any day now.
Since April she has refused anymore treatments.
Signed off on not resuscitating.
This is the fourth day she has not eaten any food.
She says she doesn't feel like eating.
Her stomach doesn't want food.
She is skin and bones and big bloated stomach.
On the plus side she is not in any pain or discomfort, just weak.

It started last November, she was having trouble breathing.
She had fluid in one lung.
A form of breast cancer.
They would stick a long needle in to drain out fluid.
Eventually fluid would accumulate also in her stomach.
This was repeated.
Pulling several liters each time.

Chemo A, failed
Chemo B, failed
Back in hospital in March because she would throw everything up
Now was too weak to drain fluid.
No food for a week and she bounced back.
Fluid left and was able to eat.
Then they offered another chemo and she said "No more."
It would now be a countdown.



She is the strongest woman I know.
Her mom, my grandma, lived to 98.
I remember seeing my grandma pick up one of those old bathtubs alone.
My mom has that strength too.
When I see her I try to maintain my composure. When I think I'm going to break
I get near her and its not so bad. Like her strength carries me.
She shouts orders to my dad all day.
My poor dad has really stepped up and serves her every wish,
following her overly detailed requests.
If she hadn't moved the bed into the living room, and laid around all day,
you wouldn't know she was dieing.
Even today her voice is still strong.
She told me that some people would always think she was mad because of her strong tone.

Most of my days I am sad and in tears.
I have seen this coming.
Have made peace with it, to some degree.
She didn't want my alternative medicines, ever.
I know I need to respect her wishes.
But its still hard.
If I get out at night, I can be normal.
Its like a routine among my peeps and beats.
When I go to work, I should get an Academy Award for the acting I do in there.
The mornings are the hardest.
I don't know if my father is going to call me and tell me...
I don't know if I'm going to call and hear...
So driving to work is rough til I make that call and even then its hard to hear, its another day of waiting.
I don't know if I will get that call during class and wonder if I will just walk out.
What would I say? Who would I tell?
I've been driving up instead of taking the train because if I need to leave I don't want ask anyone for a ride.



Today she asked me to call the priests for her last rites.
They came within the hour. Nice guys.
She cracked a little bit and we both shared a moment.
I asked if she wants to see her brothers and sister and she said NO.
According to her they are in almost as bad shape as she is.
One is fighting a losing battle sliding into Alzheimer's. Another can't stand for too long because his legs and shoulders hurt from carrying his now deceased wife up and down several flights of stairs of their hillside El Sereno home. She died of a bad case of diabetes. Her other brother is just tired, he lost his wife 4 months ago.
She doesn't want anything.
She wants to be cremated and that is all.
No memorial, nada.
I don't think it's fair, but I need to grant her final wishes, even after her passing.
I will most likely take her ashes to where she was most happy, her childhood home in Chavez Ravine. Well the home is not there anymore, but the hills are still there.


I want to thank my friends who have knowingly or not been good distractions for me.
My students who keep my mind flying to places to take them and show them how many paths this life can offer. My co-workers who are understanding about my mood swings, care for me, entertain me, feed me and are just great people. My inipe brothers and sisters, Wolf and Lisa thank you for praying with me and having that space for all our relations.

This is all passing.
We are all just passing.
See you on the other side, someday.
I love you mommy.

(love and blessings to the Rodriguez family who is also saying bye to their Papachus, lo siento mucho)

So far, so fast...

Life is at this speed that makes me feel like I can split into a bunch of pieces, and that would be a good thing since I got to be doing so many things.

-DoD was great. Q n I did go to the cemetary to see grandma and grandpa. Grandma I grew up with, Grandpa died in 1945, so all I knew was the stories I heard about him from my mom and grandma. We bought them cookies, laid out my yoga mat and ate tortas, as we cleaned their tombstones and laid flowers on them. I told her stories of how strong my grandma was bing able to lift old bathtubs and how amazing her beans were. An elder came by us o visit his wife who had passed 15 years ago. He talked to us about the saint on my grandparents tombs and told us he was the Santo Ni~a de la torcha (sp?), the patron saint of Zacatecas and of miners. My grandpa was a miner! And they were both from Zacatecas! I was impressed with him. He got on his cell phone and called one of his sons telling him "Don't forget to come to the cemetary today, es el dia del panteon, Mexican style." My daughter paid close attention to him despite not really understanding him.

-Later that night we were at DoD at SHG here are some pics:


























-I've been re-working my thesis on DJ Culture of East L.A. because lately I've been having a lot of talks with different people on this subject of Chicano DJs, music, art, space and how we fit in the global DJ culture. When I have a good edited copy I'll pass it on to you if you ask.

-A couple of Saturdays ago I was quoted in Agustin Gurza's LA Times column commenting on my homeboy DJ Raul Campos or try copy and paste this:http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/la-et-culture20oct20,1,5852472.story?ctrack=1&cset=true

-It is almost the end of the semester and papers are piled up. I am confident in all my students, so its been good reading not just because they are bright, but because I gave them good ideas and fodder to fill their brains with before letting spew on the keyboard. I've had a great semester despite a rough beginning due to some health issues.

-Looking forward to two great rides this coming weekend:
http://www.midnightridazz.com/forums.php?topicId=944
and
http://www.midnightridazz.com/viewStory.php?storyId=760

I just hope my stack of papers is smaller by then.