“Apocalypse Anthony” oil on canvas, 36” x 48” 2024
Again
Yesterday was National Son’s Day. I feel like every corner I turn, there is always some other jab waiting to stick it into my heart. I also feel like National Son’s day just happened last month, but the warped funhouse-like passage of time is a whole other issue entirely.
So, in honor of National Son’s Day, I sat and really thought of some funny and beautiful memories I have of my son over the years. Anthony was a quiet boy, and even as an adult, he was quiet and reserved until you knew him well. Then, he was razor sharp and incredibly witty — he loved comedy and loved to laugh. The memories I have of hearing him laugh are so bittersweet. When he was alive, and I would hear him bantering with his friends, and laughing, it would literally warm my heart. Now, I feel like the lights have gone out, and there’s just an empty, vacant building.
Memories
I remember he had some real zingers when he was a little kid — my daughter Gabrielle and I were laughing about some of them the other day. When my grandmother was alive, we used to visit her regularly. She had an apartment on the 5th floor of a building on the other side of town, where she lived with her talking parrot Rebecca. She had lived there since I was a little kid, in her apartment with her couches covered in clear plastic, and hundreds of plants growing in her windows.
We would go there for lunch regularly. I can still smell the food cooking and hear Spanish radio going in her kitchen, with the rapid-fire dramas crackling in the background. One time, she was in the kitchen cooking, and she was moaning and complaining about all the different aches and pains she had. She came into her dining room where we were sitting, and sat down heavily, moaning in Spanish, “Ayeeee” about her back, sighing and complaining in broken English as we got ready to eat.
Anthony was about 4 years old, and he went over to her to comfort her. He began rubbing her back, and said very sweetly, “Don’t worry grandma — you’re old, you’re going to die soon!” She looked at him, and then started laughing until tears were streaming down her face, and gave him a hug. She looked at me and said, “out of the mouth of babes” in her Spanglish. Yes, Ant had some real well-intentioned zingers through the years that Gabby and I laughed at in remembrance of our Cuckoo Bird as we fondly called him.
Through the years, Ant was always that way. He always wanted to be helpful, and when he was 20 years old, he was involved in a second serious car crash — this time he was a passenger. In a carpool on their way to work, Ant and 3 of his workmates were involved in a multicar pileup on interstate 80 after a 18 wheeler jackknifed in the snow. The wreck was serious, but thankfully, he and the other passengers in the car were not hurt, just shocked. The jackknifed truck flipped over and went down the embankment off the highway, and caught fire. Anthony got out of the car, climbed down the embankment, and pulled the truck driver out of the burning cab, to safety.
The truck driver was an older man, and he was so grateful. He wanted to do something for Ant, but Ant wouldn’t allow him to. He felt embarassed by the attention, and just said, “I saw you needed help, so I helped. No need to thank me.” And that’s just how he was.
I think back to the complex man Anthony was, and my heart always aches. So many “what ifs” and “what could have beens”. But, in the end, I am thankful for the gift of having loved him. From the moment I first looked into his eyes, I knew he was a beautiful soul, and a gift I would carry with me into eternity. He was my soulmate really. The better part of me. My girls are my spirit twins in a different way — they are lovely and varied versions of who I am as a woman — but Anthony, as a man, was different. He gave me a glimpse into what I might have been as a man, and that was a fascinating mirror. I loved him so deeply for all his strengths and his weaknesses, and I always will.
Happy Son’s day, my darling, my mijo — rest easy now.