The Closest Thing to Elvis

Dreams can be cruel.  Especially the ones that feel so real that you could swear that you were there.  You can smell the smells…feel the touches…sense the presence of people you interact with…only to wake and realize…it was all just a dream.  This past week…almost every night I've dreamt of my dad and I being together.  Going to a baseball game…watching football on TV…going fishing…and each one felt so…real.  And every morning, I'd wake to the silence of pitch black and realize…I'm in my house in my bed.  In a groggy, blind stupor my heart would sink into the pit of my stomach as I realize he's gone.  It's like losing him all over again and I want to shout to the heavens and curse…why??   Why my dad?!?!  Why is he gone when so many others who don't deserve longevity walk around without a single ailment?!  

It's no wonder I've been dreaming of my dad, though.  Today is his birthday.  He would have been 60 years old.  I would give anything to have him here.  But all I have are memories…and dreams.  I try…I try my hardest to remember the good times and the things he taught me…I try to remember all the good he brought into my life and my weird little world.  But this day will always tug at my heart.

I miss you, Old Man.  And I would like to think that my dreams are your way of reaching out to me.  I am doing fine.  I'm carrying on the way you would want me to.  

Those who knew my dad, knew that he was a funny guy.  He'd always be cracking subtle jokes and picking on people to tickle their sense of humor.  And although I know he's shining amongst the brightest stars…he still makes me laugh.  One of the funniest things I ever heard about him was when my mom was talking about a candid picture that had been snapped at my grandmother's old house in Denver Harbor (I believe).  He has a quirky smile that's raised to one side and he's rockin' fat burns that I myself would never be able to grow no matter how long I might go without shaving.  He's got a velvet shirt unbuttoned to his chest and has a coy look on his face.  It's without a doubt my favorite picture of dad.  Anyways…years ago when I asked my mom about it, she fondly recalled when they were young and how he would randomly show her that picture and say to her, "You know you only married me cause I'm the closest thing you could find to Elvis!"  Even near the end he would say that to her to make her smile.  :)  Those of us close to him knew how in his later years he'd…well…lost some of that swagger but talking to him you'd still think he was "6 feet of swinging steel and sex appeal"…as he used to like to refer to himself.

So here's to you, Old Man…one day…when I have the strength…I'll do a proper portrait of you…but for now…this is my Closest Thing to Elvis

  

2014

I was listening to Colin Cowherd the other morning at work.  Colin, in the midst of reporting on intriguing sports stories, will often salt and pepper his commentary with the occasional pensive anecdote.  He was talking about a chance encounter he'd had years ago with an older man in Las Vegas who was an obvious success and Colin had asked him for advice…what the man told him and what Colin passed on through his broadcast…was something that I will never forget:

"Don't resent success, or you'll never achieve it.  Don't resent money, or you'll never make it...bitter people are rarely successful and never happy.  We celebrate money won…we resent money earned."

I'm paraphrasing here but that was the main point.  This has been rattling around in my brain for several days now and I honestly can't recall how many times over the past decade people have told me that I'm pessimistic…to which I had always replied, "I am not…I'm merely a realist."  My perception was based solely on experience and my experiences hadn't been particularly fruitful…hence, there was no reason for me to meander through life with a happy-go-lucky kind of attitude until circumstance proved otherwise.

Through no greater force that what can only be described as "growing up"…I think I finally get what other people were talking about.  And my one resolution of this year that isn't entirely pretentious (I have a few cliche ones…so what)…is to be happy…and to be happy for other people…especially those that I care about and that care about me.  Last year was filled with the cloudiness of pain, loss, regret, and unrealized ambition.  2014 will be my adventure.

In the midst of this reflective period brought on by the holidays and cyclical churning of time…I have stumbled across an idea…an idea of a series of art work that has the potential to keep me busy for years…an idea that makes me happy.  :)    

I leave you with a quote that ironically comes from an apple commercial (ironic because I've been using a macbook for several years now for my personal computing):

"Your only limits will be the size of your ideas…and the degree of your dedication."

The Struggle Against Restrictions

Fight it all you want; deny it and suppress it with every ounce of your being…the sad fact is…there are restrictions working against you.  Time, space, and money are probably the most prevalent restrictions that directly influence my day to day interactions and of course my future plans.  Example…I'm a comic fan (I'm sure that comes as no surprise).  I used to read them a lot as a kid and even as an adult I have continued to pick up certain select titles here and there.  Mostly Batman titles.  I have two boxes full.  Anyhow, in a much belated attempt to reach out to a cousin who lives near Austin…I went and visited him and his wife and his baby son.  We had a great time, a great conversation and plenty of laughs.  During the day, we had discussed the Comic Con that was coming to Ausitn in November.  We got excited about the possibility of going and getting to be amongst weirdos and feeling free to be the biggest nerds on the planet as we indulged in some of our fondest childhood memories by surrounding ourselves in a world of superheroes, galactic fantasy, monsters, goblins, etc.  Well a month ago, my car needed new tires.  $450.  Three weeks after, my car starts wigging out…I take it to the dealership…it needs a new clutch master cylinder…that's going to cost $800 for parts and labor.  So I parked it.  I started cruising the little work truck I bought earlier this year…I noticed I had a small leak in one of the front tires…took it to the tire shop…they won't fix the flat because it's "legally bald"…that tire alone…is $150.  That's $1,400 in just a few weeks...and I find myself broke...Again.  I can't make the silly trip to Austin that I was looking forward to and it suddenly struck me the other night that my life…although seemingly bound by nothing…is still framed by restrictions.  Money…or the lack of…time, space…these things matter…and as much as we may not like to admit it…they can determine our choices, our paths, and inherently the direction and outcome to our life story.  Do we have control of some of that?  Sure.  Choices can be made.  Obstacles can be overcome.  But never discount dumb luck and other people's decisions  and how those things can directly or indirectly impact your life.  To quote a worn out adage regarding luck, you have to be at the right place at the right time.  I might add another element to that though…making the right decision during that time can alter the direction and inevitable outcome of said situation.  But that's a long conversation for another time.  The struggle...no matter what stage you currently find yourself in this game of life…the struggle against restrictions is real.

Plans are plans.  My plans?  Well…they'll remain plans unless action and / or an unforeseen catalyst propels a new (hopefully fortuitous) direction.  The ultimate reality of of my struggle, though, is something has to change.

In the meantime I have been keeping up with my craft.  Trying to hone your particular skill must remain a constant focus to keep some kind of passion in your life as you make the appropriate changes to allow your real life to begin.

These are a couple of portraits I did for my cousin.  His beautiful girl and her boxer…and him and his classic 72 Bronco and his boxers…these are unfinished versions but you get the idea.

Potential & Adventure

There are thoughts that are inescapable.  Things that tend to find their way into my head in late hours like these.  I often wonder what it must have been like...laying there...never knowing for certain when the time would come but having the strongest realization that the time was near.  And I wondered what it was like for him before.  In 2008.  Last year.  The times when I'm sure he was thinking to himself that he only needed a few more years...and prayed for them.  And then I start to think about other times.  What were the things he thought of...as he walked down the long and lonely corridors of the hospital as he went from one treatment to another.  (Bless my mother for being there with him for most of those steps.)  Where did he find the strength to continue...and why.

I know the last few days...last few months really...of his life must have been extraordinarily miserable.  Watching him wince in pain...day in...day out.  Going to sleep and praying for rest...waking with more pain.  My dad was incredibly strong and I know he had a high pain tolerance so for those tumors to cause that kind of excruciating strain on his body...I can't imagine what it must have been like.  Or maybe I just don't want to.

All these days since...I can't let go of all of that.  But I try to.  I try real hard...and this outlet helps.  I try to put myself in his position and compare benchmarks about what exactly might be my regrets if I'd been the one who'd been terminally ill.  The list that I come up with off the top of my head is staggering.  It's borderline disturbing.  Wasted potential, missed opportunities, unrealized ambitions...they're enough to make you question your entire being.  From beginning to now...I've lost time...intentionally wasted, casually ignored, and the rest of the time shamelessly pursuing the primary driving force behind our capitalist economy...the ever-changing, thus unattainable, ideal of a better life through the hollow pursuit of money.  But it's pointless to ruminate on time lost.  So the question is...how to recognize my true potential and how to adjust my focus on fulfilling that...and how to have some adventures along the way...

A Day Like Any Other

I really thought he'd be here for this day...at least one more time.  He missed it by 13 days.  He was always quick to remind us, though, that he didn't need a day for recognition.  He was our father every day...and this day was in no way any more or less special than any other day.  I think he always appreciated the little things we were able to do for him and in his way he showed his gratitude...but he always enveloped his thanks to us in humble humility by reminding us of this fact.  It was as if to tell us...or remind us...that we didn't ever have to thank him for being our dad.  I think he tried to tell us that there was no thanks necessary.  I'm sure he wanted to tell us more...but as I mentioned before, my dad was a man of few words...and maybe he just didn't know how to articulate what he wanted to express.

The past two weeks have been a roller coaster of emotions.  I honestly didn't know how to spend this day.  I hadn't even allowed myself to think that we wouldn't spend this day with him.  But here this day has come and already gone and all I can think of is a promise I made to him in his last days.  He wasn't fully aware...but I'm sure...I'm positive he could hear me.  I am going to try to keep that promise, Dad.

My Teacher...My Friend...My Father

On the 3rd...My hero finally fell after fighting the good fight.  My heart was and still is broken and my soul continues to weep...but I try to take solace in knowing he is no longer living in daily pain.  Deciding to give a speech at his wake was without a doubt the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life.  There is so much more that I could have said and so much more I wished I'd included but I know this speech would have made my father proud.  Unfortunately...a few months ago there was another death in my family...and as such...there were a great many relatives who live far away that were not able to make the long journey back to my hometown again for yet another funeral for the cost was too great so soon after such a major trip.  I begrudge them nothing and hold no ill will toward them.  I know they were all with us in spirit.  It is in that spirit that I write my speech here verbatim...in the hopes that they have an opportunity to read it and I will be able to share the message my father would have wanted me to spread.  This is for you dad...my speech...delivered on Wednesday June 5th, 2013:


The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
     - Psalms 34:18 -

Pete Olivarez - Big O as some of you know him - was my dad...and you better believe I'm proud of it!

To try and encapsulate my father's life in the time I have before you would be a disservice to him.  There is no way I could ever fully express in words what my father means to me.  Yet, there are words that will always remind me of my dad.  Words like strong...courage...honor...joker...storyteller...terco (that means stubborn)...smooth...dancer...teacher...friend...and of course the list continues on and on but there is one more I want to share with you...my personal favorite...Hero.  My dad is, and always will be, my hero.

My father was, without a doubt, the single greatest man I have ever known.  I won't lie to you.  In a sense...I feel that we've been robbed.  I had him for 33 years...my sister had him for 36 years...my mother had him for nearly 41 years...and my grandmother had him for 59 years...when I say it like that it sounds like a long time...but, to me, it wasn't long enough.  I feel like my dad deserved an overabundance of life and was instead shortchanged.  Over the past several days I have struggled immensely with that feeling...as I'm sure a lot of you have.  But we are selfish, fallible people...and all too often we do not see beyond our own grief during times like this.  I realized that even if he had lived to be 89 years old, I would still feel like it was too soon when he left.  But an amazing epiphany occurred to me when I was roaming the halls of the hospital during his last few days...You can't measure a man's life in years...you measure it in where he chooses to devote his time and love.  You measure it in his leaps of faith.  Time and love are the two most precious gifts that anyone could ever give to anyone else because once they've been given...they cannot be reclaimed.  Leaps of faith, more often than not, define a man's character...for those are the choices that are made based solely on the knowledge that with a little divine intervention...your path will remain straight.

My dad believed in choices.  Throughout his life, one of the most important lessons he ever bestowed upon me and my sister is "You are who you choose to be."  You can blame worldly forces for your condition in life...but that only goes so far.  At some point, personal responsibility becomes a factor in that equation.  There has to be a time when you accept the things you cannot change and you have to move forward.  That is a lesson I will cherish to the end of my days...and it's one that I wanted to share with you all...so that you know during your darkest hours and your most private moments...when the weight of the world has crushed your spirits and you feel like you just can't take it...know...that you have a choice...you can either succumb or you can fight.  My dad fought.  He fought for a better life for himself.  He fought for a better life for his wife and children.  And he fought for his life against cancer so that he could get to know his grandchildren.  He fought with every last ounce of his being.  And he fought the good fight...until his body could no longer take it.  Never take your health for granted.  Remember...that our time is borrowed.  None of us will live forever.  The time we are blessed with is a gift and it's not the number of years of living that's important, but living those years rightly.

I know my father didn't live every waking second rightly...that would have been impossible.  As I mentioned before...we are all imperfect and my father was no exception.  But whatever my dad's sins may have been, he's already paid for them...100 times over...and 100 times again.  To me, he suffered disproportionately to his faults.  But he handled it with more grace, courage, and strength than I think most men could ever muster...and during that time, I think he showed us the best that the dynamic human spirit has to offer.  He deserves a king's welcome in heaven everlasting.  And this is not Goodbye...this is "see you later"...because we will see each other again...and we will laugh, and we will run, and we will dance...

I love you, Dad.

The Edge

Waiting in the edge of the inevitable is unlike anything I've ever been confronted with. The well of emotions conjured up by the surrounding circumstances is extraordinarily powerful. It's strange. The recognition of conflicting ideals between what I, or we, want verses what's best for dad makes it all the more perplexing and that much harder to have to deal with.

There's nothing that can be done. The doctors said he's too weak, too malnourished, and the cancer has consumed a large majority if his insides. It hasn't gotten into his organs just yet, but its only a matter if time, I suppose. He's had strokes. Strokes that have made him delusional. I'm not entirely sure he's aware of any of us anymore. In a way I hope he doesn't become fully aware. The weight, the gravity of the decision that's been made...would be devastating. I want my dad to be ok. I want my hero back. I want us to laugh, and play, and be strong men together again. And we never will be again. Not anymore...and my heart hurts.