To Live and Grieve in LA, Part One
It’s my nature to write out my feelings, and in an effort to process the loss of my mother, I thought I’d do these quick bursts (and therefore take the pressure off) of thoughts. Some will make sense, some will absolutely not, just as, you know, a general heads up.
Nothing teaches you that life moves on while you are in deep grief like Los Angeles. This morning, I needed to get out of the house and feel the sun on my face like a normal person so, I went to the grocery store. While I gathered my things, I spotted a small photoshoot in the coffee shop parking lot nearby.
This young woman, probably one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen, was being fussed over and posed by equally beautiful worker bees, and she looked so calm, so ready for whatever was happening. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in my car and watching like a maniac, feeling like I was going to burst into tears at the slightest trigger. But it didn’t matter that there was a perfect storm of pain and weariness brewing within me, not to her anyway. Because she was there to smile, change outfits in a sprinter van, and capture sunlight perfectly in her hair (seriously, how do they do that?!).
Seeing influencers and models posing around Los Angeles really isn’t a blip on the main radar, you turn any corner near the Pink Wall and you'll see beautiful people posing in unnatural ways in order to look natural on Instagram. But what struck me was that despite feeling like a big bag o’ tears some days, her world is moving forward, and really, so is mine. There is life at the end of the tunnel, and a whole world to welcome me back. When I’m ready, that is. For now, just a random girl, standing in the sunlight, is giving me that small bit of joy.
And then there’s The Oscars. I love the Oscars. I’ve wanted to work for the Oscars since I was 9 years old. I watch it, faithfully, every year. I live about 20 minutes from where it’s hosted.
This year, the Oscars are flaunting things a little too much for my taste.
Unfortunately, this year, it all seems very disrespectful that the industry that I work in is choosing to host an event honoring said industry in the same city I’m being sad in. Like you’re getting the red carpet ready, and I am crying because I found a red Christmas envelope with my mother’s handwriting on it. You’re dressing up a mall with glitter, gold, and hopes, and I’m over here trying to hold in tears at the gas station. I don’t want to hide my emotions.
I’ll get indignant for no reason instead. I mean, I’m still going to watch, but I can’t make any promises that things might get real dramatic during the In Memoriam segment.
