Archive for March, 2010

The last few posts have been a bit on the heavy side so, in honor of mi Abuela, I decided to go dancing!

I was hired last month by Brazilian Nites productions to document their show, performed at the Nokia Theater in the Staples Center, during the week of Carnaval.  For those who don’t know, Carnaval traditionally happens before the 40 day fast of Lent begins.  Basically, it’s an opportunity to over-indulge before you under-indulge.

This show was hot, sexy and fun.  I loved the music and found that I couldn’t hold my own hips back from dancing in the aisles for a few of the numbers.  My favorite detail about the show was the color.  The Brazilian culture always delivers a luscious spectrum of color, from their beaches to their clothing, and this show was no exception.  So when I went to process the images, I knew there was no need to make B & W copies . . . or so I thought.  I tried it out anyway on one or two and loved it.  The B & W gave it this angelic quality, quieting the action the color provided and allowing the viewer to focus more on the emotional moments- that moment before coming onto the stage, the smile that occurs between the dancer and the audience, the rush of sheer enjoyment that a dancer feels while performing.  Those are the moments I enjoy capturing the most and the B & W seemed to lend itself more into aiding that expression.  So in the end, the client received a mix of both.

A month ago, my Grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.  It was a disease inherited from her mother.  She always feared she would acquire it but we never believed her.  I always believed that the mind would stay strong as long as your will did.  I mean, my Grandmother loved life.  When last I saw her she was winning three gold medals in her swimming division.  Three Gold Medals, the woman is 82 and she’s the fastest in her freestyle field!  She also walks daily, lifts weights, cooks, sews, socializes, eats well, and is always smiling . . . I don’t understand.  And what’s more daunting, neither do the doctors.  They still don’t fully understand why Alzheimer’s occurs.  They also haven’t made great strides towards finding its cure. So we’re left to hope, for a miracle.  Upon hearing her diagnosis, as well as the shaky lump of fear stuck within my grandmother’s throat, I decided to make the drive out to Arizona to visit her.

My grandmother’s favorite room, her kitchen.  I decided to get a few portraits of her there.

Her sewing room, another favorite.  She used to spend hours in here each day.

It was even clearer, once I had spent a day with her, that her memory was getting worse.  Countless times she went over her plan of attack with me, that she would be staying on and off with her sons while looking into selling her house.  Once the disease became overwhelming, she would then move into an assisted living situation.  This broke my heart, again.  That little house was my grandmother’s first taste of independence.  She went from a little girl, living with her parents in Guatemala to America, where she quickly fell in love, lived with her husband, and raised three boys.  When my grandfather lost his battle to cancer, she was forced to move into a more budgeted situation but I think it was good for her.  I remember when she made the move, how excited she was and how much energy she put into decorating it.   That house marked a first for her and now it was all too quickly changing.  While she’s always embraced new experience, I could clearly see how hesitant she was this time.  The more we talked about it, the more solemn she became.

So as a distraction, I brought out the old albums.  Why live in the now when you can dwell in the past.  We have a very short time with her, before she forgets most of the events within those albums so I decided to have a little one on one time with her, in order to hear the stories that accompany them.  It became an enchanting evening.

My Grandmother is the youngest of four here, seated next to her mother.

Her family would open up their home to the soldiers coming in and out of the Country. Here she can be seen dancing and getting her flirt on, her father clapping for a beat.

My grandfather during WWII, pictured here in France.  He met my grandmother shortly after this.

. . . they fell in love and were married.

This is my favorite picture of her. It’s just plain silly.

Her three boys.  My father is floating on the raft there.

Another silly blast from the past.  Apparently they liked hats.

A locket that my Grandfather bought for her.  He even carefully cut and placed their images inside before giving it to her.  They had one of the greatest love affairs I have ever witnessed.  I proudly wear this locket today.

I loved going through all her memorabilia and needless to say, I went to bed with a whole lot of warm fuzzies that night.

The next morning, Warren came over.  Now Warren is a sort of “best friend” to my Grandmother.  They met about a year ago, his wife had passed away at about the same time as my grandfather.  Shortly after she had passed, he spotted my Grandmother in church and quickly leaned over asking her “do you like to dance.”  She had laughed and repeats the story today with, “he didn’t even ask what my name was or say hello!  He just wanted a dance partner.”  Their dancing, as well as their friendship became therapeutic for the two of them.  It helped them move past the pain of their recent loss.

As Warren walked in that morning, her face lit up.  He smiled and introduced himself.  We made small talk and then he quickly went over to organize my grandmother’s pills, so she wouldn’t forget to take them.  By the time we shared breakfast together we had laughed, cried, pleaded and had openly communicated all of the most recent events.  Warren gave us his honest account of his battle with lung cancer and his wife’s battle with Parkinson’s.  He cried, then apologized but I must say, it was refreshing seeing someone so openly emotional.  I know he’s afraid of going through it again, as is my grandmother putting him through it.  ”It’s so hard,” my grandmother adds, “to watch someone you love slowly slip away.”  That is why they have decided to have fun but when the disease progresses past the point of no return, they’ve agreed to back away and let the family take care of it.  ”There’s no point in him getting involved,” my grandmother proclaims, “I won’t even remember him!”  They laugh together and Warren adds “but in the meantime there’s no reason why we can’t have fun!”  So after breakfast, I challenged them to a dance.  At this point, they were regular partners.  They could often be found at the Senior Center every Tuesday and Sunday night, dancing to the live 10-piece orchestra they have there.  He smiled and quickly put on a record as my Grandmother strapped on her dancing shoes.  He turned up his hearing aid, they stood at attention and then they were off, cutting a rug right there in the middle of the living room floor.  It was so cute and they were great together.  Their dancing was a direct reflection of their relationship- the perfect give and take.

I know he’ll continue to call her, even after she can’t remember.  He may even visit.  For now, he’s the best thing that’s happened to her.  He motivates her, reminds her to take her pills, talks openly with her, and genuinely misses her while away.  He allows her to feel alive even when the odds are stacked against her.  He reminds her of who she truly is, and helps her retrieve her classic smile.  When my grandmother starts to fear the worst, Warren reminds her to dance.

Some of you don’t know Hunter . . . so please allow me to introduce him.

Some of you do and have been wondering what’s going on with him . . .

Well on February 14th, Lenore (Hunter’s mother) posted in HealinHunter.com that “Hunter’s cancer has returned for a fourth time and we are out of ammunition. His little body has seen every type of chemo, including experimental chemo’s and the most potent combinations of other chemo’s, and the disease doesn’t seem to want to stay away. He has been through 9 rounds of chemo, full body radiation and a bone marrow transplant………and we are officially at the end of the road. There is nothing left that we can do to save his life.”

On March 1st she posted again, “Hunter, due to round the clock pain meds and just plain being exhausted, seems to sleep a good bit these days, which is what leaves us plenty of time for crying. This last week, he seemed to take a turn for the worse and we’ve just found out today that he has a pretty severe pneumonia.”

On March 8th I went to Vegas for WPPI (a photography convention) and decided to pack my “Iron Hunter,” cancer awareness T-shirt.  Zen and Lenore were always regulars at WPPI.  In fact, I only knew about WPPI because of Zen.  He taught me all about it.  So they were constantly on my mind as I roamed the halls there.  I decided to wear Hunter’s shirt on my first day at the convention.  I wore it with pride and had my girlfriend take a quick pic of me so I could send it off to Zen and Lenore, letting them know they were all missed and that I still had the highest hope for Hunter. I simply didn’t want to believe his fight was over.  He had come so far and had already tackled tremendous odds.  I truly felt that he was still going to have a miraculous come-back.

Little did I know, Hunter had already passed away.  He left this life on Monday, March 9th, at 11:25PM.  He was 3 years old.  It all happened so fast.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. We’ve clearly been blind sided by an evil that wasn’t supposed to return. His life wasn’t supposed to be taken in such a short amount of time. We knew the end was near………but we didn’t think it was breathing down our necks. We thought we’d have 1 to 6 months………..we were only given 3 weeks.”   -Lenore Healing Hunter.com

I haven’t communicated since I read the news.  I think I’ve sort of been in a state of shock and denial.  Mainly though, I simply don’t know what to say.  After reading their last post, which was emailed only a few hours ago, I have been left in tears.  So I immediately went to my laptop and began saying goodbye . . .

Hunter,  you will be missed by so many and the print that you left on our hearts will last forever.  You fought harder than I could ever imagine and had the strength and the courage of a hero.  Thank you for enriching my life and making me smile.  I will miss you.  Most of all . . . I will miss those sweet dancing moves!

Zen and Lenore, I love you deeply.  It’s been a few years since last we met but I think of you often.  You are two of the most amazing parents I have ever witnessed.  I watched you grow and bond with that little boy in a tremendous way and even when the climb was at it’s toughest peak, you still smiled for him.  You stared fear in the face and continued to find laughter.  I don’t know many that can say the same.  You are a true inspiration for me.  Thank you for your honesty and pure hope.  I am always thankful to have met you all, what a family!

As a final note, I wanted to share one of my favorite videos of them.  This is how I remember them together-

To read more about Hunter’s fight please go to his blog- www.healinghunter.com

If you’d like to make a donation -you can make a 100% tax deductible donation by writing a check to the non-profitNATIONAL CHILDREN’S LEUKEMIA FOUNDATION.  Please send your check to 11795 SW Kobbe Drive, Beaverton, OR 97007 (& put Hunter’s name in the subject line)