R.I.P.

This is an unflattering picture of my grandfather.  I took it June 14th, not quite two weeks ago.

He died this morning.

I can't say it was unexpected -- he had COPD, and his lack of proper oxygen certainly didn't help his failing heart, liver, and kidneys.  Note the toilet chair in front of him; that was about as far as he could move before utter exhaustion.

My uncle is relieved.

I'm devastated.

See, this man raised me -- he's biologically my grandfather, but he's played the role of my father since I was born.  I spent every other weekend and all school vacations with him, he took care of me and my mother financially when she couldn't, I stayed with him the many times my mom was admitted to the hospital, and he adopted me when she died.  I lived with him between the ages of 13 and 22, moved out for a couple years, moved back in for a year, moved out for a few more, and then moved back in again.

The problem is, as is often the case with death, is the course of our last interaction.  And, as is also often the case, it was fairly negative.

See, I work overnights, and then I do four or five hours at my internship.  When I come home, I go straight to bed to try to get a full seven hours before my next twelve hours of work.  Yesterday, I got home after 1pm, so I was lucky if I was asleep by 2.

At 7pm, I wake up to my grandfather yelling my name.  As I groggily roll out of bed, he yells it again, so naturally, I start to feel a little alarmed.  I rush downstairs and ask what's wrong.  His response?

"Feed the cats."

.......... He can't be serious.

I spend a few minutes reminding him that I sleep during the day, and that the cats have access to crunchy food all day long.  That there is no reason to wake me up two hours before my alarm to feed them; they can wait.  Regardless, I feed the damn cats their stupid, supplementary canned food, all the while mumbling angrily under my breath and slamming dishes and utensils around the kitchen.

As my foot landed on the first stair of the staircase, Grampa says, "Wait.  I want an ice cream cone."

Still irritated -- and more so, now, because there shouldn't even be ice cream in the house (diabetes) -- I throw together a vanilla ice cream cone and hand it to him.  I don't respond when he thanks me.  Then, something weird happens.

He apologizes.

I realize that, if you're reading this, you probably don't know my grandfather.  But he's the really old school, "suck it up and stop being a pussy" type.  Of course, he's an army vet, and he's gone through three heart attacks, a stroke, open heart surgery, prostate cancer, emphysema, and all the crap at the end without batting an eyelash.  I've seen him cry once, ONCE, in 27 years, and it wasn't even when his sister died, or when my mom died, but rather, when the stray cat he adopted died.

So when he says, "Sorry for bothering you, I just have no energy," I'm too flabbergasted to even process it, and I just go upstairs.  Thinking about it now, I'm trying not to get trapped in the guilt trap of realizing that I really must have been being an asshole to make him say that.  It's really hard not to wallow in the awful idea that the last thing I ever did was make him feel bad because he wanted an ice cream and couldn't get it himself.

Sigh.  No matter how many times you go through it, this stuff never gets any easier.

Philadelphia Wizard World 2013

I’ve never been to a comic convention and I never wanted to… until I found out Norman Reedus would be at the Wizard World Con (2013) in Philadelphia.

So I spent an inordinate amount of money on a VIP pass, which includes an autograph ($40), a photo op (more than $40), a sweet NR badge, and a “speed pass” to the front of the lines.  I recruited my best friends, Robin and Mike, we reserved a hotel room, and off we went.

We arrived around 1 PM on Saturday, June 1^st, and the place was crazy busy.  Lots of nerds, lots of cool costumes, and lots of merchandise.  I spotted a huge banner saying PHOTO OPS all the way in the back of the center, so I beelined it to the back and quickly spotted Norman’s booth (it was easy because it had the longest line; there were, very literally, hundreds of people).  I asked a staff member about the VIP pass, and he brought me right up past the General Admission people and to the very short VIP line! I made friends with another VIP, Peter, and he ended up being my VIP buddy for the day.

Waiting at the end of the table, I chatted with Sean Clark, who is always with Norman at events, but otherwise, I don’t know anything about him.  I was like, “I follow you on Twitter,” which was a lie, and he asked if he follows me back, and I said no, so his response was, “Well, there’s probably a reason for that,” which cracked me up.  Then he handed me his phone with Twitter open and was like, “Here, fix it. Find you and follow.”  Super nice!  Every time I saw him around after that, we smiled and waved at each other.

*I change tense here because it was amazing*

So we’re getting closer, and his manager-lady tells us we can take pictures of him signing, but we’re not allowed to take any with him while at the table, boo!  Peter and I make a deal that I’ll take pictures of him with Norman, and he’ll take ones of me after.  I decide I'm going to ask him about living in Georgia, tell him he inspired me to start writing again, and thank him for being so good to his fans.

Peter yanks out this huge Daryl Dixon poster, and Norman is like, “Where did you get this?!” before taking a picture of it with his phone.  He signs, they chat a little, and Peter moves.  I’m trying to hand him my phone while balancing the book I brought for Norman and pulling out my pictures for him to sign when I hear, “Hey, sweetheart.”  His voice was so gentle, like delicious melted chocolate.  I’ve got the photo in my teeth when I look up, and I freeze.  It was ridiculously akin to a deer in headlights, and I was taken aback that Norman Reedus was looking at me, he'slookingrightatme.

I must've looked a little crazy or terrified for him to look over at me like that!

After a moment of me just staring at him, he says, “I’m Norman.”  My idiotic response is to thrust my picture at him and ask, “Will you sign two?”  He asks if it should be written to anyone, but I’m dumb and don’t answer, so he starts signing mine as I pull out the other one I brought for my boss, and I’m mumbling something about how she loves him, too, but she couldn’t come – I was just rambling because I was freaking out.  He points at the little one and says, “That’s my bathroom!” and I start rambling about how much I love when he poses his action figure weird and posts pictures of it on Twitter.  After he signs both photos, he looks at me again and does a come-here kind of motion, and I just stand there staring at him until he motions a second time.  Naturally, when he hugs me, I fangirl right in his ear, “Oh my god, you smell SO good.”  Cue forehead-slap.

I wish I knew what I was saying to make him ponder at me!

I collect my pictures and move down to a little empty table, where Peter is rolling up his giant poster.  As I’m putting my bag down, I realize I’m still holding the book, and almost scream, “Peter, I forgot to give it to him!”  Thank goodness for my VIP buddy, because he yells,” Go back and give it to him!” and gives me a push.  I completely interrupt the girl behind me (who was super bitchy in line, so I don’t feel bad) and push the book at him.  He turns and goes to sign it, so I slide my hands onto the cover, and when he looks at me, I stutter, “No, it’s for you!”  He picks it up in both hands, still looking at me, and quietly says, “Thank you.  Thanks so much.”  It’s so sincere-sounding that I get freaked out again and turn and run away.

According to my friends, the moment that I turned away from him, my eyes rolled back in my head and I made an orgasm face.  I don’t remember this, but I don’t doubt it in the least.  Experiencing the Reedus will do that to a girl.

Yay, beer!

Next, Robin, Mike, and I took a little break and went to the Hard Rock Café to get a beer, during which I completely forgot about and missed the entire Q&A panel for Norman, Michael Rooker (Merle), and Jon Bernthal (Shane).  

My friends walk me back to the hall, but then I abandon them to wait in the VIP photo op line with Peter.  I’m not exaggerating when I say there were at least a thousand people waiting.  Peter and I were in the second line, and there were thirteen more lines after us, each with at least a hundred people in each (they were LONG).

The photo op was supposed to start at 5:10pm, and we were in line before five o’clock.  We're still standing in the same spot at quarter past six, and they keep announcing over the PA system that the hall is going to close at seven, and we all need to leave.  Peter and I agree that Norman would never abandon us, and we're right!  The line ahead of us suddenly starts moving super fast -- the photos were going at light-speed, just *click* NEXT *click* NEXT *click* NEXT!

I walk up to the tape line on the floor, the staff guy says, “GO!” and I kind of skip over to Reedus.  He puts his arm out for me to step under, says hello again, and I blurt, “Can I lick you?!”  

In an absolute certain, deadpan voice, with no hesitation whatsoever, he says, “Yes.”  So I do, and they take the picture.  He tasted a little salty, and his facial hair tickled.

Norman giggles -- no lie, he GIGGLED – at me, and turns toward me like he’s going to say something.  AND I RUN AWAY AGAIN.  WHY WOULD I RUN AWAY FROM HIM.  *bangs head on wall for all eternity*

The photos print slowly, and the staff wants us all OUT, so they tell us we can get our pictures outside in the registration area.  Then, they announce that Norman will be signing AGAIN out there!  Peter and I rush out, and it’s a HUGE clusterfuck.  There were several different fan groups, no one knew where to stand for what thing, and there are those hundreds of people all looking for their pictures.  I grab Peter’s bag and he leads us through the crowd, and yells at someone, “Hey, guy in the red shirt, hand me my picture!”  I notice a guy nearby who keeps looking at me, then at the table, back at me, and back at the table, so I say, “You see my picture, don’t you?”  He says, “I think so,” and I go, “I LICKED him!” and he grins and grabs my picture for me!

Peter and I charge over to the impromptu Norman booth in the corner, and a staff member motions us into the VIP line, which is super short!  After a while, once everyone in the photo line is through, Norman comes out.  We all cheer as he’s walking toward us, and he holds up an orange like he’s super proud of it, which was adorable.

When I get up to him again, I force myself to say, “Hi, I’m Jamie, and I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before but every time I try to speak to you, nothing comes out but this weird little noise!”  He smiles and signs my name and a little heart and his initials.  He looks up, still smiling, and goes, “You’re so cute.”  Then he puts his hand up for a high five, and when I give it to him, he closes his fingers over mine!!!  His hands were so warm, but not clammy, just wonderfully warm.  AND I RAN AWAY AGAIN WTF!

From what I hear on Twitter, he stayed until everyone was finished, a couple hours after the convention was over.  He’s so, so, so incredibly sweet.

I think June 1^st, 2013, was the best day of my twenty-seven years.  Seriously.  Never been so happy.

AND I LICKED NORMAN REEDUS!