by Dana Miller

Borrowed time.

Don’t leave me this way.

Do we love more in death? Maybe when you pass you drop all the nonsense that you were and become what I wanted you to be. I romanticize life after death. I know and embrace that I do and it quite frankly makes me happy. My father passed away at the age of 48, but he seemed older. It was the first real loss of my life. I remember leaving my grandma’s home and telling my mom that my dad’s mom wasn’t long for this world—and she wasn’t, but it was expected. She was old and had lived a good long life. My dad hadn’t. For me, there was no closure. He just slipped away early one morning, so I looked for an epiphany, for a sign. Months went by. But Lord, out of nowhere, there it was—he hugged me. I was in bed and my father came down from the light and embraced me. He told me everything was going to be alright, and it was. It left me warm, quivered and shaken.

The problem is, I wanted more. It seemed to me that anyone whom I loved and cherished after their time passed owed me some assurance, just to let me know that they/we were okay. It was all going to be alright. Just hug me. Including my Dad, I have now known over 400 graceful gents who have left my side. I still wait for reaffirmation from 399 of them. Well, now I guess 398.

When my Matt died in 1989, he was pissed, bitter and agnostic. He wanted no serious service because he believed in nothing. His sport and spirit was appalling and at times sinister, and yet he was dying. Fuss and correction seemed out of place, at least for me. His mother betrayed him and I don’t blame her for a second. She got that hug in a memorial by his favorite tree that I will never get. Perhaps it was manufactured, but for that moment—maybe for just a split second—it was likely very real. And God, I have waited, wanted and mourned for that moment now for over two decades. Do we love more in death?

The other night I was invited to the opening of Rockwell in Los Feliz. Chris Diamond and Wayne Elias have been my friends for 20 years. They moved from Mark's Restaurant and opened this magnificent space at 1714 N. Vermont. For those old enough to remember the past, on a Sunday, I believe it will be the new Greg’s Blue Dot. This spot is rocking. They have created a marvelous environment, and it will be successful beyond belief.

Chris and I have had a rough go of it over the years. We had a mutual friend who became a prick and we both felt betrayed and chose sides. So dumb, but it all seemed right at the moment. Wayne is a dear friend of an ex of mine and has always been wonderful and solid. Yet I do know in my heart I have always truly loved them both. A couple of years ago Chris was a blessing and a saint to my dear friend Ron Wanless. Ron was dying. I guess I knew it, but I never accepted it. I just couldn’t do it again. Chris did my boy right—he was a champ. Ron lived in Chris’ home and as he failed, Chris ramped up. Ron lived a miserable death, and I cried every day during that moment in time.

After Ron died, I gave my 78th eulogy. Then I waited and waited, and I never got the sign. He never told me he was okay. Then Chris wrote me a missive a few days ago about the Rockwell party. He said, “I do believe the miserable whore Wanless creature sits on the top of the coral tree in the middle of the patio.” I laughed and I cried. I still have not recovered. I just giggle at the thought.

That is how Ron creatively and with amazing artistic flare always spoke to us. We were creatures and whores. His take, his mettle and his demeanor were all in the genuine spirit of fun and frolic. Ron is perched in Chris and Wayne’s tree. I have my sign. My sweet, sweet boy gave me a sign—the sign. I’m headed back to Rockwell for a drink. A drink with an old friend.

I attended councilman and former mayor John Duran’s birthday party the other night at Hollywood Forever Cemetery. John is a class act and extremely nice. His friends threw a swell bash. Geez, John has maybe given more eulogies than me. I do hope he gets the sign.

See You Out & About

contact me: malibudana@aol.com