May 17, 2009
Melanie Griffith has called me about this man named Howard Wills, who apparently has done amazing healings on people. He’s in town from Hawaii, where he lives, and she urged me to get in touch with him and have him see Farrah. The first time she called, I honestly thought, “I can’t deal with one more healer who doesn’t end up healing.” Finally, this morning I decided to call him, and while I was speaking to him, I got chills and started to cry. There was something very powerful about his voice, with his distinctly southern accent, that convinced me to give it a try. I made arrangements to pick him up where he was staying, which happened to be two blocks away from Farrah’s apartment. I also asked Ryan if he was okay with it, which he was.
Howard was waiting downstairs when I drove up. I knew it had to be him. He was tall, with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, piercing blue eyes, and was dressed totally in white. He looked rather ageless, but I guessed him to be in his late forties or early fifties. We drove to Farrah’s and I took him upstairs. She was sleeping soundly, and the nurse said she’d been in pain, so she had just given her some pain medication. Howard said he would just sit in the chair across the room and do his work. Farrah slept, while he just gazed steadily at her for what seemed about an hour. I lay down on the bed beside her. I figured I might as well soak up some healing rays in the process.
When he was done with whatever it was he was doing, he stood up and we left the room. I told him I hadn’t been feeling so great the last few days, and he said, “Just stand there and tell me what you feel.” He stood a few feet away from me with his right arm outstretched and his right hand pointed toward me, and sort of rocked back and forth with his eyes closed. I felt as if there was an electrical current going through my body. “Smell your skin,” he instructed me. “What do you smell?”
“It smells like a magnet,” I said.
“You’ll feel better now,” he said. I offered to drive him back to his hotel, but he said he’d walk, and that he’d come back tomorrow if I wanted him to. After he left, I noticed that I felt much better: calmer and clearer.
May 18, 2009
It was all surreal. Last night I got a call from NBC asking if I would do the Today show at seven thirty Eastern, which would mean that I’d have to go on the air at four thirty our time. I was incredulous, but I agreed to do it, in spite of the fact that today is my birthday.
We arrived at the NBC studios at 2:30 A.M. Farrah’s longtime friend and makeup artist, Mela, did my makeup and hair, and I was ready to go on live at four fifteen. Ryan had agreed to do it from home in Malibu by phone. From his bed. Lucky him! They asked me to do MSNBC afterward, so I did a quick live interview, then got into the car, went to the CBS studios, and did ET and The Insider. I was home by eight o’clock. I took two Ativan and tried to sleep, somewhat successfully, in between the doorbell ringing and the dogs barking.
I woke up and hurriedly pulled myself together to go to Sandy Gallin’s house for my birthday dinner. I hadn’t planned to do anything other than have dinner with my kids, but Sandy sweetly offered to have a few friends over for me at the last minute. Lowell, Sandy’s cook, made all my southern favorites: fried chicken, turnip greens, macaroni and cheese, corn pudding, coleslaw, barbecue ribs, and, for dessert, besides a fabulous chocolate birthday cake, there was banana pudding, peach cobbler, and blueberry crumble. He packed a bag full of food for us to take back to Farrah. Ryan came, and all of our friends came up and told us how much they loved the documentary. But I felt like there was a big hole in my heart because Farrah wasn’t there.
Besides a dozen or so of my friends, all my kids, Ashley, Sean, and Kimberly, showed up. I was really moved; spending an evening with the “old folks” probably isn’t the most fun thing in the world. I got some lovely birthday presents, but the most special was the birthday card from my daughter. It read,
Dearest Mom,
I cannot thank you enough for letting me stay here. You mean so much to me, and the more time I spend with you, the more I respect and love you. I feel bad every day that we went so long not being close. Hopefully, we are making up for lost time. Happy b-day, and I will miss you so much. Who will scratch my back and keep me on a spiritual path in London?
Love you loads,
Kim
This healing of my relationship with my daughter is such a wonderful gift that I owe to Farrah. This experience with her has made me a more open, unconditionally loving and patient person, and I believe that has helped to heal the breach between me and my daughter.
May 20, 2009
Last night I watched the Lakers game with Ryan and Farrah. She was much more alert and talkative. I started to have hope again. I know I keep saying it, but I don’t know how else to describe it: it feels like I’m riding a roller coaster. One day down, next day up.
Tonight I went over to Farrah’s to meet Howard. Farrah didn’t even know Howard was there. He just sat in the corner for a long time and silently prayed. I lay on the bed beside her and fell asleep. After he left, she woke up, and I told her he’d been coming to see her and praying for her.
“Is it okay if he comes back tomorrow?” I asked her.
“Yes, please,” she whispered. I kissed her goodnight and left.
May 21, 2009
We had such an amazing experience this afternoon. Howard came over to Farrah’s again. Ryan and I sat in the living room with him for a few minutes. I was nervous about how Ryan would receive him, but surprisingly, he was really comfortable with him. Howard told us about some of the people he had healed. He said it was all about God working through him, and how important it was to love Farrah. “You just have to love her, and be positive, and believe she can get well,” he told Ryan. “The words you speak are very powerful,” he added. “I can do that,” Ryan said enthusiastically.
I asked Howard if he’d ever healed people with addictions. He said people use drugs to numb their pain, and that the pain comes not only from the present day but from their lineage, and that he healed the entire family through the previous generations. I told him my mother had been a drug addict, that my two sons had suffered from addiction, and that I had ongoing health problems. He led me through a prayer about healing and forgiving my mother and asking her to forgive me. I started to cry during it. I cried even harder when he did the same process for my children. Afterward I felt so light and free, like a terrible burden had been lifted from me psychically.
What really surprised me was Ryan’s response—he was so sweet and compassionate, I didn’t feel at all uncomfortable crying in front of him. I somehow felt like the whole experience made us even closer. I feel like we’ve bonded in our love and concern for Farrah and that we’re all very much like a family.
Then we took Howard into Farrah’s room. She wasn’t aware that he was there at first. She was feeling terrible. She threw up several times and was in a lot of pain. I lay on the bed with her while Howard sat in the chair in the corner. Then Ryan brought Howard over to Farrah and introduced him. She kind of perked up with interest and actually began talking softly with him. She said her knee hurt and I asked him if he could work on it. He stood a couple of feet away and held out his hand toward her knee, and after a minute he asked her, “How does it feel now?” “Better,” she said. He asked, “Where else do you have pain?” She pointed to her abdomen. Again he held out his hand, this time toward her stomach. After a minute, he asked how she felt, and she said, “Much better. My body feels so relaxed.”
“He worked on Ryan, too,” I told her.
“I wondered why he was so quiet,” she teased.
I laughed. The old Farrah humor was back.
“He’s working on Redmond, too, honey.”
“Can you help him?” she asked Howard.
“Yes, I certainly can,” he answered. “I’m going to work on all of you, and you’re going to get better. I want you to believe that. You can get well and be healthy again.”
I thought it was time for me to leave them alone, so I kissed her good-bye and said I was going to feed the dogs.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said softly.
“Just get well. That’s all I want,” I said. I kissed her again and left the room.
Ryan was on the terrace talking with Howard’s wife, a pretty, hippie-looking young woman named Ahava. I talked to them for a few minutes and then left for home and my doggies. I felt like something very special had happened this evening. I so very much want to believe that Farrah can get well. I don’t know how it could happen, but I feel like with God, anything is possible.
May 23, 2009
I met Howard at Farrah’s this afternoon. She seemed genuinely glad to see him. She is clearly stronger, especially her voice. I let them talk alone until Dr. Piro arrived to see how she was doing. He felt she was doing much better, too, although he probably thinks it has more to do with the antibiotics than the healing work. I know in my heart that Howard is doing something miraculous. I believe he is actually helping to heal their whole family dynamic, which I’m sure has a lot to do with anyone getting sick. I know that for me it has played a huge part in my health. When Ashley or Sean was drinking or using drugs and I was fearing for their lives, I was a wreck physically. That kind of stress and the hopelessness that accompanies it is devastating to a mother. Marianne Williamson once told me an old saying: “You are only as happy as your least happy child.” I know that for me it’s true and I know it’s true for Farrah. She loves Redmond so much, and to see him struggling with drug addiction has been a huge emotional and, I believe, physical trauma for her. I think Howard is helping her let go of a lot of emotional baggage and that perhaps she can be free to heal now.
I also see a huge difference in Ryan. I think he really gets from Howard how important it is to be loving and positive with Farrah and he’s doing it. One thing I do know: no matter what the ups and downs have been, this man loves her with all his heart. I feel different as well. I feel this tremendous love for her when I’m around her. Not that I didn’t always love her, but this is different somehow. It seems to fill my complete being, and it’s not just with her. It’s with everyone and everything. Of course, I have my doubts. Can this man or anything else really heal all these tumors that have taken over her body? Is this too good to be true? I try not to entertain these thoughts and get back to my faith. I can’t afford to hold on to any negative thoughts or feelings, especially now.
May 25, 2009
I went over to Farrah’s around seven thirty. She was awake, but not very happy. Ryan was his usual loud, energetic self, asking her if she wanted to go out on the terrace in the wheelchair, or watch a Dominick Dunne murder mystery, or have some barbecue chicken and mashed potatoes. She opted out of all three, so he turned his attention to helping the two nurses attempt to put together the bed bars to keep her from getting out of bed and falling. She kept moaning softly like she was really uncomfortable.
Shortly after I got there, Howard arrived and came into her room. She seemed to brighten when she saw him. I told him I had brought over the coconut oil he’d asked me to get, so he showed Ryan how to rub it in very gently onto her back and down her spine. Howard took some of the oil, warmed it in his hands, and gently began rubbing her arms, talking to her all the while in his southern drawl. She was answering him very lucidly in a much stronger voice than she’s had for ages. He had her move her arms around and stretch them and she did it, making punching motions. We were astonished, especially since she’s hardly been able to raise food to her mouth.
Then he stood over her and raised his hands and started that strange rocking motion with his head while looking upward. After several minutes, he asked, “How do you feel?”
“Much better,” she said.
“You see,” he said. “You’re getting well. You’ll be playing tennis in no time.”
“Do you really think that could happen?” she asked.
“Without a doubt,” he answered firmly.
He continued rubbing oil on her while we talked about Texas and chicken-fried steak and turnip greens. I said I would make some this week and bring it over for all of us.
He said good-bye to her, and as he left the room, I leaned over to kiss her good-bye as well. “I love you, honey,” she said softly, looking rather exhausted by this point.
“I love you very much,” I said.
She kind of grimaced, and when I asked her what was wrong, she said, “I’m a little nauseous.”
“Shall I call Howard?” I asked.
She held her hand up and begged, “No…please!” She clearly meant she’d had enough for one night! Healing can be exhausting.
May 28, 2009
I went to the gynecologist at UCLA for my Pap smear. The last one in Germany was inconclusive. I get so nervous each time I have to have one now. I remember always admonishing Farrah in the years before she got cancer that she needed to slow down and take care of herself. She was always putting everyone else first and not taking time to rest and recuperate from stressful periods. She went through such a painful and exhausting time when her mother was dying in Texas. She practically lived in her hospital room for several months taking care of her. She ignored what should have been danger signals about her own health, and eventually she was diagnosed with cancer.
Now I feel like I’m doing the same thing. I guess that’s exactly what Howard is talking about. I feel like I haven’t been able to take any time for myself in too long. But how can I? There’s always so much in front of me to do. I feel like I desperately need a week’s vacation, but I can’t do it now. I can’t go away and leave Farrah for a week. I’m doing exactly what I was always fussing at her for doing, pushing myself unmercifully. But I don’t know how to stop.
I stopped by Farrah’s on the way home. Ryan had just arrived and we went in to see her. She wasn’t feeling so well. I asked her if it was all right if Howard came by later and she said it was.
“I’ll be back later,” I said.
“Are you leaving?” she asked.
“Yes, unless you don’t want me to,” I answered with a smile.
“I don’t want you to,” she said, smiling back.
“Okay, I’ll stay then,” I said. “Shall I make you some watermelon juice, like we had on our vacation in Mexico?” I thought the memory of that happy time would lift her spirits.
“Maybe just some watermelon…,” she answered with a feeble smile. “But I think I’ll have it later. Maybe I’ll sleep now.” Her eyes started to close. I kissed her gently on the forehead and quietly left the room.
When Howard came by, he showed Ryan how to do the kind of healing work he’d been doing on Farrah. He whispered to Ryan some thoughts he should hold in his head and his heart as he was doing it, and as Ryan held his hands close to Farrah, tears started to roll down his face. Farrah was completely present in the moment with him. He leaned down very close to her and spoke to her gently, asking her forgiveness, and she put her arms out and held him close. I was crying as well, watching this exchange that was more powerful than any love scene in a movie, because it was real.
It’s clear that these two people love each other with a love that is very deep, very special, and lasting beyond life and death. I feel like there has been an incredible healing between the two of them and that it includes Redmond as well. If only God will grant her a miracle and she can recover so that she can fully enjoy this healing of her family.
June 4, 2009
I’m on pins and needles waiting for Ryan to call. Dr. Piro is supposed to give us the results of Farrah’s CT scan yesterday. They took her to the hospital by private ambulance so Dr. Piro could do the scan and she could have a blood transfusion. He wants to keep her there a couple of days and try to build her up a little. I was kind of pissed off last night that the scan was done in the early afternoon and somehow the radiologist left before he and Dr. Piro could talk. Here we are, waiting nervously to find out these important results, which are available as soon as the scan is done, and it somehow falls through the cracks. Things like this drive me crazy. I woke up at five this morning, so stressed thinking about it that I couldn’t go back to sleep. When I left the hospital last night, Farrah seemed so fragile. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.
Ryan just called in tears. The scans are terrible, he said. The cancer is rampant in her liver and she has fluid in her lungs and a bacterial infection. How much can she withstand?
I’m calling the doctor now. I’m in shock. I was so hoping that Howard had brought a miracle with him. There was so much healing going on in every other way, except in her poor body, apparently. I want to cry my eyes out, but I can’t yet. I have to get dressed and go see her. I have to think if there’s something else we can do. I won’t give up until I have to. How can this happen in this way? She’s seemed so much more present and alert lately. She’s been so funny. Last night I called the nurse to see if Farrah wanted any Mexican food, because I was going to stop at El Cholo, our favorite Mexican restaurant, near the hospital. I didn’t expect her to want anything, but I asked anyway.
“Alana’s going to El Cholo,” the nurse told her. “She wants to know if you want anything.”
In the background I heard Farrah say, very matter-of-factly, “Alana knows what I want.” Of course I did. I knew she would want a ground beef enchilada, a ground beef taco, and a green corn tamale. I got enough Mexican food for an army. She only ate a few bites, but she loved it. Our friend Mela arrived, and we had a little girls’ night in her room.
I said, “I started to bring margaritas.”
Farrah immediately said, “Why didn’t you?”
Yesterday afternoon, Ryan had gotten her into the wheelchair for the first time and taken her out on the balcony for a few minutes. They called me from there, and she left me a voice mail message in her weak little voice. “I love you very much. I love you verymuch,” she said. I got all teary when I heard it. I’ll save that message forever if I can figure out how.
I went over later, and the two of them were so funny together. I asked the nurse why Farrah’s knee was still so sore. She’d fallen and cut it several weeks ago and had a lot of stitches, but it didn’t seem to be healing. Farrah said dryly, “Ryan ran into me with the wheelchair.” We all had a good laugh. It was another “bacon sandwich” moment. Mela came over and we all lay on the bed with Farrah and talked. Howard arrived and did some of his healing work with her alone. I finally left, feeling really hopeful, around ten.
And now? I don’t know what to do. I feel like I should be able to do something. I should be able to save her: find someone, find a cure, call Dr. Jacob, get her back here, something! Another healer? I feel desperate. I feel like I’m failing my friend. I can’t just do nothing. There has to be more. There has to be something we haven’t tried. There has to be that miracle that we always talked about. Doesn’t there?
Maybe there comes a time when there is nothing more to do…I don’t know.
June 5, 2009
I spoke to Dr. Piro today. It’s not quite as bad as Ryan’s interpretation. He explained that the cancer has advanced somewhat, but that the pressing problem now is the fluid in her abdomen and lungs and the infection that still hasn’t cleared up. The newest development is that the port is infected, and they have to surgically remove it this afternoon and put something temporary in its place until the infection heals. He doesn’t feel any of these things are life threatening. It’s rather a matter of taking care of each of them in the hospital, and hopefully, she’ll be home early next week. He doesn’t see anything horrible happening in the very near future, but it all seems to be piling up.
Howard has been calling to find out the results. I told him about everything and said we were all very disappointed. I guess we’d expected this miracle healing. I asked him why Farrah hadn’t had an instantaneous healing, like so many others had experienced from his work. He said, “Sometimes these things take time. She’s been going through a lot for a long time and it’s taken its toll on her. The work I’ve been doing with her has helped her to release a lot of old stuff. Her spirit has to heal and her body will follow. Don’t give up, no matter what the doctors and the tests say. Just love her and get her to eat and build back her strength, and don’t give up.”
I am not giving up, but in my heart I wonder if it’s still possible for her to rally one more time. She’s a far cry right now from the strong, resilient, fighting Farrah who always bounced back no matter what. I feel sad, but not hopeless. I know there has been a tremendous spiritual healing with Farrah and with Ryan, and I believe even Redmond, although he’s not here. I can’t give up believing there can still be a miracle, even in the face of what seems to be grim reality. I worry about Ryan and Redmond if the worst happens. I know they’ll be devastated. We all will. But after all, she’s Red’s mom and has been Ryan’s love for over thirty years. I’ll be there for them in any way I can. I feel like we’ve all become family now, bonded together in loving Farrah.
June 7, 2009
I went to the hospital yesterday. Ryan had been there for several hours. She had another surgery yesterday to remove the port. She was very weak and still, barely able to speak from all the medications. I held her hand and stroked her head. I’ve noticed that her hair is growing back nicely, and that seems like a good sign. Ryan stood at the foot of her bed. “Are you comfortable?” he asked. She couldn’t manage to get any words out, but she laughed. Just a tiny little smile/laugh that said, “Comfortable? Are you crazy? Do I look comfortable?” We all laughed with her. She still has her sense of humor.
June 8, 2009
Mimmo called this morning. He calls once a week and asks how I am, how is Farrah, how are my dogs, Lolita and Bliss, etc., etc., etc. I told him as well as I could, since I haven’t been practicing my Italian anymore, that I returned his call the other day, and when the machine at his home answered, it said something like “You have reached Mimmo and Nina…” I hung up without leaving a message, but it struck me that she’s obviously living with him. He said that she stays there a lot and something about her cell phone not working. I felt like maybe it was finally time to just close this door.
“You have a girlfriend,” I said. “We won’t be seeing each other again, so I don’t see any reason for you to continue to call me.”
“But aren’t we friends?” he replied. I wanted to say, “No, you jerk. You have a girlfriend, and I’m not interested in having another friend. And I don’t like the way you handled things between us.” But instead I simply explained that our romance was over, he had a new amore, and I didn’t see any reason for us to keep talking. He was very taken aback, but finally accepted it. He said, “Ciao,” and so did I, and we hung up.
I felt relieved and sad at the same time. It needed to end; it needed closure. I still have some resentment toward him, and I have to work on forgiving him and letting it go. Our romance served its purpose for a period of time, but it had nowhere to go and I suppose we both knew it. Perhaps if I’d been in love with him, things could have been different. I would have made more of an effort to be with him. I guess his practicality got the best of him. She was there and I wasn’t. Better to love the one you’re with than be with the one you love. Anyway, it’s over, I’m alone, but there’s so much going on in my life, it’s the last thing I can think about. Sometimes I feel lonely, and it would be nice to have someone to share my life with, but if it’s meant to be, then it will be. Meanwhile, I have a lot to deal with, and so does Farrah.
June 9, 2009
Ryan called from the hospital last night so excited. He was with Farrah and they’d just finished watching the Lakers game. She was a little stronger and much more lucid. He said they had a wonderful time together, and he asked her to marry him! She said yes!
I screamed with joy. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? The two of them belong together. Marianne Williamson said she could marry them since she’s a minister. I started thinking about finding her a beautiful white nightgown and that Mela better start working on a wig. Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but I can’t help thinking that this would give her a boost and get her to rally, to rise once again like the phoenix, as she’s done so many times before. And Ryan has really changed since he’s worked with Howard. He’s so gentle and loving with her. That’s what she needs. Maybe she always has. Just to be loved and nourished and cared for by the man she’s loved for so many years.
June 10, 2009
I just lay down to meditate. I wasn’t feeling well at all. I’d been going through some of the entries in my diary of when Farrah and I were at the clinic and suddenly got incredibly sad. I realized that we’d never be back there again. Even if by some miracle Farrah should get better, Dr. Jacob is moving her clinic to a completely different area, outside of Stuttgart. It’ll be in one of the least attractive parts of Germany, if Stuttgart is any indication. So I’ll never see Bad Wiessee again, or Tegernsee, or any of the beautiful countryside of Bavaria. If Mimmo and I had continued our romance, perhaps I would have gone to visit him there, but that’s finito, and I can’t imagine that I would have any reason to return. As difficult as many of the trips were, and as ill as Farrah often was, we had some good times. The walks along the lake, the wonderful dinners at Mimmo’s, our snowball fight in the mountains, Farrah’s birthday party, watching movies and drinking hot chocolate in her room, piled on the bed together. Just waking up in the mornings and opening the curtains, seeing the beautiful snow-capped mountains and the sparkling lake, or the bright green of the grass in the springtime and the flowers blooming everywhere.
But most of all, I miss the closeness I shared with Farrah. We bonded in a way I’ve never experienced before. I’ve kept so much bottled up inside me for so long, but as I lay there trying to meditate, the tears finally came. I miss the way things were. At times, when I’m trying to remember something we did or how something transpired, I’ll want to call Farrah and ask her because I know she would remember. But then I realize that she’s not in a condition to have that conversation. She wouldn’t be able to remember, and that makes me incredibly sad. I can’t call my friend anymore when I need advice or an opinion or a laugh. The other day in the hospital, she looked at me and asked, “Where am I?” I know it’s all the medication, and when they are able to decrease it, she’s much more herself. But I understand what Ryan means when he says, “I want her back.” So do I.
June 11, 2009
I picked up Mexican food again and went to the hospital. I got there a little late because of bumper-to-bumper traffic, and Ryan had already left. Again I had enough food for an army and it was only Farrah, me, and Jennifer, the nurse. Farrah was having trouble breathing because of the fluid in her lungs. They’re going to put her out and drain them tomorrow, but for tonight she’s pretty much out of it on the pain medication. She couldn’t really get her words out, and I didn’t want her to struggle trying to talk to me. I could see by her eyes that she wanted to communicate, but she couldn’t. I kissed her gently on the forehead and told her to sleep and I left. Honestly, I couldn’t have stayed any longer. I’ve been refusing to give up on that possible miracle, but tonight the chances seemed very remote. I felt sad, discouraged, and even a little hopeless. Where is my dogged determination that she can get well?
I was speaking to a friend today and he said, “Sometimes you have to give them permission to go. Maybe they want to, but they’re trying to hang on because they know their loved ones want them to. They have to know it’s okay to let go.” That took me by surprise. I’d never thought about it that way. I just assumed that we all had to keep cheerleading and encouraging her and telling her she’s going to make it. Then I happened to speak to another friend, who told me a similar story about her father: He was in a coma and close to dying but still holding on. Someone told her she had to give him permission to go if that was what he wanted. When she did that, he rallied the next day and became very lucid and focused. He opened his eyes and smiled a warm, clear smile for the first time in two weeks. Twenty-four hours later he died, very peacefully.
Are we keeping her selfishly? Ryan said yesterday he would keep her like this forever, just to have her. I feel the same, but is it fair to her? What does she want? I don’t think she’s given up. She’s a fighter and she’s still so strong, it’s as if none of these setbacks is enough to take her. I’ve never looked at this whole side of it. Maybe she’s just tired. I know I am. A deep-to-the-bone emotional and spiritual exhaustion. It’s hard to see my friend lying there unable to move, struggling for breath, unable to eat, and seemingly wasting away. It’s heartbreaking. I wonder what she thinks, what she wants…
June 14, 2009
I went to the hospital this evening. Ryan and I had arranged to go at the same time; I think we probably need each other for strength right now. When I walked in he was leaning over and whispering tenderly to her. When he saw me, he said, “Darling, look who’s here.”
I stroked her head gently and said softly, “Hi, honey…” She stared at me with her large luminous eyes, but didn’t speak…The look in her eyes was almost haunted. She was frail and gaunt, her tiny arms lying outside the covers but not moving. Often she takes my hand, but it was clear she didn’t have the strength tonight. Ryan sat on the window seat next to Jennifer, the nurse, and they talked about the Lakers game. We had just won the championship. The television was still on, and we could see people celebrating. Jennifer said she and Farrah had watched the game and when the Lakers beat the Orlando Magic to take the title, Farrah managed to lift her fist in a gesture of victory. It’s evident she understands what’s going on but is so weak that she can barely speak. She rubbed her lips together in that gesture she always makes when they’re dry. I asked, “Honey, do you want some of your lip cream?”
“No, thank you,” she answered in a whisper, slowly forming the words. I didn’t want to tax her by continuing to talk. I went into the bathroom and braced myself against the sink. I stared into the mirror, tears forming in my eyes. I needed to escape, to pull myself together. I didn’t know what to say or how to act. After a few moments, I flushed the toilet and came back out. Ryan was leaning over her again, talking softly. I sat with Jennifer and asked mundane, meaningless questions. “Did she eat today?” “Did Dr. Piro say when she can come home?” I’d spoken to him this morning and he’d said hopefully midweek, so I already knew the answer, but I felt compelled to make some kind of small talk.
Farrah’s eyes were starting to close, so Ryan kissed her tenderly and said, “Go to sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He made a heart gesture and mouthed, “I love you,” to her. I could feel the tears starting to form again.
I kissed her forehead and whispered, “Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you,” but her eyes were already closed. Ryan and I walked out to the parking lot together. I gestured to the bench by the attendant’s booth.
“Do you want to sit for a minute?” I asked. I needed to talk about Farrah, to stay there close to her for a while longer. We sat on the bench, discussing possible scenarios. I’m the one who’s usually the cheerleader, but after seeing her tonight, I felt sort of resigned.
“She’ll never leave here,” Ryan whispered sadly.
“But maybe she’ll rally?” I said. “She has before, you know…” I said it without much conviction this time. We sat there, sometimes talking, sometimes in silence. I told him the story about going shopping for her Mercedes after one of the bad-news scans, and how, when the man asked her if she wanted a two- or three-year lease, she’d made a kind of joke about it. We talked and even laughed some about our girl. “Our girl,” he always calls her.
I came home and petted my dogs for a long time. They haven’t gotten much attention from me lately. I didn’t turn on the television, for a change, but put on some soft classical music, lit the candle in my bathroom, and got into a hot bath. I lay there for a long time, thinking about my friend…my beautiful friend. How could this have happened to her? I thought back over all the events of these past two years as I soaked in the soothing water. Where has the time gone? Two years ago today, she, Ryan, and I were at the clinic, her first trip there. It seems a lifetime ago. Lolita came in and lay down beside the tub, something she never does. She could feel my sadness. It felt like I had an ocean of tears inside me, but they were locked up too tightly to escape.
What will happen now? I don’t feel optimistic about the coming days, but she’s rallied before, my friend. As I said to Ryan tonight, “Farrah never likes to do the expected. She likes to be unpredictable. Maybe she’ll surprise us…” I hope so. I’m going to sleep now, or at least I’ll try to, but I’ll leave my phone on as always.
June 15, 2009
I got a phone call from Ryan today to tell me Farrah was being moved to the ICU because her blood pressure was so low. He was completely choked up. It didn’t sound good at all. I said I would get ready and come to the hospital right away but he said he’d call me from there once she’d been moved. I called Dr. Piro, who said to wait a couple of hours so they could get her settled in. The ICU has all these rules about visiting, so I had to wait until eight thirty to go. She was lying there looking small and frail, yet her face, as skeletal as it is now, still looked beautiful.
I sat by her bed and stroked her arm as she looked at me. An almost otherworldly stare. I needed to tell her some things before it was too late. “Honey,” I said, “I never really tell you how much you mean to me, but I love you so much. Like a sister.”
She looked up at me and said softly, “More than a sister…”
My eyes welled up with tears as I continued. “If I’ve ever said or done anything that hurt you in any way, I want you to know I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry we had that fight in the car on the way to the airport.” I was openly crying now. I could tell by her eyes that she understood every word.
Then, I added, “And I want to thank you for being my friend and for all you’ve done for me. For letting me be a part of the documentary. It’s touched so many people, Farrah. You can’t imagine what a wonderful thing you’ve done…” She softly said, “Ohhh, honey,” and with tremendous effort raised her frail little arms to hold me. We held each other for a long time, and afterward I looked at her and said, “You’re tired, aren’t you? This has been a long few years.” She looked up at me and nodded. “Yes.” I knew I had to ask her: “Do you still want to keep fighting?” She said softly, “Yes.”
“Good,” I said, “because if you do, we’re fighting with you, but if you get too tired, that’s okay, too.” She looked at me and nodded. I kissed her forehead and we were silent for a while. I felt like I’d said what I needed to say. She knew we were behind her, whatever she chose to do.
Mela came into the room soon after with some fan letters she’d picked up at the apartment and two of Farrah’s rosaries. “Can I join the party?” she asked. I think Farrah was happy to have her girls gathered around her. I talked about some of our Germany trips and the cocktail we always drank on Lufthansa. Farrah clearly said, “Why can’t we have one?” We laughed about how Farrah always falls asleep the minute she gets into a car or anything that moves. We said, as soon as she was better, we’d take that Texas road trip and Mela would help me drive. I told Farrah that a very important magazine was doing a cover on her and she said, “They are?” I nodded, and continued, “And there’s talk that you might win an Emmy for the documentary.”
“Really?” She seemed surprised. Farrah was always surprised when she got accolades for her work. Then she said, barely coherent now, “I don’t like them…”
“Who don’t you like?” I asked.
Very faintly, she tried to get the words out: “That magazine.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “You were upset with them because you thought they said something about you a long time ago?” Farrah raised her hand and made a “F—you” sign. Mela and I both laughed. That was Farrah, defiant to the end.
June 20, 2009
I woke up this morning thinking about Farrah. There doesn’t seem to be much time that I’m not thinking about her. I’ll go up to see her today. I haven’t been to the hospital for the past two days because I’ve been sick and didn’t want to give her anything. Everyone here seems to be sick. Ryan is sicker than I’ve ever seen him. He’s had a terrible flu the last few days. Farrah and I used to laugh about how strong he is. She’d say, “If Ryan gets a cold, it lasts about a minute.” Even when he was diagnosed with leukemia, they came out with a drug a few weeks later that put it right into remission. He’s still in remission after eight years. I sometimes forget he has cancer, too. I don’t like to think about it. Ryan is indestructible. Isn’t he? He has to be. I couldn’t even face the thought of him getting sick.
Before I went to sleep last night I called Dr. Jacob in Germany. Maybe I’m grasping for one last straw, but I feel like I can’t give up yet. I told her how Farrah is doing, and she said, “It doesn’t sound good, Alana.”
“Can’t anything be done? I feel like she’s just lying there dying. Isn’t there something you can do?” She could hear the frustration and desperation in my voice.
“She should have this new antibody that they’ve just approved in Germany, but she can’t have it while she’s in the hospital. She would have to come home first.”
“Can it help at this late stage?” I asked.
“They’ve just had a conference on it in Florida, and it has been quite successful in arresting very late stages of cancer. It’s just been approved here in Germany but it still isn’t approved in the States,” she explained.
“This is crazy,” I said, exasperated. “If there’s something that might possibly help her, let’s give it to her. She’s just going to lie there and die and they’ll just keep her drugged and comfortable until she goes. I’ll give her the damn shots myself if I have to. How do we get it?”
“We will have to wait until she gets home. Nothing can be done while she’s in the hospital, Alana.” I could tell she was also frustrated.
Right. Of course. Better she should just have lots of pain medication and go peacefully. What if she doesn’t want to go? Especially if there’s something else left to try. A very slim chance, maybe, but still a chance. I almost wish we’d stayed in Germany. At least I feel they’re more proactive there. And what if I did give her this new drug myself and what if she died? Would I be arrested for murder? How does that work? Okay, I realize I can’t do something like this on my own, but it makes me crazy. There’s something that might help her and we can’t get it to her. Dr. Piro says she’s in such a weakened state that giving her something new might push her over the edge. Her body seems to be failing, and something that causes a reaction, even though it would have a good result if she could tolerate it, might kill her. Would I want to take that chance? Would I want that responsibility on my shoulders? Mela and I talked about it last night. If there’s a chance it could help pull her out of this, she feels we should do it, no matter what. She thinks it’s worth it, and I think I do, too. What is there to lose? She can’t and won’t go on much longer like this. I wish she were able to make this decision herself. I know what she would do, though. I already know.
June 22, 2009
This will be my last entry. The doctor said that it’s only a matter of time, and I can’t bring myself to write anymore. It seems this journey is almost over. I’m no longer numb. Crying is much easier lately; in fact, I’m surprised I have any tears left in me.
I went to the hospital tonight to see “our girl.” As I pulled the chair close to her bed, Farrah opened her eyes and smiled slightly. “How are you, honey?” I asked as I held her hand and stroked it. She just stared into my eyes. I could see she wanted to say something, but she couldn’t get the words out. I continued to hold her hand, and I stroked her soft, wispy hair with my other hand.
“Your hair is getting longer,” I said. “It’s this long now.” I held up my finger and thumb about two inches apart. She tried to lift her hand to her head, but she couldn’t quite make it.
“Do you want me to read the Lord’s Prayer?” I asked. I showed her the Christian Science book that I often bring. “Yes,” she answered softly. I read to her for a while, first the prayer, then Psalm 23 and several other passages. I put the book away and took her hand again. I could tell she was thinking about something. She tried to form a word with her lips but couldn’t manage it. I said, “I wish I could read your mind.” Her eyes looked momentarily frightened, and I wanted to ask, “Are you afraid?” but I wasn’t sure if I should. I didn’t know quite what to say; what was appropriate. Do you talk to a person about dying? Do you tell them not to be afraid, that it will be all right? Or do you just pretend everything is fine? I don’t know…I don’t know. I wish someone would tell me.
She was still looking into my eyes as I was softly rubbing her arm. I had this urge to tell her about my upcoming biopsy at UCLA; that my Pap smear had come back irregular and that they are going to have to put me under and do a surgical procedure in order to get a proper biopsy. It’s a year ago exactly that we were in Germany and I had the “cancer for a day.” I wanted to tell her that I’m kind of nervous but that didn’t seem appropriate, either, after what she’s been through. I had this maudlin thought that maybe if it was positive, I’d be joining her in the not too far-off future. I sure couldn’t do what she has done. Nor would I want to.
Finally, the nurse came in and gave her the pain medication, and soon her eyes were closing. I kissed her on the forehead. Then I remembered. “When they move you out of ICU, I asked if they could put a cot in your room so I can spend the night. We’ll have a slumber party.” She opened her eyes and tried to say something, but nothing came out. I kissed her again and said good-night. I walked alone out into the balmy June night. I wondered how Ryan was doing. Redmond. Her daddy, Jimbo. How will they all make it through this? How will I?
Farrah Fawcett passed away on June 25, 2009.