During Fashion Week I always get a ton of emails and phone calls, asking why my son's mother, Arizona Muse, isn't walking the shows anymore... every September & February, just like clockwork. I have a few theories, but let’s go back to October.
It’s mid-October 2013. At that time, my life was kind of like a blur; I was living in a daze. I hadn’t seen Nikko in over a year, and Arizona wouldn’t allow me to Skype with him more than two or three times a month. I thought I’d never get a chance to hug him again. I wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating, I had stopped going to yoga. My life was a complete mess. I didn’t feel alive. Nikko seemed different too. He was distracted when we would Skype. He’d have outbursts with his mom sometimes. He seemed frustrated. Something was wrong in both of our lives. When we’d hang-up, I would cry, all alone, without anything to do about it… sometimes for hours.
Yoga has always been a big help when I’m feeling down. After class one afternoon, a close friend asked me what was wrong, saying she’d never seen me like that before. I guess I needed someone to ask me how I was feeling. I didn’t have anyone to talk too... maybe I did, but I was just too ashamed to let people in. I completely broke down, I couldn’t breathe. She listened to me, and held me (you know who you are, I love you, thank you). A few days later I flew out to LA and checked myself into a rehab. I wanted to be happy, I was hopeful therapy would help me ground myself. It was a good decision. Had I not gone at that time, I don’t know how things would have turned out.
Nearly a month into treatment (cognitive behavioral therapy, exercise, yoga, etc.), twenty-seven days to be exact, I received a call from my mom. Her voice was shaky. She asked me to call my Dad, “He’s dying.” I couldn’t reach him. He was sedated when I called. My plan was to fly out the next day. I didn’t understand how this was happening? Why didn’t anyone tell me my Dad was ill? I tossed and turned that night. My mom called me really early; it was like 4am. It had happened, he was gone.
I had seen him just a few months earlier. We had lunch with my grandparent’s. I was depressed at that time, missing my own son. I wasn’t very present at all that day. When we finished lunch, I didn’t give him a hug or tell him that I loved him before I left. That’s my biggest regret; I wish I could have told him that I loved him... and thank him for everything he did for our family and me.
He was sick and I didn’t even know. He was a proud man, a former marine. He must have thought he’d beat the cancer and everything would be okay. Or he didn’t want to burden me with his health problems. Nobody else told me either.
Sent From My iPhone