First, I would like to offer my deepest condolences to Craig Ferguson, whose father just passed on. The timing couldn't be more ironic for me, or for him...I also want to apologize for an email I sent to Craig and The Late, Late Show last week, in which I complained about the repeat of shows which recently aired. The last minute repeats were probably covering Craig's unanticipated absence as he flew back to Scotland to be with his dad during his last hours. It proves that one should have all the facts before reaching conclusions... and even then, things are not always as they seem.
On the January 30 show, Craig's poignant monologue was devoted to honoring his father. (Click here to see CBS' online clip.) Watching it has made me love Craig even more. His honest vulnerability and willingness to share his pain reinforced what an outstanding human being he is - and how my first impression of him was more accurate than what I experienced at a taping a few weeks ago.
I missed the homage live, and came to the show just as Amy Yasbeck was welcomed to the stage. Wouldn't you know, this is one show I hope they do repeat. Amy and Craig had a heartfelt discussion of life, death, religion and the afterlife. It was somber and sincere. Amy talked about owning the private grief for the loss of her husband, John Ritter. (I have my own memories of John, fodder for a Shelley Winters-like memoir at some point.)
Anyway, Amy was commenting that Craig's son, Milo, will learn about the grieving process by observing how Craig deals with this loss. The entire segment was a tremendous departure from the typical late night talk show celebrity interview and it renewed my belief in the magic of Craig Ferguson. The segment was also a poignant cap to a 48-hour "message from the universe" which I'm still trying to decipher.
The message began three nights ago when I smelled someone smoking a cigarette right next to me at 2am. I was sitting at my computer and the odor was unmistakable. I had a fleeting thought that perhaps my Dad (who died in 1992) was paying me a visit, but I dismissed the notion quickly, as I have never had any sign of him, despite my desire and search for one.
Sunday night, I was chatting with a client, and we were sharing our sordid dysfunctional childhood memories. The client told me about her mother who just died in December. She recounted a story that led us to "pretend cast" which actors would be good for a movie about her teenage years. I mentioned Debra Winger as a possibility for portraying her mother.
The conversation continued, and I confessed that I wished my Dad would let me know if he was hanging around me. A few minutes later I turned on ABC to catch the last 10 minutes of Desperate Housewives. As fate would have it, the scene was of Eva Longoria's character releasing a balloon, symbolic of the release of her dead baby's spirit. Why was this relevant to me?
Back in 1992, my mother had flown to Los Angeles with my father's ashes, to scatter them on Catalina Island. A friend accompanied me for this event, as I could not be left alone with my mother to protect my sanity (and my mother's life). My mother revealed to me her intention to release a balloon in honor of my father. When I pointed out to her that it needed to be a helium-filled balloon, she dismissed my comment, because she believed I was never right about anything. I insisted again that the balloon would not rise with merely her hot air. She ignored my protestations.
My mother made a little speech, released the balloon... and we all watched as it... abruptly dropped to the ground, bounced a bit and went over the edge into a ravine. I was mortified, but more importantly, a few steps from pushing my mother over that same cliff.
In retrospect, the humor of the moment was something Dad would have appreciated. He was not an emotional man, but he had a tremendous sense of humor and brilliant mind. The last time I spoke to him, three days before he died, was the only time I ever heard Dad cry - and it was the tears of a concerned father, wanting to make sure his only daughter was safe and happy - wanting to tell her that he loved her and was proud of her. I remember releasing Dad in that conversation, letting him know it was okay for him to let go, to die. I lied through my teeth, telling him that my life was wonderful, just so he wouldn't worry about me anymore.
So back to the present - here was this scene of a balloon ceremony. A message from Dad? The next show was Grey's Anatomy, and the storyline centered around the loneliness of Meredith's crazy mother. Another sign? A few hours later the late night movie came on - and it was - Urban Cowboy with Debra Winger! I couldn't believe it. That movie hasn't been on TV in years and there it was, on the same evening where I had just mentioned Winger's name.
What is the universe trying to tell me? Cigarette smoke. A balloon ceremony. A crazy mother. Debra Winger. All validations that somehow I am "tuned in" to something... but what?
And then the kicker. Discovering that Robert Ferguson (Craig's father) has just died. My Dad was also a Robert. Same first name. Even the same last initial.
Perhaps there's more message to come. While I wait, I hope the two Roberts hook up and have a good time - wherever they are. To Craig Ferguson, my soul hugs yours. In time, may your laughter and joie de vivre lessen the pain for you and your family.
