Blog

It’s too early to be awake. Yet here I am in the darkness at 3 am, reclining and crying in my husband’s favorite chair.

 

I didn’t know your middle name was George.

 

 After all those gigs together. 

 

So many deep conversations while passing the spliff. Even more silly banter between shots of tequila. 

 

How did I not know your middle name was George?

 

Tears drip down onto my collar bones. I’m reading your obituary. Gregory George Pando.

 

You liked to say I was your female counterpart. That always made me laugh. 

 

Your beautiful wife called me on a Sunday.

 

I expected your deep baritone on the other end of the line. Instead, I heard the small, quiet voice of your soulmate.

 

My heart skipped a beat. “Why is she calling me from your number?” I thought.

 

The cancer was taking you. 

 

You had lost consciousness. 

At that moment, you were resting comfortably in hospice.

Two weeks left at best. 

“ Am I allowed to come see him?” I cried.

After all, Covid 19 was a factor.

 “Do you want me to come there?” I whispered.

“ Of course I do! she cried out.

 “After all, you are his female counterpart!” 

 

🔸⚫️🔸⚫️🔸

 

I remember hating bath time with my three brothers. 

It was cramped in the tub and I was an eight year old girl.

On that fateful evening, towards the end of our cleaning ritual, my baby brother began crying.

 

Thinking back over the years, I’ve always wondered if something happened with the drain. Maybe, a toy car or plastic dinosaur caused his distress.

 

Whatever it was, that night my parents decided I was the problem. This culminated months of erratic behavior from my stepmother. 

 

Inexplicably, my father not only went along with her madness, but seemed to enjoy his role as enforcer. Lately, her main target was me. In her mania, she truly believed I was out to hurt the baby. 

 

My brother wailing in the bathtub was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

 

Something had to be done with me. 

 

I was told to get dressed and get in the car. It was dark outside.

My next memory is of me and my father in the lobby of Good Samaritan Hospital in West Palm Beach, Florida. I recognized the place because I had visited there when the baby was born nearly 2 and a half years earlier.

 

My father told me to sit down, turned quickly,  and left the building.

 

🔸⚫️🔸⚫️🔸

 

As soon as I got off the phone with your wife, I began to really cry. Tears of sadness, with a touch of guilt.

 

It took me a long time to get sober. Even before the pandemic I had withdrawn from my social circle. 

 

I had to do that to survive.

 

Occasionally I would speak to you on the phone, but we hadn’t been in each other’s physical presence for a few years. Even so, we had the type of friendship where we could pick up right where we left off without missing a beat.

 

I started combing through old photographs and ended up reading through our texts. As I read through the messages,  tears sprang to my eyes again.

 

 It was like you were speaking to me right then and there. I could hear your deep rumbling voice say these words:

“Honey, we’re born to die. Just part of the cycle.  Quality of life versus quantity of life is a hard balancing act, since we are all dying as we speak. That’s why I will die chunky and happy five years earlier than dying skinny and miserable at a later date! LOL”

 

At that moment, those timely sentiments wrapped around me like a warm embrace.  I picked up the phone and called my husband.  We made plans to visit you and say our last goodbyes.

 

🔸⚫️🔸⚫️🔸

 

I’m not sure how long I sat there in the hospital lobby.

 I didn’t dare move. 

 

The blur of sound, light and activity swirled around me, lulling me into a trancelike state. 

 

Eventually someone came up to me and asked some questions. I was given a candy bar. A policeman showed up. We went for a ride in his car.

 

I was transfixed by the colorful lights on the dashboard. It seemed like there were a million of them!

 

 Soon the car stopped . I knew we were at my house when I saw my dad underneath the porch light as he opened the door. My heart skipped a beat. I could see the two men talking but I didn’t know what they were saying.

 

I was certain this was all a big mistake.

 

Surely my father would tell the policeman that this is where I lived. 

 

Soon I would be getting into my own bed. I was so tired.

 

Then, the officer started walking towards the car.

 

It took me a little while to understand what happened. The door to my house had closed. 

 

My father went back inside the house. 

I would not be sleeping in my bed tonight.

The officer and I were driving away from my house.

I had no idea where we were going.

 

🔸⚫️🔸⚫️🔸

“If your heart aches, because part of its gone, just remember I love you, and try to be strong”  Greg Pando – “Dreams”

 

I had a dream last night. I was singing in the band at Katie Belle’s. You were playing guitar. Once again I was wearing that god-awful 50s costume two sizes too small. Our eyes met. I crossed mine, sticking out my tongue. I could hear your laughter.

 

We were scheduled to come visit you on Tuesday.

Upon rising, I discovered several social media posts. Friends saying, “RIP Greg.”

 

Apparently they didn’t  realize you still had two weeks left. I texted your wife to confirm time and place.  Immediately , my phone rang. 

 

“I’m a little confused with all the posts on Facebook, Deb.”  I said.

“I wanted to make sure that you still wanted us to come visit?” 

“Is he already gone?” I asked quietly.

“I am so sorry honey, I thought you knew.”

“Right after I spoke to you, I held him in my arms and told him it was OK to let go. When I turned around to check my phone, the nurse told me he had stopped breathing.”

“I’m so sorry.” she said softly.

 

In my heart, I guess I did know. 

 

The moment I read your words in our text about dying, I heard and felt you speaking to me from the other side. Reaching out to me, to let me know that everything is alright.

 

One last comforting hug from the big man. 

I am so proud of the girl in the back of that police car, so long ago. She survived an unimaginable situation. Not only surviving, but eventually, thriving. 

 

That girl lives in me.

 

It took a long time for me to write this blog.  I had to feel everything before I could write about it.  Then, I had to come to terms with it.

 

I finally realized, things will never be the way they were before.

It took me a long time to figure that out.

 

Since March, one of my friends was injured in a terrible car accident. Another had to have emergency surgery to save his life. Just yesterday a girlfriend passed from a prolonged illness.

 

Then, my buddy Greg crossed over.

 

My middle daughter moved out. The youngest got her driving permit and a job at McDonald’s.

 

Not to mention the complete devastation of the entertainment industry.

Through it all I’ve remained sober.  I’m pretty damn. proud of that!

The road ahead won’t be easy. I don’t even have a map.

What I do have is family and friends who love me, a new found love of myself, and dreams.

 

“ Some of your dreams may never come true, but don’t ever stop dreaming, because some of them do”   Greg Pando.

Naome Bradshaw

 

Disclaimer: THIS WEBSITE DOES NOT PROVIDE MEDICAL ADVICE – The information, including but not limited to, text, graphics, images and other material contained on this website are for informational purposes only. No material on this site is intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health care provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition or treatment and before undertaking a new health care regimen, and never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website.