Good Grief

How a sudden loss inspired a deeper appreciation for my dad.

Darklings,

This weekend is Father’s Day in the U.S., and I’m reflecting on my immense love and appreciation for my dad, Russ Tamblyn, not just as the person who is sort of responsible for my existence—sorry Dad, Mom gets the majority of the credit for that—but also for the life he has led as an artist with a career spanning more than seven decades. 

My dad started his acting career in the Hollywood studio system when he was ten years old, attending school on movie sets with Elizabeth Taylor, getting into good trouble with Paul Newman, and teaching Elvis Presley some of his most famous dance moves. He’s worked with legendary filmmakers like Cecil B. Demille and Robert Wise and acted alongside movie stars like Debbie Reynolds and Glenn Ford. Later in life, my dad’s love of the arts spread into other mediums, and he found himself running in the same cultural and artistic circles as visual artists Bruce Conner and Ed Ruscha. Growing up, I was surrounded by Godfather-esque figures from my dad’s many worlds, men like Dennis Hopper, Neil Young, Dean Stockwell, George Herms, and of course, Jack Hirschman.

I’ve written about the sudden loss of Jack, trying to work through the grief and listen to what it was trying to teach me; from this, I have learned so much about how to cherish the remaining years with my father, now eighty-eight years old. I never got to say goodbye to Jack, not in any traditional way, at least, but I can share a long, beautiful, meaningful goodbye with my dad each time we part for as long as he’s still here with me. I capitalize on any opportunity to see him and my mom now. If I have time off work, I make it a priority to fly to Los Angeles with the main purpose of seeing my parents, which is not something I’ve always done. In the past, I would’ve needed a reason beyond seeing them to justify flying across the country for a visit. I’ll just see my dad whenever work brings me into town next, I’d tell myself. Now, the most important thing taking me west is him. 

On a recent trip to L.A. my dad and I went out for a father/daughter dinner date while my mom went to a friend’s retirement party. Dad and I took a walk on the Santa Monica bluffs overlooking the ocean near the Santa Monica Pier, a place I love and used to frequent with my dad growing up. At my request, he brought his Twin Peaks glasses, and we sat out under the breezy sun trading glasses back and forth between the Twin Peaks pair and our regular sunglasses, playing a game of “Who Wore It Better?”

Who wore it better? (He did.)

Later, we had a delicious dinner and martini at our favorite steakhouse, just the two of us. At the end of the meal, the waiter brought out a surprise dessert we had not ordered, complete with a ridiculous flaming sparkler candle on it and a small “Congratulations” sign. “For your dad, since it’s almost Father’s Day,” the waiter said. I thought to myself, Yes. Dad deserves to be congratulated for doing so very much with all the time he’s spent on this planet. Flashy bottle service firecracker candle and cookies it shall be! As we watched the sparkler candle burn out, I thought of all that he’s accomplished: an Oscar nomination, two daughters (me and my sister, China), a forty-year marriage to my mom, over 100 film and TV credits, a respected and admired name in the world of fine art, and so much more. And he’s not even done yet! This year he was honored at the TCM Classic Film Festival, and next year he has a memoir coming out that he’s spent more than a decade writing called Dancing on the Edge. (You can pre-order a copy here.) The book will make your jaw drop; it’s filled with stories of hanging out with Queen Elizabeth II, working with David Lynch, and getting compliments from Fred Astaire. 

After our dinner, we went home and sat in the living room singing an a capella version of “Four Strong Winds” together. I kissed him on his head like I always do before I go and said, “I love you, Papa.” Whenever I leave him, I say the kind of goodbye that has only ever carried an unweighted meaning: Until next time, Dad. But these days, every goodbye is a dress rehearsal for the real one. I know the day will come when I won’t get to see him again, and it was Jack’s goodbye, the real one—the one I didn’t get to have—that prepared me to cherish the one I will get to have with my dad. This most sacred relationship  doesn’t have to end the same way mine did with Jack, because I’m not taking a single moment for granted with my father while he’s still around. 

There will be grief one day when he’s gone, yes, but it will be a good grief, one that’s filled with every vibrant second of our memories together—the laughs, the tears, the excellent martinis, the walks on the bluffs, the singing, the joy.

Happy Father’s Day, Papa. Womb to Tomb. Cheers to you and all that you are and will continue to be. 

Tell me about your father or a father figure in your own life—someone who has loved you and nurtured you and seen you through it all.