Lessons Learned From a Virtual Screening and From Life
Life has a strange way of testing you right after you claim you are ready for anything. My last blog post was all about meeting life where you are. I didn’t realize I was setting out a welcome mat for the universe to say, “Alright then, show me what you’ve got.” I like to call her the Weaver, because she has a way of stitching our stories together with a golden thread that runs exactly where we least expect it.
The Weaver weaves the stories of our lives.
The Weaver with luminous golden thread
Virtual Screening No. 2: Chaos, Comedy, and Community
We held our second virtual screening of Golden Wings on October 26. Our first screening had about four people in it, so I was fully prepared for a very quiet sequel. But then things got chaotic from the start. I had my production coordinator, Jonah, with me, and thank goodness for that. He became my lifeline.
Everything was working perfectly until I made Jonah an administrator in Google Meet. For reasons still unknown to mortal humans, that simple action changed the room link entirely. Suddenly no one could get in. Jonah had to dig into the problem and eventually discovered the cause. We scrambled to resend the new link to everyone, already fifteen minutes behind schedule. Frankly, I was shocked anyone waited around, but somehow the turnout was larger than the first screening. Just for the record, every single person who attended the first screening came back for the second. That alone felt like a small miracle.
My biggest fear was reliving the audio nightmare from the first screening when no one could hear the film. I pushed play, and for a moment I thought history was repeating itself. Then I remembered the tiny hidden button in Google Meet that optimizes sound. Once I clicked it, the audio finally behaved. Crisis avoided.
We did not get to have the Q and A I promised. My mother had trouble signing in, and I was so focused on getting the screening to work that I forgot to open the floor for questions. I simply thanked everyone and wrapped it up. Not my finest moderator moment, but the film played beautifully and that mattered most.
Even with the chaos, there was something special about watching people watch this story together. That is the magic of cinema. The communal experience. The sense that everyone is sharing one heartbeat for a moment in time. I will always treasure that.
Life Steps In: Loss, Grief, and a Broken Tibia
A few days later, I learned that my sister’s husband, Brian, had passed away. It was the kind of news that drops your soul straight through the floor. He struggled deeply with addiction, and the terminal solitude of that disease eventually took his life. I loved him like a brother. Even with all the complications and heartbreak, I loved him.
To make matters more surreal, I found this out an hour after leaving the emergency room myself. I had suffered an epileptic seizure that resulted in a spiral fracture of my tibia. I do not recommend that experience. Zero stars. The universe really did come for me from every direction at once.
I needed surgery, and my doctor, Dr. Cepkinian at Dignity Health in Glendale, was extraordinary. The surgery went well, and I am now the proud, unwilling owner of a titanium rod in my leg. The nurses were wonderful, and fate even placed one of my mother’s former flight attendant friends in town to help me navigate every appointment. She found me a free wheelchair, a walker, and helped get me situated. I do not question serendipity when it arrives. I just accept it with gratitude.
Done broked mah leg
What My Sister Is Facing
Meanwhile, my sister Hannah and her three children were thrown into the deep end of grief. Abigail is 14. Henry is 10. Leah is 9. These kids are remarkable human beings, and losing their father has been devastating. Hello.
To make everything harder, every financial account was in Brian’s name. Hannah has no access to anything until the probate process moves forward, and no one knows how long that will take. She is suddenly navigating grief, parenting, paperwork, and financial limbo all at once. It is cruel and clinical to force a grieving family to deal with this much bureaucracy.
My mother stepped up immediately. She paid the $2,200 cremation fee because she was the only one who could. She should not have had to, but she did, because that is who she is. If you have seen my documentary, you already know that about her.
The Fundraiser: Announcing Support for Hannah and the Kids
In the middle of all this, I decided to do something concrete.
I launched a GoFundMe for Hannah and the children.
Within hours, the donations poured in and covered the entire $2,200 my mother paid. It was one of the most humbling moments of my life. People cared. People stepped up. People acted fast.
But this is only the beginning.
Hannah still needs support to keep the kids stable through the holidays. Bills, food, school expenses, clothing, car payments, insurance, grief counseling, and simply the cost of moving forward in uncertainty. Our goal is $15,000. Every dollar will go directly to Hannah. My brother, who is a tax attorney, is setting up a small family trust so everything remains clean, transparent, and focused on the children.
Here is the link if you would like to help or share it with someone who can:
Final Thoughts
This has been one of the hardest seasons of my life. I am physically limited by a broken leg, emotionally cracked open by grief, and spiritually humbled by how many people have stepped in to help my family when I cannot. It is easy to feel helpless when life hits you in every direction at once, but I am choosing to meet it where I am, even when where I am feels wobbly.
To everyone who has shown kindness, shared the fundraiser, donated, emailed, or simply held us in your thoughts, thank you. You have no idea how much it means.
And to anyone reading this for the first time, welcome. This is our journey right now. It is messy. It is painful. It is real. And we are moving through it together.
If you can help Hannah and the kids, thank you.
If you can share their story, thank you.
If you can hold them in your heart, thank you.
With love,
Caleb
