My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [76]
Howard was waiting downstairs when I drove up. I knew it had to be him. He was tall, with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, piercing blue eyes, and was dressed totally in white. He looked rather ageless, but I guessed him to be in his late forties or early fifties. We drove to Farrah’s and I took him upstairs. She was sleeping soundly, and the nurse said she’d been in pain, so she had just given her some pain medication. Howard said he would just sit in the chair across the room and do his work. Farrah slept, while he just gazed steadily at her for what seemed about an hour. I lay down on the bed beside her. I figured I might as well soak up some healing rays in the process.
When he was done with whatever it was he was doing, he stood up and we left the room. I told him I hadn’t been feeling so great the last few days, and he said, “Just stand there and tell me what you feel.” He stood a few feet away from me with his right arm outstretched and his right hand pointed toward me, and sort of rocked back and forth with his eyes closed. I felt as if there was an electrical current going through my body. “Smell your skin,” he instructed me. “What do you smell?”
“It smells like a magnet,” I said.
“You’ll feel better now,” he said. I offered to drive him back to his hotel, but he said he’d walk, and that he’d come back tomorrow if I wanted him to. After he left, I noticed that I felt much better: calmer and clearer.
May 18, 2009
It was all surreal. Last night I got a call from NBC asking if I would do the Today show at seven thirty Eastern, which would mean that I’d have to go on the air at four thirty our time. I was incredulous, but I agreed to do it, in spite of the fact that today is my birthday.
We arrived at the NBC studios at 2:30 A.M. Farrah’s longtime friend and makeup artist, Mela, did my makeup and hair, and I was ready to go on live at four fifteen. Ryan had agreed to do it from home in Malibu by phone. From his bed. Lucky him! They asked me to do MSNBC afterward, so I did a quick live interview, then got into the car, went to the CBS studios, and did ET and The Insider. I was home by eight o’clock. I took two Ativan and tried to sleep, somewhat successfully, in between the doorbell ringing and the dogs barking.
I woke up and hurriedly pulled myself together to go to Sandy Gallin’s house for my birthday dinner. I hadn’t planned to do anything other than have dinner with my kids, but Sandy sweetly offered to have a few friends over for me at the last minute. Lowell, Sandy’s cook, made all my southern favorites: fried chicken, turnip greens, macaroni and cheese, corn pudding, coleslaw, barbecue ribs, and, for dessert, besides a fabulous chocolate birthday cake, there was banana pudding, peach cobbler, and blueberry crumble. He packed a bag full of food for us to take back to Farrah. Ryan came, and all of our friends came up and told us how much they loved the documentary. But I felt like there was a big hole in my heart because Farrah wasn’t there.
Besides a dozen or so of my friends, all my kids, Ashley, Sean, and Kimberly, showed up. I was really moved; spending an evening with the “old folks” probably isn’t the most fun thing in the world. I got some lovely birthday presents, but the most special was the birthday card from my daughter. It read,
Dearest Mom,
I cannot thank you enough for letting me stay here.