The Aftermath

Yesterday when I saw my Dad, he had this blank expression on his face. I wasn't sure how he truly felt about the whole ordeal at first, so I kind of kept quiet. But as we took off on the road, he took a deep breath and glanced over to me.

"I feel like a murderer," he sighed, gripping the steering wheel a little bit harder.

I didn't know what to say. There was a part of me that wanted to console him, because he really loved that dog as much as I did. But then the other part of me saw the entire act as murder, too.

He obviously could tell my awkwardness and averted the subject.

"Your sister was brave. You know she went with me? I was surprised how willing she was. Your sister was a brave little girl today. More like a young lady after what she witnessed today."

"Is she okay?" I asked, and then suddenly envisioned my little sister's face soaked with tears. Even worse, my little baby brother's face.

"She cried, if that's what you mean. She was severely upset over it all. And with good reason, obviously."

"Obviously," I mimicked softly, thinking that I wouldn't have been able to be in the same room like she was if I had been there. I don't think I would have even gone so willingly.

This has really got me thinking about fear and death. What exactly is it that I fear the most from death? Is it the concept of complete darkness (which is what I always imagined darkness to be as a little kid. Nothing but endless darkness. Probably why I still sleep with some sort of light on at night.) or is it the loneliness that is caused by it?

Although I feel beget with tremendous sadness right now, I know that nothing is going to be as painful as walking into my parents' house the next time and realizing for nearly the first time that he won't be there. That empty, lonely feeling that is going to settle into the pit of my stomach.

That is what I fear the most. The lonely realization that sets in. Even now I can feel that same emptiness creeping into my stomach.

Sad Day

I just found out that my dog Scruffy is going to be put down today at 4:00 pm. I am trying not to look like a blubber baby, but it's so difficult not to.

We have two dogs at my parents' house: a mini-Schnauzer and a mini-half Scottie/half Terrier. The Scottie/Terrier gets on my nerves ever since she came to the house. She basically has the same personality as my mother (thus, why my mother insisted that we have her) but she whines constantly, yips all through the night, has a terrible case of puppy B.O. and does so many things out of spite.

Meanwhile, Scruffy was my favorite. He has a beautiful coat of gray, and very loyal. He just didn't like anyone that he didn't know - but that wasn't his fault. My mother let Hannah (my 12-year old sister) train him, and Hannah really didn't know the first thing about training a dog. She hardly let Scruffy out to play with other people, didn't help him get acclamated with other people and strangers. And on top of that, Schnauzers are very protective and uppity, he really needed to go to training sessions or something.

Regardless, we've had Scruffy for two years or so now. I love him. I used to go over and sleep on the couch and he'd immediately come up to me and snuggle real close, give me soft kisses.

Today, apparently, when my older brother came over to say hello and pick up a few things from my parents' place, Scruffy came attacking at him and bit at his kneecap. And so my Mom made the executive decision to put Scruffy down.

I can't believe it. I feel horrible inside. I never knew I'd ever be as attached as I am to him - and I don't know what I am going to do the next time I go home and won't see my baby boy coming at me and snuggling me.

Wow, it's this horrible emptiness inside. My Dad said he is going to be in the room when they give Scruffy the injection...just thinking about it creates knots in my stomach.

Speechless

There is so much that I have had bottled up inside of me, and it's to the point where I am ready to burst.

But when the time comes for me to speak out - will I have every line ready at my command as perfect as they have sounded in my head over and over again or will I end up being speechless?

Only time will tell...

Life, Love, & Peace in Africa

Vanity Fair's new issue is out in stores today, and it includes not only one, but 20 beautifully photographed covers by Annie Leibowitz (one of my heroes back in Photography class at Carver).

Check out the website to see the full collection of covers. (Props to Racialicious.)

A lot of buzz is going around on what the underline meanings are of these photos, and if you see them individually (especially the Madonna & Maya Angelou one) I could see some people's points. You see Madonna, leaning into Maya Angelou, whispering something in her ear, and gripping Ms. Angelou's arm rather strongly as it seems. It gives off this, as someone else put it, "white man is the only hope" sorta feel.

But once I went to the actual website and saw the photos that Leibowitz put together, in their original chronological order, it all made sense to me.

Not one person in these photos is above the rest. Each and every single one of the celebrities/activists/politicians are spreading the word. The word about AIDS, about Africa, about humanity in general.

This goes way beyond the conflict of black vs. white - there is immense suffering, and hunger over in Africa, which is not that far away from the US by any means. Not to say that there is any superior thing that I have done to save Africa, but I definitely agree with Bono when he says: "Do you think an African mother cares if the drugs keeping her child alive are thanks to an iPod or a church plate? Or a Democrat or a Republican? I don't think that mother gives a damn about where that 20-cent pill comes from, so why should we. It can lead to some uncomfortable bedfellows, but sometimes less sleep means you are more awake."

So follow Bono's word. One, because U2 is the shiet. Two, because it's Bono, c'mon...who doesn't listen to Bono?

Buy (RED).

Mojitos from a Ninja

There's something unmistakable about a great vibe. Whether it be among friends, among strangers, in the snack food aisle of the grocery store, or just you, your car, and miles and miles of highway. Regardless - wherever that great vibe is, good times are sure to follow.

Kudos to the mojito-making ninja skills of The Scott in his swanky new pad. I felt bad that it had taken me so long to visit his "new" (not so new by the time I had seen it) house but it was well worth the anticipated wait. (His bedroom looks like the bastard child of an IKEA showfloor. No, I mean, seriously.) I have yet to meet another single man growing not only a rose garden but a kick-ass overflowing garden and array of herbs, and sprigs of every type of mint you could think of.

And the mojitos! Yes! Even though it was ten o' clock at night, and we were inside, just sipping those damn things made you think you were outside, on a lawn chair, enjoying the warm summer sun. Good, good - no, damn good times.

The soundtrack to set off this evening? "Silence-Remix" - Sarah MacLachlan. Okay, so I never said I'd ever give up my trancehead days. :-)

Guess Whose Done With History?

I got my transcript in the mail the other day.

A+! Hoo-Rah! I never thought I'd ever see the day when I got an A+ in History. No lie. In high school, I despised it, even though my writing abilities landed me high scores to place in Honors, GT and AP courses in the subject, I just couldn't for the life of me wrap my mind around the importance of scrutinizing every miniscule detail about the past - sociologically, politically or economically. I guess, to be simple, I just couldn't have cared less.

But this grade is a true testiment to how my atittude has changed over the years. One, because I actually paid cold, hard cash for this class and the textbooks (which in itself is motivation enough to pass) and two, I really really want to graduate from a university. I really really want to see my dreams come true. To see everything that I have gone through manifest into a great career and a content, fulfilling life.

I'm ready big, cruel, unusually beautiful, and majestic world! I have a lot of years to go...but I am ready and willing for the fight now. I am armed with a new motivation that I never have had before - maybe it's because this time around, I actually know what I want to do. I actually have a better understanding of who I am, and what I want from life.

And...may I point out that it is JUNE?! I can't believe that the year has gone by so fast. 2007 has definitely not been my best year, but it most definitely has not been my worst. Like I have said in past posts, I believe that this year will be whatever I make of it - and that the more effort that I put into making it a fantastic year, the more fantastic a year it will be.

(ps. There's a lot of crappy emotions floating around in my self's stratosphere but today, I figured I'd start the week out on a positive note. Hopefully, it will set the mood for all the utter crappiness that is surrounding me at the moment.)

Monday down, four more days to go!

Forgetfulness

I know my co-worker is irritated with me. (On just a hunch, I could alone base it on the long pause and eyeroll that he gave me as he walked past my cubicle after hearing the answer to his question.) This is the fifth day in a row that I have forgotten to bring my Notary Public certificate in so that he can make a copy and send it to the supply company to purchase a Notary stamp with my information on it.

But I just haven't been able to think straight all this week. It has been terribly difficult to get any sort of answers about my brother's condition from my parents: 1. Because one parent is absolutely clueless to what is going on with anything involving the kids. 2. The other parent that should know what's going on in detail has decided that it was much better to just...forget.

When I physically left my parents' house eight or nine months ago, it wasn't the first time I had left it. Mentally, I had already left my concerns at the doorstep a year or two prior. Or at least tried to.

I remember that day I went to go pick up my belongings that had been crudely shoved into trashbags with my friend, Trish. I remember watching her as she pulled my baby brother's arms that were trying to reach out for me. I can even more clearly remember the look of despair and sadness in my baby brother's eyes as he was crying for me, watching as my mother threw bag after bag at me as I walked through the front door.

When I got into the car, and Trish began to speed off, I just started sobbing uncontrollably. I knew that memory would stick in my brother's mind forever, and I immediately began to worry immensely over my siblings, and their safety while living in that house.

Things have gotten better over time. (Therapy for my mother, medication for my father.) But all of a sudden, this past Sunday, that same worry and fear for a sibling's care and safety rushed back in.

When I first found out about my brother's white blood cell count, I was freaked out. I sat at work with a blank expression and constant tearing in my eyes.

So quite obviously, on Sunday, when I went to visit my parents and siblings, I had dozens upon dozens of questions that were roaming through my mind. What was this disease? Why did they think it was transfused through the blood? Wasn't the last time he had a blood transfusion months ago? Wouldn't this issue have shown itself sooner if it was passed through a blood transfusion? What did all of this mean for Adam's health? When were they going to get more tests done?

"I don't know," my mother replied, simply - with hardly any expression.

"I don't understand. You talked to the doctor, didn't you? The one who read his first blood test results? How can you say 'you don't know'?"

"Yes, of course I talked to the doctor. And yes, he did say his white blood count is lower than it should be. Much lower. Said it was very serious."

"Well then, what does Adam have? Is it treatable?"

"I don't know. You're asking me too many questions," my mother paused a second and then looked at me, "Okay, so I forgot. The doctor told me what it was, and I forgot. But it's not like it's that huge of a deal, they are going to be doing more tests on him in the upcoming weeks because they think he also might need surgery again soon. He's been having pains in his head and his back again."

[Wait, back up. Did she just say she forgot?]

I dropped the discussion. More out of being horrified and stunned than anything else. How can you forget your son's diagnosis? How can you act so nonchalant? Okay, okay, EJ, calm down. Don't over think. Don't overstress. I can't help but be pissed thinking about this situation.

It's been a week now - they tested Ads for Epstein Bar, Mono, and a bunch of other things. Last thing I heard from my Dad was that Ads tested positive for a very slight and mild case of Mono. They aren't sure whether that's why his white blood cell count is low or not. He tested positive for one other test, the one that they used to diagnose him with, but my mother can't seem to remember.

Whatever it is, I am sure it doesn't help that all these surgeries (the opening and exposure of his spinal cord and nerves) keep exposing his body to possible infections and such.