Friday, August 27, 2010

The Deep End Toward The End

The only semi-evil thing my mother ever did to me was to shove me, unsuspectingly, into the swimming pool of a condo community we called home in Anaheim, California. I was safe the whole time. It finally taught me to swim. But it's something many of us have experienced. That flailing leap, fall, or shove into the deep end of a pool.

That, my friends and on-lookers, is kind of how I feel about this blog entry. I haven't wanted to write. I keep walking by the pool. I'm aware of it. I'm aware that I need to deal with it. But this particular entry is a case of walking by my unsuspecting self and shoving said self into the deep end of So, here we go.

Two trips to the emergency room at River Bend this week have created this tidal wave of mourning. (Just had to pause for a minute to talk with yet another collector. Not the cool kind, like Beanie Babies, comic books or, in my case, Monopoly tokens. But the kind that says things like, "You owe these people $2500 and these other $4000 and you need to pay it today." Let's see if I can get back on track... I swear, embracing my A.D.D. has been great and horrible. Let's try again.)

Two trips to the emergency room at River Bend this week have created this tidal wave of mourning. I didn't really realize it until Wednesday night when I was so emotional in the hospital. I'm not really sure how to deal with all this. It should be noted that I'm not really looking for any advice either. I appreciate the urge to help. But it's just a swamp I need to forge through on my own. I said to Tony, my pastor, last night, "I think I'm mourning my own death. I guess we all do that," and he replied, "No, Aaron, we really don't." It's probably true. Most people don't have to go through a grieving process for their own life.

A recent study found that male monkeys will give up their juice rewards in order to see pictures of female monkey's bottoms.

This is hard. It's excruciating. I sat on the edge of the bed last night, as I woke the princess sleeping beside me, I sobbed uncontrollably. Knowing how much sleep she has lost the past two nights as we sat in the ER I finally headed for the living room, closing the bedroom door behind me. I cried alone for a few more hours, finally reaching the point where no more tears are left and my head was pounding. It's interesting. I'm not my biggest fan. I'd expect to send my respects. But tears? Really?

In the midst of all this I stopped and took a moment to ask Facebook friends and Twitter, I think, to pray for my family. I know that I have many friends who would say that my improved facial expressions today is just a manner of serotonin or more sleep. My life experience, the miracles that have held my life together, tells me that those prayers worked. Sometimes, I guess, you can't "choose joy" on your own. Occasionally you need help.

I'm still grieving today. It's not done yet. This process may last until my actual E.T.D. I don't know. But today, again, seems a little brighter.

My Dad just showed up, my little girl is now going insane (she loves him), and my battery (in the computer) is almost dead. I have some errands to run and need to decide whether to pay that creditor some amount of money or try to cover rent and insurance another month. So I've got to go.


Ronnie said...

Ok Sweetheart, I know you said you didn't want advice, but... (and this is where it comes - always after the "but"). I'm going to push you into the deep end! Snap out of it! Where's your joy??? You are my hero - always spreading the message of joy in your daily walk. Sure, spread joy when it's easy -- when you're not faced with this vast, endless, immeasurable, incalculable, immense grief. Did you think this would be easy? No, of course not. Find the strength to enjoy your days and nights. It's the best gift you can give to your family-- your beautiful wife. Think about how hard it is for her to have to be a witness to your grief. Come on, man. Fake the joy if you have to. If you fake it well enough, you might just find yourself smiling in earnest. Yeah, you're dying. Yeah, it's sad. Yeah, you're broke. Yeah, it's getting harder and harder. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm sorry, I truly am. But I'm choosing the joy you left out on the curb. I'm picking it up, brushing it off, and putting it on. "Thank you God, for letting me live another day. See you soon."

Ivy said...

Wow Aaron. I'm sure there are words to say right now. I think it's okay to be sad and grieve. I think it makes you human.

I know we've never met in real life and had no real conversations even online, but know at the Unscripted house in West Virginia we're praying for you, your family, even your little girl.

As my favorite worship songs says: "though the sorrow may last through the night, the joy comes in the morning." We're praying for you to find a moment of joy every day.

God bless!

Milla said...

I'll be praying that God helps you to heal and stay healthy. In fact, isn't there that place in the Bible that says to thanks him before you get what you prayed for because he has already done it or something like that? Well then I'll thank him for your healing. :-)