Uncertainty

They say death and taxes are the only sure things in life.

But say your government falls into anarchy, and there are no taxes?

And say medicine advances far enough to cure death?

What then can you be sure of?

Of course, I understand what the old saying means. Nothing in life is certain. And I agree. I keep on thinking I know something, and then I find out I'm wrong.

I remember when I went to camp at Camp Orkilah back in Washington talking about certainty. These kids told me that if you believed something, truly, one hundred and ten percent believed something as a complete fact, it would become a fact. If you truly believed the wall wasn't there, it would disappear. Of course, the catch was that you can never actually be completely, one hundred percent sure of anything. Ever.

It's supposed to be a statement about the power of perception. I don't believe that, but it does point out something about certainties. They're not one hundred percent.

I thought I had death figured out, to an extent. People didn't just die unless it was a tragic accident or medical problem, whether it was preexisting or recently attained. I was wrong. I remember, I was talking to my cousin Cathy. She mentioned her first husband, who died tragically. He felt crummy one morning, Cathy and the couple's son went out for chores, and when they came back, he was dead. The doctors couldn't find the cause of the death and filed it as unknown.

So, I'm not certain of anything more. A man can look fine today and be dead or terminally ill the next day. There is an inherent chaos and instability and uncertainty to life that will ironically never change. All we can do is try to understand it.

Death and taxes... Nothing is certain.

A Warning

I don't think I'll be talking about my late Dad much. I'm not trying to just move on, or whatever, I just don't really want to write about it, or I feel like I lack the eloquence to do it. So when you see new posts that make it seem like I'm just fine, it's not because I'm over it, it's just that I don't want to write about him. It still haunts me, but I knew it would. So I'm just warning you. Besides, my uncle is doing a much better job of writing about Gary than I ever could have done... (Switch2planb.com)

Requiem Part 2

It's been more than a week since Dad's death.

We held the funeral in the beautifully redone St. Mary's. That Dad never got to see finished...

I've been back to school.

But it's not the same.

It never will be.

Even if it's something in the back of my head,

Reminding me when I wake up.

About that terrible year that Dad's life was slowly sucked away.

He died on January 30th, a few days before Groundhog's Day, which would've been the anniversary of the last time he walked and the last time we took him to the hospital.

Because after that we wouldn't let him leave home.

I can't believe that after that year, in the course of 365 days, that he is so gone.

Everyday, I wake up,
And I'm reminded for a moment,
For the pain a man suffered,
And the inevitable loss his family felt as he died.
I say to myself, "My Dad is dead.
I have one parent who's dealing with the intensity of her own loss,
Which I must say is alot stronger for her."

But everyday, when I go to bed, I try to remember who he was before the cancer.
I remember this quote that has been repeated many times upon Dad's death.

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have
kept the faith.

And I ask myself,
Would he be proud of me right now?

Requiem

When I came home Monday, Dad was unresponsive, laying there, in the hospital bed we had moved into the bedroom a week earlier. A priest was standing over Dad as I walked in, speaking some sort of blessing over him. I joined my family around him. Tears flowed freely as we realized how close our dear father was to death.

Over the course of the day, Dad miraculously sustained somewhat stable conditions while family and friends arrived at house. Mom's friend Beth, and Gary's father, Don. Dad survived the night, but remained unresponsive and of declining, hopeless health. By the end of the next day, Uncle David, Uncle Brian, Uncle Jeff, Aunt Kim, and Aunt Amy, as well as a few of their spouses. We convened in Dad's bedroom, sitting by him, standing watch.

His whole family was there in the house.
His wife, laying next to him on the hospital bed, squeezed up against the metal bars.
His siblings, scattered around the bedroom, or throughout the house helping.
His dad, sitting solemnly in the armchair.
His kids, kissing him goodnight and sleeping on the floor to be near to him.
Even his dog Yogi was there, sitting vigilantly next to him on the bed.

A hospice nurse came by, and estimated that he could last a couple of days. By Wednesday, Mom began to prepare us, telling us she anticipated Dad's death sometime that night. But he held on.

By Thursday, Gary's vitals were decreasing. Not shocking, but an ominous sign of his imminent death. Mom, with more certainty this time, told us Dad would probably die during the night. But he held on.

On Friday, a chaplain from St. Luke's came by and prayed a blessing over Dad. Mom cried silently into Dad's shoulder. The chaplain left. And suddenly, Dad's breathing became astoundingly shallow. Mom called us over, intuiting her husband's last moments. His kids came to him and held his hand, whispering "I love you, Dad"s as Gary passed away.

It was no surprise, really, to anybody.

Somehow I thought that would soften the blow.

It didn't.

The problem here is that this is more than the death of a father, or a husband, or a brother, or a son. It's so much more. Words fail to explain it.

(to be continued?)

Just When It Was Supposed To Be A Happy Ending... (Part 3)

Dad was incapable of moving around on his own for that week. We had to carry him around in a wheelchair.

But it wasn't permanent. Eventually, his ankle, which had been sprained after all, got better, and things are almost back to how it was before last Thursday.

But something bothered me...

While Dad was in the wheelchair, I remember, we got our christmas tree and set it up, and began to work on the ornaments. I remember getting out Dad's first Christmas ornament and hanging it up. Dad, from his wheelchair, watched intently. I realized that no matter what happens, Gary is never going to be hanging ornaments again.

That may seem like a small revelation, but the terrible part of it is that it also means I know he won't ever be able to do so many other things. He's too handicapped to ride a bike, communicate, jump, you name it, he'd need help to do it.

So all this worries me.
I feel like we're running out of time.
And we've got no way of getting it back.

I've seen people pray and hope for Dad's health and recovery, but I know that things are beyond that. I hope that Dad dies dignified and proud, feeling good about everything that he's left about. Let's hope for that.

Dead Man Walking

Sorry I didn't get to post last nigh, but I was busy watching a movie called Dead Man Walking. This is the best and most meaningful movie I have watched in a long time. Touching really, and I can't suggest it highly enough. It was a really great experience for me, though, because I actually saw Sister Helen Prejean speak here in Boise, and the movie was based on her experiences. It was basically about the death penalty and how it affects everyone around it.

And of course, it got me wondering to what extent we should be allowed to punish people. Is it really right to be able to kill people when they kill someone else? Isn't it wrong no matter who does it? And is capital punishment really punishment or revenge? Think about it, their good questions.


"We are better than the worst thing we've ever done." - Sister Helen Prejean

Last Will and Testament

The other day around second period, a good friend of mine asked me what he would get if I would die. I knew the answer of course- my bracelet that I'd been carrying around for so long, the one I never took off. He seemed pleased, knowing how sentimental it really was. But it got me thinking. How would my friends and family know he was telling the truth when he tried to pry the bracelet from my dead hand?

So I set out to write a will that day. It took me the better half of the school day, but eventually I had my last will and testament. While completely unofficial and handwritten on a piece of collegerule paper, it effectively dispersed all of my belongings of personal or monetary value to the people close to me. I was quite proud of myself and sealed the paper in an envelope which read "open on the event of my death."

But I made the mistake of mentioning it to other people.

Near everybody who saw it, including a few who read it, asked if I was contemplating suicide. (I wasn't) The ones who didn't told me I'm paranoid. (I'm not.) Now this got me thinking. Is this how peple reacted to that sort of document? I asked around again, and found most of the same results.

I talked to at least twenty people before finding somebody who's opinion differed. After I mentioned it to my theology teacher, she said "Good. Everybody should have a will." I smiled, realizing the truth in it. What a painful situation it would be to split up someone's belongings without actually having directions from them.

So my piece of advice to those who read this is to take some time off this weekend to write a will. It's a good thing to have, whether your fourteeen or grandma moses.



"Even at our birth, death does but stand aside a little. And every day he looks towards us and muses somewhat to himself whether that day or the next he will draw nigh." -Robert Bolt