This Day Is Stupid

This day has been hard for me since I was 17. It was the day I first permanently lost something I thought I'd have forever and experienced the accompanying long heartbreak with that kinda thing.

But I knew I'd be okay because what I'd had, for the time I had it, was 100% different and special from anything else on the planet. I lost my best friend, but knew that in the time I'd had with him, we'd made it the best it could have ever been. I knew I'd find the same kind of knock-you-off-your-feet love again, and I'm so lucky to say I have.

Then this day got harder when, four years ago, my cuddly bear of an uncle passed away. This day – the 20th – the day of his birth, became a hard reminder that he wasn't ticking off another year on the calendar like the rest of us.

But I knew I'd be okay. I knew the whole family would be okay because we had each other, we had our humor, and we had dimes of hope sent to us every time we needed one. We'd always have the gash, but it would sting less and less over time as we held each other together, even if only with Scotch tape.

Oh, but this day wasn't done with me. I thought the double-whammy would be enough, but the 20th said, "Hey, let's have another go, shall we!?" So as I was on my way up north this morning to see my ailing Pop-Pop, my grandma called to say he was already gone. My sweet, hilarious Pop-Pop, who was always there to tell me how gorgeous he thought I was when I was feeling down and how much he loved me, no matter how I was feeling.

I guess this is where I should write "But I know I'll be okay, and I know my family will be okay..." but I'm not at the place right now. I'm not sure how I feel about the triple threat of grief this day brings. I am sure even while having this great support group of folks I do, April 20th will always be marred with a gray blob on my calendar. Most of all, I am sure that I will always miss three of the most important men in my life.

RIP JTW, JLG, & LAG

Well, Well, Well...

Make sure you're sitting down everyone. I know I've made a lot of promises regarding this issue, but I finally did it. I finally made an appointment for my wisdom tooth surgery. I sure am going to be one fun, giant ball of anxiety until the moment of sedation!

After a lot of nudging from both personal and professional sources, I finally called for a consultation. I woke up bright n' early this morning to head to the oral surgeon to see what he had to say.

I got there and was greeted by delightful staff and a very lovely, tech-savvy office. I watched Obama make some jokes on Leno while I filled out my patient information. A cute child tried to pet my leopard flats.

"This isn't so bad," I thought. "You have been building this up for no reason. It's not like you even hate the dentist. What if you get back there and he's like 'LOLZ, U DON'T NEED TO GET THESE TAKEN OUT!' What if he lets me stay conscious? I can do this! I can conquer the world!!"

My overly nice dental assistant got me comfy, despite the fact that my view was kind of disorienting. It's weird looking at your own mouth on the big-screen.

I told her it might be scary in there since my teeth have been bothering me off and on since January. She boosted my confidence by noting they see a lot of "meth mouth." Sorry for the addicts, but not so sorry for finding a dental assistant who scratched my huge "Breaking Bad" itch. Again, what had I been worried about? THINGS ARE GOING TO BE FINE, RIGHT?!

The surgeon walked in and was beyond pleasant. He looked professional yet friendly, certainly capable of ripping my teeth out of my face bones. He kind of poked around my mouth for 30 seconds and then used my mouth map to tell me what was up.

"See these teeth here, here, and here? They're all covered in bone. Oh, and behind this one? That's a cyst, and we're going to have to test that to make sure it's not something worse. Because of all this, you're going to have to be asleep via an IV drip."

I replied with some nervous laughs and let him know I'd done way too much research, so I knew that tumors could develop because of your wisdom teeth. EHEHEH, IT'S SO FUNNY, I'M DEALING WITH THIS SO WELL, DOC! Inside my head though, my optimism was crashing and burning as my cynicism screamed "DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU'D GET OFF THAT EASY?!"

I chatted with him about my overwhelming fear of anesthesia after he let me know there was no way around sedation. The assistant had taken my blood pressure and instantly commented about how low it was, so she was there to back me up. He assured me about as much as anyone could ever hope to, and mentioned that the medicine would even make my blood pressure rise. He also promised a 20-30 minute surgery. Come on, little body, we can hold out for that long, can't we? Pretty please?

So I discussed price (JESUS.) with the insurance coordinator and made my appointment for the earliest time slot available on Halloween. I figure the juju of my favorite holiday has got to count for something.

I spent the remainder of my day starting to make arrangements for next week and trying to convince my dad to film my post-op jokes in the recovery room. He's not really a huge fan of the idea.

I'll probably say my farewells to everyone, make a last will and testament video, and cry a lot about my ultimate demise, but when I wake up on the other side four teeth and a potential tumor less, I'll feel like a big ol' dummy. A BIG 'UN! Especially since it looks like Hurricane Sandy will kill all of us that week anyway.

Angels Should Fly

Somewhere around 10 p.m. last night, the reminder of an early morning wake-up call and the sweat-inducing physical labor of moving in a roommate finally pulled my body into some kind of pseudo sleep. That didn't stop me from waking up every hour, either ripping myself from a horrible dream or waking up crying. I didn't understand. I don't understand.

Yesterday, in the middle of a beautiful late July day, I was lounging and surfing the Internet, as I'm sure most of us were. I never expected it to turn into a day of so much sadness and loss for the people I know, and a lot of whom I love, from my little home town. They were gone and they were never coming back, not for any of us.

Unfortunately, none of us are strangers to loss. It's something we've grown up with. I think some of my pals lost more friends in high school than they have since walking across the tiny little stage in that horrifically decorated auditorium of ours. I've heard it's finally got new curtains.

But what hasn't changed is the pain we feel when these untimely, senseless deaths rock our network, no matter how strained and spread out that network has become. We still feel like we've lost a vital chain in our link, no matter how much time has passed.

No one really needs to know the what of the situation. Most of us ask out of our own selfish curiosity, but when it comes down to it, the only thing that matters is them; the girls we lost, their memory, and the people who loved them so much better than the rest of us.

The memory I have is limited. I didn't know my friend's sister, but I did know my friend. Friend. Not acquaintance. Someone I genuinely spent time with, someone who, unlike that "acquaintance" term, never brought anger or annoyance to me when I saw her.

We weren't best friends. We didn't need to be; she had hers and I had mine, but that didn't mean we weren't kind to each other. I can say I always had a genuine smile on my face when I saw her. I really hope she thought the same about me. Not that it matters, because it will never change the fact that I thought she was a delightful person, and no one who is delightful in this crazy world we live in deserves to be ripped out of it. Not like this.

It's hard to find hope in a time of utter sadness. The tragic loss of two unforgettable girls follows so shortly behind nation-wide tragedy. It's hard to wonder if there is a point continuing to try, continuing to care about other people for fear of what happens if you do. It's hard to lose someone you love, and I swear, the pang only increases as your age does.

But we have to go on. We have to keep caring. In fact, we have to care more. If we don't, we won't honor their memory. We won't change the things we can to prevent these tragedies from happening yet again. And changing those things is what we have to do to survive. It won't be easy, but we've got each other.

We have to remember that no matter how far we live from each other or how pissed we have once gotten at each other, or whatever other petty walls we've set up to divide us, that we are all from the same place. Love it or hate it, we're tied together in a way no one else we've met since will understand. That connection can be a pain in the ass, but it's also pretty beautiful. We need it.

We need each other to lean on, to cry into each others shoulders, to hold each others hands, to catch someone in embrace when they feel too weak to stand. We have to have each other's backs because no one else will, not in the same way. Not in the way we need.

We have to remember to love each other in the same way we love those girls. And damn if we don't love them so much it hurts.

Rest easy, you sweet ladies.

The Fallen

Today is always a day of grieving for me, as I mentioned quickly last year, but never really gave full justice. Some years it's easier to get through this day and luckily, 2012 is one of those times. It might just be time easing the pain, but I think it's because for the first time in my life at this particular moment, I am not only assured in myself, but in those people I have chosen to have around me for support.

Seven years ago (Jesus, really?), I lost my high school sweetheart and best friend. It was and is still the worst day of my life. I don't know how a 17-year-old pulled through the trauma of seeing death up-close so early, but I'll bet it has to do with my family and friends.

Almost three years ago, I lost my amazing uncle to cancer. Though today is not the one when he drifted away, saying he had to "Go home," today is the day he would have added another notch on his belt of life. Birthdays of the fallen are just as hard as the anniversary of their deaths.

I have honored them over the years in the best way I know how: by writing about them. I wrote about the experience of losing Jeff for a creative writing class my first year at App, and poetically, I wrote about losing my uncle for my final paper in literary journalism during my last year of college.

(I've linked to the story about my uncle here. If you want to read about Jeff's story, you'll have to ask for a personal email. While I feel truth is the best policy, I know there are some people I need to protect from the pain of re-living that day.)

Today I will take it easy with my pups. I'll do some housework. I'll go to the gym as usual, then make some dinner. But I will also stop to reflect, to take time to remember. I will look back over the scraps of memories I have with these men. They will always live on with me.

And today, I will also remember the people who have always been there through this day and through thousands of others. From my best friend who always takes me to grab Mexican, to the hundreds who call or write, to my family who is also grieving, to the newest man in my life, waiting with a handpicked rose by the door when I need it most. I will remember them because they have made it possible for me to go on with this ever-mending void in my heart.

Rest easy, Jeff and Jon. We all love you beyond words.