Try This 6.5 page 180
Recall an experience that changed
you. Write about it with one of the traditional openings of a story…
-Once upon a time
-Long ago and far away
-In the beginning
-Let me tell you a story
-Listen!
-It all began
In
the beginning there was fear. A fear so strong it paralyzed me. I couldn’t
move, couldn’t speak, and couldn’t cry. I couldn’t even form coherent thoughts
because of the terror that consumed me. I was taking completely off guard. One
minute I was cheering on the Bruins at a playoff game, the next minute I got
that phone call, and everything froze.
The other emotions in me were frozen, and only fear was present. I felt
a cold sweat quickly making its way up my back and goose bumps spreading up and
down my arms. This was far worse than being punched in the gut or having the
wind knocked out of you, this was like someone was taking away your air
indefinitely and you being to shocked to even try to stop them. I knew the
crowd around me was yelling, I saw people shouting and cheering, yet to me all
I heard was silence. It was like everything around me stopped, even my vision
was blurring around the edges. Someone walking in the row behind me sloshed
beer onto my head and it forcefully snapped me back into reality. My hands were
shaken and I struggled to control my breathing. I managed to glance up at the
jumbo screen and notice there was four minutes left in the period. Four. I used
to like the number four, but now I despise it. Four. Stage four.
In the beginning there
was anger. Stage four cancer! How could this have happened? I wanted to yell, I
wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, at god, at my dad, at the doctors, at
anyone who crossed my path. My dad had called and given me that death sentence
over the god damn telephone! Rage, wasn’t a strong enough word for how I was
feeling. I wanted to hit someone and cause them harm. News like that shouldn’t
be delivered while at a sporting event or over the phone. My hands clenched
into fist, I could feel my blood starting to boil. How could doctors have
missed that? Do people really go from being in tip top shape one day and the
next day having stage four cancer? I wanted to tear everything apart because in
my heart I knew the answer was NO. The doctors had to have messed up. I wanted
people to hurt, I wanted people to suffer. Why does God make good people
suffer? I wanted to fly into the sky and give him a piece of my mind. I wanted
to turn my back on everything I believed in and continue down a war path of
rage and destruction. I was so angry I didn’t even realize I was being towed
along, back to my car in the parking garage. I knew I was to mad to drive, but
I was the damn designated driver. That
new realization enraged me even more, after news like that I needed a drink, a
very strong drink. But no! I had to be the flipping good guy! I had to open my
damn big mouth and volunteer to drive! So I got into the car. I knew I hadn’t
said a word to my two friends since I answered that phone call, and I knew they
were worried, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything out loud. Saying it
out loud made it too real.
In the beginning there
was denial. If I didn’t tell them, if I didn’t say it out loud maybe it would
go away. I remember thinking: “Maybe this isn’t even real, that’s got to be it,
I had to be dreaming. Or better yet, the doctors got it wrong. Test results got
messed up all the time, right? False positive, or whatever all that means. This
all has got to just be a big awful mistake”. I realized I was merging onto the
freeway and manage to shift my attention to my driving for the next thirty
minutes. For the next thirty minutes I turned on my radio so loud, you would
have thought your ear drums were going to burst. I needed to focus my thoughts
onto something else, because if I could ignore them, the whole thing would go
away. I just wanted to forget everything. As I was pulling into my driveway a
song came on the radio about cancer. It brought everything that I had been
forcing down, right back up to the surface. “There’s got to be something we can
do right? We can fight it, right”? That was what I kept telling myself.
In the beginning there
was hope. I remember hoping for a miracle. Those things happen sometimes, why
not for my grandpa. I hoped for a drug, for a procedure, for a cure. I hoped
for him to not be afraid. I hoped he wouldn’t be in pain. As the months went by
I hoped he had made peace. I hoped he had time. I remember hoping the
treatments would help. I remember hoping he wouldn’t be in pain when they
didn’t. I hoped he would have more quality to his remaining life than quantity.
I hoped I would be strong enough to help him through this. I hoped I would be
able to hold things together for my nana, his wife of over fifty years. I hoped
that she would be able to live through this and be okay. After a few months I hoped I would make it
there in time. I flew on a plane to Florida to hold his hand until the end
came. When I saw him when I first arrived, I hoped that he had a good life. I
hoped that he was proud of the person I had become. I hoped he would recognize
me and know who I was. By some small miracle, he said my name, and I rushed
over to give him a hug and a kiss. I remember hoping that I wouldn’t cry in
front of him. I hoped that when he did pass, that our deceased family members
would be there to greet him, especially his son Chris. The hope that he would
see Chris again, gave me a feeling that maybe things would be okay again, one
day. I looked at my grandpa in his bed, he had fallen asleep from being so
tired, and I was grateful because the first tear started to leak out and I knew
there was no stopping what was coming.
In the end there was
heartache. I walked out of his room, and out back onto the patio. I walked as
far as the screen would let me and sat down on the concrete ground and cried. I
felt my heart swell up and crack into a million tiny bits. I didn’t have the
energy or the will to try and be quiet, or to hide my grief. I had tried to be
strong and hold it in for too long and now the dam was cracked and everything
was spilling out. I felt cold, even though the Florida air was humid. I felt
alone, I felt helpless, and I felt broken. There were so many things I was
supposed to do with him that now would never happen. He was supposed to be at
my wedding, we were supposed to take a trip to all the WWII sites. My grandpa,
the one who photographed my whole childhood would be gone. I cried over the
loss of being robbed of all that. I cried over things that I knew would never
happen. I thought of my childhood and cried about how great of a person he was.
I thought about all the things he had done for people over the years. I thought
of how many people admired and cared about him. He showed up to every single
soccer game, without me even telling him I was playing, how did he do it? He
always knew. Even when I was older, he still showed up and continued to support
me. All of these memories and realizations made me cry even harder. I knew I
had his unconditional love, no matter what I did, and that brought a whole new
feeling of misery.
In the end there was
regret. Every time I thought I was all cried out, I would think of something
else and start all over again. All the things I wished I had done better
invaded my mind. I wished I spent more time with him. I wished I came that Christmas
they invited me. I wished I learned to play golf like he wanted. I wished I
called him more. I would have traded anything in that moment to go back and do
the things I knew he wanted. I knew, none of it mattered to him, but knowing
that he would be gone and I could never fix my mistakes, left me feeling like a
failure. I wanted so badly for him to see me succeed, like he always wanted me
to. I knew he wouldn’t want me to act like this, and that realization allowed
me to calm down enough to stop the tears. I slowly picked myself up and tried
to pull myself together for my grandpa.
In the end there was
booze. Over the next three weeks I tried to be strong enough for my nana, dad,
and myself. I watched one of my favorite people slowly deteriorate into
nothing. I sat in anguish and watched him get worse by the hour. Those three
weeks were the longest yet, of my existence. We tried to make a rotation so he
was never alone, but it took its toll on all three of us mentally. So we drank.
I am not condoning our behavior, but sometimes when the sorrow got to be too
strong, it was needed. We needed something to help us hold ourselves together
and then allow us to fall apart. The booze helped us feel those emotions that
we were trying to suppress. The booze helped us get things out. It wasn’t much
but we grasped at it. On a bad day my nana and I would sit and split a bottle
of wine, but those two glasses helped more than anyone could ever know.
In the end there was
acceptance. In his last days I found myself wishing that he would pass quickly
and peacefully. It was at the point, where he was comatose and I knew that the
grandpa I knew and loved was already gone. I knew he was better off in heaven.
He was so tired of trying to fight and I think he only fought so hard because
of us. I didn’t want him in pain anymore. I didn’t want him to worry about us.
I wanted what was best for him, despite my own personal feelings for him to
stay. I accepted that I couldn’t go back in time and change anything. I
accepted that he loved me and that I would always love him. I knew he would
never be coming back. I accepted that I can’t control everything. I accepted
that we shouldn’t take things or people for granted. I accepted that I had to
say goodbye. Events like that make you realize how quickly things can change. I
accepted that at any moment everything could come crashing down. I accepted
that I should live my life to the fullest each and every day because tomorrow
isn’t guaranteed. I know now that time sometimes is limited. When I finally
allowed myself to come to these conclusions I felt better. I was able to say
goodbye to my grandpa and not feel like I was going to die. I wanted to make
the most of my life, for him. I allowed myself to mourn at his wake and
funeral, but after that I wanted to make him proud. In the beginning I thought
my world was going to end, but at the end I knew it had really just begun.
Yeah so that's all for now. Gotta go do MORE homework. Joy.