If anyone reads this blog consistantly, Adam may be the only one who likes this. I'm finishing listening to the sixth harry potter book in preparation for the seventh book so I thought I would right down a list of things I hope Rowling addresses before it's all said and done.
-What is the story of the veil in the department of mysteries?
-What did Harry's mom and dad do for a living that they could leave their son with so much money?
-The big one - is Snape good or bad?
-Where is the sixth horcrux?
-What is the significance of Harry having his mother's eyes?
-Who is RAB and how did he get the locket?
-What was it that made Dubledore trust Snape so much?
-How will Wormatail repay his debt to Harry?
-How and why did Dumbledore have James' invisibility cloak? What is the significance of this?
-Why did Regulus choose to leave the Death Eaters?
-What did Dumbledore actually see in the Mirror of Erised in the first book? And will the Mirror of Erised be involved in the seventh book?
-What happened when Dumbledore found the ring that caused him to injure his hand?
-JKR said that someone will manage magic very late in life in Book 7: who will it be?
-When Harry was taking Occlumency lessons from Snape in OOTP, he put more than one memory into the pensieve. What other memories did he want to hide from Harry?
-Is there a connection between Godric's Hollow and Godric Gryffindor? And is Harry, in any way, related to Godric Gryffindor?
-How did Hagrid retrieve Harry from the ruins of his parents' house if he was not told the location by the secret-keeper?
-If RAB took the locket, is it destroyed or is the locket that they were unable to open at Sirius' house?
-Will we hear anymore about Krum?
-Who will be the new DADA teacher?
-Who will teach transfiguration?
-Will Slughorn teach potions for a second year?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
A Long Way Gone
I'm reading a book called "A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier" and am nearing the end but I thought I would write a little about it anyway. It's about a boy who was born in Sierra Leone in 1980 and by the age of 12 had left his home to flee from rebels. By the time he was thirteen he had become a soldier in the governments army. It's truly an incredible and heartbreaking story. You see a little bit of this kind of thing in movies; children running around with AK-47s, killing like it's nothing. I think it's easy to become desensitized because of this. Even the story seemed almost unbelievable and I had to remind myself that it was a true account of this author's life. I think it's sad that these children, at such a young age, get their lives and childhood ripped away from them and are forced into a world of violence, death, and drugs. The book reminded me that we are so lucky to live in a place where we can walk down the street without having to watch our backs everyday out of fear that some rebel group will attack our town. It really opened my eyes to a reality that I knew about but never really thought about. I would recommend this book. It's a little graphic in parts but is overall an amazing story of a boy soldier who lost it all but was given a second chance at life.
The Path
The ground made his journey difficult. Though level, the path was covered with jagged rocks. The cool night air left the smoother, larger stones dangerously slick. The moon shone brightly above him. On either side of him towering hills rose quickly vanishing into the darkness at their peaks. Gnarled trees stood dark and menacing on the face of each hill.
The wind howled through the path sending a biting chill through his bones. Tree tops shook and shadows danced around him as dark clouds passed swiftly beneath the moon. A dense fog flowed constantly down each slope, slithering through the trees like serpents. The fog was always there, following him, swallowing him from the waste down, and making it nearly impossible to see the ground that he walked on. He moved very slowly, carefully placing his feet. Pain would shoot through his feet with each misplaced step. He continued, though, trying to ignore the aching and the cuts.
The darkness would play tricks on his eyes. The fog seemed to move strangely around him, as if trying to hide the most dangerous spots in the path. The trees were so mangled and moved with such force from the wind that they seemed to have life, their branches thrashing around him, trying to pull him into the depths of the forest.
It seemed like forever there, walking down the same narrow path. He was exhausted and lost. The only way was forward, through the night. He dared not venture into the forest for fear of what he might find. His thirst and hunger were almost unbearable and with each passing moment he grew more and more weak.
How he made it there he didn't know. At some point he was just there, walking between the ugly trees under the moon. And the path became more dangerous the longer he walked. He tried to remember. Tried to think back to a time before when he wasn't on this terrible journey. There were only glimpses of his life before the endless night and none that he could grab hold of for long. The darkness was an overwhelming weight that he carried with him, slowly breaking him, draining what little energy he had left. There was only ever the light from the moon. The sun never rose and the fog was always lurking. He didn't know where it would lead him but he didn't feel he had any other choice than to keep going.
A gust of wing nearly knocked him to the ground. He stopped. There was another gust of freezing air and he whirled around. It was there, in the wind. The whispers. He'd heard them before. Each time there seemed to be more: many voices flying with the wind through the blackness. He squinted into the forest to try and see someone but the branches blocked his view. He had never seen anyone else but he knew they were there because of the voices. He tried to make out what they were saying but he couldn't concentrate. There were too many, all talking at once, growing louder around him. He pressed his hands tightly over his ears to shut them out but it didn't help. He heard a scream somewhere in the distance. Then another. He could hear the heavy breathing close by, somewhere behind. The deep intake of cold air from a creature somewhere behind him. He spun around, trying to see the things around him. The fog circled beautifully as he moved. More scream. A low, ferocious growl. Tearing and crunching. Breathing. Finally, he collapsed and everything grew distant until at once it all vanished.
A while later he woke, but he didn't open his eyes. He hoped that when he did, everything would be different. That hope lasted only a moment. He could feel the cold fog that was engulfing him and the sharp stones digging into his back. His body still ached and he was still exhausted. In that moment he wanted to give up. He wished for death, to escape from the darkness and misery that he had spent most of his life in. He wanted the end.
He wrestled with those thoughts for quite some time and finally decided that death wasn't the answer. That he couldn't give up. That the path would eventually end and there would be something wonderful waiting for him there. He stood slowly, his young body hurting all over. He took a painful step. Then another. Nothing had changed. The trees still had life. The fog followed him as he moved and the wind blew harder and colder. The voices were still there, sometimes close, sometimes distant. The screams and the creatures hiding in the forest. He feared the path ahead and the things around him. He feared the unknown. He didn't know how much longer he could go, tired, hungry and thirsty. But on he walked, longing for the end to his misery, holding on tightly to his last bit of hope.
The wind howled through the path sending a biting chill through his bones. Tree tops shook and shadows danced around him as dark clouds passed swiftly beneath the moon. A dense fog flowed constantly down each slope, slithering through the trees like serpents. The fog was always there, following him, swallowing him from the waste down, and making it nearly impossible to see the ground that he walked on. He moved very slowly, carefully placing his feet. Pain would shoot through his feet with each misplaced step. He continued, though, trying to ignore the aching and the cuts.
The darkness would play tricks on his eyes. The fog seemed to move strangely around him, as if trying to hide the most dangerous spots in the path. The trees were so mangled and moved with such force from the wind that they seemed to have life, their branches thrashing around him, trying to pull him into the depths of the forest.
It seemed like forever there, walking down the same narrow path. He was exhausted and lost. The only way was forward, through the night. He dared not venture into the forest for fear of what he might find. His thirst and hunger were almost unbearable and with each passing moment he grew more and more weak.
How he made it there he didn't know. At some point he was just there, walking between the ugly trees under the moon. And the path became more dangerous the longer he walked. He tried to remember. Tried to think back to a time before when he wasn't on this terrible journey. There were only glimpses of his life before the endless night and none that he could grab hold of for long. The darkness was an overwhelming weight that he carried with him, slowly breaking him, draining what little energy he had left. There was only ever the light from the moon. The sun never rose and the fog was always lurking. He didn't know where it would lead him but he didn't feel he had any other choice than to keep going.
A gust of wing nearly knocked him to the ground. He stopped. There was another gust of freezing air and he whirled around. It was there, in the wind. The whispers. He'd heard them before. Each time there seemed to be more: many voices flying with the wind through the blackness. He squinted into the forest to try and see someone but the branches blocked his view. He had never seen anyone else but he knew they were there because of the voices. He tried to make out what they were saying but he couldn't concentrate. There were too many, all talking at once, growing louder around him. He pressed his hands tightly over his ears to shut them out but it didn't help. He heard a scream somewhere in the distance. Then another. He could hear the heavy breathing close by, somewhere behind. The deep intake of cold air from a creature somewhere behind him. He spun around, trying to see the things around him. The fog circled beautifully as he moved. More scream. A low, ferocious growl. Tearing and crunching. Breathing. Finally, he collapsed and everything grew distant until at once it all vanished.
A while later he woke, but he didn't open his eyes. He hoped that when he did, everything would be different. That hope lasted only a moment. He could feel the cold fog that was engulfing him and the sharp stones digging into his back. His body still ached and he was still exhausted. In that moment he wanted to give up. He wished for death, to escape from the darkness and misery that he had spent most of his life in. He wanted the end.
He wrestled with those thoughts for quite some time and finally decided that death wasn't the answer. That he couldn't give up. That the path would eventually end and there would be something wonderful waiting for him there. He stood slowly, his young body hurting all over. He took a painful step. Then another. Nothing had changed. The trees still had life. The fog followed him as he moved and the wind blew harder and colder. The voices were still there, sometimes close, sometimes distant. The screams and the creatures hiding in the forest. He feared the path ahead and the things around him. He feared the unknown. He didn't know how much longer he could go, tired, hungry and thirsty. But on he walked, longing for the end to his misery, holding on tightly to his last bit of hope.
Where are you, Kyle?
I want to write about something a friend and I talked about today. It's so easy for us to question. I know many times in my life – the most difficult and trying times – I would ask, "God, where are you?" My friend said it's so easy for us to put the blame on someone else and I know that was true for me. Where are you, God? Easy, right? I've learned how backward that is. Each time I asked that question I imagine God was thinking something like, "Where are you, Kyle? I'm where I've always been and always will be, with you. You ignore me. Where are you?" A preacher I like wrote something about how it's so easy for us to get wrapped up in our own world that we get irritated or we flat-out ignore when God is calling or screaming at us. That was me. I was so quick to question God when I should have been questioning myself. How can I win a battle without God's help? How come I can be so prideful to think I can do things on my own, my way? How come I ignored Him for so long, straying from the path set before me? Why has it taken me so long to realize He is shaping me? I'm glad for the hard times now. I'm glad for the trials and struggles. I just wish I had focused on Him more. There will always be difficult times in my like, I know this. But that's no reason for me to abandon or blame God. That's when I need Him. That's when I should ask for his Help. I hope that not one day passes where I don't thank Him, praise Him, ask for His guidance, or listen when He calls on me.
Scars
A little girl dies. On a school bus on her way home. She collapses and dies. She was in the fourth grade. A short time later a basketball coach dies. She was twenty-eight and unaware that anything was wrong.
It's December, 1984 and a child is born; a seemingly healthy child. He has blond hair and blue eyes. A couple of years go by and his dad already has him playing catch; he was excited because his son was a lefty like him.
The child fell in love with sports. He played baseball and basketball from an early age. He quit those when he went to high school so he could try his hand at volleyball. His whole life up to that point: countless innings, quarters, matches, wins, and losses. He never had a problem keeping up, pushing himself. He threw, hit, jumped, dove, and ran sprints till he thought he would pass out.
When he started high school he also began to lift weights. Each day he would workout for a couple of hours. Some days he would even run on the treadmill: one mile, three miles, six miles. Soaked in sweat and exhausted, he always pushed. Always tried to lift more. To run farther or faster. The fatigue started to set in a couple years into high school, but he didn't notice it.
He was driving in his car one day when something really startled him. His heart started beating funny, fluttering inside his chest. It seemed to take his breath away. It was hard not to notice it and he told his parents but they didn't think it was anything serious. It was the only time something like had happened. Over the next few years, though, his heart would beat funny at random times. He also had shortness of breath more and more. His fatigue became worse. And he started having some slight chest pain.
After high school he went to college to play volleyball. Sitting on a table in the trainer's office, a doctor listened to his heartbeat. Each player had to be cleared by the doctor before they could play for the team. The doctor told him he had a slight murmur. It was nothing serious but the doctor thought he should get it looked at just to be safe.
Within a month he was on an examining table in the hospital. A technician used an ultrasound to view and listen to his heart. When the test was over the tech sent him away without much of an explanation. He never heard from the hospital or his family physician. Never heard the results from the test. Naturally, he assumed there was nothing wrong. If there had been, they would've called.
Over the next year or so he didn't think about it much but all the symptoms were still there. He didn't understand. He was tired all the time. So much so that it was difficult for him to workout for more than a half hour. And his heart was beating funny more frequently than ever before. He was sitting on the couch one night watching TV and he felt his heart beat funny six times within an hour. It had never happened that often in such a short amount of time. He decided that it was time to get it looked at again.
Within a month he back on an examining table in a different hospital having the same test done again. The doctor saw something was wrong almost instantly. He could see on the screen that the right side of the heart was much larger than it should have been. The doctor told him it could be a few different things but most likely it was a shunt, or a hole. He suggested that they go see a cardiologist who might be able to determine exactly what the problem was. His mom called around over the next few days and found a cardiologist they could see at Barnes.
Just by looking at the results of the ultrasound the cardiologist knew that it was a hole in his heart. The hole was between the left and right atrium. The cardiologist told them there were two ways to fix the problem. One was using a small, umbrella-like device to seal the hole and the other was to have open-heart surgery. Which procedure he would have depended on how large the opening was. If it were larger than 3cm or irregular in shape then he would have to have open-heart surgery.
They put him through one test after another to find out the shape and size of the hole. Surprisingly, he didn't seem too worried about what was going on. He knew either procedure was a big deal but he didn't think much about it. In late November 2005, he went in for one of his last tests. The MRI lasted about an hour. They wanted as many views of his heart as they could get before they made their decision on which procedure they would go with.
That night in bed he thought about it some before falling asleep. He knew it was getting close to the end. He had one more test the next day. It was the one test that would tell them the most. He wasn't looking forward to it. They would have to put a needle in his groin and push a small wire through his veins until it reached his heart. He knew that after the test was done they would tell him which procedure they would go with. He had a feeling in his gut, though, that it would be bad news. That he would have to have the surgery.
The next morning he was in the hospital bed alone with his thoughts. The cardiologist came in to check on him and told him that they were able to see enough from the MRI to make a decision. Open-heart surgery, just like he thought. Even then, it didn't really hit him. Strange, not to be bothered by something like that.
They scheduled the surgery only two weeks after his final test that morning. He wanted to get the surgery done as soon as possible so he wouldn't have to think about it too much. The days flew by and he was back in the hospital saying goodbye to his family and friends. He walked with the anesthesiologist to the operating room. It was cold inside and there were already several people in there preparing the room.
They put him on the table and stretched his arms out. Within a couple of minutes he was out because of the meds. It was like taking a nap. He woke up in a different room. His throat hurt. His chest and shoulders ached. There were tubes and wires everywhere. Beeping from the monitor beside his bed in the intensive care room. The next few hours were a haze. He would pass out and wake up moments later when someone came in to see how he was doing.
It turned out that the hole they repaired was rather large. But that wasn't all they had to fix. He had several smaller holes next to the larger one. He also had two veins that were going to the wrong side of the heart that they had to cut and reroute so he would get the oxygenated blood he needed. Turned out to be something he was born with that they never caught because he was a healthy child that didn't show any symptoms. None of the nurses could believe he was in there with that problem. Some were surprised that he survived that long with those problems, especially with all the sports he played.
Two days after the surgery he was given the ok to go home. They pulled the tubes from his chest, which was the most painful thing he had ever experienced, gave him his clothes and let him leave with his mom. They walked slowly to the parking garage, both amazed that they let him walk out this soon after the surgery. Minutes later they were heading down the highway back home. He looked at the reflection of the hospital in the mirror and it finally hit him. He was overwhelmed with emotion. He couldn't believe what he just went through. He couldn't believe he was alive when he could have collapsed any number of times. On the basketball court. On the baseball field. Working out. Any of those things could have been the death of him because of his heart problem. But it was fixed and he was on his way home. In a month or two he would be back to normal, working out and playing sports again. But at that moment it was all too much for him to think about. Words couldn't express how he was feeling. He'd never felt anything like it before. It was as if all the emotions he should have been feeling in the months leading up to that point finally hit him with incredible force. He stared at the mirror until the hospital faded from view, his sunglasses hiding the tears that filled his tired eyes.
At home that night he stared at himself in the mirror and cried some more. He stared at the long, scabbed scar on his chest. At the cross-like scars below that where the drainage tubes had been. For over a year he dealt with guilt and depression because of the surgery. Each day, after his shower, he is reminded of what happened. He stares at his scar.
To this day it's hard for me to describe what I was feeling during that difficult time in my life. I still think about it everyday. It's hard not to when I have a scar to remind me. Last year was the hardest year of my life because of the surgery. I've heard that most people who go through open-heart surgery have some kind of depression because of it. I was one of them and what made it worse was that I already struggled with depression anyway. When I hear stories about the little girl that died or the basketball coach it's easy for me to feel guilty because I was fortunate enough to have my heart problems found out before it was too late. They each had very similar heart problems and they didn't survive. It's a hard thing to explain, the guilt that I feel because I'm still alive. I've gotten better about not dwelling on things like that and just being thankful for the fact that I'm still alive and I can still do all the things a love. I play basketball a few times a week. I play volleyball and roller hockey when I can and I'm in a softball league with my church. I'm thankful for that experience, as hard as it was. It's something that I have that I can use to relate to someone who might be going through the same kind of problem. It's made me who I am today. My scar is by no means an attractive thing. But for me it's beautiful. It's a part of me. A part of my story. I didn't put any of that cream on that helps scars go away or at least not stand out so much. I didn't want my scar to go away. I want it there as a reminder of what I went through and what I should be thankful for. Life is fragile and beautiful. You don't know when it will end. Be thankful for the time you have and the gifts and talents you have and make the most of them. This is what I'm trying to do. I want to focus on my relationships and putting others first. I want to always think of my heart problems as a good thing. As hard as last year was, I think I'm a better person for having survived it. Let me know what you think of all this. Hopefully you stuck with it. I know it's long.
It's December, 1984 and a child is born; a seemingly healthy child. He has blond hair and blue eyes. A couple of years go by and his dad already has him playing catch; he was excited because his son was a lefty like him.
The child fell in love with sports. He played baseball and basketball from an early age. He quit those when he went to high school so he could try his hand at volleyball. His whole life up to that point: countless innings, quarters, matches, wins, and losses. He never had a problem keeping up, pushing himself. He threw, hit, jumped, dove, and ran sprints till he thought he would pass out.
When he started high school he also began to lift weights. Each day he would workout for a couple of hours. Some days he would even run on the treadmill: one mile, three miles, six miles. Soaked in sweat and exhausted, he always pushed. Always tried to lift more. To run farther or faster. The fatigue started to set in a couple years into high school, but he didn't notice it.
He was driving in his car one day when something really startled him. His heart started beating funny, fluttering inside his chest. It seemed to take his breath away. It was hard not to notice it and he told his parents but they didn't think it was anything serious. It was the only time something like had happened. Over the next few years, though, his heart would beat funny at random times. He also had shortness of breath more and more. His fatigue became worse. And he started having some slight chest pain.
After high school he went to college to play volleyball. Sitting on a table in the trainer's office, a doctor listened to his heartbeat. Each player had to be cleared by the doctor before they could play for the team. The doctor told him he had a slight murmur. It was nothing serious but the doctor thought he should get it looked at just to be safe.
Within a month he was on an examining table in the hospital. A technician used an ultrasound to view and listen to his heart. When the test was over the tech sent him away without much of an explanation. He never heard from the hospital or his family physician. Never heard the results from the test. Naturally, he assumed there was nothing wrong. If there had been, they would've called.
Over the next year or so he didn't think about it much but all the symptoms were still there. He didn't understand. He was tired all the time. So much so that it was difficult for him to workout for more than a half hour. And his heart was beating funny more frequently than ever before. He was sitting on the couch one night watching TV and he felt his heart beat funny six times within an hour. It had never happened that often in such a short amount of time. He decided that it was time to get it looked at again.
Within a month he back on an examining table in a different hospital having the same test done again. The doctor saw something was wrong almost instantly. He could see on the screen that the right side of the heart was much larger than it should have been. The doctor told him it could be a few different things but most likely it was a shunt, or a hole. He suggested that they go see a cardiologist who might be able to determine exactly what the problem was. His mom called around over the next few days and found a cardiologist they could see at Barnes.
Just by looking at the results of the ultrasound the cardiologist knew that it was a hole in his heart. The hole was between the left and right atrium. The cardiologist told them there were two ways to fix the problem. One was using a small, umbrella-like device to seal the hole and the other was to have open-heart surgery. Which procedure he would have depended on how large the opening was. If it were larger than 3cm or irregular in shape then he would have to have open-heart surgery.
They put him through one test after another to find out the shape and size of the hole. Surprisingly, he didn't seem too worried about what was going on. He knew either procedure was a big deal but he didn't think much about it. In late November 2005, he went in for one of his last tests. The MRI lasted about an hour. They wanted as many views of his heart as they could get before they made their decision on which procedure they would go with.
That night in bed he thought about it some before falling asleep. He knew it was getting close to the end. He had one more test the next day. It was the one test that would tell them the most. He wasn't looking forward to it. They would have to put a needle in his groin and push a small wire through his veins until it reached his heart. He knew that after the test was done they would tell him which procedure they would go with. He had a feeling in his gut, though, that it would be bad news. That he would have to have the surgery.
The next morning he was in the hospital bed alone with his thoughts. The cardiologist came in to check on him and told him that they were able to see enough from the MRI to make a decision. Open-heart surgery, just like he thought. Even then, it didn't really hit him. Strange, not to be bothered by something like that.
They scheduled the surgery only two weeks after his final test that morning. He wanted to get the surgery done as soon as possible so he wouldn't have to think about it too much. The days flew by and he was back in the hospital saying goodbye to his family and friends. He walked with the anesthesiologist to the operating room. It was cold inside and there were already several people in there preparing the room.
They put him on the table and stretched his arms out. Within a couple of minutes he was out because of the meds. It was like taking a nap. He woke up in a different room. His throat hurt. His chest and shoulders ached. There were tubes and wires everywhere. Beeping from the monitor beside his bed in the intensive care room. The next few hours were a haze. He would pass out and wake up moments later when someone came in to see how he was doing.
It turned out that the hole they repaired was rather large. But that wasn't all they had to fix. He had several smaller holes next to the larger one. He also had two veins that were going to the wrong side of the heart that they had to cut and reroute so he would get the oxygenated blood he needed. Turned out to be something he was born with that they never caught because he was a healthy child that didn't show any symptoms. None of the nurses could believe he was in there with that problem. Some were surprised that he survived that long with those problems, especially with all the sports he played.
Two days after the surgery he was given the ok to go home. They pulled the tubes from his chest, which was the most painful thing he had ever experienced, gave him his clothes and let him leave with his mom. They walked slowly to the parking garage, both amazed that they let him walk out this soon after the surgery. Minutes later they were heading down the highway back home. He looked at the reflection of the hospital in the mirror and it finally hit him. He was overwhelmed with emotion. He couldn't believe what he just went through. He couldn't believe he was alive when he could have collapsed any number of times. On the basketball court. On the baseball field. Working out. Any of those things could have been the death of him because of his heart problem. But it was fixed and he was on his way home. In a month or two he would be back to normal, working out and playing sports again. But at that moment it was all too much for him to think about. Words couldn't express how he was feeling. He'd never felt anything like it before. It was as if all the emotions he should have been feeling in the months leading up to that point finally hit him with incredible force. He stared at the mirror until the hospital faded from view, his sunglasses hiding the tears that filled his tired eyes.
At home that night he stared at himself in the mirror and cried some more. He stared at the long, scabbed scar on his chest. At the cross-like scars below that where the drainage tubes had been. For over a year he dealt with guilt and depression because of the surgery. Each day, after his shower, he is reminded of what happened. He stares at his scar.
To this day it's hard for me to describe what I was feeling during that difficult time in my life. I still think about it everyday. It's hard not to when I have a scar to remind me. Last year was the hardest year of my life because of the surgery. I've heard that most people who go through open-heart surgery have some kind of depression because of it. I was one of them and what made it worse was that I already struggled with depression anyway. When I hear stories about the little girl that died or the basketball coach it's easy for me to feel guilty because I was fortunate enough to have my heart problems found out before it was too late. They each had very similar heart problems and they didn't survive. It's a hard thing to explain, the guilt that I feel because I'm still alive. I've gotten better about not dwelling on things like that and just being thankful for the fact that I'm still alive and I can still do all the things a love. I play basketball a few times a week. I play volleyball and roller hockey when I can and I'm in a softball league with my church. I'm thankful for that experience, as hard as it was. It's something that I have that I can use to relate to someone who might be going through the same kind of problem. It's made me who I am today. My scar is by no means an attractive thing. But for me it's beautiful. It's a part of me. A part of my story. I didn't put any of that cream on that helps scars go away or at least not stand out so much. I didn't want my scar to go away. I want it there as a reminder of what I went through and what I should be thankful for. Life is fragile and beautiful. You don't know when it will end. Be thankful for the time you have and the gifts and talents you have and make the most of them. This is what I'm trying to do. I want to focus on my relationships and putting others first. I want to always think of my heart problems as a good thing. As hard as last year was, I think I'm a better person for having survived it. Let me know what you think of all this. Hopefully you stuck with it. I know it's long.
20 Years Later
This is a poem I wrote a little over a year after my surgery.
A world that is rocked
Thrown straight from its course
For a time
A day, a week, months
leading up
Tests and more tests
Doctors and hospitals
Waiting anxiously for the next
And then it's decided
The road we will take
A baby born without problems
Now, 20 years later
I wait
I try not to think
To dwell on what's coming
Stay calm, stay in control
There's no need to worry
I walk down the hall
We say our goodbyes
And still I don't worry
I tell myself
Everything will be fine
I go through the doors
the nurse at my side
It's cold in the room
People are waiting
I climb on the table
Lay flat
They stretch my arms out to my sides
I breathe through the mask
Barely feel the needle go into my arm
I lose focus
The room fades away
with the people inside
I wake up in a different room
People coming and going
to see how I'm doing
My throat hurts
Mouth is dry
There's a pain in my chest
Aching
But I made it through ok
2 days and one room later
I've been cleared to leave
We walk to the garage
slowly
As we're driving away
I look in the mirror
For the first time it hits me
How I'm still alive
On my way home
after open-heart surgery
I break down
and cry
A world that is rocked
Thrown straight from its course
For a time
A day, a week, months
leading up
Tests and more tests
Doctors and hospitals
Waiting anxiously for the next
And then it's decided
The road we will take
A baby born without problems
Now, 20 years later
I wait
I try not to think
To dwell on what's coming
Stay calm, stay in control
There's no need to worry
I walk down the hall
We say our goodbyes
And still I don't worry
I tell myself
Everything will be fine
I go through the doors
the nurse at my side
It's cold in the room
People are waiting
I climb on the table
Lay flat
They stretch my arms out to my sides
I breathe through the mask
Barely feel the needle go into my arm
I lose focus
The room fades away
with the people inside
I wake up in a different room
People coming and going
to see how I'm doing
My throat hurts
Mouth is dry
There's a pain in my chest
Aching
But I made it through ok
2 days and one room later
I've been cleared to leave
We walk to the garage
slowly
As we're driving away
I look in the mirror
For the first time it hits me
How I'm still alive
On my way home
after open-heart surgery
I break down
and cry
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Playing in the Rain
We had two softball games yesterday afternoon. We won them both to take our record to 9-7 (no big deal). It was pretty cloudy during the games and it misted for a little while toward the beginning. At some point, though, it started raining hard. Then it would stop. And when you thought the heat and humidity would do you in it would start raining again. By the end of the second game I was completely soaked, the field was muddy, and the bases were slippery death traps to anyone sprinting for an extra-base hit. I had a blast. Standing in the batter's box, waiting for the pitch, rain pouring down on top of me. Sure I was fithly and weighed down by muddy cleats but It was great. It reminded me of being a kid, playing in the rain with your friends, the least bit of concern for lightning and what would happen if it hit the bat. There's just something about it - the beauty of a storm and what it brings.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Words that Cut
I was reading my devotional today and the author was talking about sarcasm and that it can be "far more serious than we might want to believe." Sarcasm is something I've tried to work on in the past couple years. I know I can be sarcastic at times but if I am I usually try and make sure the person knows I'm only kidding. A couple years ago I guess I took my sarcasm a little too far and a friend called me on it. She asked if I always had to be a jerk to her. I didn't realize that the things I was saying were affecting her so. I felt really bad and apologized for hurting her and from that point on I've tried to keep myself from taking things that far. Everyone is different and the sarcasm you use on your best friends might not be taken as well by others. I know how brutal words can be sometimes and how they can be more damaging in some cases than any physical injury you could receive.
Concert
Last night I went to a concert with my girlfriend and a few friends. We saw Ben Folds and John Mayer. Ben Folds was really entertaining. I'm not a huge John Mayer fan but he put on a pretty good show. He's an incredible guitar player with decent vocals. Reflecting on the night it's kind of sad what goes on at these shows. There was a guy sitting pretty close to us in the lawn that was passed out drunk before Ben Folds even went on. His friends piled grass on him until he was completely covered. I must admit it was funny seeing him covered in grass but really kind of sad that someone would get that drunk before the show. I won't talk about the clothes that a lot of people wear at these shows. And there's enough smoke in the air that you feel like you might get high just breathing. I don't want to sound too negative but you would think that people would want to go to these shows and just enjoy the music and the beatuful night without the influence of drugs or alcohol. I did have fun though, standing in the grass with the people I care about, enjoying good music. It couldn't have been a better night for the concert.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Airport
Friday night I went to the airport to fly to Maryland. I'm somewhat of a people watcher so when I sat down in the terminal, waiting for the plane to board, I looked around at the others who would be on the same flight before opening my book to pass the time. When it was finally time to board, a little after 10 pm, they called forward anyone that would need a little extra time to get situated or anyone that had small children. This makes sense, let them take there time and get settled before letting everyone else on. I looked at the beginning of the line and saw several people standing there that looked to be about my age and more than capable of getting on the plane after the others. And there were even a couple of men who appeared to be in there mid thirties standing toward the front of the line. There were a couple families with small children and a few elderly folks. Unfortunately, these people, who probably could have used the extra time on a less crowded plane were scattered throughout the line. I just sat there and watched in disbelief. Maybe it doesn't seem like that big of a problem but it made me upset. Did these people think they would get to Baltimore any faster by standing at the front of the line. Don't they know it's a plane, and we'll all get there at the same time. I wish the woman working the counter would have acknowledged the situation and told those few people to stand off to the side so the families and the elderly good board first. That was the whole point after all. It was such an easy thing to just sit in the terminal a few extra minutes to give them time, but these people apparently can't wait that long. It just seemed like it was one of those situations where doing the right thing is obvious and not at all difficult. To put others before yourself. I was pleased to see that there were some people still waiting in there seats in the terminal. I was just amazed at the selfishness of some people and I hope I can use that as a reminder for myself that it doesn't take much to put others first. In that moment it was just waiting a few more minutes to board a plane that would arrive at it's destination on time regardless of whether I boarded it first or last.
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