This isn’t actually happening right now, though it very possibly could because lately it has been happening on and off randomly throughout the day. Right now I’m actually sitting next to my child as I watch him enjoy the classic Simpsons arcade game that I grew up playing. But here it is: I can’t stop crying. Every day I cry. On and off. At times only in bits while at other times uncontrollably. Usually it’s about Jess–it’s connected to some kind of realization of how I’ve wronged her or how she’s loved me in some beautifully perfect way– how she’s loved me in some kind of way that is so beautiful I feel as though I’ll never be able to accept it fully enough. Sometimes it’s about a realization of what I’m going to miss out on in downtown Vancouver. I can almost see it, I can almost see through the fog a new reality emerging in our both “uber old” and “fledgling” neighborhoods that make up downtown. I grieve that I can almost see it and yet won’t be able to touch it. I feel like Moses up on the mountain top being told by Yahweh him/her/it self that I’ve been given the gift of getting the people this close but I shall go no closer.* Sometimes it’s when I realize how much of my children’s lives I’m going to miss, how many moments I am missing right this very moment as I choose to blog instead of doing…instead of doing…of doing whatever it is that I’m certain I’m missing out on doing! Sometimes I just sob ’cause I don’t know what other emotion to feel. Sorrow is all I’ve got left at times…and so I cry. A lot.
Thirty minutes ago (a few minutes after I finished playing the Simpsons arcade game with Jones) I got up and walked my wheelchair (using the wheelchair as a walker) to where my kids were chillaxin. I decided that instead of working on this blog I should sit with my kids for a few minutes before they get sent to bed themselves. On my way to be with the kids, however, I passed out. Oops. It was a slow seizure. It happened slow enough, luckily, for Jessica and Steve to run over and catch me as I blacked out and went to the floor. There was quite a bit of shaking, some twisting of limbs, some awkward gasping and eye rolling, and just lots and lots of darkness and dizziness for me. It may not have been a horrific seizure (thank you God), but I had a seizure and seizures are certainly scary. They are. Period. Worthy of a few tears. And I cried. The reason I cried, though, wasn’t because of fear associated with passing out. No, the tears were because I was so overwhelmed by these two people who so gently and beautifully cared for me in my time of need. I felt so much love in that lasting moment, I felt so much concern over my life and health. In no way did I feel alone in any sense of the word. How could I have? I was being held in the arms of a woman who in every single way has given everything for me. I don’t remember clearly what she was whispering in my ear tonight (nor do I remember what she whispered during other seizures) but the fact that she was there holding me and whispering anything was enough to keep my body in emotions grip, in the grip of those tears that have eluded me most of my adult life. Those tears that have become so utterly freeing.
It feels good to cry. It feels appropriate, it feels like I”m doing the right thing, like I can’t be judged for crying–I can only be loved. And I desperately want to be loved. Sometimes when I cry, when I really cry and cry hard, I’m honestly just in search of confirmation that I’m not simply wasting time here dinking around waiting to die. The thing is, I think you never feel more human than when you are dying. And that’s an emotional and painful place to be.
* Let’s not be goofy and please absolutely nobody will be aloud to make any further allusions to me and Moses unless it has to do with our hair or our beards. Unless we’re talking about our massive and powerful staffs, it is a comparison that is absolutely out of place…oh yeah, also aside from the point that we’ve both got siblings, we both had to do a dance for our in-laws in order to have been given permission to marry our current wives, and finally the fact that we’re also dying.