Deep Dish Monday: A Rare Personal Note.

These past few months have been interesting to say the least. For those of you who are 'lucky' enough to know me personally, know that humor is my only way of handling uncomfortable and painful situations. This tactic is the most useful in my defense mechanism arsenal; however today, a series of bizarre and unconnected events have fallen into place that leave me scratching my head looking for a punchline that doesn't exist. 


I opened up my email this morning to find this message from a guy I dated when I as 18-years-old. I don't remember when we started dating or why we stopped. I am good at remembering names and faces; however I filter through memories quickly, so unless there is a stand out story from an encounter I have a hard time remembering details or specifics. I haven't thought about this guy since I was 18, but apparently I left an impression on him:


"So, FYI. Although by todays standards that very brief time that we hung out is considered very insignificant, I feel compelled to enlighten you on the significance at the time. You see I was only recently out of a very bad relationship in which i thought i was going to marry the girl, turns out she was cheating on me for some time and afterwards still tried to be my friend. She called and called and would tell me how great her new boyfriend was.....well anyway, it shattered my confidence in myself and meeting you was the first step in the rebuilding of that confidence. By todays standards it seems so small and unnoticeable, however it created a foundation that as I see it, at the very least owes you some verbal appreciation and acknowledgement as to the part you played all those years ago. I consider myself to be somewhat indebted to you for your inadvertent part in my recovery at the time. Should a day ever come where you find me in a position to assist you in any way, well i would be happy to repay that debt. Thank you."


I respond with as simple "That's a huge compliment. Thank you," because I have no idea what else to say. Will I ever call in a random favor...perhaps. 


A short time later I have a conversation with a co-worker whose 'boyfriends-cousins- 30-year-old wife' died this past weekend from cancer. I have no context of these people or their struggle, but she linked me to her blog at my request. I read the entirety of it which didn't take me terribly long. I won't link you to this blog because I don't think it is my place to; however her last entry before she died went as follows:


"'I'm sorry it has taken me so long to get a posting up. Luckily, I have a husband who is willing and up to doing that for me.

After 37 consecutive days in the hospitial, I am home, but unfortunately, it's not for reasons I'm stoked to share. Unfortunately, the coil that they put in my stomach did the job for one thing (like it stopped it from allowing me to bleed to death from the inside) but I can no longer be on blood thinners or ele I bleed, in which case is life threatening emergency because I am bleeding from the ulcer at the GE Junction which is where the caner started. I am stable right now, meaning I am not bleeding nor clotting, but there is nothing they can do for me. They will do no more chemo or treatment because there isn't anything treatable left..

This is the hardest think I've ever had to say, and they talk about being at "peace"with it....well I'm not there yet, but can work on getting there. It's a battle, and one I have to oercome, just like the rest of the battles I've fought until now. 

I have all of -----, and all of my own family here right now. I ask that you please respect that.. I know that this is going to bring on round of visitors #2, and I just hope everyone can respect family first. I know I've avoided my cell phone, and I hope you can see why. 

I'm not sure how long I'll be home, and it's likely I'll end up back in the hospitial. 

Love to all."

I am not sure what goes through someones head when they type out the words 'there isn't anything treatable left,' but reading them scared the living daylights out of me. My co-worker told me this woman was a long distance runner who never smoked and took amazing care of herself.

I found out an hour ago that my last remaining grandmother is dying. She's 93-years-old, smoked her whole life, and took terrible care of herself. 

I feel guilty I'm more affected by the blog of a stranger.

I will never know her, but I will never forget what I read today. 

I don't really know the guy who sent me that email this morning, but I will always remember that I helped change someones life for the better.  

When my grandmothers time on this earth comes to an end I will mourn her loss the only way I am accustomed to....

with a joke.

Make em laugh :) 

.

Little boxes on the hillside...

Hey kids! I would like to show you a series of photos and I want you to tell me the theme.

I'm not sure what is in the bottom middle cubbie but it looks like dead rodents. I wouldn't be surprised, feeding the class pet is the first internship you will ever have, and you suck at it.

P.S.-  Bonus for the awesome bike helmet.

Obviously a public school. Although sweet robot drawing.

If I were a ghost I would haunt this room. I'm not sure how they managed to make yellow look bleak.

 Privacy is for winners. You are obviously not a winner. 

Room for one more? Yeah it's a coffin. Deal with it.

If you haven't guessed the theme of these alluring photographs, it's my interpretation of the stages of middle class american growth and it's fucking bullshit. I am all for compartmentalizing feelings, but how the hell are we so OK with literally compartmentalizing ourselves. It's like we are the thermos in a shitty lunch box: we don't quite fit but with enough force those plastic latches will hold until noon...or in our case death. 

We go from a tiny space to put our stuffed animals and juice boxes in ( and don't think I don't notice the size limit starting so early on. Limit your dreams 6-year-olds). Also, learn how to color inside the lines because your parents are tired of hanging ugly drawings up on the fridge. Learning your parents are embarrassed of you and compartmentalizing the rage that their disappointment makes you feel is what growing up is all about tiny humans. 

The next 8 years or so we get lockers. Lockers are slightly larger, but only slightly, and the time frame students are given to go from class to class is a expert lesson in commuting in a city. 

Onto dorm rooms ( if you're lucky enough to get out of your parents house). The only thing I have to say about this stage is that you need to get a meningitis vaccine before living in a dorm. Nothing like the fear of epilepsy and paralysis to make life's possibilities seem endless... sweet nectar.

Welcome to your cubical. This is where you will work until you die, or retire at an age where you are too old to enjoy the freedom.  I hope you enjoy the 40 fucking years you will live in that doom box with your dying plant and a picture of your wife and kids who hate you for making them live in N.J.

Your last stop is a coffin. Congratulations, you've made it to the final box. Have fun spending the rest of eternity in it!

P.S. Don't forget kids: There is no heaven and everyone dies alone.

Have a great day!

Jealous.