Everything comes in threes.
1. Jonesy called two nights ago. It startled me a little bit. It was just 10pm, I'd just laid down and the telephone rang -- "private caller," I know that's him calling from home. We talked for several minutes while I tried to stay awake in bed. He filled me in on some of the happier updates in his life right now and while he was talking, I thought to myself, I cannot recall a time I heard a happier tone in his voice.
There's definitely something to be said for recognizing true happiness in the heart of a person who seldom seems to exhibit it. And all I can think is that without her, he'd be in a far worse place right now. Getting to share the excitement of someone else's fresh happiness is one of my most favorite natural highs.
Aside from being giddy about our respective happinesses, Jonesy and I talked about the Fest. It's his first time. Teehee. I'm actually really excited about it. I love sharing the Fest with first-timers. Aside from that, however, it's been far too long since Jonesy and I were at the same musical experience . . . I'm pretty sure Bingstock was the last time. I'm looking forward to him letting loose and me having the opportunity to laugh hysterically at him. That's how we roll.
2. I saw Gary yesterday. He called and asked me to come over so, without question, I did. I can't explain it. He never asks for something he doesn't truly need. I left work for over an hour to sit in his living room and cry subtle tears while, for the first time, he told me the honest truth about what he's been going through.
I kept thinking I'd never seen him look so healthy -- so refreshed -- he was laughing and smiling. He was happy. It's deceiving to look at him -- so seemingly healthy. I wanted him to stay, I want to believe he's better. He's not. In time, though.
I want to clarify, though I don't know who to, his coming home wasn't him quitting. If anything, maybe it was him getting a little startled that he was beginning to find faith in something greater? Whatever it was, he wouldn't be staying long, which is why he needed to see me. We didn't get to say goodbye the last time he left.
For a year he'll be gone, fighting a battle I cannot help him with. And that tears me apart, but I know there isn't anything more I can do but love him, not judge him, and remind him every day I'll still be here for him when he gets home.
I wanted to savor the minutes I had with him in the living room talking and laughing yesterday, but it's hard to not let reality loom. I remind myself though, that Gary will be coming back healthier, happier, and more well-educated. And he helped to recognize that.
Perspective:
Imagine a yardstick. Imagine that yardstick as your entire lifespan -- from birth to death. Say you live to 72-years-old (which is young these days!). That would mean every inch of the yardstick would be equivilent to 2 years of your life.
(If he lives to 72-years-old) Gary is only 11 inches into his yardstick. And the way he sees it, if giving up half an inch (one year) to a certain facility ensures that the remain 24.5 inches (49 years!) are not clouded or damaged by this, it's beyond worth it. And he's right. If not having my best guy friend in my life for a year means that I get to keep a healthy, happy him as my bff for the rest of eternity, then I'm down.
The facility allows letter writing, but incoming and outgoing all gets pre-screened. And I think eventually they allow phone calls. He gets to play his guitar, work out, eat, read, study, whatever. They also allow visits, but only from family. So for the next year, I'm Gary's cousin.
3. hasn't happened yet. We'll see what comes.
1. Jonesy called two nights ago. It startled me a little bit. It was just 10pm, I'd just laid down and the telephone rang -- "private caller," I know that's him calling from home. We talked for several minutes while I tried to stay awake in bed. He filled me in on some of the happier updates in his life right now and while he was talking, I thought to myself, I cannot recall a time I heard a happier tone in his voice.
There's definitely something to be said for recognizing true happiness in the heart of a person who seldom seems to exhibit it. And all I can think is that without her, he'd be in a far worse place right now. Getting to share the excitement of someone else's fresh happiness is one of my most favorite natural highs.
Aside from being giddy about our respective happinesses, Jonesy and I talked about the Fest. It's his first time. Teehee. I'm actually really excited about it. I love sharing the Fest with first-timers. Aside from that, however, it's been far too long since Jonesy and I were at the same musical experience . . . I'm pretty sure Bingstock was the last time. I'm looking forward to him letting loose and me having the opportunity to laugh hysterically at him. That's how we roll.
2. I saw Gary yesterday. He called and asked me to come over so, without question, I did. I can't explain it. He never asks for something he doesn't truly need. I left work for over an hour to sit in his living room and cry subtle tears while, for the first time, he told me the honest truth about what he's been going through.
I kept thinking I'd never seen him look so healthy -- so refreshed -- he was laughing and smiling. He was happy. It's deceiving to look at him -- so seemingly healthy. I wanted him to stay, I want to believe he's better. He's not. In time, though.
I want to clarify, though I don't know who to, his coming home wasn't him quitting. If anything, maybe it was him getting a little startled that he was beginning to find faith in something greater? Whatever it was, he wouldn't be staying long, which is why he needed to see me. We didn't get to say goodbye the last time he left.
For a year he'll be gone, fighting a battle I cannot help him with. And that tears me apart, but I know there isn't anything more I can do but love him, not judge him, and remind him every day I'll still be here for him when he gets home.
I wanted to savor the minutes I had with him in the living room talking and laughing yesterday, but it's hard to not let reality loom. I remind myself though, that Gary will be coming back healthier, happier, and more well-educated. And he helped to recognize that.
Perspective:
Imagine a yardstick. Imagine that yardstick as your entire lifespan -- from birth to death. Say you live to 72-years-old (which is young these days!). That would mean every inch of the yardstick would be equivilent to 2 years of your life.
(If he lives to 72-years-old) Gary is only 11 inches into his yardstick. And the way he sees it, if giving up half an inch (one year) to a certain facility ensures that the remain 24.5 inches (49 years!) are not clouded or damaged by this, it's beyond worth it. And he's right. If not having my best guy friend in my life for a year means that I get to keep a healthy, happy him as my bff for the rest of eternity, then I'm down.
The facility allows letter writing, but incoming and outgoing all gets pre-screened. And I think eventually they allow phone calls. He gets to play his guitar, work out, eat, read, study, whatever. They also allow visits, but only from family. So for the next year, I'm Gary's cousin.
3. hasn't happened yet. We'll see what comes.
Comments
Alas though, insightful nonetheless.