“…one of the longest trips you’ll ever make is back to normal…”

A favorite saying of my mother’s is “it takes all kinds,” it's her “go to” phrase whenever she is confused, amazed, or frustrated by how someone (often times me) deals with a situation. I have heard her say this literally a thousand times over the years. I can see her watching me fumble through an issue, listening to me explain an action, or watching it unfold before her eyes. I can hear her uttering “tsk tsk tsk” before she rolls her eyes and says to me, “well, it takes all kinds!”

Unfortunately trips back to normal all begin on the heels of a bad or sad experience. Bad news and sad news are always unwelcome. If these occurrences were people it would suck to be either one of these guys, always shunned and avoided. However, in the grand scheme of things, within the circle of life, they are inevitable. Sooner or later they surface; in fact they do so throughout our lives. Each of us deals with this reality in our own way. Hence the significance of my mother’s utterance, “it takes all kinds.”

These guys (for lack of a better term) arrive in many ways. Often they come suddenly, unexpectedly expected, a message tied to a brick and tossed through your kitchen window that hits you right between the eyes! Sometimes they sneak up on you, “like a thief in the night” to coin a Bible verse, and tap you on the shoulder, making you shudder. And then there are the times when you see them coming, when you’ve been forewarned, yet you’re powerless to avoid them. You cannot run fast enough or far enough to escape them. To my mind that is the worst way. I had one of those days last month. The last way, the 'in your face here I come' way, it sucked. It was a day I shared with many others, family, friends, and total strangers. It sucked for everyone. Bad news and sad news, I hate those guys!

There is no need to share details, they would be from my perspective anyway and besides, are not germane to the theme of this post. Suffice to say that as bad as bad news gets, and as sad as sad news is, there is always a lesson to be learned. As I’ve said in previous writings, we are never in control of what life brings us; we are only in control of how we deal with it.

I believe that these two guys, Mr. Bad and Mr. Sad are important members of God’s team, on the Boss’ executive staff. They are tools in His hand used for His purpose to shape our hearts and our souls. I have heard it said that one cannot laugh until one has first cried. After all, life begins with fears and tears. Turns out it ends that way as well.

My bad day, my sad day brought me these lessons. Until that day “love at first sight” was a fantasy, something written about in fairy tales. Until that day unconditional love was a divine concept to me, impossible for mere human beings to fathom much less realize. Until that day I believed that my heart was strong enough to endure anything, unbreakable. Wrong, wrong, wrong!

On that day I learned about true heartache and felt its sting, a sharp piercing sting that I have felt everyday since. On that day I learned that unconditional love is divine, but that God shares that gift with very special, very gentle souls, and He scatters them around us to inspire us to love likewise. Shamefully, we are usually too busy to notice and only look back in quiet reflection after He takes His sweet gift back, and we grieve and mourn when that happens. On that day I learned that you can be thunderstruck by a pure heart. That you can fall in love in a heartbeat, brought on by a smile, a glance, a giggle, a laugh, a tear, a gentle voice, or a shout. And once so struck, your heart so captured, the way you look at life changes forever.

I do not think fondly of that day. However, I do remember with a happy heart every day that came before it. Every moment spent in the company of that precious gift God shared with me, and with so many others. And because I carry those memories deep inside my heart of hearts, inside my beating heart, every day that I live until the end of my own days I will do my best to share the fruit of these lessons. I will do my best to open my heart and offer it often, just like an angel did once for me.

Her smile will live forever in the smiles I see on the faces of those she loved and those who loved her. My life is rich beyond measure because of the lessons of that day. I am a better man because of them, because of her, because of God’s divine purpose of which I’ll accept without question, whatever that may be.

“…real courage humbles everyone…”

I originally wrote this back on February 22nd but could not bring myself to post it then. The ending was not what I wanted it to be, it didn’t fit with my “it’s always too soon to quit” attitude. I actually rewrote the ending three times trying to make it fit my hopes and stubborn expectations. As it turned out, the original version became an unwelcome reality. Sadly, here it is…

Sunday, February 21st, 2010

I had a bad dream tonight. It wasn’t a cold sweat nightmare, but it definitely had a bad feel, sad and ominous. It did not involve demons or monsters, but something equally if not more frightening. The scary part of the dream was the feeling of utter and complete helplessness. Tuyet and I had stayed up later than we should have, chatting and watching a movie together while KaSandra slept in the bed beside us. We had been in the Village at the City of Hope for the past three weeks while KK recovered from round four of chemo. She was scheduled to begin the next round in the morning and I was heading out to New York on business. We all had a busy week ahead of us. I wasn’t keen on making this trip, but if I had to travel, going while KK and Tuyet were in the hospital was the best time as there would be plenty of help.

So, now for the dream, I should premise this retelling with the fact that I am not exactly sure where consciousness and unconsciousness overlap. I have recollections of speaking to Tuyet at certain times but those conversations could have been part of the dream as well?

Sometime during the wee hours, well before the alarm was set to go off, I was awakened by a soft rhythmic noise. It was KaSandra’s feeding pump called a Joey. The sound came in sets of three, and it sounded like this; whirr…whirr…whirr. The three soft and sleepy tones arrived in ten minute intervals. The sound they made was better than counting sheep, and I had fallen asleep to them many times over the past nine or ten months. This night I was awakened by them.

I was facing the wall, my back to Tuyet and KK when I opened my eyes. The Joey began its next set of three tones, only this time I saw them as well as heard them. As I stared at the wall a word appeared with each tone:

Whirr…can

Whirr…you

Whirr…hear

That was weird? Obviously I’m dreaming I rationalized, and I closed my eyes. I was asleep again in nanoseconds. Time passed, I don’t know how much, seconds maybe, minutes, perhaps an hour? The Joey played its tones again, whirr…whirr…whirr. This time I kept my eyes closed, just in case I wasn’t dreaming. Time passed, I don’t know how much, seconds, minutes, perhaps an hour? The Joey sang again and this time I couldn’t resist the temptation to peek:

Whirr…are

Whirr…you

Whirr…listening

What the…this was really starting to bug me! Now I’m no stranger to dreaming, I do it often, so much so that I sleep with a stenographer’s notepad on the nightstand beside my bed. Of course, I wasn’t at home this time so whatever I was experiencing would have to be burned to memory. Turning onto my back I rubbed at my eyes. Maybe if I stayed awake this would end and I could get some rest. Funny how I was more concerned with sleep deprivation than why words were appearing out of nowhere? I managed to stay wide awake for a second or two. Time passed, I don’t know how much, seconds, minutes, perhaps an hour. The Joey sent another message. Still on my back I opened my eyes:

Whirr…are

Whirr…you

Whirr…ready

This time was very different because there up on the ceiling, these three words were written in every language on Earth. And as amazing as that was, even more amazing was the fact that I was able to read each and every one of them. I sat upright quickly and shook Tuyet, or at least I think I did? I think that I asked in a loud whisper if she saw what I was seeing. I think she rolled over scolding me and told me to go back to sleep and to leave her alone. I say I think because it may have just been part of the dream. I laid my head back onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling for a while longer, waiting for sleep to come again. It didn’t.

The Joey continued to sing every ten minutes or so. Once, twice, three times, then four. For nearly an hour the pump purred the same three monotone notes. Each time the words on the ceiling became bolder and bolder, and try as I might, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I glanced at the small digital clock on the dresser near the foot of the bed. The large red numbers read 3:16, curiously familiar? Once more the Joey sang to me:

Whirr…are

Whirr…you

Whirr…ready

And in that moment the words on the ceiling slowly faded away. The room was eerily quiet, devoid of all sound, not even the sound of the three of us breathing. Time passed, I don’t know how much, seconds, minutes, perhaps an hour. The silence was suddenly broken by a familiar tapping sound. It was KaSandra rapping the bracelet that Grandma had given her on the metal rail of her hospital bed. I turned toward her and rose up onto my elbow. She was looking directly at me through the railing of her bed. Her eyes were open and clear, as they typically were so long after her chemo treatment. And she was smiling at me; at least I thought she was? Truthfully I didn’t think she could see that far, especially in the dimly lit room. I thought she was getting ready to call out to me with her usual greeting, Nickelodeon. But she didn’t.

The Joey sang once more:

Whirr…are

Whirr…you

Whirr…ready

And in a strong and clear voice, one that I hadn’t heard for many weeks, KaSandra replied still staring at me through the railing of her bed;

Whirr…yes

Whirr…I

Whirr…am