(no subject)
Tonight my pizza delivery guy was mugged on the way to my house. Apparently the robber took all his cash as well as my pizza.
This got me to thinking...
At what point did I become the bad luck charm for everyone in my life? A year ago, I had the perfect life. Two years ago, I had the perfect life. Today, I can't even buy a pizza.
What really brought this all on, though, had little to do with Papa John's. I found out last Friday that Seth died. He apparently died "suddenly July 15 from complications of Type 1 diabetes."
When I found out, I had nothing to say. I was at a friend's house playing Wii as I read the text message. As I kept typing "N for next," I became increasingly speechless. It wasn't my place any more to care about him, but yet, as I sat there Wiimote in one hand and my phone in the other, I was breathless. All of a sudden, I wanted nothing more than to hold him. To be lying beside him, giving him orange juice, helping him up. Although when I was doing it, it would hurt my feelings how he would react to me, I wanted to feel that again.
I use to work myself into a tizzy pouring my heart and soul into resuscitating him. I was driven by adrenaline as I methodically would arm myself with juice and straddle him, using my knees to hold his shoulders down. When I would pry open his lips, whispering in his ear that I was there to take care of him, I was always cautious not to wake his roommates. Although it was life or death, it was routine. It was the steps I took because I loved him.
One night, I had to take him to the hospital. He was throwing up and couldn't keep his medicine down, so he needed an IV. I was on the phone all evening with his mom and aunt, keeping them informed, assuring them that I was there and that, for now, everything was fine.
As the hours passed that night, the IV was making him get better. He was no longer throwing up, but I was increasingly feeling worse. I rested my head on the arm rest of his hospital bed and when I closed my eyes, I felt like I was spinning in circles while afloat in a pool. I knew then that I was going to be sick. Rather than disturb him, though, I made sure he was going to be fine and told him that I needed to go home and go to bed. I took his apartment key and as soon as I stepped into his place, I got sick. I was up all night and was in bed all the next day. He got back from the hospital sometime early that morning and was feeling 100%; yet, he distanced himself from me out of fear of getting sick again. My heart was broken that day. I realized that no matter how many times I would tear apart my kitchen for juice or restrain him when he wanted to flail, he wouldn't do the same for me.
But it was all about choices we were making. And I was choosing him, because, despite his health and everyday being a gamble, I loved him. I loved the way he would arch his back, bend over, and flap his hands while dancing when he was excited about something. I can see him doing it now in our Metro tunnel.
I loved the way that he held me. His hands were always so soft, despite the calluses brought on by twenty years of blood sugar tests. He wrapped his arms around me so comfortably at night and the nights he wanted to face away from me, I always felt so cold as I fell asleep.
I still am amazed at the instinct I developed when taking care of him. I would wake up in the middle of the night for no other reason than feeling him, hearing him, or sensing him need me.
And no matter what bad things there were in the relationship, that was inarguably the deepest, purest love I have ever experienced.
So, having developed this sense (that as recently as April I still used to pick up on his subtle hints of his sugar crashing), I can't help but feel like I let him down. I know that it was no longer my role to be there for him, but after two years, many sleepless nights, Dustin's death, and all our amazing memories, I feel like I should have been there.
I never should have left him. Maybe I could have just hung in there for one more measly year if, for no other reason, just to keep an eye on him. He always told me that no one did it like me. I even challenged his mom in the way I took care of him.
When his sugar would drop, he would subconsciously fight me. He would resist me giving him the juice. The lower it dropped, the worse his reaction. Sometimes it was particularly tough because he would not only resist me with his arms and legs, but would clamp his mouth so tight that I couldn't even pry it open with my hands. I knew that he hated it if the paramedics had to come wake him; so, I always tried so hard. I tried to be painstakingly persistent in getting him awake single-handedly, because that was the way he preferred it. Sometimes it would take up to 45 minutes to get him awake... two quarts of juice I went through one time. I would have to pinch his nose to cut of his air so that he'd open his mouth. As soon as he would, I'd have to use my hands to keep it open. There was a fine line between getting him to wake up with the juice and not choking him.
Many nights we'd have to wake up part-way through the night to face it. Sometimes those days, we'd be faced with having to sleep on pillows, sheets, and blankets that were covered in sweat and orange juice. I always tried to buy it without pulp just to facilitate the pleasantness of these experiences. Sometimes we'd just have to completely remake the bed with another set of sheets.
Needless to say, our two years together had many sleepless nights. Especially right after Dustin died. Facing the death of one diabetic, it is hard to go to sleep right next to another without a heightened fear of rolling over and touching a cold body at any point in the night. I had many, many nightmares that summer that he would have to wake me from. Some nights, we got up and went and sit on the couch together because I didn't want to go back to sleep. I was afraid of losing him.
And now I have.
And with his death, I can't help but wonder what was it all for? Was it ultimately worth it to him... our time together? How did he look back on us? Was I just a whiny bitch who complained a lot and didn't pay for my share? Or did he have the same memories of love that I do?
It hurts so bad.
I want to be there. I want to go to Sarasota and see his grave. I want closure. I want people to ask me about him. I want to cure diabetes. I want him back.
I hope I never forget him. I am so afraid of our memories being lost.
And now, before bed, I want to share this final thing. Seth used to always leave me little notes on my computer before class while I was still in bed, or would hide loves notes somewhere I'd find them at a later time. Most of these, I have saved on my computer.
Well, one winter break, I missed him unbearably. He sent me this link and I saved it in a notepad document. I came across it a couple of days ago and it made my heart wrench. I want to share it here for posterity, so that as the memories fade, at least there will be something tangible to represent how cute, happy, and full of love our relationship was, even when things weren't great.
So, here is what he sent me: http://www2.b3ta.com/i-love-you/
I can only hope that I can experience this kind of love again.
I will miss you, Seth. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me most. I hope you weren't scared with no one to hold you. Please don't ever leave me; I can feel you now and I am so afraid of losing that. So, please please please stay here with me in my heart, in my mind. You were great, and the way you lived your life inspired me beyond words. The day you ran the marathon, I fell in love with you all over again. I was so proud... with all the challenges you faced, you made the best of it and lived a life that in 23 short years, many people will never experience in a hundred. I'm glad that I got to be a part of it; I hope you look back on our time together with the same feelings I do. What we had was real. I love you and always will.
This got me to thinking...
At what point did I become the bad luck charm for everyone in my life? A year ago, I had the perfect life. Two years ago, I had the perfect life. Today, I can't even buy a pizza.
What really brought this all on, though, had little to do with Papa John's. I found out last Friday that Seth died. He apparently died "suddenly July 15 from complications of Type 1 diabetes."
When I found out, I had nothing to say. I was at a friend's house playing Wii as I read the text message. As I kept typing "N for next," I became increasingly speechless. It wasn't my place any more to care about him, but yet, as I sat there Wiimote in one hand and my phone in the other, I was breathless. All of a sudden, I wanted nothing more than to hold him. To be lying beside him, giving him orange juice, helping him up. Although when I was doing it, it would hurt my feelings how he would react to me, I wanted to feel that again.
I use to work myself into a tizzy pouring my heart and soul into resuscitating him. I was driven by adrenaline as I methodically would arm myself with juice and straddle him, using my knees to hold his shoulders down. When I would pry open his lips, whispering in his ear that I was there to take care of him, I was always cautious not to wake his roommates. Although it was life or death, it was routine. It was the steps I took because I loved him.
One night, I had to take him to the hospital. He was throwing up and couldn't keep his medicine down, so he needed an IV. I was on the phone all evening with his mom and aunt, keeping them informed, assuring them that I was there and that, for now, everything was fine.
As the hours passed that night, the IV was making him get better. He was no longer throwing up, but I was increasingly feeling worse. I rested my head on the arm rest of his hospital bed and when I closed my eyes, I felt like I was spinning in circles while afloat in a pool. I knew then that I was going to be sick. Rather than disturb him, though, I made sure he was going to be fine and told him that I needed to go home and go to bed. I took his apartment key and as soon as I stepped into his place, I got sick. I was up all night and was in bed all the next day. He got back from the hospital sometime early that morning and was feeling 100%; yet, he distanced himself from me out of fear of getting sick again. My heart was broken that day. I realized that no matter how many times I would tear apart my kitchen for juice or restrain him when he wanted to flail, he wouldn't do the same for me.
But it was all about choices we were making. And I was choosing him, because, despite his health and everyday being a gamble, I loved him. I loved the way he would arch his back, bend over, and flap his hands while dancing when he was excited about something. I can see him doing it now in our Metro tunnel.
I loved the way that he held me. His hands were always so soft, despite the calluses brought on by twenty years of blood sugar tests. He wrapped his arms around me so comfortably at night and the nights he wanted to face away from me, I always felt so cold as I fell asleep.
I still am amazed at the instinct I developed when taking care of him. I would wake up in the middle of the night for no other reason than feeling him, hearing him, or sensing him need me.
And no matter what bad things there were in the relationship, that was inarguably the deepest, purest love I have ever experienced.
So, having developed this sense (that as recently as April I still used to pick up on his subtle hints of his sugar crashing), I can't help but feel like I let him down. I know that it was no longer my role to be there for him, but after two years, many sleepless nights, Dustin's death, and all our amazing memories, I feel like I should have been there.
I never should have left him. Maybe I could have just hung in there for one more measly year if, for no other reason, just to keep an eye on him. He always told me that no one did it like me. I even challenged his mom in the way I took care of him.
When his sugar would drop, he would subconsciously fight me. He would resist me giving him the juice. The lower it dropped, the worse his reaction. Sometimes it was particularly tough because he would not only resist me with his arms and legs, but would clamp his mouth so tight that I couldn't even pry it open with my hands. I knew that he hated it if the paramedics had to come wake him; so, I always tried so hard. I tried to be painstakingly persistent in getting him awake single-handedly, because that was the way he preferred it. Sometimes it would take up to 45 minutes to get him awake... two quarts of juice I went through one time. I would have to pinch his nose to cut of his air so that he'd open his mouth. As soon as he would, I'd have to use my hands to keep it open. There was a fine line between getting him to wake up with the juice and not choking him.
Many nights we'd have to wake up part-way through the night to face it. Sometimes those days, we'd be faced with having to sleep on pillows, sheets, and blankets that were covered in sweat and orange juice. I always tried to buy it without pulp just to facilitate the pleasantness of these experiences. Sometimes we'd just have to completely remake the bed with another set of sheets.
Needless to say, our two years together had many sleepless nights. Especially right after Dustin died. Facing the death of one diabetic, it is hard to go to sleep right next to another without a heightened fear of rolling over and touching a cold body at any point in the night. I had many, many nightmares that summer that he would have to wake me from. Some nights, we got up and went and sit on the couch together because I didn't want to go back to sleep. I was afraid of losing him.
And now I have.
And with his death, I can't help but wonder what was it all for? Was it ultimately worth it to him... our time together? How did he look back on us? Was I just a whiny bitch who complained a lot and didn't pay for my share? Or did he have the same memories of love that I do?
It hurts so bad.
I want to be there. I want to go to Sarasota and see his grave. I want closure. I want people to ask me about him. I want to cure diabetes. I want him back.
I hope I never forget him. I am so afraid of our memories being lost.
And now, before bed, I want to share this final thing. Seth used to always leave me little notes on my computer before class while I was still in bed, or would hide loves notes somewhere I'd find them at a later time. Most of these, I have saved on my computer.
Well, one winter break, I missed him unbearably. He sent me this link and I saved it in a notepad document. I came across it a couple of days ago and it made my heart wrench. I want to share it here for posterity, so that as the memories fade, at least there will be something tangible to represent how cute, happy, and full of love our relationship was, even when things weren't great.
So, here is what he sent me: http://www2.b3ta.com/i-love-you/
I can only hope that I can experience this kind of love again.
I will miss you, Seth. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me most. I hope you weren't scared with no one to hold you. Please don't ever leave me; I can feel you now and I am so afraid of losing that. So, please please please stay here with me in my heart, in my mind. You were great, and the way you lived your life inspired me beyond words. The day you ran the marathon, I fell in love with you all over again. I was so proud... with all the challenges you faced, you made the best of it and lived a life that in 23 short years, many people will never experience in a hundred. I'm glad that I got to be a part of it; I hope you look back on our time together with the same feelings I do. What we had was real. I love you and always will.