A long, long post...

A few days ago I was checking my personal e-mail account and saw a message from an old friend. We had been in contact a year earlier, but the e-mails soon stopped - most likely due to the stress of everyday life.

I sat and thought about this person for a while - about him and about our friendship. I realized that we met approximately 15 years ago, which just boggles my mind. My god, we were still teenagers back then! We were freshmen in college and I recall that we met under strange circumstances. I think he e-mailed me, but being the person that I was (still am?), I thought it was some colossal joke and just ignored it. It turned out that it wasn't a joke and when I finally saw him I was taken by surprise. For my entire life I've been very studious and painfully shy - so much so that most guys avoided me. The only ones who showed interest were these strange, somewhat geeky guys that had no more self-confidence that I had. So here I was faced with this guy who was the complete opposite - tall, attractive, athletic, and "popular" (not sure why I put that word in quotes - probably because I haven't used it since I was a teenager). I had a boyfriend at the time, who happened to fall into the first category, so this person and I developed a friendship.

Over the years, he and I have laughed about what we were like back then. Me - shy, insecure, unsure of what I wanted in life. Him - sarcastic (which actually never changed), aggressive, unsure of what he wanted in life. We spent some time together, learned a bit about each other, but then the end of the school year came and we lost touch even though we both lived in the suburban Chicago area.

I'm not sure why I feel the need to post about this person - maybe because his e-mail set this strange surge of nostalgia my way. I ended up reading through old letters and e-mails and found myself thinking about the up-and-down nature of our friendship. I guess I feel the need to purge about things that I never shared with anyone.

I recall that we rekindled our friendship the following year, although by that time I had transferred to another college - in a different state. We wrote cards and letters and spoke occasionally, but it wasn't easy to stay friends as we both were busy with school and other friends/activities. This part of my memory is foggy. I know that we would get together during the winter break and maybe even during spring break, but things always were left on an odd note. Lots of misunderstandings.

There was a long gap between our next contact. I remember one summer evening returning home after being out with friends to find that he had called. For the life of me I couldn't think why he was calling me as it had been so long. Turns out he had accepted a job out of state and wanted to catch up. For me, that was a pivotal phone call. We ended up spending a lot of time together that summer - sometimes going out to eat, sometimes just talking for hours. One night he invited me to the Monet exhibit at the Art Institute. I assumed it was a friendly gesture, but at that point in my life, it was the most romantic thing a guy had done for me. I didn't care about roses on Valentine's Day, but the Monet exhibit? That was perfect. I never told him this, but wish I had.

The time had come for him to leave for his new job, and I suddenly became aware that I really hated to see him leave. We were becoming so close and while I knew we'd stay in touch, it just wouldn't be the same. I think we both grew up a lot in the past 3 years and we had finally seen the positives in each other. Before he left, he gave me a card and in it mentioned something about me looking for jobs outside of Illinois. The funny thing is we never spoke about that - we just kind of left it hanging in the air around us. It was out there, but neither of us mentioned it again.

So off he went and I was happy that we did stay in touch - tons of letters. Then there was "that letter." The letter that I never got to read. If my memory is correct, I believe he wrote it not long after he moved. I also think he mentioned that he had a couple of glasses of wine - defenses were down. He told me that he sat down and wrote a letter to me, but did not send it after he read it the following morning. Even after days of begging, he refused to send it or tell me what was in it. My head was spinning and I determined that it included one of the following things: A) He said mean things about me or B) He said flattering things about me. Either way it was too hard for him to tell me. I'm not sure whatever happened to that letter - probably thrown out or set on fire. It frustrated me - a lot. I couldn't understand what was so horrible he couldn't tell me. We were close and shared a lot of personal stuff with each other. Sometimes I still wonder what was in that letter and if it would have changed the course of my life.

Fast forward a couple of years - he had moved a few times throughout the country and I was in grad school. Our contact was mostly by e-mail - lots and lots of e-mail. I was in a serious relationship with someone. It was my first adult relationship (the kind where you actually consider marriage). As things started to change in our relationship, I found myself turning to my friend for advice. Then I found myself turning to him for support and for laughs. I found myself turning to him for the things I should have been seeking from my boyfriend. I was always amazed that somehow, without any effort, he was able to understand me on a level that no one else had ever done. I began looking forward to his e-mails more and more. They were these deep, philosophical conversations we would have by e-mail. We just had an amazing connection with each other, and I cherished that.

My boyfriend and I eventually broke up. I was devastated and turned to my friend for support. We talked about it and he made sure I knew that my ex was the one who lost out. It was exactly what I needed to hear. Not long after that, my friend called to tell me that his grandfather passed away. I told him I would come to the visitation after finishing one of my final exams. I did and something very strange happened. I felt a jolt and couldn't shake it. I thought about him for the entire drive home. He called me late that night and we talked. I wanted to tell him, but I stopped myself. We danced around the subject, but neither of us ever said anything. I sent him an e-mail and I told him of the jolt, and then worried that I had made a mistake in telling him. I remember the feeling I had when I read his response - at the bottom of the e-mail he wrote, " I felt the same jolt."

A couple of months, and many e-mails, later, he called to tell me that he was transferred once again. This time he would be coming back to Chicago. A few years before he wrote in an e-mail, "Geography is not our friend." I was very hesitant, but couldn't help but feel excited. For the first time in many years, we would actually be living within a few miles of each other. Maybe geography would finally be our friend.

Things were weird once he moved back. I don't really know what happened. I remember going out with him and his friends to a concert. It was so nice to see him again. It was so nice to be near him again - something I had thought about for a long time. After we got back to his house, we sat up and talked for a long time. I remember that there was music playing - was it jazz? We were having some random conversation about books, but in the back of my mind the whole thing seemed strange. I think it was the first time we ever felt awkward around each other. I didn't know if he wanted to kiss me, or if he wanted me to leave but didn't know how to tell me. I remember feeling confused and disappointed on my drive home.

We talked a few times, and I even got the courage to ask him to see Life Is Beautiful with me - an afternoon show so it wouldn't be threatening. It never materialized and we got into some weird argument. We never spoke after that.

The End.

OK, it wasn't exactly the end. We did e-mail once or twice a couple of years later, but that was it.

A couple of years ago, he e-mailed me and told me he was getting married. Ironically, I was going to be married exactly one week after him. It's funny how things turn out.

I don't want anyone to read this and think that I have any regrets about getting married. I love my husband - he knows me better than anyone else. I trust him with my life.

The whole point of this post is to write about a person with whom I have a long history - a person who had an impact on my life. There were things I probably should have said to him, that I wish I had said to him. I believe that my life took me in the right direction and to the right people. But sometimes, every once in a while, I still wonder what would have happened...

The Aging Process

There is no way around it - this process of aging we all must face at some point. I guess there is plastic surgery, but even then we are faced with physical (and sometimes mental) changes. Even at 34 I can see some of these - the tiny lines near my eyes that were nonexistent a few years ago, the pain in my lower back, the constant state of fatigue I feel.

I've noticed these changes in my family as well. My mother and father are 62 and 63 years old, respectively, and they've both experienced some physical issues. Nothing more than small things that happen as we get older, but they are things that make me realize that they are no longer in their 40's.

The reason I bring all of this up is that my grandfather will celebrate his 91st birthday on March 15th. In the past few years I have noticed significant changes in him - his mobility as well as his attitude/emotional state. My grandfather is the most amazing person I've met - yes, I'm biased, but believe me it's true. He is the son of immigrant parents who fled Europe for the hope of a better life in Chicago. He was an excellent student who dreamed of studying engineering in college, but gave that up to help his father run his store. He is a veteran of WW II. He is a two-time cancer survivor. He is a very spiritual man. He is the most kind and generous person I know.

My grandmother passed away in 1995, and since then, my grandfather has lived alone in his house on the outskirts of Chicago. My grandparents bought this house, their first and only house, in 1962. This was a proud moment for two people who grew up during The Depression and learned English as their second language. However, over the last few years, my family has been encouraging my grandfather to think about the prospect of an assisted-living center. His mobility has been severely compromised and he continues to attempt to get to his laundry room located in the basement. He has to go down the stairs the way a toddler learns to do it - backwards and on his hands and knees. My father has suggested a laundry service that can pickup and drop off his clothing. He will not do it.

A few years ago, this was sort of funny. We joked about it and I was even proud that he was so independent. But it's not like that any longer. For the first time in his life, he failed his driver's test to renew his license. Last week, he failed it for the third time. Two years ago, he side-swiped a car on his way from from my parents' house. The police showed up at his door at midnight, but did not give him a ticket. A few months ago, he thought someone was going to swerve into his lane, so he overcompensated and ended up on the sidewalk. Fortunately, he did not hit anyone.

These incidents, coupled with other behaviors and issues, are obviously alarming to my family. He can no longer clean his house, take out the garbage, shovel his driveway, or take himself to doctor's appointments. He admitted to my father the other day that he believes he is in a depression.

It just breaks my heart to hear this. I know that one of these days - very soon - we will be helping him move out of his house. The very house that signifies his independence. His license will be gone. His home will be gone. And I fear what will happen to him. He thrives from his independence, and I know that the loss of it will do significant damage to him - to his soul.

The News and Other Bizarre Things

My father's biopsy came back negative for cancer. Obviously, I was thrilled when I heard from my mom yesterday. I had a weird and somewhat unexpected reaction when I called my husband to tell him the good news - I started to cry just a bit when I left him the message. Of course, I need to think about all those people who also were waiting for results, but did not get the same good news.

Maybe it was the stress of this past week (news about my dad, lots of migraines, preparing for work this weekend), but I had the most bizarre dream ever. I gave birth to a baby girl. Apparently, things happened quickly and we were not able to get to a hospital because I gave birth at home. It was over pretty quickly and it didn't hurt (this is why it was just a dream!). It really isn't weird until you get to the part when we're suddenly at my parents' house and I realize that I slept through the night without ever waking up to check on the baby. My mom tells me that she took care of everything. She turns to hand me the baby and I realize (without being the slightest bit shocked) that my beautiful baby girl has turned into a Chocolate Lab!!

So, do I want a baby or a dog???

Elvis

My stepson has an obsession with Elvis. I honestly have no idea how it started - possibly because my husband can do a pretty great impersonation of him. For the past 4 years, we have had the tradition of dressing up together for Halloween. We always dress up as a group, and we rotate turns for who gets to choose the theme. In 2003, my stepson chose Batman. My husband was Batman, my stepson was Robin, and you guessed it, I ended up with Catwoman. I have a picture hanging up in our house, but I need to get it scanned and on this blog. In 2004, my husband chose Gilligan's Island. He was the Skipper, my stepson was Gilligan (and he made the BEST Gilligan!), and I once again got stuck with Ginger (only because it was too cold to wear Mary Ann's little outfit). In 2005, it was finally my turn to choose - I picked Grease. The two guys were "T-Birds" and I got to be a Pink Lady. Ironically, I wore the same red wig I wore when I was Ginger in 2004.

Well, last year was my stepson's turn to choose. He thought about it and thought about it before finally announcing his choice - Elvis! We would be three different Elvises (Elvi???) from three different times in his life. My husband was kind of the brooding 1950's Elvis, my stepson was Jailhouse Rock Elvis, and yours truly got stuck with "Jumpsuit Elvis." When I came down the stairs, I had my husband laughing so hard that he couldn't even look at me. Here are some pictures of us posing that night.

FYI - my costume was very uncomfortable (tight pants, bad mask, etc.). By the way, I took an old pair of pants and Bedazzled them myself (I was completely embarrassed that I bought a Bedazzler, but just look at how cool my pants and shirt turned out!). If you're wondering why I'm kicking in one of the pictures, it's because my husband said that's what Elvis used to do in his jumpsuits - karate-like kicks. I think he was just trying to fool me:

Warning: Drug-Induced Post

I am recovering from one of the worst migraines I've had in a very long time. It's the kind of migraine where you actually think you might die. I uttered those words to myself today while I was leaving my meeting this afternoon - "I think I'm dying." Believe me, if you've ever had a migraine you know that this is not just a case of me being dramatic. I felt like an ice pick was being driven into the right side of my head and eye over and over and over again - rhythmically. It lasted for 16 hours. Not bad, but my record is 18 hours. That episode required a visit to the ER and an IV in my arm. After that, I also slept for a record of 14 hours straight.

I entertained the idea of going to the ER, but with no one to drive me home, I opted for my own prescriptions, as well as the over-the-counter remedies. Here's a tally of what I ingested:

• 3 Butalbital (a nice little cocktail of Barbituates, caffeine, and acetaminophen)
• 1 Relpax (prescription migraine med)
• 2 Tylenol
• 1 Excedrin

My neurologist used to let me take as many as 8 Butalbital in one day. According to a friend of mine who is a nurse, these are stronger than Vicodin. The most I've ever had in a 24-hour period is 6. At that point, I am no longer making much sense, but usually still feel the pain. Right now I still feel some pain, but cannot take any more meds. The thought of it makes me feel sick.

My other update is that my father will not get his results until next week. I'm so confused! They told him it would take 7 days, but when he called today they told him it would be 10 days. Of course, I am now thinking the worst. Ironically, I got this pessimistic attitude from my dad.