Waking up dead

Night terrors. I woke up in the middle of the night and wept uncontrollably. It was a dream, (nightmare) that I had that had caused the weeping. I dreamed that I had gotten the news from my family Dr. that I had small cell lung cancer. Not so much because I had to cancer, but because of my supreme unhappiness for having to break the news to my loved ones. I was so devastated, because I thought it was real. I would only be able to seeing my daughter and my new granddaughter. Once before I die. My loving wife, Heather, would then have to watch me die by the inches from the devastating disease. I wept for their unhappiness, not mine.

The incident, reminded me of how I felt when waking up in the hospital, in the middle of the night after my accident in September of 2006. It was in the wee hours of the morning that my eyes popped open. There was faint light in the ward I was on from the door being open to the hallway. I was scared out of my wits by the thought that I could die in this bed, and if I were dying, I would not be able to summon anyone to help me. I wouldn't be able to even call someone to contact my wife or my daughter.

You see, my beautiful singing voice, that had been my glory for 50 years, had been reduced to a whisper. The voice that I had been able to project hundreds of feet away, even when I was speaking or singing softly, was now gone. That incident affect did me so profoundly, that ever since it happened, I have had a fear of going to sleep. Afraid that if I went to sleep, I would never wake up again. I would never get a chance to tell those that I love so dearly in this world, that I love them, and would miss them forever.

Demons

I've been having great difficulty lately exorcising my demons. It has been said, that a life unexamined, is no life at all. It seems that, since the accident that left me a partial quadriplegic in September of 2006; all I have been doing is examining. Weighing and balancing the endless piles of rubbish that have been my life for the last 64 years. It is very difficult to stay focused on the good things in life, when every day throws challenges at me, and the parking lots are filled with speed bumps.

One day in Omaha Nebraska A man named Herman Becker, whom I had asked what he thought he saw when he looked at me, said, "you have the eyes of of visionary or a madman. In any event it will be your choice." Of course, I would choose the path of a visionary, and have tried to do that throughout my life, but instead life has driven me over and over again into the role of the madman.

Rather than becoming the change, I flew in the face of conventional wisdom, never realizing that a number of people that were put in my path, were put there so that I could lead a full and enriched life instead of one of chaos. Yet, looking back, I can now see that in every case I chose the path of destruction. Now, because I had been thrown into this wheelchair, I have nowhere left to go to hide from my demons.

I always thought that when people are under tremendous duress, that they could turn to their faith to get them through the tough spots. I always gave great lip service to that idea when I was completely able-bodied. Isn't it so easy to do that? We all along, many times blithely ignoring important lessons, or skirting around unpleasant situations so we don't have to feel the pain involved at the time. All of that can work out, I think, if you live your life with your head stuck up your bum. The problem is, then along comes one of the big event in life, and you get bitten in the ass for your lack of attention earlier.

I think it goes back to that old saw, "too soon old, too late wise."

The power of words

I never knew my mother, even though I lived with her and my stepfather for 10 years. My mother and father separated and divorced when I was three years old. Because of a bout of strep throat, (my drunk aunt and uncle couldn't be bothered to check on me). I nearly died because of their lack of responsibility. I was sent to live with my grandparents for five years. When I was eight years old, my mother remarried a very disassociated man, who, as soon as possible after my mother got pregnant, divorced me. After all, I wasn't a member of HIS famiy. My mother supported his disassociation with me, because, I think that she didn't want to fail at another relationship. She always ran my real father down, because, after all she was the one who requested the divorce. I finally found my real father, when I was 23 years old. He showed me the divorce papers. In them, it stated that he was the one who requested the divorce because of my mother's proven infidelity. I found out then why my middle name was what it was. She had given me the middle name of her lover.

When I left our family home to join the Army, she told me I would never amount to anything. My whole life was spent, all 55 years since then, trying to prove her wrong. Instead, her prophecy turned out to be right.