Thanking the Garbagemen

So you may have noticed that I changed the layout. I felt like I needed a change.

And I was kind of sick of the way that the entire layout was screwed up when you'd click on a specific post. I did like how the background was large and the actual text part was small, but I think I'm one of the few that appreciate things like that.

I actually have something to say, but because I'm sure it won't come up in conversation, and I have some free time, I'm going to post about it now.

Not everyone can be spectacular.

And that may sound pretty mean. That's because it is.

Well, it's not mean. It's realistic, but many people associate the two with being the same. Or even similar. I don't.

But anyway, not everyone can be awesome. Well, I guess they could. But everyone would have to be VERY awesome.

But because not everyone can reach that level of henzhuo (which I don't think is meant to be used that way), some people have to be average.

Someone has to be a garbageman. Without garbagemen, we'd have to find some way of dealing with our own trash. And most people, especially in major cities, have little idea of their trash system aside from "It goes out on Thursdays." So even if we look down on garbagemen for "not going to college" or "having low standards" or "not being very smart" or whatever goes through your head, we should be thankful that we don't have to take care of our own trash, and that they're willing to have a career where they do it for us.

Not everyone can be super smart. Some people are just not going to understand certain things. And they don't have to. They can do what they please with their lives. As long as they know that they are without, and they consent to just going without, then it's fine.

I guess I kind of realized that my Mom's a teacher. And she teaches Organic Chemistry, and if you've taken it, you know that's not an easy class. But someone has to teach General Chem. And if they didn't, no one would ever make it *too* Organic Chemistry. And then my Mom wouldn't have a job.

So I decided that tomorrow I'm going to try to think about all the little things that happen that I don't have to worry about. Things that I, at least, feel need to be done. And maybe my day will be a bit better than the last.

Him.

There's a lot I could say about him. I could give you the full story, but I've been putting that off for days. I guess I'll give it all I can give at the moment, no matter how little that may be. My thoughts will not be organized, I apologize. Please, also forgive me for the alignment. "There was nothing we could do."

He sounds different. I guess it's just from all the mucus build-up, but my Mom said he'll never sound the way he did before. He used to call me 'darling'.

If he doesn't look right (who can look right when they're DYING in the hospital?) and it's not his voice, it's not him. It can't be. This is all wrong. I don't want this stranger to call me that.

His voice is unnecessarily deep, but not even in a 'he just has a deep voice' kind of way. It's simply unnatural and it scares me.

I know it really is him, and if he knew I was saying this, I'd feel even worse about myself, but it's how I feel right now.

R. said he was getting better. Yes, yes, he can talk, and kind of write, and he's alert. But he's DYING. Unless he's not DYING then he's not BETTER. And he's NEVER going to get BETTER. I don't want this FALSE HOPE from anybody. I don't want to hear he's getting 'better', because he's NOT. He is FUCKING DYING.

Dying's not better.

It's much worse, in fact.

I want to be able to smile at him, and tell him I love him. I want to be able to ask him if he's uncomfortable.

No one shifts that much when they're comfortable. Mentioning it only draws attention to it. Attention is bad.

I can't imagine what kind of physical pain he's in. The idea of him being sad, of being emotionally wounded right now, makes me want to take his pain away, or at least take the pain FOR him. If it meant he could be at peace, I'd take all his pain. I'd take everyone's pain. I don't mind it at all.

I can't talk to him without wanting to cry. Or throw up. They're equally bad, in the end. Equally unpleasant for him.

One last chance.

They have one last procedure to try before there really is nothing they can do. It's considered experimental in the US, but they've been doing it in Canada & Europe for a long while. It only works for 15% of people.

But nothing else has worked yet, so we already knew he was in the minority.

I want this to work. I really do, as long as it means his pain will come to an end. If it means I'll here his voice again, that he'll walk again, that he's smile again, that he'll be comfortable and happy again, I want it to work.

If it means he has another few months in the hospital, I don't want it to work. He must be suffering now, I want to prolong his LIFE. Hospitals aren't life. They're no kind of life.

2009 will be my first year without him in my world. Even if he's alive, he won't be in my world anymore not that I'd push him out, it just wouldn't be possible.

People often tell me that I'm mature for my age. Of course I am. I've experienced my first true heartbreak at 13 years.

Imagine loving someone for 13 years. Nothing but pure love. No fights along the way. Paradise.

Then it all ends.

That's me. Right now.

When the ambulance was there, to take him away, I hid in the dining room so I wouldn't be in anyone's way. So I wouldn't cause any damage.

That's what I say, at least.

The main reason was that I didn't want to see him as they took him. But from what I saw that day, he looked so much better then than he does now, and I should've taken him in. Taken it all in.

I spent my birthday, and the few days after it with him.

If I think about it, those were the best days of 2008.

If he's not there in 2009, what days will stand out among the rest? Pleasantly, I mean...

Why am I pouring my heart out here? There's no one to read it, no one to tell me how to help. I want to find where I can curl up and hide here.

"He wants to see you."

I almost started to think that he wanted me to suffer. But I pushed that thought out of my mind. If it'd take some of his pain away, I'd do it. And I did it. And I felt a tiny sliver of his pain release onto me. I couldn't deal with it, which made me want to deal with it all the more.

But my resolve is not enough motivation for me.

Deep down inside, I just want my grandfather back.

Is that so much to ask for?