4.27.01

Sup? Figured I'd better write tonight. It's been a few days and, well, frankly I'm too busy at work right now to really be able to do much deep thinking; yet another reason my entries have been so sporadic lately. However, I do have a few things to mention tonight, so here goes.

First of all, a personal breakthrough has been happening over the last few months. I'm feeling again. Ever since my Mom's cancer, which we thought had gone into remission, came back with a vengence in 1993, I have been...I don't really know how to put it..."stone" is a good way I guess. I had built up such a tough outer shell around myself to help me deal with the fact that my mother was dying of cancer in front of my eyes, that I had become completely desensitized to anything. My life was all very surreal for the next 2 years while Mom was slowly wilting away and I wasn't coming to terms with it - I was just denying it. I kept thinking "everything's going to be fine", until that fateful day when my Aunt called and told me I had better get down to the hospital.

Long story short, I got there and realized that this was no ordinary trip to the hospital for Mom. This wasn't a visit - this was a death watch. For the next God only knows how many hours, my relatives and I sat and watched my mother's motionless body and listened to her rhythmic, shallow breathing - the only real sign that she was still with us. Our nerves were frazzled. We all knew why we were there, but no one really wanted to admit it.

Then, at 12:15 in the afternoon on June 22, 1995, my Aunts, Uncles, and Grandma decided to go downstairs to get a cup of coffee, leaving my Dad, sister, and I in the room with Mom. I was sitting next to her holding her hand when at 12:30 Mom's breathing stopped. I looked at Mom, I looked at Dad who was reading a magazine, I looked to my sister who was watching TV - they hadn't noticed yet. I said "I think it's over." and they both turned. I stood while Dad checked, needlessly, for a pulse. Tears errupted.

I remember when I got home that afternoon I cried myself to sleep. I did not cry, nor even well up with tears again until a few days later. I went through the visitation, the church service, and made it through the whole funeral ceremony until the casket began it's descent into the Earth. I cried some then, but I still never broke down. I had become so detached from the whole situation that I couldn't believe it was happening - therefore I had very little emotion to show because, well, it didn't seem real.

The problem was, nothing seemed real anymore. When you've lost a parent, your life is completely changed forever. You can never go back to the way things were before. You either deal with this idea and move on or you do like I did and build up a wall so you don't have to deal with it. I lived in this shell since 1993 - never truly happy, sad, or angry. There have been conflicts in my life, but I have simply dealt with them as best I could from inside this barrier I have built between myself and the changed outside world.

For about the last six months or so, I have found myself slowly beginning to feel again. For example, I got choked up tonight watching Survivor when Colby's Mom was able to visit the Outback. I didn't break down into tears or anything, but I did well up a little bit. I was watching Erin Brockovich on Starz recently and I got a little lump in my throat at the end when Erin is personally delivering the news of the victory to one of the residents of the town who's water had been poisoned. It's these little things that are starting to pull at my heart strings again. Some bullshit macho, probably-gay-himself- homophobe would think me less of a man for this; but there is nothing more masculine than knowing the difference between cruelty and compassion. "Good men" are only good because they know the difference and because they can feel something. It's what keeps this world in check or else we would have destroyed ourselves long ago.

I don't think I've quite broken through my shell - not yet. However, I can see that the shell is weakening; small cracks in the mortar can be seen. It's not a break-through, but it's a start. God, it will feel nice to get back to life someday.

Pretty personal one tonight, huh? It might not go along with my whole Space Monkey philosophy behind the site, but this was on my mind. Hope it wasn't too far off base for you. Check back tomorrow - I'm going to let you in on something else I've been running through my mind, something I'm trying to do with my life.

Thanks.

Space Monkey