Venting on March Madness

Blocked. Clutter formed a dam. Nothing flowed. Everyday life blocked out the creative desire. Everyday life coupled with several troubling events.

It started with death. Death of someone who once loved my mother. A man of olden days back when my siblings all lived together. This man died without warning. The news of his death were sudden. His death was irrelevant for the most part.

It continued with death. The death of another who once loved my mother. A man of olden days troubled by alcoholism. This man died and everyone knew. His last moments were drawn out. He fell ill, went to the hospital, entered a coma, and woke back up to say his goodbyes. His death troubled me more than I expected even though I did not witness it.
What I did witness was the state of weakness he was in.

My last sight of him remained for days. In order to see him, I had to don protective gear to avoid bacterial infection. In a protective cloak, gloves, and mask, I approached his bed. I said nothing. I couldn't say anything. The sight of his fading eyes and the tube down his throat stunned me. I could only stare in silence. I could only think of how he gave me Donkey Kong Country for Super Nintendo so many years ago. I could only think of how he inadvertently bestowed upon me my love for jazzy music. A man I remember being healthy was by death's door. The sight stunned me and drew sorrow from an emotional well I ignore on a daily basis.

Our eyes were locked. He moved his eyebrows as my mom continued her prayer. I wonder if he recognized me beyond the mask. I wonder if his raising of the eyebrows were a whimsical kind of thing as if he was saying, "look who's gone and grown up now." Perhaps it was a sorrowful move as if saying, "look at how pathetic I am now." Perhaps those eyebrows were just curiosity as to who was the man in the mask tearing up while staring at him. I never knew an action as simple as raising one's eyebrows could be so confusing. For days I obsessed about those eyebrows and refused to draw for fear of his image resurfacing.

Flowing. For a couple of days, creativity flowed. Doodles were made and techniques were learned. It felt as if I was free from emotional complications. It seems there was more in store for me throughout the month of March.

It continued with grim news.

One Friday evening after taking my beloved home, I ran into an old classmate. His words to me ruined my recovering positive energy.

"Remember Ariel. He has brain cancer. Stage 4."

In disbelief I could only respond with, "No way." I continued on home in disbelief. I hopped on Facebook, the social site I loath most, to confirm what I just heard. One of my oldest friends, my best friend during middle school, told me himself that it was true. We arranged to hang out and have managed to keep in better contact.

Anguish settled in. I could not and still not decide which feeling is worse: finding out he had has cancer or the guilt that I had to find out through someone else. Cursing my distant nature and lamenting his condition, I have been away from internal peace for a couple of weeks. "A horrible friend I am. Why him? Will he live? I wish the next time I saw him would be better than this. Something like my wedding. "

Flowing. The anguish starts flowing when I start speaking. When I try to remember days with my friend and fail to do so, anguish increases. Venting works only for the moment. Every word here does nothing for those that need it. Two of my mom's exes are dead and my oldest friend has cancer. Thoughts leap from subject to subject revolving around the frailty of life. And pessimism takes the wheel as life's pointlessness becomes my answer to each internal question.

Blocked. To prevent any irrational actions, I blocked my thoughts. I avoided writing anything and dove into my everyday responsibilities.

Flowing. To recover, one needs to move forward. Lamenting the days of old proves pointless. The days are flowing and to swim with it, I move forward. Repairing my old bond so that if this or next year is his last, I at least have that much.