The Spirits of Christmas Past, and The Love of Family

This may be a bit of a rollercoaster.  I apologize in advance.

    Every year, from as early as I can remember My father's family would get together on Christmas Eve and have a giant party.  I remember everybody making one or more dishes and bringing them to my Aunt Sharon's and Uncle Barry's house. My Granny seemed to live for the cooking aspect of the holiday seasons.  She loves to feed people great food, and she loves to share her cooking techniques (which she almost always describes as easy, even when they definitely aren't).   I honestly believe that my love of cooking comes from the time I spent with her in her kitchen, watching her cook.  Her house was always full of the aroma of perfectly seasoned food.  Most of my complicated recipes are meals that I learned from her or ideas that I got while spending time at her home.  

    At Aunt Sharon's house, all of the cousins would hang out and spend our time either attempting to be like the adults and playing pool, playing football and arguing over exactly what kind of rules we wanted to follow, or playing video games together and taking turns with the controllers.  This was a different kind of family gathering.  We would spend several hours together eating, joking, and having a good time, and then it would happen.  Nene (One of my great-aunts) would come out in a Santa Claus costume.  We all knew it was her.  I think even the small children knew that it was her, but we all pretended to be super surprised and super excited to see Santa because this was all part of the game.  Christmas here wasn't about the gifts.  Christmas with the Vogts and the Mayfields and the Brunets was about family.  it was about every minute that we got to spend together.  It was something special that i have not experienced in any other situation growing up.  What I remember more than anything else was the excitement on my Grandfather, Grampsy's face.  He and his sisters, Nene and Aunt Sharon, would be grinning ear to ear.  They LOVED being together and they loved their family.  Every minute spent around them would feel like an eternity.  Every minute in Aunt Sharon's house was MAGICAL.  I didn't know it then, but this would be one of my all time favorite memories growing up.  

    After Katrina, I would never experience this Christmas again.  The once close-knit family was spread out across a few states, and to make things even harder, Aunt Sharon passed away a few years ago.  Every year, as the holiday approaches, I think of her.  I remember little life lessons that she taught me.  I remember her kindness, but most of all I remember her honesty.    I try to remember how honest she was with me when she didn't like something I did or something I said.  She made me feel loved, but she still corrected me.  One thing about Aunt Sharon, I never called her that.  She was Aunt Dee Dee.  I have no idea why.  

    This Christmas celebration, while not happening today, helped to mold me into who I am today.  I can spend today lamenting that it can never again happen the way that it once did, or I can keep that energy in my heart.   I can remember the laughter and the games and the love, and I can pass that energy on to my children, and even more so, out into the world.

    Usually Later that night, my Father would cart us over to Granny and Grampsy's house where Santa had already dropped off gifts that My Dad had ordered.  This time, while it always felt rushed, was very important to me.  We had some very close time together with my brother and sister, and we would gleefully open gifts.  This was a standard Christmas experience.  The next morning we would have the same experience at my Mom's house.  We would wake  up and receive our gifts.  We would celebrate what we got with each other.  Individually excited both for ourselves and our siblings. 

     At some point during the day we would go to see my Mom's parents who we called Nunu and Pop Pop.  Pop Smoked.  He would sit in his reclining chair, with his end table to his right, and he would smoke cigarettes while we hung out in the house.  He had a glass ash tray on his end table, and he LOVED handheld poker games. Nunu would usually sit on the sofa, close to Pop, but still separated by the end table and two armrests.  Nunu drank coffee.  She drank coffee.  She drank a lot of coffee.  Actually, I don't think I am describing this vividly enough.  Nunu's house smelled like a combination of cigarettes and coffee.  It was a thick smell, a pungent smell.  The smell was so thick that when people smoke cigarettes around me, it brings me back to their house.  I can see the ceramic gas heaters, the giant console television, the beautiful white oak floors in the dining room, the picture of Tom Sawyer hanging over the television.  I can feel how excited Nunu was to see us receive our gifts, and I remember Pop always making us feel special.   They are both gone now.  I would love for them to be here with my daughters.  I would love to be able to go on one more golfing trip with Pop.  I would love to eat Nunu's Roast over bread one more time.  I want to go visit their old house, but it is gone too.  Sometimes I drive there and just stare at the empty lot, imagining and remembering where each room was, pretending in my mind that I am once again riding my bike up and down the sidewalk that was badly broken by the tree roots.   Katrina.  Again.  They passed away, but individually, and separately.  Their losses were tremendously painful for me, each in unique ways. 

    I often remember Nunu saying "Be Nice."  She had a love for her grandkids that was unmistakable.  It was pure and raw.  She was so proud of everything that we had become.  She taught me how to show excitement for others.  She taught me how to smile, even when everything hurts because there is always something to be thankful for.

    I remember Pop cooking on the grill.  He would always drink too much and burn everything, but he tried.  He taught me the value of being alone while still being around family.  He would go outside for hours at a time to cook.  He was close to the family, but he was able to go outside and reflect on life.  Often, when I am grilling, I can feel his presence.  Watching.  Supervising, but never criticizing because you don't tell a man how to grill at his own house.  

    When I met my wife, her family immediately made me feel like I belonged as a part of their family.  Two very important figures in doing this was Brook's Maw Maw and Paw Paw.  From the day I met them, that's what I've called them, Maw Maw and Paw Paw.  That's not only how they introduced themselves, but those titles are what they embodied at that moment, and every moment I spent with them after.  To my surprise, Brook's family did something magical for Christmas.  They have a family Christmas party that is reminiscent of the party that Aunt Sharon had on Christmas Eve.  They cook.  They eat.  They play games.  They give gifts.  They celebrate life, love, and family.  Paw Paw was the patriarch of the family.  He passed away last year.   He was the one that seemed to drive the energy in the room.  Even just sitting there quietly and observing how everyone was interacting, he was loud.  His energy was the most unique of anyone I have ever met.  I'll never forget his sayings and his stories, but more than anything I'll remember the way he and Maw Maw made me feel loved from the very first interaction with them.  When Jesus says "Love one another," he is surely referring to the kind of love that the two of them poured into the world over their lifetimes. 

    For the last 14 years or so, these Christmas parties have been some of my favorite times of my life. Not only do we have the food, fun, and family time that I had growing up, but we even have our very own Santa Claus.  We all moan and grown when we have to take family pictures in front of the tree, but I think we know how important it is to save precious memories in picture format.  We share stories of how our lives are going.  We give gifts to each other.  Most importantly though, we plan what we are cooking for the next holiday. 

    During the holidays I sometimes yearn for the way that things once were.  I  miss Aunt Sharon, Nunu, Pop, and Paw Paw.  I miss many others that I couldn't mention for the sake of not making this post a 3 hour read.  I often wish that I had a time machine to go back to just observe.  I want to relive those days if only for a few moments.  

    People will tell you that life goes on after loss, and while that is true, it is much more honest to say that life is different after loss.  I've tried everything from shutting down and cutting people out of my life, to embracing the loss and trying to find some positivity.  There is one thing that has kept me positive and cheerful this holiday season: Remembering my duty to those that are no longer with us.  They all instilled life lessons in me.  They taught me HOW to show love.  They taught me that it is ok if you don't express your emotions like the person next to you, but that if you can improve another person's life, even for a moment, then the effort is worth it, and worth even more if that person is family.  

When we are remembering those that we have lost during the holiday season, I try to remember that if we never forget the way they made us feel or the lessons they taught us, and if we always share the love that they gave us, then they are always with us.  It's up to us to keep the love they had for us alive, so that's what I'm doing today.  I truly hope that this post is something positive for the people who see it.  I hope that the stories find you well and that the love that my family members shared with me throughout my 35 years of life reaches your heart today.  

Merry Christmas.

I hope that your day is full of love. 

Accepting The Truth is Much Harder Than Finding It

If someone offered you a gift with value beyond measure, and you knew that just by accepting it you would be capable of living life with a level of satisfaction that you could have previously only imagined, would you accept it?
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Some times life changes over weeks and months and years.  Sometimes life changes in the blink of an eye.

 Nearing the end of October 2019 I was exercising in my living room, like I had done every day for the past 3 months.  I was in the process of finishing up bent over tri-cep kickbacks, which is not a super strenuous exercise, when I heard my phone ringing.  The moment that I looked at the phone I knew something was wrong. I could see her first and last name on the phone, but I couldn't understand why her last name was wrong on my phone.  The name I saw wasn't right.  It just felt off.  "It's Sara, sure, but I guess my phone is glitching out or something," I thought.  The last name looked like a bunch of foreign symbols, and I was unable to read it.
When I answered the phone I felt like she was speaking to me in another language.  I could only tangentially understand what she was trying to tell me.  It was something about my email.

 The sounds seemed wrong.  The syllables out of place.  It was around this time that I realized that something was terribly wrong.  My chest hurt a little, likely anxiety related due to the stress and confusion, but the most confusing part was the weird visions I was having.  It was as if someone had put a kaleidoscope around the outside of my vision, and instead of random colors, it was just lenses rotating in a strange fractal pattern.  I began to worry more.

I hung up and sat on my recliner for a moment, and I tried to think, but no thoughts would come.  It was almost like my memories were inaccessible.  I looked around.  "Kids, that's right I have two daughters.  What are their names?" I could not remember.  This is when I panicked.  My heart rate jumped up.  My chest ACHED.  I couldn't breathe. The world was getting smaller by the second and it was suffocating me. This wasn't just me not understanding what was going on.  This was me not knowing something major in my life.  Looking up at a wedding photo, "I'm married.  WHAT'S HER NAME?"

"I'm Ja... Jo... Oh my God what is my name?"

 I kept speaking out loud, listening to whether what was coming out of my mouth was going to match my thoughts.  It was hard to force a syllable out of my mouth, kind of like when you are asleep and trying to talk and you wake up saying the word you were struggling to say.

I was conscious enough to be worried this was a stroke.
As far as I knew nothing else could explain the amount of confusion I had. I couldn't make my head clear out.

Then the headache kicked in.
It was on the right side of my head and it was incredibly painful.  I felt like my head was going to explode.  It was as if my brain was desperately trying to escape its casing and become it's own entity.

I knew that I had a full and busy day that day, so I got up.
I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't think.  I knew I should call a number to talk to someone, but I couldn't think of the number.  I opened my phone and browsed the contacts but no name stuck out to me as being the correct one.  So I went to the bathroom and showered.  I don't know why.  I just thought that it was what I should do.  Maybe I was on autopilot, but I was going through my normal daily routines, trying to keep myself alive.

In the shower is when I broke down.  I had been so strong and composed, even through the panic I kept thinking "this will pass."

My left side had started to tingle a bit.  It wasn't numb, but it was like a buzzing feeling.  
I started to cry for the first time in years.  I started to remember a bit.  My name came first.  Out loud. "My name is Jjjjoel.  My wife's name i - - is B- Brook.  My kids are..." and it went on and on as I out loud named important people in my life.  I cried more.  I said out loud how I just wanted it to stop.  I wanted everything to stop.  I got out of the shower, still believing I was possibly having a stroke, and I dried off and laid in my bed.  I browsed my contacts.  The names still felt wrong.  They felt off.  I closed my eyes and thought "If I don't know who to call, I guess I will just lay here and maybe I wake back up, maybe I don't.  Either way I don't want to feel like this anymore"
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I think that everyone has defining moments in their lives.  Moments that change your entire mindset in an absolute instant and are so incredibly vivid and clear that you will remember every single detail for the entirety of your life.  

This entire situation, unbeknownst to me, would be one of these incredible moments.

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When I woke up I could read my phone.  I phoned a friend who told me to go to the ER.  I went to work instead, I mean, I felt better.  I had a busy day ahead of myself and it was an important week.  

I went in to work.  I drove 45 minutes to work in absolute silence.  I couldn't think of what songs I should play.  I drove 45 minutes to work after truly believing that I might have had a stroke. 

Immediately after getting to work I knew I had to go to the ER.  I felt wrong.  I got scared.
I left and got myself checked in.  

They took me back and the ruled out a stroke pretty quickly.  

"...Right now I am suspecting a sub arterial intracranial hemorrhage  possibly in the carotid, which is basically a...." 

The doctor's voice trailed off into the background and blended in with all of the sounds around me.  The beeping of the machines I was hooked to, the sound of the staff outside my room bustling about.  The noise of all of the people in the rooms around me being treated for one thing or another. 

As it came back into focus he said "We will get your CT scan soon.  We will do both non contrast and contrast", then he left the room.  

A nurse and phlebotomist (pretty sure) came in.  
Got me hooked to an IV, and a heart rate and pulse and O2 monitor.  BP too.  
They took about 4 vials of blood.  
Then they did something that would drastically alter the course of my life.  
They gave me something for my headache.  They gave me a drug called Compazine.  "It's for your headache and it will help you to calm down"
"Oh interesting.  I never take medicine.  I wonder how this will affect me if it is supposed to calm you down" It's as if I am stuck in a narrative that someone else was telling and that I was foreshadowing my own demise or something.  

I laid in the bed and wondered how my family would be if I died.  I thought about how dirty the interior of my cars were.  I thought about how dirty my sink in our master bathroom was.  I thought about the beard trimmings, and all of the shave stuff that was everywhere.  I thought about all of the little problems I was leaving Brook with, including all of my dirty socks on my side of the bed.  I thought to myself "Does Brook know how to cash in my life insurance policies?"  "Will they be able to live on just her income after she receives those payouts?"  I silently thought to myself about all of the earthly consequences on my negligence.  "If I die, would getting to the hospital earlier have changed that outcome?"

Within about 30 minute my headache was gone.  
Within about 40 minutes The walls began to close in.  I was laying in the bed and I could not relax.  It was like every nerve ending in my body was supercharged.  I felt everything on a massive scale.  This caused an anxiety attack of sorts.  I had a hard time thinking.  All I could think was how I was going to get out of there.  I felt like I needed to stand up.  I needed to move.  I turned to the left, then the right.  I laid on my back.  I forced a rollover and laid on my stomach.  I was JUST SO UNCOMFORTABLE.  I was ready to leave.   I WAS READY TO GO.  I started to get angry.  

30 minutes later another doctor came back in and asked me what was going on.  I told him.  He basically said that he thought I was okay.  95% chance I'm okay.  So I checked myself out AMA and left.  

I went home, and could not sleep off the feeling of my nerves being on fire.
I would sit down, and then stand, and then lay down, rinse repeat.

The next week was a whirlwind.  

I woke up every day with increasing numbness in my left side.  My face, left arm, and left leg were numb, sometimes to the point that I can't move them.  I scheduled appointment after appointment with doctors, but the soonest Neurologist appointment I could get was for 7 days away.  I thought to myself "If I die before then it is now the American Healthcare system's fault. "

Every night and day I would perform stroke self assessments.  Beyond the unexplained numbness, I passed with flying colors. 
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It's important to know, at this stage in the story, that I was taking a multivitamin for bodybuilders.  I stopped taking it after my very first issue, along with any other supplements.  I wanted to be sure not to possibly make anything worse.
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2 days before my neurologist appointment I scheduled a routine checkup with my primary care Physician.  When I described the numbness they immediately made me leave to go to the hospital across the street.

When I walked in North Oaks and gave them my symptoms they pulled me back into a room immediately and started running the similar stroke tests that I had given myself over and over again.
The doctor looked at me and told me "You aren't having a stroke" then told me I had a migraine, and that he was going to give me Compazine.  I was certain to tell him that I had a bad reaction to it, and he said "Some people have that reaction.  We will give it to you with Benedryl and it should keep you from having that feeling."

Soon after the nurses came in and administered the chemicals.  I laid there.  Now VERY calm, and waited.  The doctor came back, asked me about my numbness (Which wasn't subsiding) and after a few questions he got me discharged and Brook picked me up.

As soon as the Benedryl wore off I was back at the Burning Nerves festival.  Everything was on fire.  I took some ZZZquil (Same active ingredient as benedryl) and I slept.  Every 4 hours I would wake up.  I was having intense auditory hallucinations ( I heard so many voices telling me all kinds of things, and the dreams that came along with them were SO vivid).  I went through a cycle of taking a full dose of ZZZquil every 4 hours for about 48 hours.  I was terrified, but eventually I came out of it.  The paranoia stopped, and I was laying in bed wondering how I let this happen.

I went to my Neurologist appointment, and he ordered blood-work and an MRI.   The MRI was scheduled for the next Wednesday. This was Thursday.
I would later find out that my Vitamin b-6 levels were at a 78.  Normal levels are  5-50.  This wasn't high enough to raise concern from the Doctor, but it did elicit an emergency response within me.
Vitamin b-6 is water soluble, meaning that any excess should have been filtered out and excreted through my urine.  I had not consumed any foods high in b-6, nor had I had my multivitamin in over a week.  When I looked at the nutritional facts it had 9000% the daily value in b-6.  This is WAY beyond the amount that can be filtered by the body, and I was taking it EVERY DAY FOR 3 MONTHS! 

If you are wondering, the Mayo Clinic says that b-6 Toxicity can cause the following symptoms

• A lack of muscle control or coordination of voluntary movements (ataxia)
• Painful, disfiguring skin lesions.
• Gastrointestinal symptoms, such as heartburn and nausea.
• Sensitivity to sunlight (photosensitivity)
• Numbness.
• Reduced ability to sense pain or extreme temperatures.

They say that the nerve related issues can sometimes reverse themselves when the levels return to normal, but sometimes they will not.  Right now, as I type this, I feel that my left cheek still has greatly reduced sensation.  It is all but numb to the touch.  I doubt that I will ever truly regain full feeling.

I was diagnosed with a complicated migraine.  I am since medicated, and Rarely have them bad enough to take my medicine.  If you are expecting some crazy medical ending I am sorry to disappoint.  That's not actually what this post is about.
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This is where the story might get uncomfortable for some people, and I respect that.  
It was uncomfortable for me too.  
I didn't know what was about to happen, and though some of you may have trouble believing it, I was acting on pure instinct.

When I got home I called my friend Clay who previously filled the role of a pastor at a small church, and I told him some truths that I had not spoken to almost anyone in my life. 

(Loose quotes)
"I haven't believed in God in a long time.  I was raised in church, and I had a strong faith as I was growing up. In the past 3 years I thought I had my answer.  I thought that I had definitively proven to myself that there was no God.  I understood that it was all just made up to keep humans in line, but now I feel like I was wrong."

You see, while I was laying in the hospital bed the first time, I didn't feel alone.  I wasn't lonely.  I wasn't truly scared.  It wasn't some innate fear of death.  It was peace.  It was concern for my family sure, but it was true peace.  I knew, somehow, that there was something stronger than me guiding my life.  I also had some intervention from a coworker that showed me and told me a lot about his religion (Bahai) and this kind of got my spirit burning again.

Clay invited me to church.

Honestly, I didn't want to go.  I had no desire to be there.  The entire thought was uncomfortable.  I agreed before I could talk myself out of it. "What could it hurt right?"

Sunday came, and I woke up with EXACTLY enough time to shower and make it to church right as the service started.  

When I pulled up and parked, I got out of my car, so unsure of whether I should go in, and as I got close I saw Clay walking up from a different direction (I guess I can't get out of it now).  
We went in, and chit chatted, and things started.  

Throughout the Worship songs I was so uncomfortable.  Why was I here?  Why am I wasting my time on this BS. 

Now, I briefly had told Clay about my medical stuff, but I hadn't really gone into serious details.  That part is important.

When Asah, the pastor of this church, started his sermon, or lesson, or whatever you might call it, he was preaching on Hebrews Chapter 4.  As he spoke, a lesson that I could not even begin to express as elegantly as Asah, I began to tear up, and while tears rolled down my face, Asah said "God's word is like the Contrast solution on an MRI.  It highlights the parts of you (loose quotes now) that you know are negative and you know are bad, and it is UNCOMFORTABLE seeing how dirty we are as humans."

Since this day lots has happened.  
I've learned a ton about Christianity that I didn't know.
I have met with Asah a few times and learned a whole lot every time.
I got my MRI Results.  They were fine.  My brain had no evidence of damage of any kind.
I've struggled with acceptance of God, but someone has been guiding this journey.
I've read all of the Gospels for the first time as an adult. 
I now know the difference in living a Christian life, and living a sin free  life, and I realize that accepting Jesus doesn't mean that I have to be perfect.  

I have made this journey, with the help of many others, to find that Jesus is here for all of us if we choose to accept him.  His Grace is the greatest gift, and he was holding it out for me for the past 34 years.  He was trying to save me from myself, and I refused for so incredibly long.  I looked the other way.  I refused to accept that my behavior was immoral because it was uncomfortable for me to accept.  I have reached a point of understanding and acceptance that I am not enough of a moral compass to direct my own life.  I need Jesus, and I will do my absolute best to live the kind of life he has prescribed, while going to him daily through prayer, study, and repentance to accept the beautiful Grace he has offered me.  

I still make mistakes.   I still sin.  I always will.  I am human.  I try hard every day to maintain a clean conscience, and sometimes I still do the wrong thing even when I know better.   I am not better than anyone else, nor do I think I ever will be.  I know the things I do are wrong, and sometimes do them anyway.  Knowing that I am not enough to overcome my moral failure is one of the largest realities I had to face.

I am still me.   I might from time to time post about my journey, which is only beginning, but I am still the same imperfect human that you have always known, just maybe now I have even more love for my fellow humans.   I just feel that, overall, the level of joy in my life has been enhanced 100 fold.

I started this blog several years ago with a mission.  I have often been praised on my peaceful approach to conflict.  I rarely let things get to me, and when I do I am always able to calm myself and think with a level head before acting.  My mission was originally to bring just a small level of peace to this world.  Throughout the years my writing has evolved, and I have found myself writing more about personal topics, and honestly not always telling the whole story.  I have about 12 blogs that are unfinished because I started them then decided that I didn't deem them worth of sharing with the world.  

I am sure that if you made it this far through my post that you are wondering why I am adding this little bit at the end.  Honestly, it wasn't planned.  Sometimes I follow my instincts, and sometimes those might come from myself, or maybe they come from God, but one thing I can tell you for sure, is that if you have read this far and have a question or topic that you think could be covered in a blog with the mission I have stated, please comment with your suggestion.  I am willing to research, read, listen to, and gobble up all the data I can about a topic and write about almost anything if it will help this world be even just a tiny bit more peaceful.  

~Irenic Herald means a messenger promoting peace.

Things haven't been the same.

Things haven't been the same.  They haven't been the same in a very long time.

March is an eventful month for me.  It is the month in which I was born, it is the month in which my Granny was born, it is the month in which my Uncle was born, and it is the month in which my mother's mother, my grandmother, who I called Nunu, passed away.  March is both the month in which I was born, and the month in which a very real part of me died.  

It isn't popular to talk about your feelings.  People believe this to somehow be an indicator of weakness.  The only thing that is socially acceptable to say when someone asks how you are doing is "I'm good, and yourself?" or a variation on that theme.  This is not going to be one of those blogs that states that I am fine and that it will all be ok, and that is not an acceptable response to something like this.  

I have been toying with writing this for a long time, but kept coming back to "The perception others have of you personally is your reality professionally," which basically means that anyone who sees weakness in a personal life could interpret that as weakness in a professional role and this blog could hurt my career.  This is so much more than that.  I also worry that I may lose a friend or two over this.  There is a lot in here, and I hope that you can accept me for who I really am.   This will stand as record to people who know me that a person can withstand crippling depression and only the ones closest to them might even know.  

 I need to first start by thanking you for making it this far.  This will not be an easy read, but I think it will be worth your time.  I sure hope that it can be worth my time.  My goal is both to bring awareness to the way that depression manifests itself in my life, and to get it all down on paper because that helps me process emotions.  

For at least the last 3 years I have been struggling with it, but it didn't start then.  It started in March of 2010.  7 Years ago I got a phone call from my grandpa, Pop, at 2 am.  He said he needed me to get to his house.  I asked what was going on and he said that the paramedics were working on Nunu.  I put my shoes on and told Brook where I was headed.

Brook and I had just moved in together.  We had a wedding planned for the 17th of April, and it was all thanks to Nunu and Pop.  They had helped me get her ring because I wasn't in a financial state to do so.  Nunu took payments from me monthly, and she had just called me a few days prior to tell me that I no longer had to pay her and that the remaining balance on the ring was to be a gift to me and Brook for our wedding.  I actually cried real tears.  I was so overwhelmed at the amount of love shown to me that I cried for at least 10 minutes.  I called my mom and told her, then I called Brook and told her.  She was ecstatic as well.  We were going to be so happy, Brook, Anna, and I were going to have such a wonderful life with our little family.  

When I pulled up to Pop's house I passed it up at first and parked on side of the road.  I stared at the 2 ambulances...I needed to catch my breath, and get my heart rate down.  Pop needed me to be strong for him, so that's what I was going to do because that's what I always remember being growing up.  I was the rock.  I was the strong one.  I could do this.  I needed to be there for him.  After I psyched myself up I got out of my car and ran half a block to my grandmother's house.  I got inside and and found him seated at his small table.  He was staring into space.  I said hi and asked him what was going on.  He told me that Nunu woke up foaming at the mouth and got his attention.  He started crying and asking "what am I going to do?" over and over.

The wedding shower was strange without her.  Everything felt forced.  Nothing felt right.  I sat there and pretended to care.  I smiled for pictures.  I gave Brook the warm smile she needed when she looked to me.  I loved her so much that I couldn't bear to tell her what was really going on.  I couldn't tell her that a part of me was dead and that I didn't know how to feel.  I couldn't delay the wedding even though I was not in an emotional state to get married.  I couldn't fail her like that.  I had a duty to live up to.  It was my job to be Brook's rock, and emotional support so I couldn't feel anything negative... so I turned my emotions off.  

I could hear the paramedics in the other room working on her.  They shouted "Juanita" over and over again.  I listened as they tried to bring her back.  after about 15 minutes They said that they got a faint pulse and that they needed to get her to the hospital right away.  I asked them what we could do, and they said to get a list of her medications and get it to the hospital.  I hugged Pop, and I watched as they rolled my shirtless dying grandmother off and loaded her in the ambulance.  I called my mother and told her what was going on.  Then we packed up and left for the hospital.  

The Wedding was harder.  I had to pretend to have so much fun.  I put on a smile as family and friends arrived.  I laughed hard at jokes, and I drank Tequila to cover up my sadness.  I danced all night even though I really don't like dancing.  I smiled at Brook the way she needed me to smile.  I laughed with her.  I danced with her.  I had a little bit of fun with her.  I felt guilty about that.  I felt like I wasn't allowed to have fun.  If only I had listened when my Grandmother told me she wanted to talk more before I hung up because I was crying.  Her first heart attack was estimated to be around that day.  Maybe she wanted me to bring her to the hospital.  I might have been able to save her and then she could have been at the wedding.

We met my mom and siblings at the hospital.  She was ok.  I was not.  I still pretended to be the rock everyone needed.  I turned off my emotions.  We talked about Nunu and how we were going to have to see her sick, but we knew she would be ok.  We got optimistic news from the doctor, and I started to feel hope.  We waited.  We waited for what seemed like an eternity.  Then the doctor finally came in and told us that he could not save her.  My grandmother was gone.  I would never hear her voice or feel her hug.   I would never eat her roast, or get to laugh and joke with her.  I would never again be able to see her smile, or for her to speak her words of encouragement that she was always forthcoming with.  She was gone, and everyone needed me to be strong.  So I pushed all of that down... and I said something about a better place. 

Life after marriage was great.  I pretended to be happy, and Brook was happy.  We built a life on this.  I pretended to be relatively introverted because thats what kind of life Brook wanted, and I didn't want to show her my weakness.  I wanted to make sure that she knew that I could be her rock, so I was.  I pretended to be everything she hoped I was and believed I was because I needed one of us to be happy and I knew that I couldn't be.  We raised our daughter together, and we eventually bought a home.  Even then I lied and said that the home we bought was what I wanted, but it wasn't.  It wasn't even close.  

It wasn't until I saw her lifeless body that I believed it.  Nunu was gone. I hated my life for the first time in 5 years or so, since the last time that I had dealt with depression.  I wanted to die.  I didn't want to process any of it.  I looked at her and smiled.  I became that rock again, and I hated myself for showing a momentary weakness.

I've been a chameleon for so long that I had forgotten who I really was.  I've been some people's biggest cheerleader.  I've been the guy that tried so hard to make others laugh.  I've been that awkward dude that has trouble not sounding like Sheldon Cooper.  I've been a liar, and a dang good one.  I've been hateful, and loving, and angry, and happy. and sad, but understanding.  I have pretended to be all of these since the day that she passed.  I have smiled at strangers and given hitch hikers rides.  I have been balanced and focussed, but it is all a lie.  Inside... Inside I have been broken.  

I noticed it about 9 months ago, maybe earlier, but I remember distinctly saying it out loud to myself for the first time. I can't feel emotions.  I am broken.  I was pretending to feel, but I was so busy being everyone's rock that I forgot how to be human.   I was detached from everyone around me except for my kids.  I have been teaching them to be their own rock.  Not to rely on someone else.  I want them to grow up strong and to not feel a weakness in being alone.  I forgot how to be me.  I forgot who I was.  I tried to remember, but I had been pretending too long.  

I got out of bed every day with the intentions of changing the world, and by the time I was returning to my bed I was sad that I made it through the day.  You see, Death, was a welcome friend.  I would have greeted him as I greet all of my friends.  With a warm smile and a handshake or hug.  I didn't want to continue to pretend.  Pretending to be happy was exhausting.  Making people laugh brought my fleeting joy, but it did not bring me real happiness.  Nothing I tried helped.  I tried being outside more.  I tried to sleep more.  I tried talking to people, but with very rare exceptions it came out censored because I didn't want my friends to worry about me.  It was like I was a shell of a person.  I pretended to be fine.  I worked through it.  I found new reasons to be at work and I worked nonstop.  I thought I had found the worst of it.  I was wrong.

About 4 months ago I went from wishing for death to contemplating inviting him myself.  I would be laying in my bed and think "I wonder what my gun would taste like."  I would be driving down the road and wonder how lucky I would have to be to get hit by a train.  I sometimes thought about the best way to go, but I was too afraid of what my family would go through to actually do it.  I told Brook about it.  I told her for the first time and I made her hide my ammo to my guns.  

I was borderline suicidal for the last few months, and it caused me to open up to a lot of people.  I told many people how I was feeling, and through those conversations started tracing the origin of my depression.  I traced it back to Nunu's death.  I traced it to my poor handling of the emotions I was supposed to process, and I cried in my parked car for almost an hour.  For the first time in forever I felt something.  Overwhelming.  Unreal.  Something intense.

Now I can't stop.  It's usually overwhelming.  The emotions are coming at me full force.  It's like I have never felt them before, and it is terrifying.  I have felt betrayal, and anger, and joy and happiness.  I have also felt something that I hadn't felt in a long time.  Love. It's different than I remember, and it comes in waves. I love so many people around me, and it is o so many different levels.  It is way intense.   I remember who is close to me and I am trying to get to all of you.  I owe you an apology for not telling you that I was hurting sooner.  I would want to know if you were hurting, even if you didn't think that I could help.  It is my duty as a friend to not keep secrets from you.  I also must apologize to the people who I have pushed away... so basically everyone. 

Depression is a funny thing.  It can shut you down completely and make you forget who you are, but for me it only took one catalyst to pull me out.  It was finally being myself, Finally finding the source of my pain and dealing with it, and  finding a reason to smile that doesn't involve making someone else happy.

I made a roast a couple of months ago.  I tried to recreate what Nunu did to hers.  I ate it with potatoes and rice (two starches, I know... Craziness) and carrots.  it was delicious.  Honestly with my culinary abilities it was probably even better than I had when I was growing up.  As I ate the roast, I swear I could feel her telling me something.  

I am sure that it was just my imagination, but if she were here I know that she would have wise words for me.  Since she isn't I can only guess that she would read this and say to me and anyone else reading this "You can't love somebody else until you can learn to love yourself."

I was lucky.  I didn't need medicine to get out of my funk, but a lot of people do.  Depression isn't something that is a purely emotional issue.  It strikes on a chemical level and causes these emotions, or lack of emotions to form.  I was very lucky to heal internally the way that I did.  If you are reading this and you are struggling right now, Don't give up and don't hold it in.  Tell someone.  Get professional help if you can.   If you need someone to talk to that will never judge you message me.  You will get through this.  No Matter your struggle.  You will get through this.

My biggest fear is...

When I was 10 years old I played little league baseball.  I was able to hit the ball in practice, but when I played in an actual game it was different  I would watch the ball pass me.  One.  Two.  Three. Four. WALK.  I got walked to base more than anyone else on my team.  I would watch the ball pass.  Unable to muster up a swing for how stupid would I look if I missed the ball...  I never played baseball on a team after that year.

When I was 12 I started taking karate classes.  I always wanted to.  I spent so much time perfecting everything that I learned.  I became relatively good.  I distinctly remember going to a tournament in the Chalmette auditorium.  The floor was slippery.  When I was sparring I couldn't help myself bu to fall.  Repeatedly.  I lost the final match I was in because I couldn't keep my balance.  I remember feeling like I looked ridiculous.  I stopped going to the classes not long after that.

When I got to high school I became part of the marching band.  I made some great friends. I learned so much about myself in those 4 years.  I learned so much about music and leadership.  during my 4 years I helped to teach people marching fundamentals and I helped teach people some basics of music as well.  Near the end of my sophomore year I had a chance to audition for Drum Major.  I wanted it.  I chose not to try because I did not believe that I had a chance.  When my friend who I regularly played video games with was selected I was happy for him, but I was very unhappy that I did not even try.  It was a bitter moment for me for quite some time.

In college I became a charter member for our local chapter of Kappa Kappa Psi.  I gave everything that I had to the fraternity.  I spent most of my time doing fraternity related activities.  I made some of my best friendships in the fraternity.  When I left school due to a lack of funds and my losing a scholarship I realized that I would not be an active part of the fraternity and it devastated me.

Throughout my life many opportunities have presented themselves.  I have let many pass me up.
Some things I was forced out of.  Some things I stepped away from and gave up.

My biggest fear is giving in to that voice that tells me that I am not good enough.

Almost everyone has one.

That voice that tells you that you are not good enough.

The voice that knows exactly what to say to make you want to give up.

That inner weakness that wants to drive you to fail because it is EASIER to fail.
Staying at home is easy.
Staying in bed is easy.
Not caring is easy.

That voice is the reason I never swung at a ball.
It is the reason that I worried about how I looked.
It is the reason that I never auditioned for drum major.
It is the reason that I had a hard time not being active in my fraternity after I left school.

Nothing worthwhile will come without obstacles or hard work.

I for one REFUSE to listen to that voice anymore.
It never got me anywhere.
I daily tell it to SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP.
My weaknesses have NO Power over me.

I coach myself daily on how to improve.  I spend energy making sure that I have enough confidence to get through the day without giving in to my inner weakness.

I will NOT give up.  I will work outwork my competition until I am at the top and I will never stop working to be the best.

I will not give into my greatest fear... which when it is broken down to the most primal level is the fear of missing my potential because I did not work hard enough or because I quit.

You have the ability to ignore your fears as well.

Just do it.

I have been wanting to write this blog for a while.  I knew that telling my facebook friends to expect something from me was a great way to make sure I did so.

Thank you for reading this whoever you are.
Even if you are future Joel looking back at this post for a reminder.
Remember that while hard work does not always equal success, failure is a choice.
Choose not to fail.

Choose not to give up.

Be Amazing.

You know nothing Joel Vogt- Part 4

Several weeks ago I started a blog series detailing my journey to God as it stands so far.  A friend asked me when the next part would be posted, and honestly I had procrastinated doing this because there are so many things I want to talk about...

 Part 3 is Here.   Please read one, two, and three if you have not already done so.  There will be no test, but I do feel that it is important to grasp where I was coming from in this section.

*Trigger Warning* If you cannot emotionally handle a story about loss I recommend that you close this now and wait for the next installment.

I need to as you now that if you are a Christian and you are doubting your faith please stop reading and continue with the next installment when I post it.  Some content in this could confuse someone who is not 100% grounded in their beliefs.

I convinced myself that my tiny bits of proof were all I needed to be strong in God.  I convinced myself that my faith would never waiver because I could PROVE God's existence to myself.  I convinced myself that I would always have a relationship with him because I could always come back after I have made mistakes.... after all I always could feel his presence guiding my life.  Even when I chose to ignore him I could always feel a guiding hand. 

I always believed that if people close to me died I would know that they were okay.  I believed that God would allow them to talk to me and tell me that they were happy or whatever.  Remember that I relied on MY power to strengthen my beliefs.

I am pretty that it was March 17th, 2010 around 2 am that I received a call from Pop (My Mom's stepdad).  I was playing Final Fantasy XIII on the Xbox 360 and I had just started to get into the game and understand it.  I had my headset on, so usually I wouldn't hear anything but somehow I heard the phone ringing.  I will never forget the words he said "I need you to come to the house.  The paramedics are working on Juanita."  

I asked him "Is she ok?  Did she fall?  What Happened?"

He simply replied "You need to get here now.  She isn't breathing!"

I hung up the phone.  I sat still on my sofa.  I couldn't move, or maybe I didn't want to move.  

Finally I went to tell Brook.  I put my shoes on and drove to their house.  a 5 minute drive took me 15 because I was terrified of what I might find.  When I finally got there I drove past the house.  I didn't want to stop.  I didn't want to see her dying.  I didn't want to be involved in that moment.  I turned around... I thought about what Pop must have been thinking and I parked the car.  I sat there unable to move again.  I had to go in.  I had to go.  I had to Walk.

When I finally got out of the car all of my fear left me.  I ran into the house to find Pop sitting at the kitchen table.  I saw him sitting there with his head in his hands.  I looked in the bedroom and saw the EMTs working on my Grandmother.  She was unresponsive.  

I looked back at Pop to see the most helpless look I have ever seen on a man's face.  He was as scared as I was.  I know he had to see the same fear in my eyes.  I hugged him, and together we reassured each other that she would be okay.  I didn't feel like she was going to die so I KNEW that she wasn't.  

"I HAVE A PULSE!" I heard coming from the next room.  "It's faint, but it IS there!"

There was Hope.

The next thing I really remember was sitting in the family waiting room at the hospital.  My mom and most of my siblings had arrived.   We sat there for what seemed like an eternity.  All I could think about was the last time that I visited her.  I had left very quickly because she had Shingles and I was afraid to catch them.... that and I had to go do something I thought was more important.  

That wasn't the last time I would talk to her though.  two days before this she had called me to tell me that the engagement ring that she helped me finance would not cost me another penny.  She had paid it off as a gift to me and Brook for our wedding.  I cried that day.  It was the first time that I had cried in a long time.

The doctor finally came in, and all I heard was "I'm Sorry."  Everything else faded out.

The rest of that night is not important.

What came after is.

I waited for her.  I waited for her to come to me.  I did have a dream that she talked to me, but I never felt  her presence.  I never felt her love in the room.  My mother said that it was because she was too busy to talk to us because she was catching up with her mom and brother.  I didn't buy it.  I knew what was really going on.  God wasn't real.  

The only thing keeping me Christian at this point in my life was my "gift".  It seemed that my gift was just something from my imagination.  

I began to give up on my faith.  

It is funny how when you believe in something SO strongly that it sometimes only takes a small moment of doubt to convince you that you were wrong all of the time.  All it takes is for your proof to be slightly questionable for it to make the whole story seem off...Especially when you think yourself into logical circles.

Over the years following my Grandmother's passing I had many moments of revelation.  I thought that I had discovered new proof of God.  Sometimes it was a testimony of a  near death experience, or a psychic that could prove the existence of God.  Other times it was a feeling that there had to be a god because evolution could only go so far.

Near Death experiences are easy to explain away.  Psychics can be debunked because none of them have won the lottery....  Feelings are fleeting and perhaps the worst thing to base any theory on.

Psychologically I could see how I had created all of my ideas about God.  I understood that I LONGED for some sense of purpose.

I came to a conclusion through a lot of research.  Jesus Existed.  He was simply a good man.  the Bible exaggerates his abilities.  

There is a God, but no eternal life.  Obviously if there was eternal life my grandmother would have contacted me by now.  

My gifts come from my lineage, not from this "god"

My Childhood was a lie and I have wasted my time.

I slipped into a depression unlike any that I have ever known.  I began to try to fill the whole that was left in my life.  I drank a lot.  I played a lot of violent video games.  I went out with friends.  I worked non stop.  I did anything and everything I could to get my mind off of God.

When my second daughter was born I found myself in a pickle.  

I had been living as a closet atheist.  NOONE knew but me.   I had counselled people who struggled in their faith.  I had spent time showing them how God would be there for them.  I had lied to so many because I didn't want anyone to hurt knowing what I knew.  

 I had to have my daughter baptized to satisfy my family and "just in case" I might be wrong I didn't want to damn her for eternity.  

In faking it I found myself feeling God's presence again.  It was faint like a whisper that you hear from across a crowded room.  

I felt him.

I knew it was real.

It could have been a conversion moment...

but I was Scared.

I was so scared that I retreated.  

I rejected the very idea of God.  

"He isn't real.  He isn't real.  He isn't real"

If he was real what would he think of me?

He isn't real I convinced myself.  The feelings that I have are just my subconscious mind rationalizing what I am imagining.

I turned away from him.

I put up barriers to keep him away.

I need to suppress this subconscious feeling until it disappears.

Soon after that I told my wife everything.  I told her about my atheistic belief.  I turned from God 100%.  I stopped going to church even when I had the free time because I couldn't stand to hear his name.

The words God and Jesus set me off.  They made me so angry.

When someone said that they needed God to help them I viewed them as pitiful and weak. 

When someone said they would pray for me I would thank them but I would secretly be so disgusted and feel so dirty that I had to get my mind off of it.  It typically ended in my drinking or playing video games.  Whenever my daughter became more involved in the church I got sick to my stomach that I was lying to her.  I didn't want her world to crumble the way that mine did.  

I lived like this for 2 years of my life. 

Angry all of the time.

Then one day I saw my friend Kayla post on Facebook about how strange it was to be in a church without knowing anyone.  

A few days later I got a strange feeling.

I called Kayla.  I asked her to take me to church with her.  I didn't want to.  I know that she could feel that.  She kind of pressured me and made me commit to be there.  I wanted to stay home, but I didn't want to let her down...  I didn't believe that anything would change.  I simply thought that I HAD to go to make sure.

From the moment that I walked into that church I could feel it. 

True, Forgiving, Constant, Unconditional,

LOVE.  

Even after I turned my back on him so many times.  He was there Waiting for me to turn back around.  He was waiting, and loving me the whole time that I was away.

I promise to continue this soon.