I hate this rollercoaster ride.
I hate the fact that I'm not even on the really scary ride, just the kiddie one with a clear view of the Big One across the way. The one with giant verticle drops and tightly twisted turns. Right in the front car he's sitting there on the ride for his life.
He's keeping his arms and legs in at all times. But that doesn't seem to be helping.
Yesterday I called him from work. I asked, "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay.," he said.
"I know you're okay, but how are you doing mentally?"
He got silent. I could hear that Family Feud was on in the background.
"What's the question they're asking?"
"Name a way that your wife will show you that she's mad."
"What do you think the #1 answer is?"
"How do you know?"
"Because I've seen this one before."
Sure enough, it was yelling. And then I thought of how many times he's had to watch reruns of Mamma's House and how many damn lawyer commercials he's been exposed to as of late.
"So really. How are you doing mentally?"
"Um. Well, I'm just sick of being sick. I hate it."
"Me, too, kiddo. I hate it too."
And that's all I could say because the number two answer to the Family Feud question was "Not Cook Dinner" and we had to discuss how that was a crappy answer. I did my usual funny conversation and got a few laughs out of him, but I couldn't shake the fact that he knows that he's still got a long way to go.
I tried calling him again to check on him this afternoon. A nurse picked up the phone, said that the bro was in the middle of a procedure, but that she would pass on the message that I was thinking about him.
I went home for lunch and had a conversation with Lipman. As of late, he's been distant and I wanted to see if it was anything I was doing. As usual, it was pretty much stuff he was dealing with but he did say, "I know you're sad. And when I'm away from you, I feel okay about being happy. But when I'm around you, I just feel how sad you are and how it's affecting you."
"But I'm pretty good at not letting it absorb me."
"You're fantastic at it, but I know it's there in the back of your head. I want to help you get rid of it, but I can't and it's maddening. I'm stuck. But I'm here for you. I am. You know that."
Then his head burrowed into my shoulder and I hoped that his hair was absorbing my tears so he wouldn't know that I was crying.
This afternoon Pops called. I wasn't too concerned as Pops calls me at work every so often.
Hey there babe.
Hey Pops. How're you.
I'm doing okay. Um. I needed to call you beccause it turns out that your bro had another seizure today. He actually had two.
Yeah. We're still waiting on the MRI to see if it affected anything.
Oh shit. Um. When did it happen?
Well, apparently you called right when things were happening, so what time was that?
About an hour and a half ago.
Yeah. That's what his mom said. She wanted me to let you know since you called.
Oh God. Why is he having these seizures?
They're trying to figure that out. It's just part of the road he's got to travel.
I hate this road.
Me too, babe.
And the conversation continued and I cried on the phone, only to suck up the tears and put on my chirpy voice when the other line at work "Thank you for calling, how may I help you" while in the back of my head I wanted someone to help me.
And I wonder how much longer I have to ride this fucking ride. I can't remember when I became numb to the dips and turns, but I know that every single one of them makes my stomach churn no matter how numb the rest of me may be.
What's worse is I have to be funny in 5 hours.
This is the life, my people.
I'm a fucking rock and roll star poser. Worship at my altar of emotional pain and deciet as I spin ya'll another yarn about how life is sometimes funny as hell. But stick around for the bloopers where you get to see me snot all over a mousepad.
Free balloons for the kids.