-**PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE POST, IT IS ALL IMPORTANT. DO IT.**- People always ask me why I help people. Why I am so nice. Well here it is folks, this is why I help people. This is why I at least try to be so nice and to get everyone else to care about each other. I recently found out that November first is All Saints Day. That interested me quite a bit because it has a very special meaning to me. Many of you have heard the rough outline for this story, but here it is copied (and elaborated on) from an english paper I wrote, earlier this year. First I must preface this with an explanation of the single most wonderful man that I have ever met (excluding my father). I suppose that it itself requires another preface. I suffered a tragedy at age six, which changed my life forever. I taught myself to block out pain, and because my life was consumed by it, I dont remember anything between the ages of six and ten, and very little from before that. That all changed when I met @Charles. He managed the local Games Workshop in Uptown, and he got me into the nerd life. He helped me grow as a person and leave my own personal depression, at least enough to experience life. He is my best friend, and always will be. He is my brother, and no one has ever cared for me the same way. I couldnt be here without him, but that being said, to complete my process of healing, I needed people closer to my own age. Last year, on the first of November, was the first time I did not cry. Every year, that day gouged at my soul, threatening to slash it to ribbons at a moments notice, just like it did, almost eight years ago. My father passed away in 2005 on that day at three fifteen in the morning, (this is why I am posting this at this ungodly hour), when I was seven years old. He had Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, which means that he had a disease that slowly, painstakingly, and agonizingly, shut his muscles down one by one. I watched my father slowly die over the course of eighteen months. It began with the shaking. Uncontrollable tremors that racked his thin, weak form. He dropped a cup and broke our new, glass dinner table. After several months, he had too much trouble walking alone, and as such, he started to use a cane. When he was too weak for that, the walker came along. Two months later, the wheelchair. The first day he got it, he backed into the wall and put a huge dent in it. A feeding tube and six months later, he passed away November first. Ironically, it was the day after his cut-off date, which means that it was the day after he told his extended family that he would never see them again. Even worse, it was the morning after I had yelled at him. I was angry that he could no longer sleep in the bed with my mom. He needed his own bed to recline in to deal with his gut wrenching, unbelievable pain, and I screamed at him for it. My last conversation with my father was a meaningless, petty, entirely worthless argument that messed up my life forever. It is still one of my most vivid memories of him, and to this day I live with the horrid guilt. Halloween is still my least favorite holiday. Last year, I joined a group of unbelievably kind and caring people- The Debate Team. They took me in, and helped me become who I am today. Throughout the beginning of the school year, I wanted to be a good debater, but I doubted my ability. I feared that I would not be able to find a place on the team, no matter how much I liked the people on it. When the first big tournament of the year came along, I found it was a five hour bus ride to Whitman, Washington. Naturally, I jumped at the chance and immediately signed up. It was after this, that I realized that the date of the tournament began on the first of November. This meant that I would be around great people for the first time on the day of my dads death. The day we left for the tournament, I was secretly terrified that I would break down and cry at any moment, but every time I thought about it, a new, nice person would come along and make me feel better. The strange thing was that I had not told anyone of my situation. Only my friend Zack knew, and he had long ago forgotten the specific date that tormented me so much. He knew it happened, but he had no recollection of when. However, I realized that these people really did care about me, when they asked me how my rounds were going, and offered to show me around and help in any way. It was not just my attachment to them after all. At the tournament, I made many close friends, and for the most part, I forgot what the date was. It was not until I awoke in bed in the debate hotel the next morning to prepare for another day of debate, that I realized I had gotten through it without crying. I was so shocked, I sat bolt upright in bed, and looked at Zack in the room with me. I wanted to yell and ask what the date was, but I knew I had gotten through it. After I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I climbed into the shower. That was when I teared up. I was so incredibly happy that I had made it, my watery eyes were threatening to release waterfalls of joy rather than sadness, for once in an incredibly long time. I had made a group of amazing friends throughout that wonderful tournament, and that group constitutes my best friends now. Even though they were all two or three years older than me, it is amazing how much late nights in a stressfully intelligent environment cause people to bond. They changed my life, and helped me so much that I felt on top of the world. The night I got home, I climbed into the shower, and cried a blissful waterfall into the stream of the shower head. I leaned against the wall, clutching for dear life, feeling happy, and completely different. I was forever changed, and it was in that shower, that I made a resolution. It was from that point onward that I decided I wanted to help others, no matter what. I changed parts of myself, so that I could go out and seek others in pain, and aid them in healing. I realized that everyone had problems, and that they needed to be addressed, no matter how life-threatening or insignificant. Now I seek those in need, and give them my advice, and a shoulder to cry on. I do my best to help others. I believe that everyone should help each other, because everyone has problems. I believe in helping everyone that I can. Last year, on the second of November, was when I realized it was my place to help others. After the tournament a new group of wonderful people joined my life- my juniors (this also included a majority of the debate team). This term has changed dramatically over the past year, as they are all seniors now, but it also encompassed several seniors who are now graduated. Now the term has spread to simply my group. It includes all of those seniors, a multitude of current juniors, a handful of sophomores and freshman, and some graduated folk. All of them helped me to become the best that I can possibly be. To heal exponentially from where I was a year ago today. This has quite honestly been the best year of my life, and I owe it to my group for making me feel completely accepted and understood for once in my life. Despite all this, It wasnt until saturday the twenty sixth of october, 2013, that I realized that I shouldnt weigh between who I would have been had my dad lived, and who I am now. For years I calculated and pieced together an image of who I would have otherwise been, and I never liked it. I always felt conflicted because I wanted my dad back, but I still love the person that I am now. I realized, with the help of friends, that it is not my place to decide which version is preferable. I am who I am now because of that. It does not define me, but it affects me, and I learned that I will always strive to be a better person, but that doesnt mean that I should strive for what I would have been. We have to triumph in the face of adversity. We have to accept what has changed us, and move on from it. That does not mean to forget, or to stop grieving. It means to forgive, to accept, and to heal. This is why I try to help everyone. This is why I try so hard to be nice to all of you everyday. The purpose of this message was not to get sympathy from my friends and family, or even the strangers I see in the halls. The purpose is to show that I am here for all of you, and I have experienced great pain, something that I think qualifies me as a shoulder to cry on. I realize that on the Anniversary of my dads death, I am relating this very heavily to myself, but in truth, it is the death of loved ones that affects us. On his birthday I will remember him and share with all of you my stories about him. That will be a day to honor him and everything he did, but today is a day to remember what we can take from tragedy. We can move on, we can heal. We can get better, but most of the time, that requires reaching out. Please reach out. I am always here. Thank you.
Posted on: Fri, 01 Nov 2013 10:18:53 +0000
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