How It All Started

SHE SAID (How I remember it):

I was playing hooky from work one day and decided to spend some time at the bookstore. While sitting at the Border’s café and reading (please don’t judge me) Twilight, I got this weird feeling that I was being watched. When I looked up from my reading, there was this creepy but very nice-looking guy staring at me from the opposite side of the café. I scowled at him, which usually intimidates most people, but he didn’t even flinch. He smiled at me and waved. I continued to frown and started reading again, promptly turning my body away from the stranger.

That creepy feeling continued however and I can tell from my peripheral vision that he was still staring. So, while avoiding any eye contact with the man, I finished my coffee and left the café. Then, I strolled through the fiction aisles to see if there are new books I felt like buying. The nerve on this guy – he tapped me on the shoulder and started talking to me. I couldn’t really be mean because he was so nice and I can tell he was nervous as hell.

I like making people squirm so I had this perverse need to just stand there, with my head cocked a bit to the side, an amused grin on my lips, not saying anything. I let him talk for a while, just shrugging my shoulders when asked a question and not really saying a word. He finally ran out of steam or courage and said, “Okay, I guess I should go.”

He looked so much like a sad puppy and he really was cute and sweet. So, I introduced myself. Oh, my goodness! His face lit up so brightly when I said my name and extended my hand, it knocked the breath out of me. We talked for about 15 minutes while strolling through the bookstore. When he asked for my phone number, I gave him my e-mail address instead and told him to send me his information. He asked to walk me to my car but I refused. I can still remember him standing there at the front of Borders, with his hands in his jeans front-pockets, nonchalantly leaning against the wall with this endearing look of joy on his face. I think I fell in love right there while I was driving away from my dream-guy.

HE SAID (From his journal):

The first thing I noticed about her was her ass. She was looking for something in her car and she wasn’t aware that her awkward position was providing a whole lot of passer-by’s a wonderful sight. I followed her from her car back to the bookstore. I watched her sway her hips, lean over and show cleavage, all without being aware she was giving me a bit of excitement. It’s been a while.

At one point, I was really embarrassed. I was watching her lips move and pout while I was imagining other things I would like to do with them. When I looked up, she was staring right at me. I hope she didn’t see me blush.

Any way, I got her e-mail address. I’ve been trying to write something witty to send her but I keep sounding too eager. I’m so out of practice. I’m actually glad she didn’t give me her phone number; I wouldn’t know what to say. This woman intrigues me…

Before I Begin About Edward - Let's Talk About Me

Being sick is very hard to admit to myself more than to others. It's like admitting defeat - throwing in the towel. I don't like people treating me differently because of my challenges. I shouldn't get a free pass because of my circumstances.

It takes a lot of hardwork and continued efforts throughout the day to pretend everything's alright. The amount of focus it takes to keep the negative things corraled requires mental stamina; sometimes the difficulties show through the cracks of my well-crafted façade. And, there are times that I just want to let everything go.

So, what do I want? If I'm not looking for sympathy, then what? I guess I'm looking for empathy but I can't trust others to really understand because they don't know what it's like. I don't need someone to take care of my physical needs. I need someone to instinctively know when I need a break, when my soul is more weary than my body.

I need a partner, an equal who I can lean on while he's also leaning on me. Someone who fights for his vitality as much as I do and gives life to others even when there's not much left to give.

When I met Edward, that's what he brought to me: the realization of what I've been looking for and finding it sitting at a bookstore café. The scary thing about finding that is also learning how tenuous and temporary that kind of connection can be. The daily reminder of how precious life can be is also a surrender to fate's fickleness and time's brevity.

Being the one to keep Edward company through the end of his journey was a great honor. I know now why I was chosen to be his travel companion. It's because I was one of the few qualified and equipped to survive walking through what was to follow on my own. But I wonder if I will be as fortunate to fine someone to escort me to my exit. Will I be able to endure my end alone? I guess fear gets all of us regardless of our heroic attitudes. Deep down, we're all just looking for someone to hold on to.

To be continued another time. My head is hurting...

The Proposal

Making love to her has always been slow and languid. I'm usually gentle, patient and a bit teasing but tonight was just a bit surprising for both of us.

The day started off just like any normal day. We talked on the phone for a bit, making plans for our date. She got off the phone in a rush but not before she's made me blush from my toes to the roots of my hair. That soft whisper on the phone kept popping in my head and thoughts of her swam in my head all day. Most of my day passed in a blur.

I finally made it to the doctor's office and I was anxious to get out of there. I had a few hours left before I see her. But the doctor brought me shocking news that made it harder to concentrate. I heard the words inoperable, no treatment, four months but nothing made sense.

When she appeared at my back door, her smile enveloped me in such warmth. In the car, she played with my hair and talked freely, her other hand waving like she's conducting a concerto. Her usual anecdotes about her kids made me long for something I didn't have. For a few hours, I forgot all about my bad news. I was completely immersed in her life and her presence.

I couldn't wait to get her to my bed. When we finally got there, I kissed her so passionately - not with desire but with a burning need. She was surprised by my enthusiasm but she responded in a way that spurred me further than I thought I was capable. I couldn't get enough of her smell, her taste, the feel of her all over me. She moaned, called my name and dug her fingernails in my skin but it wasn't enough.

I was ravenous and I attacked her like I haven't fed for years. In all honesty, I unleashed all my hidden passions for her that evening. Making love to her was urgent, frantic and intense. I wanted to pull her as close to me as humanly possible, to fuse myself with her. I was hoping that her life force would be enough to sustain me.

When I couldn't hold back any longer, I rolled her under me and thrust myself without any gentleness. I heard a low grunt, almost a growl but could not distinguish which one of us made the noise. I pushed her until I couldn't get any further. I can feel my hipbones almost bruising the softness of her inner thighs. Both of our movements were fierce and the feeling was intense. My passion built up so quickly with very little warning. But before I completely lost myself, I pulled out from her and buried my face between her legs. I drank her sweetness and urged her on. Just when she was getting to her precipice, I slipped back inside her.

I looked deep in to her face. I slowed my movement a bit and said words that I wasn't even aware I wanted to say. “Marry me,” I demanded. Then I moved against her deeply but slowly. When she climaxed, I let myself go and joined her. As I laid on top of her, shivering, panting, exhilarated, I felt her sigh. I was desperately trying to find the words to tell her about my brain tumor but her soft lips against my neck and her fingers trailing on my back were distracting me. She pushed me away from her and looked at me. Then she pulled me closer and whispered in my ear a soft, “yes.”

I am the happiest man in the world. As I watch her sleep in my arms with her leg draped over mine, I can't help but also feel a bit melancholy. I think back to the rest of the day – did I miss an opportunity to tell her the truth? Should I have been forthcoming about my situation before I asked her to commit to me? I am surprised that she accepted me so easily, that she trusts me so explicitly. I hesitate to wake her so she can go home. As I kiss her forehead, I say a quiet pray, “Please, God, don't let me die just when I've found a reason to live.”

In Response to Your Letter

This is in response to a letter I received six years ago and after some developments have taken place. Originally written on 12/14/08.

C-

So it's quite reversed this time around. I'm listening to EBTG around the holidays, on a plane coming home with passengers carrying toys and other gifts for their loved ones. I'm thinking of you, wondering how you're doing; how are you coping with all of what's happened and what you know is in store for the future.

I won't deny that being with you, spending time with you when you're relaxed, focused and casual... It's been like coming home. I missed being with you that way. No pressure, no ultimatums, no innuendos. Just you and me, and the truth of what we are. It's like I hit the "play" button on my MP3 player and the music start off exactly where I stopped the last time.

I'm not going to say it and I won't ask. I think at this revolution, it will either stop where we hope it would or spin so out of control to disintegration; stay or leave forever. I just need you to know this time around - you are, have been, and will always be special to me. Thank you.

-K

A Mother's Letter to Her Son

November 2, 2008

Dear Son,

I had to take a break from reading Perks of Being a Wallflower because my heart aches so much for Charlie.

I see you when I read this book and it makes me sad. But, it also makes me love you more. I'm not going to pretend that I understand everything that you go through - I don't. I do know that there are things I can't fix for you or protect you from. Your mistakes, your pains, your sufferings, your confusion ... all those are there to shape the man you will soon become.

Don't forget though, your joys, hopes, dreams and good memories shape you just as much and are just as important. You will cry and you may feel that no one understands you. No one has to, son. All you need to know is that they love you regardless. They may even love you because of it.

Things won't make sense some days. It may feel overwhelming at times. But remember that most of your days that have already passed and the ones to come have been and will be happy. You might not remember them while you're feeling sad but they do exist.

Live one more day through the bad just to get to the good. When you finally get to the other side of the tunnel (and God knows when that will be), you will know. I lived long enough to get to you, and my life finally made sense.

I love you with all that I was, all that I am and all of who I will be ... forever.

Love, Mom

This is one of the more recent letters I've written to one of my children. I have a series of hand-written notes that I hope to give to them when I die or when an occassion comes up that I feel is appropriate for one of the letters. I don't know why I'm sharing this here but, hopefully, someone who needs to see it will get a chance to read it and feel inspired. Most mothers, I believe, really feel this for their children but don't have the nerve to tell them (like me, perhaps?).