Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.

I am so excited about Lollapalooza. It's a three-day musical festival in Chicago, replete with amazing bands, awesome people, and endless possibility. I've flown alone before, so that's nothing major-league, but arriving somewhere where there's no one waiting for me? Where I get to rely on myself, alone, to find an L train, get to a hotel, and spend four days in Chicago listening ot amazing music and having a ridiculously good time.

This is what it's like to be a grown up, and now, I finally feel like one. This isn't a day trip with friends; it's a vacation on my own, where I'm left up to my own devices, and full of infinite possibility.

I'm also getting more and more excited about school. August 29th, I start the first day of the next four years. What an awesome feeling. Getting to rely totally on myself, 803 miles from home. Scary, but exciting.

I'm getting stuff in the mail each day that I've ordered for this year. Allergy casings for my mattress, a bedspread, socks. It makes it even more exciting.

Also, I love cooking. I'm getting more and more into it, and I don't even mind spending money buying mangoes and rice noodles and mint leaves for moroccan tangime with spring vegetables. It's exciting and fufilling, spending an hour working over a stove to make something that no one other than me will get within two feet of.

There's Chocolate Mexican Rice Pudding in my fridge, if you're interested. And it's vegan. -grins- Who'd've thought?

there's this boy at church. And I get my hopes up, I'm not sure why. sometimes I convince myself that stuff could work out, and it probably never could, and it's probably not in God's plan, but he's a first year med student at LECOM and he's nice and he's Christian and it's not really THAT out of the realm of possibility, is it?

I feel like all I ever do is blog about boys. But, the thing is, it's one of the biggest areas in my life in which I need help.

Also. Peter told me off, basically, the other day for telling James to "tell Leigh I said hello." Leigh is mad at me, background story. It's a long one, but I can't waste energy being mad at her. She'll either get over it or not. But Peter said that it's just "egging her on" and that it makes me "seem fake" and lots of stuff like that.

Sometimes, you know, I'm really just being nice. In fact, 98% of the time, I'm just being nice. I'm a nice person. I really can't help that; I have a sweet disposition and I never take a moment to think that me being nice would bother someone, or be questioned in any way.

That's what's funny. I read what Katie J said about Marissa, about her being the most honest person she knows, and that's really true. But I'm definately not the most honest person I know. I try to be honest whenever possible, but I sugar coat it sometimes if I'm worried about hurting someone's feelings.

And, here's the thing. When I seem concerned about your life, I really am. When I say I'll pray for you, I really do. When I seem happy, I am, and when I seem upset, I am that too. Sometimes I lie about the latter, but I don't pretend to be happy when I'm not. I don't like feeling fake.

So, I guess, I don't lie. I really, really hate to do that. I think sometimes I try to find too diplomatic a way of saying the truth. Not about my opinions, like how the Tamils or Tibet are being oppressed or what we should do about Zimbabwe. No, it's more stuff like, "I'm dating a 29 year old guy with a kid... do you think that's okay?" No, not really is my first instinct, but I usuAlly phrase it like, "well, if he's gone to school and he's responsible and he's trying to make a better life for himself and his child, sure. Just make sure you know what you're getting yourself into."

And, the thing is? After thinking about it, I really do agree with what I said, not what I thought.

Mmm. I want more peaches.

I just finished the 7th Harry Potter book.

And the thing is, without revealing the ending, I'm just so sad they're over. And I kind of want to curl up into a ball, not because it was particularly sad or happy, but because it's over, and this is it.

And it's kind of a sad, lonely feeling.

snape, snape, severus snape... DUMBLEDORE!

Umm. So. Barnes and Noble guy showed up at work on wednesday to make sure he'd given me the right phone number.

Hmm. Granted, I hadn't given him mine, so he couldn't call me, so he did the only thing he knew to do, I guess. He came to KimKopy, where I had told him I worked.

Hmm.

sometimes you're futher than the moon, sometimes you're closer than my skin.

Jessica has a thing for this boy. he plays in a band, he's really cute, and he doesn't know her. for the longest time, she had seen him play at the winter retreat with my church, found him on myspace, and that was it. Now we've seen his band play a few times, and they're myspace friends, and that's still it.

she was kind of wistfully complaining last night that her stomach flies up into her mouth whenever she sees him, but he'll never know. honestly, I kind of understand.

I have a habit of developing little crushes on boys. Boys that are either way too old (21+), way too cute, or way too committed to something for me. Most of the time, they don't even know I exist, at varying degrees. And I'm fine with that; I get over it in a week or so and nobody's the wiser.

But don't you ever wonder? Like, why do I stumble across some really, really neat sounding kid on myspace who's from erie and think I'd really like him a lot. Why? It's not like he's ever going to meet me. Or the guy at church who goes to LECOM. HELLO, I'm not even in college yet! Why would he like me?

Where are all the good Christian boys, God? Are they at Emory? Even just one? Because I'm putting my stock in that. I'm sick of dating people that I don't mesh with and I have to compromise myself for. I will not compromise on some things, Lord.

Can you send someone my way, maybe, who is perfect for me? That'd be nice. Or even just good for me. I'm not ready to meet my soul mate just yet.

EDIT: The cute guy at barnes and noble that I'm basically humanly incapable of talking to gave me his phone number. Without prompting, or anything. AHH. He thought I was a grad student, and then asked how old I was... haha, he thought I might like to go out for a drink sometime. Of course, then when he realized I'm not old enough to drink, I realized I had a problem. Because he's 28. Which I didn't know. BUT STILL. What an ego boost, even if he is way too old. It's too bad. :)

david went home to God today, around 2pm.

he's finally free, and I am so happy.

It's not about me, but I'm scared too.

I don't know what to say any more, except that I feel lost.

What did david do wrong? Did he cook with too much teflon? Ingest grass chemicals as a child? Sniff asbestos?

Why david? Why not my grandmother, gretchen, vince, matthew cannon? I'm not trying to substitute them, I just want to know.

"Will they do that surgery, then, so he can come home?"
"Well, not in the short term, no."
"He doesn't have a long term, Emily."
"I know, AJ, but he may not have a short term."

I don't know if I can handle seeing my brother cry.

I'm watching Pimp My Ride and hating myself. Hating that people are watching this and caring about it when, right now, a little boy is dying. 16. He's a boy. Their jokes aren't funny, because a little boy is dying.

I guess somewhere, at any time, someone is dying. I hate to guess that, but it's true. It's completely different when it's someone you know.

And the scariest part is, four feet from david's hospital bed is another one, with another little boy or girl, just as sicka nd just as close to death. It is the ICU, after all. I'm sure one or two of them often doesn't make it through the night. All these little kids... That's all they are. Kids. Kids my age.

I have a notepad file on my desktop entitled "things to do before I die." This seems ironic now, because it's full of things like "learn hindi" "fall in love" "knit a sweater" "explore south america" "ride a vespa" "kiss in the rain" "sky dive" and "discover a cure for something". I wonder if david did any of these things.

I guess this is a blessing. I mean, his family won't have to bring him home and, through the donations of others, pay for hospice and watch him waste away to the point that he can no longer bathe himself, use the bathroom, eat, drink, and eventually even blink. No one wants to see that. (I keep hearing "but"s in my head. But what if they could see that? But what something could extend his life? But what if they could say goodbye?)

This is not about me. I don't want the emails saying that you're sorry. I know, but don't be sorry for me. Be sorry for the grays. Be sorry for david, who never got to grow past the awkward teenage high school years and finally grow into himself. Don't even think about being sorry for me.

This is in God's hands. I know that, beyond a shadow of a doubt. It's the only thing keeping me from being distraught, and I know that holds true for mrs gray (and hopefully for david, in whatever shadow of consciousness he's in). God knows, and if taking him quickly means that he doesn't have to waste away, that's totally for the best. I know that. If it means healing him so he can go peacefully at home, that's for the best, too. If it means a miracle, then that's for the best, absolutely. And I don't know what's best, which is why I'm glad I'm not God. How do you decide something like that?

David has something amazing waiting for him. I have the ultimate trust in a God who understands David, who forgives his skepticism of an everlasting, forgiving, loving Father when the only father figure he's ever known has been a deadbeat. (I pray for him, too, by the way. Maybe that will be the miracle that the grays need.)

If anything, if this is the time for David to go home to God, then Godspeed to him. I don't understand, and I doubt I ever will, but I know that I don't have to. I know that God's watching over this with bated breath, and it's silly to think that he could ever make a mistake, that he could have ever lost focus or taken a bathroom break and, subsequently, David deteriorated. God knows what he's doing.

A new life with Jesus sounds pretty darn good at this point in the very, very long blog.

I hope that's what stays through my head the last few days. A new life with Jesus.

Oh, God. Please.

this morning, david gray was moved into the ICU because he was having trouble breathing.

as of 3pm or 4pm, they discovered a huge tumor was pushing on his bronchial tube and restricting his breathing. He was moved onto a ventilator and is heavily sedated.

david may not make it through the night.

---
these are the facts. when you state them like this, it doesn't sound like a 16 year old boy is dying. like a mother, brother, and sister aren't losing their brother, son, friend. like a boy who's never been to college, never gotten a high school ring, never been to a prom, never gotten married, and never fallen in love isn't losing his two year battle with an aggressive cancer that's finally winning.

how do you call your son and tell him his brother is dying?

yo me preocupo.

I'm worried. I'm worried about my brother, whom I've found out is, or has become, a huge partier. I'm worried about how much he's drinking, I'm worried that he's fifteen, I'm worried that his friends are why he's doing it, and most of all, I'm worried because he never told me. I'm worried that we've grown so far apart that we can't even talk about stuff like this.

I talk about stuff like this. Or, rather, I would if I drank. I guess... I mean, I always knew we ran in different circles, but I never imagined he'd be doing stuff like this, and right under my mother and father's noses.

And they were so strict and so worry-wort-y with me. And now, now they think they're being just as strict, but they obviously aren't. Something's going on here.

Por favor, Dios mio, dame la fuerte. And the wisdom, whatever the Spanish word for that is.

I need to know what to do.