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6:47 p.m. - July 14, 2002
On death and life and riding bicycles on lawns
I learned to ride a bicycle by riding back and forth across the lawn in front of the house, a little further with each attempt, until I could make the distance and from there left the lawn behind in favor of the asphalt. It wasn't a solo venture: Jenny, the girl two houses down, couldn't ride either and her older brother Joel let us use his bicycle on the condition we washed it every time we were done riding. I remember holding the bike steady as she got on and tried to reach the far end of the lawn and it must have been autumn because our falls were cushioned by leaves, the dried brown crunchy ones raked up into piles that smell like spice and walnuts. She was successful before I was and as soon as I saw her riding across the lawn without falling, I did too. I can see her blonde-brown hair and her laugh as well as the clickety-pull of the tires and we rode until twilight. I imagine it was a happy time but the immediate following memory is being chastised by my father for putting ruts on the lawn.

Jenny died of leukemia when I was 14 and in New York at Jody's bat mitzvah and I went to the little synagogue and sat in the garden for a while, listening to the wind rustle branches. I don't know why the good ones go early and leave everybody else to deal with the ones you'd wish had gone sooner. The memorial service was held at the church and her sister Beth ran out crying and I recall with perfect clarity the fact that nobody's head turned, almost as if we were collectively embarrassed and sought to not recognize her grief. I also recall a poem about Jenny's mother in heaven with the line "reason tells me I have a mother there" and thinking Why not?

I don't know why I'm thinking about this. That's not true; I've been thinking about death and loss and grief--and please, before you think I'm suicidal, let me be clear: I'm not--and the impact it has on people. For a long time I was consumed with the fear of dying young and rushed to excel and achieve; I don't know where that thought originated from, but it was strong and pervasive. I suspect its genesis originates from when I almost drowned in the hot water river, but that's merely a guess. Perhaps since then the concept of borrowed time left an indelible mark and whose barometer stretched beside me everywhere I went. The thing is, I haven't died yet; when I realized this, I think I lost my motivation. This was about three years ago, and since then I haven't done much of anything. And it was about three years ago that the period I call the Unraveling began, when I started remembering things, my dreams successively became worse, and I started to examine things. Maybe I didn't allow myself room to think about things in favor of making a mark before dying.

I don't think about it often and more rarely talk about it because it's both personal and odd. My family was camping and I was older than 8 because after that I never took off my shirt and my shirt has something to do with the story, and after a short hike reached the hot water spring. The spring feeds a hot water river that's crossed by a wooden suspension bridge and there are signs posted saying Warning! High Temperatures and Fast Current. I remember swimming in the shallow areas of the river and listening to the people around me and wanting to be like the bigger kids who could swim from one bank to the other. I underestimated the current and before I knew it I couldn't touch the bottom and started away downstream, swallowing water (even now I recall perfectly how warm the water was going down my throat and into my stomach) and going under. I flailed and cried out and thought I am going to die and I was going further away from everybody else and in that moment thought This is it and my legs and arms were tired and I took another large gulp and the water was hot, so very hot, and I couldn't hear anything but my head rolled back and I looked up at the sky through the water and then my shirt pulled tight against me and I was moving through the water onto the other side forcefully and soon I touched the ground and I was relieved somebody had saved me and how fortunate I was wearing a shirt (red tank top, I think) but there was nobody there. I know it sounds silly, but it's something I will not deny or dismiss because I remember how it felt to be pulled against the current sideways and backwards and standing there wondering who had saved me.

Now, I'm in the same situation; I'm adrift, drowning, confused, and feel like giving up. There is just a small kernal that wants to keep going despite the obstacles to the other side and I feel its tiny pulse and it makes me think it can be done, just like before.

I can never communicate my thoughts clearly and succinctly.

I want to sign and use my hands.

I miss my family.

 

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