Day 2: How did I get here?

As I laid in my hospital bed in South Bend just a few nights ago, I wondered, 'how did I get here?' I watched the red second hand on the clock chase the numbers around on its face for a while that night. I felt overwhelmed with sadness, anger, and fear. I was alone for the first time since I was given the unbelievable news. I couldn't decide if I wanted crawl into a corner and cry, or hide my head under the covers and pray that this was a all some horrible dream. A trick. A joke. Or, another life that I was watching from the outside. A life that wasn't mine. This couldn't be happening to me.

Throughout the course of your life, sometimes you may wonder what it would be like to be told you're dying, or that you have some incurable disease that will shorten your lifespan. You try to imagine what your reaction would be. You think of yourself as a strong person, one who could handle that sort of information with an iron fist. Nothing could be farther from the actual truth.

A little while later, I remembered my family. My friends. And all of the loved ones that visited or called me that day. I remembered the genuine concern that echoed through the halls of my hospital. I remembered Jeff saying 'dude, you need a driveway shoveled, call me.' I remembered Dan giving me his PSP with several games just in case I got bored. I remember Donna telling me she loved me for the first time. I remembered Sharon sending me emails about vitamin D. I remember Justin telling me that he'd find a way to make my Xbox work in my room here in Chicago. I remembered my sister telling me 'anything I have that you need, it's yours.' I remembered the hugs from Mike and Sherry, and cookies that would come later from Jason and Sarah. I remember Al saying 'we'll be here when you get back and I have stuff for you to do.' I remembered my mother telling me 'you'll look handsome bald', my Dad and Joan battling Chicago traffic for an hour and half just to come see me, and Mike for getting us here safe and finding a place for visitors to stay. I remembered the phone call from Judy, and the visit from Dewitt and Dan. I remember Gene, Maggie, the magazines they brought, and all the emails and phone calls. I also remember my wife telling me 'no matter what, I will always be here.' And that's only a small micron of support I have received in the last week. My saying 'thank you' would hardly be enough. But I'll say it anyway. Thank you. All of you.

Now I sit in my bed with my wife near me, looking out at the Chicago skyline, with an orange sunset that's still playing behind the buildings afar. I'm not scared any more. I'm not sad any more.

Because, I remember how I got here.