Life is full of contradictions - some comical, some ironic, some just cruel. Walking on this path that none of us understands is a challenge from one moment to the next. There's highs, there's lows, and there's the balance of it all. These days, we try to find balance like an acrobat walking on a tight rope.
We spent the last few days in Cabo San Lucas, basking in the warm Mexican sun, wading in the pool with piña coladas in hand. Forcibly unplugged, we shrugged our shoulders and found a way to let go and for stretches of time actually managed to do nothing, while waiting for my brother's big day - his wedding day to one of the most beautiful brides anybody's ever seen. There was laughter and stress, comedy in the family dynamics that put "fun" in dysfunctional, and a combination of peace and stress that beat most average days.
These were happy days in many ways, with an amazingly joyous occasion to cap it all off. I have seen my brother grow from being a pain in my ass to this sensitive, emotive, creative man who has the ability to amaze me with his talent. And I have seen the light come into his life when he found my now sister-in-law - it's been a great addition and the best thing to happen to him hands down. There were tears at this wedding - hers, his, and everyone else's.
And through it all I was reminded of life's contradictions, as I watched this other man continue to decline rapidly in the claws of the horror that is Lou Gehrig's disease - this man that I love as if we were related by blood, this man who brought such happiness to my mother for the last 17 years, this man who was always patient, considerate, caring and giving. This man who walked me down the aisle when my father couldn't.
I have watched him go from limping last September to being bed-ridden and almost completely unable to communicate today. I have seen him be eaten by this disease, trapped in a body he no longer can control, losing his ability to communicate and all dignity along with it. I have seen him look at us in frustration and unbearable sadness, because he knows he is dying, and there is not a damn thing anybody can do about it or for him. I have prayed for a miracle. Today, I pray for a quick ending. And it breaks my heart to know that these few days I have with him are probably the last I'll ever have, and I'm not ready to say good-bye, to let go, to resign myself to the ending that I know will come.
Happiness is never complete - it gives and it takes equally and sometimes swiftly. There are only perfect moments. It's in those moments that we can experience that feeling of exhilaration that makes it all worth it - the risks, the rewards, the struggle, and yes, even the heartbreak.
