Update...jogging the memory and fighting the tears

Its been about 2 months since we started this project.  We are very much dedicated to it...in our free time.  I have no time frame for when we would like this to be completed.  Something like this just can't be rushed.  Life can't be rushed, and neither can the telling of it.  Since this story covers the past 15 years and will go on to cover the future I'm trying to organize all the ground I have to cover.  I'm trying to document our current experiences and emotions as well as put the past in print.  I feel the best place to start is the beginning.


I've been working on digging up old memories...15 year old memories...of when Bill and I first met; the topic of our first chapter.  I still remember the first time we formally met like it was yesterday.  I visualize making eye contact with that young boy for the first time and I remember how the world around me kind of slowed down, all surrounding noise was muffled and the only thing I could hear was my own breathing that sounded like the turning wheels of an old steam engine.  Something stirred in me, something a 12-year-old couldn't understand or even pick up on at the time.  Looking back now, I know it was my recognition of something special in that lad.   I remember what I was wearing, exactly where I was, how I was positioned, exactly what I thought and exactly how I felt.  (Sorry, you'll have to wait for Chapter 1.)  Bill says I always surprise him with my uncanny ability to remember little, minute details; the details of that day are forever engraved in my memory.

I thought, going into this project, that digging the memories up would be SO hard.  I was SO wrong, the memories are flooding me so quickly I can barely get them organized.  Its transforming every aspect of those memories into words that has me going in circles.  Setting the scene is simple.  Explaining the emotion is a bit more challenging.  But recreating the emotion so you feel like you were right there, as though YOU were those young kids, is down-right difficult.  Anyone that knows me, even a little, knows that I'm rarely found at a loss for words.  Right now, I'm stumped.  In my opinion an effective writer weaves a web of words that snares the reader's emotions; so that the reader feels as though he/she was right there.  We want you to see what we saw, understand our thoughts and most importantly, feel what we felt.  Our emotions set a foundation that we grow on to become who we are.  Emotion is the foundation for this story.  Without emotion Bill and I wouldn't have a story.  Without emotion it would be nearly impossible to bring to light the horrors and the desperate need for more awareness and research of Creuzfeldt-Jakob Disease.  Without emotion we would lack anything to love and hold dear, we would be without anything worth living for, believing in and fighting for.  I HAVE to get the emotion across perfectly so the words of our story support the severity of my family's situation; our confusion, our anger, our hopelessness, our heartache, our panic and, most importantly, our love.

I always believed there was a greater purpose for Bill and I to have such an extensive history before we began our romantic relationship and God is slowly unfolding that purpose to me as time passes.  Its painful to see that He has been prepping my family for Dad's illness for 15 years now.  Trying to document this whole experience forces me to sort through my feelings...and why I'm feeling them.  Reliving our memories takes me back to a time when Dad was healthy, when I could talk to him about how much I liked Bill and how I hoped we would be friends forever.  I remember all the ways that Dad bent over backwards when Bill and were hanging out to insure we had a great time.  I look back now and I recognize the trust my Dad had in a teenage boy...and how incredibly rare that is.  I see now what my father saw in him and I now understand why Dad was SO thrilled when I told him Bill and I were officially dating.  I've always been an emotional person but the onslaught of heartache, confusion, fear, longing and anger brought out by this project is overwhelming...and, in a strange way, healing.  Its been so easy to just give into the grief; to stay holed up in my house and my mind when I'm not in Atlanta.  Giving in is so much easier than working through it.  My grief has zapped me of any energy or desire to engage in things and activities I have always enjoyed...I never realized how much effort it took to blow dry my hair.  Yet, by controlling my emotions and organizing my thoughts enough to get them into print has stirred enough of the real Randa to start working through this grief.  I will certainly be a changed woman once all is said and done (who WOULDN'T be changed by have two weddings in two years??) BUT, as I told my brother, it is our responsibility to make sure that whatever changes this brings out in us are positive changes...in honor of our Daddy.

Forward...First Complete Draft

"I'm going to tell you something. But before I do I want you to know that I know how selfish this is going to sound, I know how messed up this is, I know you had no way of knowing we were going to be faced with this. But it is the way I feel and I'm so sorry for it.......If I lose the experience of having my Dad walk me down the aisle because you took your precious time proposing to me...I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you."

I still can't believe I had the courage to utter those words. I still can't believe how much raw, emotional honesty they hold. Because I meant it. Every. Word. And no, I wouldn't have been able to forgive him. I still would have married him, loved him and I would have eventually healed. I would NOT have, under any circumstances, thrown it in his face or used those special wifey powers a woman earns with her wedding vows to torture him. But I wouldn't have been able to completely forgive him.

Let me introduce you to my Daddy. He came into my life when I was about 8...and he stayed. He married my mom when I was 10. He is a kind, loving, understanding, funny, never-meets-a-stranger, type of man that I truly believe was hand-delivered into my life by God Himself. Please understand, in my mind, this man isn't just any Daddy, this man is the Daddy that steps in and loves a 10-year-old child as his own flesh and blood. This man is the Daddy that reaches out, claims as his own, and holds in his lap the biological, emotional, financial, personal, life-long responsibility that, at one point, belonged to another man. That takes a love that goes beyond biology. This man was the Daddy that looked into my eyes and caught a glimpse of another man's genes, but saw only me. He comforted me the first time I cried over a boy, he oh-so-patiently taught me how to drive on a stick shift, he gently zipped me into my prom dress then gave my date a rather unsettling evil-eye, he cried when he dropped me off at college, he knew I was going to marry the man that is now my husband years before I did, and he recently walked me down the aisle. This Daddy is my absolute hero and now, a painfully short 19 years since our first "hello", I'm trying to figure out how in the hell to say "goodbye."

I had just gotten off the phone with my Mom, she had called to update me on my Dad. Dad was ill, it was neurological and she needed to let me know that he was possibly dying. I sat on our beautiful, deep, covered porch for a little while after that. I stared into the deceptively calm waters of St. Andrew's Bay and knew that I needed to get those weighing words off my heart. You see, we had been dating for just over 5 of the 15 years we had been friends. I knew he wanted to marry me, and I knew he wouldn't take what I was going to say as a threat. He just suffered from the knight-in-shining-armor-syndrome where if it wasn't absolutely perfect, it wasn't good enough for his girl; I needed to release him from having to make his proposal picture-perfect.

I said what I needed to say and stared into his mesmerizing blue eyes, oh those eyes, and my then-boyfriend, grabbed my hands and said to me, "that's not selfish, I don't blame you, and I honestly wouldn't be able to forgive myself either." That man very quickly became my fiance, just as quickly became my husband and, a much slower, 17 months later became my husband a second time. Because he is wonderful. We are wonderful. And this is our story. A true story. A true, albeit unbelievable, story of a friendship and love lasting and thriving over time, distance, travel, heartache, growth, learning, careers, AOL, cell phones, text messaging, illness and two weddings. Our story proves that God does send our perfect match to us. Our story proves that long-distance CAN work. Our story proves that love conquers all, and that puppy love DOES last forever.

The Idea...And Point

British historian, James Anthony Froude, once said, "As we advance in life, we learn the limits of our abilities." Well James, American wife, Miranda Spinner, says you couldn't be more dead-end wrong. Yes, life takes unexpected turns at the blink of an eye. We are more often than not forced to deal with unpleasantries that make us want to throw in the towel, but that doesn't mean we become weak with time. I am a living testament that as we advance in life, we learn how to be stronger than we ever thought possible.

Fate shows up unknowingly and weaves its web, ever so delicately, over time; prepping us, molding us, setting our scene. I truly believe the whole purpose of life is to learn every lesson God hands down to us and to gain strength and wisdom from those lessons. The lessons vary; sad, happy, painful, joyful, yet all necessary. The beauty of learning lessons is we have something to offer someone else. I've learned lots about love, about maintaining love, about relationships, about commitment, about family, about the effects of disease on those left behind, about the loopholes of the bridal industry and about survival.

Bill and I share quite a story; what we've learned, what we've experienced, what we've come to be in spite of what we are currently going through; is worth telling. The idea to give our story literary life jolted me from my slumber the morning of August 19th, 2009. In my dreams Bill and I wrote this book together to give our story immortality, to bring light to Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease and to offer what we've learned. I've promised my Dad I will be the best I can be in honor of him and giving his story and his spirit eternal life on paper is my first step.

In our little online bubble here you may walk with us on this journey. We will post excerpts from each chapter over time. We will write about this experience step by step and emotion by emotion. Please leave comments and let us know what you think, but please be kind as these experiences are happening in real life and in real time. The emotions you will read about are current, raw and uncontrollable. The people you read about are living and thriving. We are letting you into our hearts, our lives and our family. If you want, please, join us.....

Why

"And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt."

— Sylvia Plath