He always said it best...

I found this on my computer the other day.  I was cleaning it out and stumbled upon a document that was basically a portfolio written by my late brother, Rafe.  His intro shook me to the core.  I have no words.  Honestly, he always said it best.  And we got four more wonderful years from him after he wrote this.  Love and miss him immensely.

In his own words:

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate."
(Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.)
~ Dante Alighieri

A Journey to the Ending

        The greatest people in the world are those who achieve their dreams, in spite of them being entirely impossible. The saddest people in the world are those who give up. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” The words Dante inscribed above the gates of hell seem to reflect the outlook on life held by all too many people. There was a time when I could not have summed up better how I felt about my future: “Abandon all hope.”
        I suffer from cystic fibrosis, diabetes, obsessive compulsive disorder and depression. I’ve never been the fastest or the strongest, and I’ve spent a good portion of my life sick with one thing or another. I’ve been in hospitals multiple times, and was once told by a doctor that I had only weeks to live.
        I had reason to be depressed. I still have reason to be depressed. I remember laying in the hospital bed, my mother on one side and my father on the other. The doctor came in and told us that I had two choices: I could stay in the hospital where they had constant observation and crash carts and I’d die in a few weeks, or I could go home and die somewhat sooner. My father thanked him for his candor and my mother began to cry. My father left shortly after. (I later found out it was so I wouldn’t see him cry. He didn’t want to scare me anymore.)
        But I was nineteen years old. Death was the farthest thing from my mind. I couldn’t die. I hadn’t even been published yet! Besides that, I’m a stubborn ass, and that doctor made my mother cry. If for no other reason than to spite him, I was going to live.
        “Mom,” I looked at her, “I’m not going to die.”
        That’s when God stepped in. In a series of miracles, including an insurance company giving the OK to pay for a condemned patient to be flown to another hospital in another state, I was transferred to the University of Colorado Hospital. I was introduced to the respiratory therapist, Robert, who said, quite simply, “Let me give it a shot.”
        I am not trying to discredit the wonderful doctors and nurses who took care of me for the next couple of months, all of them aided immeasurably in my recovery. However, Robert (I never knew his last name) was the one who decided I wasn’t a lost cause. He said he could make me well, and he did.
So what is this all about? Well, it’s something I’ve known for quite a while, but came to a fuller understanding of in this last semester. For all the reasons I have to be sad, for all the reasons I have to sit in a corner believing that the world is pain and pain is the world, for all the reason I have to quit, I have a thousand times more to get up again, to keep going, and to find a happy ending.
        That’s what it’s all about. I don’t share this story to gain pity. I share this story to spread hope. I’ve been through a lot in my life, and you—whoever you are—I’m sure you’ve been through a lot too. Let me make you a promise: I promise you, you’re destined for a happy ending. You just got to meet it half way.
        In this portfolio you will find several of my works, ranging from odes to depression and evil, to stories of aliens and past generations. You’ll find monsters, fear, forgiveness and hope. You’ll find trials and tears, and you’ll find lost people. But when it’s over, when it really matters, you’ll find a happy ending.
        Never give up hope.

November 5th...

"Do you know what tomorrow is? Two years since you got sick..." - Joe

        Two years ago today I almost passed away.  Even though my health before then wasn't great and I'd been on continuous supplemental oxygen for the previous two and a half years...  That was the day my life truly came tumbling down and our journey to health began.  I woke up feeling loopy and out of it.  I couldn't hardly breathe.  I was rushed to the ER with oxygen levels in the 50's.  I was intubated and put on a ventilator.  Almost our entire family (both my husband's and mine) showed up at the ER waiting room to sit with my husband and wait for news.  My husband fell into his mother's arms praying I wouldn't die.  I was practically incoherent, but I remember at one point asking, "Am I going to die?"

        I can't remember much from that day, honestly.  I was so oxygen deprived, I kept blacking out, and some of my memories are simply gone.  But I do remember being afraid.  I wasn't quite sure what was going on.  I felt so strange.  I remember moments, figures, but that's about it.  I didn't have any strength or control over my body.  I don't remember being awake, I don't remember falling asleep.  I remember only flashes of images from the following days, then the next thing I knew I was waking up in Kansas City eleven days later.
        I want to take this moment and say thank you.  Thank you to everyone who showed up at the ER that night.  Thank you to everyone who helped out in one way or another during those times of fear and trial.  Thank you for the support.  Thank you for the prayers.  We really needed it, we got it, and we are grateful.
        I have been inspired by our journey.  I have come to the decision to write a book about my experiences.  It will be my personal medical memoir.  I definitely need prayers while I write these last few years down on paper.  It will be difficult and it will take time.  Opening up those memories will take a lot of courage - especially remembering the passing of my brother, Raphael.  But I feel it is something I need to do.
        Please pray for me as I walk down memory lane.  I know I am only me... but I hope in some way to be able to help someone going through a similar situation.  I want to give courage and comfort.  I want to help CF people realize there is hope.  Dreams really can come true.  I am living a healthy life that I never thought possible.  And I know I am lucky.  Each day I thank God I am alive.  Each day I pray my health only continues to get better.  I work hard, I pray hard.
        On this second year anniversary from that day, I want to say an extra "I love you," to my husband Joe.  He is my rock and my best friend.  Without him, without his strength, I don't know if I could have made it.  Thank you for always being there for me, dearest.  I truly appreciate it.
        Dream a little dream, people... then let your heart soar.

Much love.
~Julia Jean