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
(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.
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.
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