The Secret Life Of Trees

     This story is based on certain events in my life , and without them , I doubt I could have written it. It's been in my head for three years now , and such as it is , I'm content with it.






       My name is Sam , and this is my story.
   I never knew my parents.
   I only knew them as  people I was born to , who raised me and took care of me. Who fed me , and put clothes on me. Who sent me off to school when I was old enough , and took me to the doctor when I was sick.

   I knew things about them , but I never really knew them. I never knew them like I should have. I was never close to them like I should have been , like I longed to be. 

   My mother was a teacher. She taught grade school. It was the love of her life. If you ever got her talking about it , you couldn't shut her up. Dad worked for an advertising company. He wasn't always enthusiastic about his job. They worked hard to support us. They were both successful , and always busy. I guess they never really had time for me. I can't remember ever having more than one or two conversations with either one of them while I was growing up. We were like a family of strangers to each other. I don't remember ever playing catch with dad , or other things boys did with their fathers. More often than not , he would come home from work , turn on the television , and drink beer while he watched his favorite shows. On the weekends he would spend his days watching just about any sport that was televised.
   During the summer months - when he wasn't watching sports - he liked to go fishing. I only went with him once. It was the only time  I was invited  , and I never asked. I was ten at the time ... and I remember what a lonely day it was. All he did was drink beer and talk about sports. I wanted him to ask me how I was doing in school ; at least that would have let me know that he cared. And I wanted him to ask me about my friends. Truth was , I didn't have many friends. Being alone was the norm for me. I was getting used to it.
    I spent that entire day with dad beside me , one of the few that I could remember. But , I may as well have been alone. That was how I felt. He wasn't interested in getting to know me. All he seemed to care about was sports.
    I went through my childhood feeling lonely , afraid , and ignored. I felt as if no one cared about me. I felt ignored by my parents most of all. I wanted them to know me. Who I really was. My passions. My dreams , my aspirations in life. And I wanted to know them. I wanted us to be a family again.  Not a dysfunctional family of strangers that didn't know how to communicate with each other. But a real family that knew and felt love , that expressed that love every way they knew how. Were we that kind of family once? I don't know. I don't remember. I would like to believe that we were.
    When the loneliness became unbearable , I would visit a secret place known only to me. It was in the woods , behind the house. There was a clearing with a lake in the middle , ringed with trees. I would spend hours  at a time there , imagining that the trees had a secret life of their own , and that I was one of them.
    Mom passed away when I was sixteen. Breast cancer. She ignored the warning signs. I guess she was hoping it was nothing to worry about. When she did finally see her doctor , it was too late. She died quickly.
    I wanted to forget about school , at least for a while , and take care of her until the end , but Dad wouldn't let me. He took a few weeks from work to stay home with her.
    The day she died , I held her hand and cried for a woman I hardly knew , but always loved. I silently asked to be forgiven for not being better than I should have been , and that some day I would find the courage to forgive myself.
    After the funeral , I made a plaque in school , with the following words inscribed :  
    
     Trees have a secret life of their own ,
     they talk to each other ,
     they laugh ,
     they sing and dance , and celebrate all of the good
     things in their lives ,
     they give praise to the Creator ,
     and they mourn when one of their own dies.

    One day , I placed the plaque at the base of the largest tree , and left it there , hoping that some day someone would find it , someone who was lonely like I was ,  and would understand the meaning of the words. And the meaning of the words are : that life is too short to worry about what others may think of us , or what we think we need and don't need. All we need is love , and hope.  Love comforts us , and hope drives us. It gives us the courage to  continue when our lives seem empty and bleak. Without it , there is no reason to live. We are all born for the same purpose : to help make the lives of others more bearable. It doesn't matter if they are lonely , mentally ill , or homeless.  What does matter is that they need to know that they are important , that their lives are worth living. It's the only reason we're here , to help each other. We all share a divine connection. We all come from the same source. It's the divine responsibility of every human being , to help those who cannot help themselves. It's been said that God helps those who help themselves , but God blesses those who help others.
    After mom's death , dad and I never really did become close. We talked a few times , mostly about mom , but not the things that should have been talked about. There was no healing , and that left me feeling emptier  than I had ever been before. Dad remarried sometime later , and joined his new wife as a full time member of the local church.
    Three years later , I met my wife , and less than a year after that , we had our first child , a son. We've since had two more , both girls. The births of my children were the best times of my life. I held their tiny bodies in my hands , and promised them that we would never be strangers to each other. That we would always be close. That we could always talk to each other , no matter what. And , to this day , as they are now in their teenage years , we have never been strangers to each other , and never will be.
    Dad passed during my thirty - fifth year. It was a heart attack. We flew home for the funeral. We had seen him no more than five or six times in fifteen years , and in all that time he had barely kept in touch. I guess the two of them were just too busy to pick up a phone , or write.
    After visiting mom's grave , we visited the clearing behind the house. I hadn't been there in sixteen years. It hadn't changed much in all that time ; it looked almost as it had the day I'd last seen it.
    The plaque was still there , right where I'd left it , leaning against the roots of the biggest tree. I'd left it there sixteen years before ,  hoping that someone would find it and discover what the words had meant to me , and what they will always mean. That love is the answer. Love is the meaning of the words. If you have love in your life , even if it's  the love of just one person , then celebrate it. Sing and dance , and laugh , and love. Be grateful that someone loves you , because life is short , shorter than we realize , and if we don't show our gratitude today , tomorrow may never come.
    Life is worth living. Even with all the crap that weighs us down and holds us back , our lives still have meaning. You may not believe that when you feel hopeless and alone. Know that you are never alone , and that you are special. You  were born for a reason , and that is to bring love and hope into the lives of those who have no hope. That's where your life has meaning.
    There were other words on the plaque besides my own. In the sixteen years that I had been away , someone had etched their own below mine , and the meaning of these words , to me , were clear.
    A plea for hope.
  I had found my hope , my redemption. My redemption was in the promise I had made to my children. A promise that would be passed down to my grandchildren. A promise that would never be broken.
    Sometimes , when sleep is slow in coming , I remember those lonely words , so full of promise , that someone had etched below my own :
    "In forgiveness is hope. Hope is in the knowledge that I will someday be forgiven. I can only hope that someday before I die , I will find that redemption."
     It helps me sleep.


    
   

   





   


   

         
    






     

RIVERS OF TIME - Chapter 2

  
   When I was eighteen , Sarah was murdered. Her boyfriend had strangled her. The day that she met him , she'd been so excited. She had come running to me and told me all about him , how tall he was , how good looking he was , how polite he was , and how smart. He was a senior , and she a freshman.

   "His name's Vincent!" she said almost breathlessly. "He's three years older than me , he's captain of the varsity football team , and every girl in school likes him! But he likes me , even though I'm not the prettiest girl in school! I want you to meet him and tell me what you think!"

   So , I met him. He seemed nice enough. He said all the right things , and seemed to genuinely like Sarah. But there was something about him that didn't quite seem right. Was it because he was three years older than Sarah? Or was it because she was the kind of girl that never fell for the obvious type? He seemed too perfect , too good looking , and most of all , too polite. I never trust people who are too polite. It seems like they're putting on an act , to try and impress someone.

   "Well , what do you think ?" she asked after he had gone.

   "Why do you care what I think? You're going to see this guy no matter what I say."

   "Be serious!"

   "Alright. I think you're too young. You're not ready to start dating , Sarah. You're only fourteen."

   "Who said anything about dating? Can't a girl just like a guy?"
   "Of course you can. Just don't start  dating until you're at least fifteen , or I'll kill you , and Dad will kill you. Speaking of Dad , what does he think of your new beau?"
   "He's not my beau ," she said. "Dad hasn't met him yet. I wanted you to meet him first and tell me what you thought of him."
   "Alright. I'll tell you what I think , but I don't think you're going to like it. Still want to hear it?"
   "No , but you'll tell me anyway."
   "He seems like a nice guy ," I said.
   She smiled. "That's it?"
   What I said next made her look like she wanted to kill me. "I don't trust him."
   "Who the hell asked you?" She left my room , closing the door a little too loud.
    "You did ," I said.
   My father seemed to like him well enough , but he strictly forbade Sarah from seeing him outside of school. That meant , besides school , she could only see him at our house , or his , just as long a parent or a guardian were present. But she couldn't be watched all the time , and it wasn't long before they were sneaking around. Sometimes they would meet at our house while I was out , and my father was at work. She even took to playing hooky from school , which brought her nothing but trouble.
   This behavior went on for some time before my father found out about it. he was furious. She was no longer allowed to see Vincent. He was no longer welcome at our house , and Sarah was forbidden to speak to him , not even at school. She was grounded for two weeks. She was not even permitted to see her friends , not that she had very many ; most girls considered her a book worm because she wore glasses and liked to read. She complained as any teenage girl would do when they believed life was unfair. But it didn't stop her from seeing him. Often she would sneak out of the house to meet him.
   One night , she climbed out her bedroom window , and never came back. Two days later , she was dead. her body was discovered in a drainage ditch , two miles from school. According to the police , she had been strangled. She had been tossed into the ditch as if she had been nothing more than yesterday's garbage. Vincent was the only suspect they had , so the police picked him for questioning. Later , he was arrested and arraigned for trial.
   After Sarah's funeral , my father suffered a break down and had to be hospitalized. The pain of losing a wife , and now a daughter , were too much for him. Before she was buried , I placed a letter and a picture in Sarah's coffin. I'd written the letter the night beforte. In it , I told her how much she was loved , would be missed , and how proud of her Dad and I had been. She had been blessed with beauty and intelligence. She could have been whatever she desired ; a super model , an actress , or even a scientist. But time's river had flowed differently for Sarah , taking her to a destination that was neither fair , nor deserved.
   I ended the letter telling her that she had been the prettiest girl in school. Sarah never fancied herself a beauty. But she had been. More than she knew.
   I read the letter aloud , and then placed it and the picture in her right hand. The picture was a family photo of the four of us during happier times , a million years ago. I thought she would like that.
   Watching her coffin being lowered into the ground , with tears streaming down my face , I wished I could have told her everything in the letter , while she had been alive.
   With my father institutionalized , aunt Becky would not let me stay in the house alone. I was working part time , nights , after school , and I had no desire to come home to an empty house , so after the funeral , I packed some clothes and drove my used mustang over to her house. She wanted me to stay with Jack , but I said I didn't want to invade anyone's space , so she gave me the basement.
   Except for a few large boxes and a roll away bed , it was empty , and cold. A plastic sheet was wrapped around the bed's mattress. I unfolded the bed , removed the plastic , and sat down , thinking about Sarah.
   Like my mother , I wished I could have been there to save her. I should have told her not to see Vincent , the day she had introduced him. I knew there was something wrong about him , but I didn't tell her that. If I had , would she still be alive? Would she have listened to me? No , she would have gone behind my back , just as she had always done.
   Aunt Becky came down the stairs with an end table and a lamp. "Would you help me with these , Tom?"
   I took the table and put it at the head of the bed. She placed the lamp on top of it , and plugged it into the basements only outlet and turned it on.
   "I bought these at a yard sale last month. I asked Jack to refinish them for me , but i can't get him away from his video games long enough to do anything. So , I stored them in the attic. And now I'm giving them to you."
    Looking around , she said , "now it's not so dark in here. But it is cold. There's a space heater around here somewhere. I'll look for it after dinner , which will be ready in about an hour."
   "I really won't need a space heater. A blanket will do."
   "Are you sure?"
   "Yes , I'm sure ," I said. "And thank you for letting me stay here. I really appreciate it."
   She sat down next to me and smiled. "You're welcome. I couldn't bare the thought of you being all alone in that house."
    I could smell her perfume. It was getting to me. I had to remind myself that this was my aunt , no matter how attractive she was.
    She sighed. "I know you probably feel all alone right now. But you're not , Tom. You have a lot of people who love you , us included.  We all care about you , and want you to know that you can talk to us about anything. You're a part of this family and always will be."
   I hung my head awkwardly and nodded. I loved this woman dearly. She had always been there for me. Whenever I needed someone to talk to , or just listen to me , I could always count on her. She would drop whatever she had been doing , and make time for me. She had been that way with Sarah , too.
   After dinner , which had been eaten in awkward silence - mostly on my part - I went back downstairs for a change of clothes before leaving for work. I had a part time job at the Shop And Go , evenings after school , which I'd missed because of the funeral.
   I was starting back up the stairs when Aunt Becky came down and handed me a couple of blankets and an envelope. "These are for you."
   "What's in the envelope?"
   "It's from your mother ," she said. "She wanted me to give it to you if something should ever happen to her. But it wasn't supposed to be until you were eighteen."
   "What do you mean , if something should happen to her?" I said.
   She sat next to me on the bed. "I don't really know. One day , four years ago , she came to me with this letter , and asked me if I could give it to you when you were eighteen. I asked her if anything was wrong ; she said no. But she looked so sad when she said it , like she'd just lost a best friend. I tried to get her to tell me what was bothering her. She said she couldn't tell me ; she didn't want to get me involved. And that was it. She left."
   "Did you read the letter?" I saked. "Maybe there's a clue in it."
   "No , I didn't. I don't feel comfortable invading someone else's privacy."
   I tore open the envelope. "Well , if you you need anything , let me know."
   She started up the stairs. "By the way , I called your boss and told her about Sarah. She's giving you the rest of the week off , with pay."
   "You did that?"
   She nodded , smiling. "I was hoping you wouldn't mind."
   "No , I don't mind at all. As a matter of fact , I really appreciate it."
   She smiled , and started back up the stairs.
   "Aunt Becky?"
   "Yes , Tom?"
   "You've always been my favorite aunt ," I said. After a moment of awkward silence , I said ,"I just wanted you to know that."
   It embarrassed the hell out of me to admit it , but was true.
   She smiled. "Thank you , Tom. And you've always been my favorite nephew." She went upstairs , quietly closing the door behind her.
   Was I her favorite nephew , or did she say it just to be nice?
   The envelope contained a key and a single sheet of paper , written in elegant script. It read :
 
                                    Dear Tom ,

   If you're reading , it can only mean one thing : My death. I didn't want to have to put it this way , but I couldn't think of any other way. I was killed by some very dangerous people who wanted to steal my research , and they would do anything to get their hands on it. Even murder. But they were not entirely successful. They were successful in killing me , but not in stealing my reasearch. I made sure that my journal , and what I've been working on , have been kept hidden from them. Only you know where they are. I'll tell you where they are , but first I want to tell you what it is that I've been working on for the past three years.
   Almost four years ago , I created a devise that allows instantaneous travel through time and space , and to alternate worlds. I call it the Alternate Reality Locater , or Al for short. It contains an advanced and sophisticated computer chip. It locates and opens time portals , or worm holes. Some of these holes even lead to other worlds within our own galaxy! And once these worlds have been accessed , the computer then stores the information in it's memory.
   I know that this is hard for you to accept , as is the fact of my death. But , it's all true. I'm not crazy , as you might be thinking. And to prove it , I'm going to tell you where you can find the ARL , and my journal.
   With this letter , I've enclosed a key. It is to my safety deposit box at the Union Pacific bank. That's where you will find them. I've left instructions with a certiain employee. She's a friend of mine. She will allow you to access it's contents if you should ever need to. All you to do is show her an ID. Her name is Susan.
   With the journal and the ARL , I've left simple instructions on how to use it. I want you to use it wisely , Tom. It is not a toy. Be careful with it ; it is a very sensitive devise. If you break it , there will be no way for you to fix it.
   I want you to use it to explore , as I would have , had my life not been cut short. There are hundreds of inhabited worlds in this galaxy alone. I have visited some of them. And so will you.
   But , I must warn you : you cannot change the past or mess with the timeline of this , or any other reality. If you do so , there may be serious consequences. Be careful! And trust no one! you will not know who your enemy is. They will not hesitate to kill you , Tom. I don't want that to happen.
   Before I gave this letter to your aunt , I considered burning it. That way the ARL would be kept hidden forever , and you would not be in danger because of it. But I would be depriving you of something you so much deserve. I  have no right to keep that from you. I could not forgive myself. The ARL belongs to you now.
   Good luck , my dear , sweet Tom. tell Sarah and your father that I love them both , as I love you.

                                     Mom

RIVERS OF TIME - Chapter 1

  
   Note > This story was conceived six years ago. I had three or four chapters completed. It was written on another laptop , which I wound up throwing on the ground and stomping on , because of it's unsatisfactory performance , so most of the story was lost.

                               

   Time , like a river , has many tributaries , or time lines that can take you any-time , any-where. The past is not set ; the future is not written in stone. The paths that you choose in this life time , will determine your final destination.

    We are all born for a reason , a final destination in life. Most people don't know this. Others believe that they were born to accomplish something special , to be a teacher , a doctor , or the President of the United States.

    My final destination , my sole purpose in life , the reason I was born , was to save my mother and sister. I believe that now with all my heart.

    When I was fourteen , my mother was killed in a car accident. My biggest regret was not being there when it happened. I kept thinking that I could have saved her - had I been there - or prevented the accident from happening.

     I was in school when it happened. My mother had been on her way home from work , when she lost control of the car , sending her off the road. She had died instantly. My aunt came to pick me up and take me to the hospital. She didn't say right away what was wrong , but I knew it was something bad , because she had been crying. In fact , she didn't speak , until she parked the car and turned off the engine.

     During the drive to the hospital , which had been no more than five or six minutes , I knew it had to be someone close to me , and I silently hoped that it wasn't someone in my family. But when aunt Becky turned to me and said , "Tom , there was an accident. Your Mother was ... she was killed in ... she was killed in a car accident this afternoon ," I wanted to scream and slam my fist into something. But I did neither of those things. Instead , I reached out and awkwardly held my aunt while she cried.

   As sisters they had been close. I hadn't realized how close until that moment. I should have felt sadness. All I felt was anger , and I felt guilty that I hadn't cried. But later , when I saw my mother in that hospital bed , unmoving , her eyes not quite closed all the way , and her tongue protruding slightly between her lips , the anger faded , and the tears came. They came fast and hard.

    I told her I was sorry for not being a better son. I told her I was sorry for all the times I hadn't listened to her. I told her I was sorry for staying out late and partying with my friends. I told her I was sorry for the few times I had played hooky from school. I told her I was sorry for the time I had showed up drunk at school and gotten arrested. I told her I was sorry for all the times I had lied to her. And I told her I was sorry for the one time I told her that I hated her.

    I regretted that more than anything.

    I told her all of this in silence and wished that none of them had ever happened. I had done so many things that I wasn't proud of , and most of them had hurt the one who meant the most to me.

    I held her hand and sobbed. Strings of snot dripped from my nostrils. My surroundings dimmed through the tears. I could see movement at the corners of my vision. Someone could have been staring at me , but I didn't care. All I cared about was the woman in that hospital bed. The woman who read to me when I was a boy. The woman who comforted and cared for me when I was sick. The woman who walked me to the bus stop every morning , and was always waiting to pick me up.

    Finally , I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. Aunt Becky , telling me it was time to go. But I didn't want to go. I wasn't ready to leave her.

    I went anyway. As we left the hospital , I wondered where Sarah and my father were. Aunt Becky told me they had already been there and gone home.

    I wondered why my father hadn't picked me up. He had picked up Sarah , but not me.

    The funeral was less than a week later. I remember how much it had rained. Aunt Becky wanted my father to postpone it for the next day , but he wanted to get it over with , so it went on. We all stood under umbrellas as Reverend James shouted to be heard above the down pour. The only people present besides my sister and father , and my aunt , were my three cousins , Jack , Loree , and Christie , my uncle Jim , and my mother's parents. She had two older brothers , and a younger sister , but none of them had bothered to show up.

    I held Sarah's hand and she held Dad's. Both of them were crying. I looked at the faces of the others around me and saw that they were all crying. Even Jack , who never cried about anything. I was the only one who wasn't and I felt guilty. I hadn't cried since that day at the hospital ; I had no idea why the tears wouldn't come.

    After the funeral , everyone came to the house. They brought tons of food  and alcohol , but none of us felt like eating. Everyone stood around , laughing and drinking , and stuffing themselves like it was a party. Someone had just been buried and no one seemed to care. I sat on the sofa for as long as I could , and then went to my room , slammed the door and locked it. 

   I was lying on the bed , staring up at the ceiling , when someone knocked softly at the door.

   "Who is it?"

   "Sarah. Can I come in?"

   "Go away. I don't want to talk to anyone."

   "Come on , Tom , open the door."

   I got up and opened the door , then threw myself back on the bed. "Is everyone gone?"

   "Yes , everyone's gone." Her eyes were red and puffy from so much crying. She had cried almost non stop over the last two days. I hadn't shed a single tear.

    "Are you alright , Tom?"

    "Of course I'm alright."

    "No , you're not. You miss Mom."

    "Then why haven't I cried?" I asked.

    "You have ," she said. "The day you said good bye."

    "I mean since then."

    "I don't know. But you will when you're ready to."

    Sarah was ten , but she sounded like someone much older. Sometimes when I talked to her , it was as if I were conversing with an adult in a child's body. She was mature and precocious for her age. She was always reading , and wrote the most wonderful stories. She was so bright that when she was six , her teachers had wanted to move her from second grade , to fourth. But Sarah wouldn't hear of it. She knew that if she were moved up a couple of grades , the other students would torment her , so she stayed where she was and pretended to be as dumb as everyone else.

    "The reason I came in here , was to tell you that I think you should talk to Dad."

     "I don't feel like talking to anyone ," I said.

     "You're talking to me."

    "No one else."

    "You're not the only one who misses Mom , you know."

    She said it like she was accusing me of something. I reached out my arms and she hugged me tight. I never wanted to let her go. She was trembling. Most of the time she was like an adult in a child's body , but now she was just a frightened little girl , lost without her mother.

    At last , I pulled away. "Tell Dad I'll talk to him soon."

    But I never did talk to him after that. My father and I had never been that close , and at times over the years , I felt a sadness for what had never been. All my life Dad had been a workaholic and never had much time for Sarah , or me. Sarah had been less bitter about than me. I wasn't ready to forgive him for picking up Sarah , taking her to see our mother after she died , while leaving aunt Becky to get me.

    After the funeral , Dad and I drifted even farther apart , and I felt an even greater sadness.

    During the following days , I went through my life in a deep depression. School was no longer important to me. School was never important to me , but I went anyway. My favorite hobbies no longer held any interest for me. All I could see was my mother's face. I saw it everywhere I looked. I saw it in my waking life , and in my dreams. Often I would wake up crying ; those were the only times I had cried since her death. I still had not cried during a waking period.

    At school I wandered aimlessly through the corridors , much of the time forgetting where I was going , or what I was doing. My school work suffered. I had always been on the verge of flunking out - I was a lazy student - but even more so now. I couldn't even concentrate on sports , during or after school ; I was constantly dropping balls and striking out.

    I got into more fights than usual , often leaving my opponents beaten and bloody. Everything and anything set me off. Someone would say something I didn't agree with , or tackle me too hard during a game , and I would explode. Anger was my curse , and my down fall. It got me suspended from several games , and ultimately from school. But I didn't care. Nothing was important to me anymore , not school , not sports , not anything.

    My social life wasn't much better. My relationship with Kasey , which had always been a bit strained , was even more so now. We were no longer speaking to each other. At school we would spend most of our time together , but since the funeral , I had been neglecting her more and more. Her every attempt to get me to talk to her , was met with resistance. I loved Casey , but I didn't want to talk about my mother's death , even to her. One day , I told her to go away and leave me alone. She did , and I didn't see her again for a long time.

    That scared me. I hadn't meant what I said. I didn't want her to go away. I just needed some time to be alone. She misunderstood , and for two weeks I barely saw her at all. I would catch glimpses of her as she hurried between classes , but that was it. Sometimes I would call out to her , but she would run away.

    One night , in the privacy of my room , I cried for the first time since my mother's death. I cried for Kasey , because I was afraid that I would never see her again. I cried for Sarah , who had lost not only a parent , but a friend , someone she could always talk to about anything. I cried for my father and the closeness we had never shared. I cried for aunt Becky who had lost a sister. But most of all , I cried for my mother , who I would never see again.

   

   

Living With Heart Failure

   In February of 2009 , I was diagnosed with heart failure , also known as A Fib ( atrial fibrillation ; abnormal heart beat ). It was a long time coming. By that , I mean I'd had it to some degree for years , and didn't know it. I had some minor breathing problems before , but never connected them to this condition. Now , when I remember those experiences , I know what the cause was.
   While walking home from work ( Tyson of monett ) early one morning , in mid September 2008 , my heart beat changed for the worst. That was when it really started , the early stage of heart failure. It was now beating rapidly and erratically. At the time , I really didn't give it much thought. My heart had done the same on occasion over the years , as far back as the late eighties , I think , and each time , returned to a normal rhythm.
   It lasted more than a few hours , and then returned to normal by the time I left for work later that day. Then , about a week later , it again went out of rhythm , and this time , did not return to normal. I told myself that it was only temporary. It wasn't. It continued week after week , and month after month.
  Between the months of September and October , I felt alright , although I was starting to develop some breathing problems , which would worsen while lying down. I thought it was allergy related. And I was also steadily gaining weight , due to fluid retention.
   The breathing problems continued to worsen throughout January and February. It was hard to sleep because of extreme shortness of breath , and most nights , I couldn't  sleep at all. I would be so exhausted the next morning , that I would fall asleep immediately.
   One night , on a weekend , I walked over to Ramey's for some beer ( I was drinking like a fish since about the first half of 2005 ) and had the most intense stomach pain. Around the end of January , I developed edema of the legs. I remember walking home one night , with my rubber boots on , and not being able to get them off right away. They were also frozen ; it was below freezing and there was ice and snow on the ground.
   I really had no idea what was wrong with me. It never occurred to me that it might be heart failure. There was a history of heart disease on my Mom's side of the family. Her two older brothers died of heart attacks in their thirties , when she was a kid. She also died of a heart attack at sixty-one. It never occurred to me that it could happened to me ( and still could ). I've always been the heaviest one in my family.
   January and February were the worst months. The simple task of walking to and from work - which before had been so easy - was now almost impossible ; at least , that's how it felt. It felt like I was running a marathon instead of walking.
   I went to work in this condition every day , not realizing that I could have a heart attack or a stroke. I didn't want to go to work. I had to. I couldn't afford to stay home ; I had rent to pay.
   The last straw came February 22nd. I couldn't sleep at all , and could barely breath , even while sitting up. My brother , and sister in law had to take me to the emergency room. I was admitted to the hospital , where I stayed for five days ( I can't remember how many times I've been there since ). The doctor I had , thought that my heart was damaged by excessive alcohol use.
   A week later , I went into the hospital again , this time for a cardio version. They shocked my heart to get it back into rhythm. It worked. But , according to bad diet and weight gain , it didn't stay that way for long.
   It's depressing living with a condition like this. It makes me feel like this part of my life is out of control. I want to go back to 2009 when it was under control. I don't know if I can do it on my own. It's overwhelming to me. Sometimes I think that it would just be easier to give up and let myself die.