The Olympics

I love the Olympics. Seriously, I do. If you put Olympic in front of any sport, and I will watch it. No joke. I watched Boxing, BMX, Men's Gymnastics, and even swimming. I mean, we get to watch a bunch of people splash up and down a pool for a minute or so. Wow. But you put put the rings on it or the world Olympic and I am a sucker for it. There are no greater miracles or greater heartbreak than the ones that happen in the Olympics.

And, sometimes I think as Americans we're a little spoiled. As a nation, we are hyper-competitive. I mean, we expect to take home gold. Expect it. And, more often than not we get it. And, when our athletes don't stand on the highest podium when the national anthem plays, we dismiss them. Off the top of your head how many bronze medalists can you name? How many make it onto a Wheaties box?

It's about the same number, isn't it?

Pierre de Coubertin, considered the founder of the Modern Olympics, said "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."

As Americans with our 'Winning isn't everything but it's the only thing” attitude we forget about this- that it is not important who won but who took part. Consider Rohullah Nikpai. You probably don't know who he is but he won a medal in Beijing in the 2008 Olympics for his country, Afghanistan. In the 112 year history of the modern Olympics it was their first medal. Ever.

Do you think everyone in Afghanistan knows his name by now? I bet they do. I bet they fired guns into the air. I bet that warlords have proclaimed him to be a shinning jewel. There are even reports that the Taliban held feasts in his honor. President Karzai has offered him a house and a car. He will be a national hero. He is a poster boy for achievement. He took up his sport as a child when he was living in a refugee camp.

He won a bronze medal.

If Rohullah were from the States he might get an interview with his local city paper. You know, the free one nobody reads. Might.

However, in his homeland Rohullah will be a figure of inspiration. People will look up to him. They will ask themselves, if he can compete against the rest of the world and win- what am I capable of? And that's what the Olympics are meant to do. They aren't supposed to be a minute to minute medal count. They aren't meant to be a political statement. They are meant to inspire us! They show the world that we can exist together in peace. The games are a time when we can send our young men and women to another country to compete and not to kill each other.

And that's why I love the Olympics. It's a time of competition and peace. So, when you watch the Olympics don't watch the medal counts. Look for the miracle of the games. Look for the Rohullah's, the Hesham Mesbah's, Anh Tuan Hoang's, Benjamin Boukpetti and Abhinav Bindra's.

Said and Done

I heartily recommend that you never go
through a miscarriage. Ever.

Let me put this into perspective for
you.

When I was 9 years old, and my mother
sat me down one day in the summer and said, “Son, I am taking your
sister and we are moving out. You are going to stay here with Daddy.
We're getting a divorce. That means we're not going to live
together anymore. Your sister and I are leaving.” I sat there at
the kitchen table and thought, “Well, at least all the shouting and
throwing things will stop.” And I felt that having your mother
leaving you was as bad as it could get.

And, a year later during the divorce
proceedings as I sat in the courtroom listening to my parents scream
out every slight and sin that passed between them as they fought for
custody of my sister I thought things had made it to a new low. But,
when the judge announced he would not separate the children the
argument changed from who got my sister to who had to take me I knew
I'd made it to the lowest point life would get.

Then when I watched a woman who was
more of a mother to me than mine die by inches over the course of a
year, I figured I had it whipped. That this was as bad as it was
going to get.

Then the miscarriage started on Monday.
And I knew I was wrong. It can always get worse. You don't think
it will mean much to you, a little bump of flesh. It didn't even
have a name.

But it does matter.

It does mean something. And you feel
so helpless and guilty all at once. That maybe there was something
you could have done. Something you should have thought of. That secretly, this was all your fault. But there isn't. Isn't anything you can do. Nothing you can say.
Except hold your wife while she fountains out blood for seven hours,
and listen to the doctor say, “Yeah, that's normal.” and “Oh,
yeah! Make sure you catch her when she faints.”

It rips you up inside like some tired
old napkin that's been used too much and just flakes away. And no
matter how much you dab at the stain on your shirt, it just leaves
small pieces like a trail across the landscape and doesn't take care
of what you needed it to do. Until, too quickly, you're left with a
useless mass of wet that can't do anything.

But sit on the edge of the bed and
silently cry. Because it's 5 in the morning and the pills have cut
the pain enough that she can sleep and you don't want to wake her up. And you do your damnedest to not think about what you pulled out of her and flushed away.

So, when I tell you this is the worst
thing- believe me.

It is.

Never Was?

So, as most of you know my wife reported she was pregnant about two months ago. We have been trying for kids for some time now. And, by trying I pretty much mean we stopped using birth control awhile ago and didn’t worry about it.

And, after the better part of a decade we thought it was never going to happen. All the women of her generation on both sides of her family have had trouble conceiving. We had even started to look at adoption. Until recently. With the pee stick giving us the good news, we have been smiling and happy in a way we didn’t know we could be happy. I pride myself on always being able to find the words for things. To be able to say, ‘it was like eating the best meal your mother ever made.’ or ‘it was like being told you were not only the great at your job, but the very best at what you do’ or 'congratulations, you have achieved the highest score in the history of mankind. You are the smartest person ever.’ It was a sense of accomplishment. But it was more than that. It was exciting, exhilarating, and any other ex word you want to use. All that and more.
And, it was one of the few times in my life my father was actively engaged in what was going on. He called every few days to see how we are doing. He actually called my wife’s phone after we were supposed to be out of a doctor’s appointment. He’s never called her before. Ever.
I had a sublime sense of completion while at the same time being dizzyingly overwhelmed.
Have you noticed I’m using the past tense yet?
Because this week we got some bad news from the doctor. My wife’s progesterone levels are falling. Not low, but falling. And that more than likely means it is a non-viable pregnancy. Which is not to say she’s had a miscarriage. Not yet anyway. But her levels are falling, when they should be rising. But she's still getting morning sickness. She's not having any cramping. Or any of the other signs of a miscarriage. So, we still have hope.
But then, hope was one of the things inside Pandora's Box, wasn't it? You know, the thing that contained all the evils that prey upon mankind. That box. Hope is just the paper mâché mask of despair. You hope tomorrow will change because today is terrible. You hope that things will be different because you do not know how much more you can bear. Yeah, that hope.

We tell ourselves that it's nature taking care of things. That if this is happening so early, it was never meant to be. That it doesn't have eyes. Or a brain. That it will never have a broken heart. Or fall in love. You tell each other that it is for the best. That there is always tomorrow. That things can change.

But it doesn't help.

Not one bit.