The Fault in Our Stars

At 3 O'clock yesterday morning, I finished the second book of the All Souls Trilogy. This series is opening my eyes in many splendid ways, but that is not what this blog post is about. As soon as I sat down Shadow of Night (which I own in book form) I picked up my kindle and started a book that I finished some 4 hours later, tears coursing down my face, and with new ponderings about life and death zooming around in my head. I laid on my back in my messy bed, watched the sun peek through my blinds, and stared at the glow in the dark stars I still have stuck on my ceiling (remnants of my 16 year old self) with the last words of said novel bouncing around in my head. "I do, Augustus. I do." 

By the way, beware, for ahead there be the beast called Spoiler. 

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green is a novel that, to the unobservant, seems to be about kids who are dying (or being blinded because) of cancer. As most who read this blog know (okay, lets face it, only, like, one person reads this blog) my father died two years ago of said disease, so I've had some up-close and personal experience with the process of dying. But as I read the book, I realized this book had very little to do with death and mostly to do with life and living. 

Dying is a messy business. I have read the sentence, "He/She died peacefully in their home," more times than I have cared to, and when I read it in my own father's obituary, I have never read a more blatant lie in my entire twenty-four (nearly) years of life. I was there when Dad took his last breath in this world and let me tell you, there was nothing peaceful about it. Perhaps that isn't very comforting for the people who loved him. But, well, I was his kid, so kick rocks. I still selfishly stand by the fact that if anyone needed comforting in that moment, it was me, but I was robbed of that because I had a front row seat. My dad didn't go out kicking and screaming because he was in a coma, not because he was peacefully accepting death. 

Cancer eats you from the inside out. I appreciate John Green more than I can express because he gave us an honest portrayal of what it is like to die of cancer. Cancer isn't pretty, fun, peaceful, or exclusive. This story is narrated by a 16 year old girl named Hazel whose diagnosis came three months after she got her first period. "Like: Congratulations! You're a woman. Now die." Hazel frequents a support group in a church where she meets Augustus Waters (our gorgeous one-legged hero) who begins to worm his way into her turmoil filled heart. She'd been content to simply sit at home watch America's Next Top Model and wait for death to finally knock on her door. She wanted to leave as less damage as possible when the inevitable happened and the miracle drug that had saved her would stop working. She didn't exactly have aspirations of having her name written in history books. She simply didn't want to cause anymore damage than was absolutely necessary by her impending doom.

And then enters Augustus Waters. Gus is an incredibly handsome, intelligent, and alive young man. Hazel doesn't want to get too close because she doesn't want to hurt him,  but she's drawn to him regardless. She lets him in, lets him lover her, and most importantly lets herself love him. THIS IS WHERE SPOILERS START. STOP READING IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!!!!!!

And then he dies.

John Green didn't write a book about dying. Through his character Augustus Waters, he illustrated the point that it isn't in the losing but the living of the life you were given. August and Hazel felt a love for one another that many people twice their age never find. A favorite quote of mine from the book is, "You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful." This brought me back to Sarah Dessen's book The Truth About Forever, which I believe also changed my life for the better. What these two novels have in common is the concept of what "forever" really means. Perhaps my forever will end years from now and yours tomorrow. But the permanence of your situation, dear reader (seriously, the one)  isn't what's important. It the effect you have on someone else and their forever that matters. It's what you do with the life you have, not the way you die.

Death isn't pretty, not in my experience anyway. All of the people who were close to me that have died have done so pretty horribly. Their deaths left scars on me,  but their lives...their lives left me with a beautiful and colorful portrait of a life that had been worth living and lived well. Their death's were sad, tragic, and I miss them, but the fact that they're gone shouldn't be the only thing I think about when I remember them.

I'm not particularly scared of death. I don't remember ever being, to be honest. At an early age, I understood that anything living must once day cease. I've always understood my mortality and the fact that someday I would go into the great Somewhere (Heaven, for me) and the thought doesn't strike me with fear. The dying part doesn't seem very pleasant (from what I've encountered) but I'm more concerned about the middle bit between birth and death.

I've got lots of scars and I've left my fair share as well. I've felt pain (as it demands to be felt, as Augustus says) and I've given as good as I've gotten. Hazel had to learn that no matter what you do, your life and death will effect those around you, whether you successfully shut them out of not. Maybe she wouldn't go down in history, but she would go down in someone's history. As long as you impact even just one person in any kind of way, you will be remembered. Augustus left Hazel with a forever kind of love, even if they were only granted a certain amount of days together.

All of us are going to die and some of us wont get to accomplish what we want to. Some of us will never reach our dreams. Shakespeare said (and John Green made great use of this) "The fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves." What I take away from this is the fact that you can be mad at God, the universe, and your circumstances all day long, but it isn't their fault. Sometimes it isn't anyone's fault, it's just life and you accept it and move on. Easier said than done, but I've done it and so can you.

If I write just one novel that impacts one person the way The Fault in Our Stars impacted me, I will be satisfied. But I accept the fact that I could get hit by a bus tomorrow and my forever would drift away. I might just be one of those people who never get to reach their dreams because death isn't exclusive. But I'm going to die trying. I don't regret my scars. I find them well worth it. I hope I leave a few worthwhile scars behind when it's my turn to go Somewhere. I'll keep living or die trying.

I'm sorry this is so random, long, and disjointed. Perhaps I'll write a more coherent post about all I took away from this splendid novel (when I haven't taken benadryll) but for now you'll have to deal with this.

John Green, on the off chance that you ever read this, I just want to say thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my scarred heart for understanding that when you get cancer, sometimes you piss the bed. Thank you for not over-romanticizing death. Thank you for understanding that cancer is a horrible way to go. Thank you for being a nerdfighter and understanding Harry Potter is the bomb. And most of all, thank you for writing a book about living well opposed to dying well, because I'm not sure if there is such a thing.

Thank you.

Signed, a fellow Green & Nerdfighter.

For some reason, this makes me think of Hazel and Augustus.

Seeing Stars

I feel like I've been sitting in silence for the better part of a year. My last semester of college was a blur of homework and trying to have a good time. Since graduation, life has been a blur of fear and uncertainty and I guess I didn't know what to say about any of it. I still don't, to be honest, but I do have something to say finally, so here it goes.

Tuesday is trash day. It's one of the few constants in my ever changing life. Today when I got off of work I walked to the front to bring the trashcan to the backyard. While I was walking from my car to the front yard, I inhaled the crisp cool air and looked over at my front yard and I was taken back to a different time and place . Scent is one of our main memory sensors. A certain scent can trigger a dozen or more memories all at once, and that's what happened to me today. 

All of the sudden I could smell summer's retreat and the steady creep of fall. The kiss of a breeze whispered a promise of cooler weather and suddenly, I was 16 again. It was a Friday night and the whole town was over at the school watching the Gladiators battle it out with the opposing team. I was laughing and walking around with my best friends without a care in the world. Then we'd walk to my house and stay up all night outside when we weren't supposed to, never getting caught but always liking the thrill of knowing we might. Then the memory changes and I'm laying down in my front yard looking at the stars, talking on the phone to that special someone and relishing in the fact that somehow, without me noticing, he'd become my best friend. 

And then I blink and I'm in college. I'm out in my friends pasture with a bonfire blazing in front of us. I no longer go to football games or talk to that person on the phone. I have a whole new set of friends and a  new certain someone. We're laughing and dancing to my iPod and some of them are a little tipsy. I feel safe for the first time in along time. The Crew makes me feel wanted and supported and capable. They give me strength. 

And now here I am without the Crew, school, football games, or wishing on stars with the boy I liked half my life. Everything is different and I've let go of those parts of my life that I know I can't get back. Some parts I don't want back. But even though it's over, those memories are as much a part of me as the color of my eyes and the sound of my voice. That one breeze on some random Tuesday made me trace the strands that form the tapestry of my life and briefly see how each of these events have somehow become part of my identity. Without each of those memories, each of those strands, I wouldn't be who I am at this moment. 

Lately I feel like I'm dangling from one of those strands. I have no direction and no idea what I am going to do with myself in the future. I used to think that I'd cut all of the ties that bound me to a past so out of my reach, but I can't. I will never be able to be rid of it simply because the past helped form the whole picture. Without those events, without that life, I'd be a blank or incomplete canvas. I simply need to learn how to add to the painting. I need to mix new colors. 

Those snapshots or strands of string all helped build the home I now find myself a residence. I feel the future knocking on my door and I don't know what will be on the other side of the door when I finally figure out how to open it. But when I look back on all the places I've been and things that I've gone through, I know I'll  be okay eventually. 

I can't go back to those Friday nights and long phone calls. I don't want to. But one thing that hasn't changed since I was 16 years old is my belief that I am meant for something more. I'm not bound by the anger and hurt from my past. I choose to look at the good times as well as bad and appreciate them for what they were. 

Because of you from my past, I still go stand in my yard from time to time to see the stars. Thank you. Without you, I wouldn't understand the power and wonder of the nighttime sky. I wouldn't still be wishing on stars.

Seeing Stars