Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da...

has been stuck in my head all day.

A lot has happened. I'll start with what I didn't want to write about on Sunday:
Thursday night I couldn't sleep, and it became clear to me what I was supposed to do. I needed to write my Grandma a letter, telling her that I love her, and thanking her for all the things I took for granted. I knew in that moment that she wouldn't see the next week. I saw her in January. She was healthy enough to insist that my little sister and I slept in her room, while she slept on the couch. The letter sat on my night stand all day Friday, and Saturday I found her address. Sunday I got a call from my Dad. She had a heart attack, and was in the hospital, and that she probably wouldn't make it.
I cried so hard. I don't cry very often anymore, but for a full 4 minutes I was inconsolable. I knew that she was going to die. I had already been told, and yet I didn't move my feet. I assumed that it would take care of itself.
I asked my dad if there was a way I could overnight the letter, but he said that there wasn't time. Later that night he asked me to email it to his sister, which I raced home from church to do. They read it to her Monday morning before they pulled the plug. She died Monday night.

I talked to a few people about it. Most memorably to Lori and Troy. We talked about the conflict of being a beleaver and facing the death of others. I don't like the thought of good people in hell. People that I know. People who just didn't or couldn't know God.



Wednesday I got an EEG. It was, by far, the most metal thing I've ever done. Painless, other than when they flashed a strobe in my face for a full minute. If I wasn't epileptic before then, I am now. I posted some pictures on myspace.

Today I had an MRI, which was a dramatically different experience. I first started to panic when they put the IV in my arm. I got a little shakey, and made an emergency call to Brad. I calmed down, watched the fish in the large salt-water tank, and then changed into my little robe thing. I layed on the table, and the nice woman put my head in a plastic cage-like thing. I started to get teary. And they they clamped the plastic pieces down, making a full cage around my face and chest. I just layed there crying. Not sobbing, but tears running down either side of my face. Nothing I could do about it. We just had to wait until I stopped. The nice lady gave me more ear padding (I'm sensitive to loud noises... and smells), and a towel to cover my eyes.
Once the machine started, I was ok. I was at first freaked out by the noises, but soon found that they had kind of rhythm. I was able to calm myself down by humming out improvised melodies that fit its changing chord structures. I honestly think I could have made Bjork proud. I forgot for a while that I was in a magnetic tube, and became a composer of strange new music.


I've been babysitting for the Everett's, and I think they are the greatest people ever. Rennae called to see how the MRI went, and prayed for me while I was in there. Every single member of that family is considerate, helpful, and has a sort of grace that I pray for. I just thought I'd throw that out there.


AND LASTLY!
Elinor came in the mail today. I just opened her up. My pearly-white Hohner angel. I strapped her on and almost wept for joy. The sound is glorious. The texture of the keys are perfect. I couldn't be more happy about my new accordion. I'm not even sorry that the last one got broken.


--wait, just kidding, not the last thing. Courtney just informed me that we have "the biggest, fattest mouse ever" in our kitchen. YES!