I have neglected this blog like I have neglected a number of things in my life. I have become consumed, lost in just being. I work too much, don't return calls, forget to pay bills, allow birthdays and special moments to pass, and skip out on my soul.
Things spiraled in the last few weeks, several weeks. I've allowed myself to do too much, and let little things pass me by. And I thought I was fine with it. The last 2 or 4 weeks, probably beginning around my birthday, became uncontrollable. And then I had an awesome weekend.
When things at work became too much I won the lottery. With one of the craziest weekends of the year this past, I got to lead a small group of experienced divers -- most of whom I know well and really like -- on a trip to San Diego. I got to skip out on the chaos of the weekend and still be back at home by 5. Back in time to actually make good on a promise to join my friend at Mass, and so I did.
I didn't find the liturgy or the homily particularly inspiring, but something, I think, happened that day. Why do believe in God? I don't really know if I do. I just know that things seem to have presented themselves to me at weird times, at right times. Maybe it's coincidence, or The Secret, or the power of the human mind that I'd only understand if I read Dianetics and made Tom Cruise my personal life coach, but things reveal themselves to me. Like what started on Sunday with Amy.
On Monday, I was extremely behind on some of my paperwork from old classes and committed to catching up. I need to put in the applications for students that I certified but this means that I need photos, and a few students ignored a number of my emails. So I called them. Reached the last call, a sixteen year old that I taught in an Advanced class. Got an answering machine and I started my message which would be abruptly interupted:
"This is Brian from the shop. I'd like to process Greg's* certification but I need a photo. If you could email me a photo with no sunglasses I could..."
His mom, quite shaken, picked up. Greg had passed away. He was in my class about a month and a half ago, as things spiraled their worst. He was 16 years old. And now he's dead.
This story probably could use some background information. Greg was 16 but he's probably lived more than me. He and his mom came to the shop in early August. He was quiet. She was very passionate. Greg had just learned to dive. Apparently, he learned to dive on a boat trip to Catalina. It was a boat trip for troubled youth -- a boot camp at sea. To mix up the story even more, he was actually trained by Scabies, my ex, whose job I took after getting it for him in the first place. And now that Greg was back at home, I was picked by the stars to finish what Scabies started. The stars, Greg's mom, and my own persuasive power which suggested to his mom that his advanced class would be a good start.
The Advanced class would happen over a weekend. Greg would be in a class with one other kid -- a 13 year-old wonder kid from a wealthy, privileged family with none of the cares of Greg -- and seven adults. We do a day in Avalon on Catalina Island, and hoping to make him more comfortable I suggested that his mom might want to come along and enjoy the island. On my recommendation in with some more advice from me, she chose to come with his little brother and they would snorkel and enjoy the town while we were diving and then would join the group for a fun lunch trip back.
Our diving was awesome. I took Greg on five dives and he got everything out of each one that he could. He chased animals and explored aggressively. He was quiet but I could see he was having fun. Everyone in the class got along well and we played around, teasing and having fun. After lunch, Greg showed us he was a little Cassanova, approaching a group of three girls and making his move. The group cheered him on and teased him a little when he came back to the group. On the boat trip back to the mainland, Greg slipped away and back to the girls he met on the island. This kid had a lot of life.
It was cut short and it hit me hard.
I love diving and my favorite part of teaching is seeing the moment when a new diver gets hooked. It doesn't happen to everyone but when it happens, it's like a drug. Greg had the hooked look in his eyes when he was underwater.
I was being haunted by this. I only had a few seconds talking to his mom. I don't know what happened or when it happened. I only had what I thought. I thought maybe I had made a difference and that he might have had a few memories. If there is an afterlife, something more, then maybe something I did, some impact I had, will live much longer than I could.
Yesterday, the next day, Greg's mom called the shop. She wanted to talk to me. Another short conversation in which, if you can believe this, I had little to say.
"Brian, I want you to know that Greg told me that that day at Catalina was one of the best days he could remember. He had more fun that day than any other. And I will always have that memory of that amazing day with my two boys. Thank you for that."
Despite the neglect, besides ignoring things that shouldn't be ignored and the Catholic guilt heaped upon me because of my neglect, it was okay. Things were still good and I was still good. Because while I may neglect things, somehow I managed to give focus to important things, too. I wasn't a bad person per se, and good things happened even when I thought I was, was racked with being, a shitty person.
*Not his real name because he was 16, troubled, and frankly deserves a little peace, like the peace we all seek.
