tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62245578776257514372024-03-08T10:40:48.186-08:00Ben and Agnes ReynoldsAn interview diary of the hardest time in my friend's life. (To be read in order, starting at post 'One')Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-80602867043880417472010-08-25T14:08:00.000-07:002010-08-25T14:11:16.244-07:00ElevenI went to Ben's parent's house today, to see Ben and Ajax, to see how they're doing. It's been about a month since Ben got out of the hospital. Ajax is doing pretty good, all things considered. I'm sad to report that he's a little afraid of his dad, who is still prone to outbursts aimed at people who are no longer with us. But he's getting along great with Ben's parents, and even with me, which is refreshing. <br />
<br />
About Ben... he's got good days and bad days, but unfortunately, on the good days, he's usually got to go to the hospital for something, whether it's car crash or cancer related. He decided to go for chemo treatment as soon as he is fit enough. I didn't think he would. I thought he would spiral into depression with all that happened. Especially with how he behaved at Izzy's funeral. But I can't really bring myself to talk about that yet. Maybe later on.<br />
<br />
I remember why I started this record, because of how in love Ben and Agnes were, but I came across a note Ben had written, I think it was in the box of stuff from the crash that his dad handed him shortly after he got out of the hospital. I felt bad for reading his private stuff, but he didn't protest. He wasn't really present yet.<br />
<br />
It read:<br />
<br />
<em>"I was looking into the toilet today, it seems that's the window into my soul. My kids... I'm a crappy father, but I love them. My parenthood is a mixture of desperately trying not to be a terrible father, peppered with occasional moments where I get it right, but those moments seem to make it all worthwhile. I'm racked with guilt with how I treat the kids, how they love their mom way more than me. There are times when I want to shudder, roll my eyes back and pull out my hair and keep pulling it out and pulling it out... My thoughts get pretty dark at night, but I try to keep to myself. I... can't let her into this. Agnes wouldn't understand. She's perfect, she can't understand how twisted and broken I am, how my heart and soul are just a melted blob of cold, dirty lead inside me. It's that need I have, to be loved by the kids I love so much, to try to please the wife I treasure, it's because of them that I simultaneously want to end my life, and want to keep trying to live it. I try to fill the ache with stuff I buy, things I watch, alcohol, but it just turns into a landfill, and brings me further and further and further... down. It's out of my hands now. Now I mostly hide, cowardly. Craig wants to write about how in love we are, how perfect we have it, but he has no idea or insight. That's who I was, but I'm dying inside now. Where did I go wrong?"</em><br />
<br />
It was dated shortly before I started interviewing them.Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-47857191530001338072010-08-22T19:10:00.000-07:002010-08-22T19:17:23.303-07:00Ten<div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Ben's mom Marie called me pretty late. I've only ever spoken to her twice, once at their wedding and right now.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: Hello</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">MR: Yes hello. Is this Craig?</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: Yes it is.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">MR: Would you be able to come to the hospital? There's been an accident.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: Is everything ok? Is someone hurt?</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">This woman, basically speaking with a stranger, seemed so reserved prior to this moment. She must have been dealt more than she could bear. Her voice was saturated with it. Every syllable dripped with sadness. She simply said,</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">MR: Please, I think you should just come.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: I'll be right there.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I hung up the phone. Something washed over me. I saw Izzy and Ajax, and felt a sacrificial love for them that I can't explain. Their lot in life has been so difficult lately.<br />
<br />
When I located the wing of the hospital Ben was on, I came across his parents. His mom was holding a very tired Ajax. He must have been exhausted. Poor guy looked all cried out.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Ben's dad Steven put his hand on my shoulder.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">SR: Craig, there's been an accident. Ben was driving drunk we think, and ran into someone. He's had a brain injury. He just fell asleep, he's been in and out since we got here.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: Oh no.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">SR: That's not all Craig.<br />
<br />
He sighed, looking down.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: Is the other driver ok?</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">SR: Yes, she managed to be unhurt, thank goodness.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Ben must have woke up again. He was shouting. It caught me way off guard.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: Izzy! Izzy!</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I heard a commotion. What was he doing? I had to check. To make sure he wasn't hurting himself or scaring Izzy.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: Izzy, get down from there right now!</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">What on earth?</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I looked in his room. He was lying down and was surrounded by machines and wires and tubes. Some serious nurses were beside him. His head was bandaged and he had not been cleaned since the crash, as he still had some blood on his face and arms.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I felt like taking charge and spoke to his father.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: We should get Izzy out of there. This is too much for her.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">SR: Craig... She's not in there...</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Something inside me became ajar. Something was not right about this. I felt anxious and a little nauseous. They weren't talking. What were they waiting for?</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">SR: She.. was in the back ... seat. She's...</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">My heart sank and my stomach felt like I was falling.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: Is she in this hospital or the childrens?</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I looked at Ben's parents. They were both looking at me, the sadness in their eyes... I hardly knew them, but I've never seen anyone look so beaten up inside. I had too look away, because their eyes were giving away something they didn't want to say. Not out loud.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: I don't want to know.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">They didn't have to tell me. I figured it out. But there was some doubt lingering, like maybe, just maybe I was wrong. Please let me be wrong. My head was feeling cloudy.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">SR: She's gone.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The last bit of hope fell away when I heard those words. Tiny white dots appeared in my vision. I could see Ben's dad's face, then increasingly more dots.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Ben started assertively speaking.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: Agnes, could you come in here for a minute?</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">White and black dots, tiny patterns. Taking over my vision. Beautiful chaos. An electric smell. My face was numb. I was thinking about my numb face when I fainted and hit the floor. I don't know why I remember that.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I awake in the chair. My head stings and throbs. I feel pressure in my heart but I don't want to cry. I feel like there's something to do, that I can't let go yet. I hold it in.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I walk over to Ben's room, giving an assuring nod to Ben's parents on the way. The nurses are leaving the room as I enter. He's looking to his left, out the window. It's night, and you can see some of the skyline. As I get a closer, I can see that his eyes are welling up with tears, and he blinks them away. I think he sees my reflection in the dark window and turns to look at me. He looks worse emotionally than physically.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I speak softly.<br />
CS: Hey.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">He hesitates to speak. I suppose he's thinking. I wish he hesitated longer. He speaks quite slowly and quietly.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: Do you remember when I said I wish I believed in heaven so I could join Agnes?</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: Yeah.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: Well now I wish there was a hell so I could pay for what I did to my little girl.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I can't talk.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: You know... your first child... there's something so special about your first. We had a bond. It was unlike anything I've ever known. It felt spiritual or something. I cared about her so much... When I woke up in the car... she was on her knees in front of the seat beside me. I thought it was weird that she was in the front seat. She's never in the front seat. I was dazed, and I couldn't figure out how she got there. I didn't really know we crashed even. What a weird way to sleep, I thought. I should wake her up and put her in the back seat, so she's not sore when she wakes up. I called her name real quiet. Izzy... Izzy...</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">What he said next frightened me a bit. He looked back to the window and said quite demandingly,</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: Izzy! Izzy! Get down from there right now!</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">He paused. He started speaking as he was before, but I was having trouble paying attention because that episode caught me off guard. He just continued where he left off.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: ...and she didn't wake up. So I brushed her cheek, and right away I got worried. I went to turn her face towards me and...</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I did not want to imagine what she looked like lifeless.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: Please... stop.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: oh...</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">He waited before speaking again.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BR: I saw Agnes. It was her there, looking back at me. But she wasn't dead. She was... crying. I stared at her face. Her face was saying 'how could you?' I just felt it, you know? I could see in her eyes that 'we', what made us one when she was alive, was broken. I broke it. And Agnes was gone, and I stared at the back of my little girl until help came. I saw what was most precious to me, taken away. I remembered her face, every freckle, her fine hair, and her tiny ears and cute nose. Her eyebrows, her chin, her mouth. I remembered her exactly as she was. I watched as they took her out of the car and... saw what I did to her...</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">CS: Really, please don't.</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">He cried these words<br />
BR: I hurt her so bad, Craig. I'm so sorry...</div>Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-44797836895966496192010-05-17T13:53:00.000-07:002010-05-17T13:53:49.858-07:00NineBen phoned me up today. It was nice to hear from him.<br />
<br />
BR: Hey, how're ya doin'?<br />
<br />
CS: How you been?<br />
<br />
BR: Ehh. Y'know. Hey, can you come over and give me a hand today? I've got the kids, because my parents couldn't watch them. Plus I think they're trying to ween me back into fatherhood again.<br />
<br />
CS: Sure, when?<br />
<br />
BR: Umm, now?<br />
<br />
CS: I'll be right over.<br />
<br />
It was raining on the way over. I got to his house and knocked. Ben answered with their (I guess his) youngest, Ajax, now two, in his arms. Ben didn't look great, but he looked better than the last time I saw him.<br />
<br />
BR: C'mon in. Thanks for coming.<br />
<br />
CS: No problem. Anytime.<br />
<br />
BR: Izzy! Craig is here!<br />
<br />
Most kids don't really care much for me, but for some reason, even though I don't see them much, Ben's kids seem to like me a lot. I don't know what it is.<br />
<br />
CS: Hey Ajax how are you?<br />
<br />
Ajax didn't respond, and seemed a bit shy.<br />
<br />
BR: He's tired. I'll put him down, if you wanna go find Izzy. I think she's in the basement.<br />
<br />
CS: Sure thing.<br />
<br />
As I headed through the house, which was much cleaner, I might add, I heard Ben getting some milk for Ajax's nap. I went to the basement, following the sound of some kids show, that sounded Slavik, probably one Agnes' mom brought from the Czech Republic. I was pretty happy to hear it, because they always have cool cartoons in that country.<br />
<br />
CS: Hello? Izzy?<br />
<br />
Nothing. My kids get hypnotized by the TV too. She wasn't in the TV room, so I looked around a little bit. She was in the other room with the plastic kid's kitchen set.<br />
<br />
CS: Hi Izzy. How are you?<br />
<br />
IR: Hi Craig.<br />
<br />
She smiled. What a sweetheart.<br />
<br />
CS: Well you're sure happy. What are you doing that's so nice, huh?<br />
<br />
IR: Mama's teaching me to cook 'knedliky'.<br />
<br />
CS: Uh...<br />
<br />
It took me a second to process that.<br />
<br />
CS: That is nice. Can I try one?<br />
<br />
IR: Oh no. They're much too hot. <br />
<br />
CS: When will they be ready?<br />
<br />
IR: I don't know. Ask mama.<br />
<br />
I didn't really want to ask this.<br />
<br />
CS: Where's mama?<br />
<br />
Ben came up behind me.<br />
<br />
BR: Why did you ask her that?<br />
<br />
Izzy didn't answer, and kept pretending to make the food, handing things to what I assume was her imaginary mother. Ben didn't see it, since I was in the doorway.<br />
<br />
I heard Ajax screaming upstairs. Ben went to check on him.<br />
<br />
CS: Need a hand Ben?<br />
<br />
BR: No, I'll be right back.<br />
<br />
Izzy brought me over some make-believe food.<br />
<br />
IR: Here you go. Be sure to blow on it.<br />
<br />
CS: Ok.<br />
<br />
I did, and pretended to eat it and enjoyed it in an over the top way. She laughed.<br />
<br />
IR: Craig. Is my daddy going to die?<br />
<br />
What do I do? My immediate thought is to say no, just to ease her mind, but maybe she's too smart for that. If she asked me the same question about her mother a year ago, I'd have said no then too, and I'd have been wrong. But I can't exactly say yes either.<br />
<br />
CS: Not for a long time, sweetie.<br />
<br />
IR: Okay. <br />
<br />
And she went back to pretending to work. I decided to leave her to it, and went upstairs to find Ben.<br />
<br />
He was coming down from the second floor as I entered the living room.<br />
<br />
BR: Ok, so what were you asking her down there?<br />
<br />
CS: Well, I think she's got an imaginary friend. And I think it's Agnes. I asked her what she was doing and she said her mama was teaching her to cook something. So I asked her where mama is, but she didn't answer.<br />
<br />
He looked at the floor and sat down on the couch.<br />
<br />
BR: This isn't fair.<br />
<br />
CS: What do you mean?<br />
<br />
BR: Well, maybe you should sit down too.<br />
<br />
CS: Uh, okay...<br />
<br />
I sat in the chair beside the couch. The furnace kicked in during the silent moment before he spoke again.<br />
<br />
BR: I have some bad news.<br />
<br />
He was choking on the words. His face was grimaced and he was grinding his teeth a little bit. He breathed in and spit out the words in a remarkably normal way, considering what they were.<br />
<br />
BR: I have stomach cancer... Really bad.Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-48416421113272349942010-02-11T20:37:00.000-08:002010-02-11T20:38:55.437-08:00Eight<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I called up Ben. There was a little forced small talk, then things got deeper.<br />
<br />
BR: Where do you go after you die? Is it like the blackness you get when you get hit in the head too hard and everything shuts off? Do you get some sort of tunnel vision where you're drawn towards a light?<br />
<br />
CS: I don't know. I wonder that myself.<br />
<br />
BR: Is there really a heaven?<br />
<br />
CS: Maybe.<br />
<br />
I wasn't sure what to say. It's hard to be sure footed in your beliefs when you're faced with something serious. I haven't studied enough of that stuff to have a concrete answer. I don't know if we're supposed to have a concrete answer.<br />
<br />
CS: Do you think there is? Did Agnes?<br />
<br />
BR: She did, yeah.<br />
<br />
He said it emphasizing on the word 'she' that made it sound like he didn't believe it.<br />
<br />
CS: Do you think she believed she was going there, after...?<br />
<br />
BR: Right. Yeah. I think so.<br />
<br />
I don't know why I asked the next question.<br />
<br />
CS: Do you?<br />
<br />
It just hung there. For too long. I knew the answer before he said it.<br />
<br />
BR: No.<br />
<br />
There was a silence.<br />
<br />
BR: Before the funeral, when she was... in her casket? I... held her hand. I touched her face... I looked at her for a long time, you know? The muscles in her face... she looked different. Her hand wasn't just cold. It was like it had fallen asleep. I just sat there and held her hand for a long time. I don't know. Her hands were always so pretty. I wanted so badly for it to change from what it was back to her warm, soft touch. Whatever it was that made her Agnes - her self, I dunno, her...I didn't know how alive she was until she wasn't anymore. Her... body... laying there wasn't an empty shell. It was never enough to hold her in the first place. The whole house wasn't enough to hold her. It still smells like her. That's all that lingers now. Pretty soon that house is going to be as lifeless as she was that day. Cold. Asleep.<br />
<br />
I could hear him quietly crying agonizing tears through the phone.<br />
<br />
BR: You know, I wish I believed in heaven. Because then I could join her.<br />
<br />
He hung up. I knew I needed to call him back soon.</span>Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-32325043720701912452009-12-03T21:36:00.000-08:002010-07-13T12:21:53.526-07:00SevenBen called me tonight.<br />
<br />
CS: Hello?<br />
<br />
BR: Hi please don't hang up I'm calling to apologize.<br />
<br />
CS: Sure man. It's no problem.<br />
<br />
BR: I'm not trying to make excuses or anything. I'm not... dealing with this well. I don't want to come out on the other side of this as an alcoholic. I can't let go, you know?<br />
<br />
There was a pause.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I hear her voice. Not like she's talking to me. I'm not saying that. But sometimes I hear, like something she said before, or something. Except it's so clear, like she's in the room. Like a really delayed echo.<br />
<br />
CS: She's irreplaceable. I get that.<br />
<br />
BR: You know when someone takes your picture with a flash, and you have a spot right in the center of your vision for a few minutes?<br />
<br />
CS: Oh yeah.<br />
<br />
BR: Well she's that spot in my eyes, right in the way of everything. I can't even have a thought without her in it.<br />
<br />
CS: I never thought about it that way. Hey, for what it's worth, I'm sorry too. I don't really know what to say most of the time. Whatever you need through this, just let me know, ok?<br />
<br />
BR: Yeah sure. Hey I'll call you back.<br />
<br />
CS: Ok, man. See ya.<br />
<br />
BR: Bye.Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-31749761916534461202009-11-27T09:38:00.000-08:002009-11-27T09:46:28.151-08:00SixSomeone told me once, that the original humans were created by God. These first people made such a fundamentally wrong choice that it eventually killed them. On and on, people make the same choice and die. But God didn't design in the ability do deal with death, because he didn't design them to die in the first place. But we adapt. Some of us better than others.<br />
<br />
I'm going to visit Ben today. I feel pretty good about it, because he's known for his ability to bounce back from difficult situations. I would understand if he has a terrible time coping though, especially after what happened at the hospital. He hasn't picked up the phone the few times I've called, but I feel the need to check up on him anyway.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">***<br />
</div>I knock on his door, expecting to hear his kids shouting, or running around inside, but I hear nothing. The lights are off. I guess they're not home, but I ring the doorbell this time. Nothing. I head back to my car, and I am nearly at the end of the sidewalk when I hear the padlock opening. I turn around and walk back to the unopened door and go inside.<br />
It's dim and unkempt. There is an unusual amount of empty, and nearly empty, 2-litre coke bottles around, on the kitchen counter, on the floor near the garbage, and on the kitchen table. There are fewer, but still a large amount of empty bottles of Canadian Club whiskey, gathered on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. He must be in the living room already. I walk down the hallway to the TV-lit living room, but he's not there either. He must be sleeping on the couch lately. There's a blanket on the couch, and the back pillows are on the floor. There's a half-full bottle of coke, and a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, but no glass where the circular wet ring indicates it should be. The living room is messy, but not the usual mess that having children brings. There is a vacant corner next to the closed curtains where the toys used to sit. Instead, the floor holds 7-11 bacon cheeseburger wrappers, empty cans of Alphagetti and used kleenex. The commercials on the TV come to an end, and Rachel Ray comes back on.<br />
<br />
I head upstairs. I round the 180 degree turn mid stairway and see through the open door that the light is on in their bedroom. I approach the doorway and see him in there, sitting on a kitchen chair, facing the left side of the bed.<br />
<br />
"Hey man."<br />
<br />
No answer. Just a slight lift of the shoulder. His full glass is sitting on a narrow table in the hallway outside the room.<br />
<br />
This room is different. It's bright and clean. There's the odd toy here and there, including Ajax's favourite train. It's strange seeing him without it, it's somewhat of a security blanket for him. The bed is made, and clearly hasn't been slept in. It smells quite nice in here, a contrast from the dank of the lower floor. It dons on me that it smells like Agnes. I tear up a little. He gets up and turns to me.<br />
<br />
"It's too bad that human cloning thing never worked out." He snickers slightly through his nose as he says it. <br />
<br />
He shows me a few strands of hair he must have gathered from her pillow. He puts them in a porcelain dish on the mirrored dresser with what seems like a few others.<br />
<br />
"Let's go downstairs."<br />
<br />
Next to the dish on the dresser is a piece of looseleaf paper with a poem written on it. I look and read it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>After the Hydrogen Bomb destroys the cities</em><br />
<em>And the plagues and famines kill a fourth of the world</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>And after the stars fall out of the sky</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Turning the moon and the seas into blood</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>I'm gonna hold you so close to me </em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>My dazzling pretty girl</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Cuz nothing and nobody matters as much to me</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Inside or out of this world.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><br />
</em><em>We'll watch as the meteors boil the oceans</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>And volcanoes explode in the sky</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>As hundred pound hailstones fall all around us</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>With a sulfur inferno beside</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>I'm gonna squeeze your hand so tight </em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>My glittering sugar girl</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Cuz nothing and nobody matters as much to me</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Inside or out of this world.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>When the seven bowls of wrath pour on the earth</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>And the people are covered in sores</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>When fire and blood rain down from above</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>And jet-black plasters the world</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>I'm gonna kiss your gentle cheek</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>My starry tender girl</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Cuz nothing and nobody matters as much to me</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Inside or out of this world.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>And when the lightning sparks in the dark</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>With the violent shudders of earth</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Leaving the world in broken remains</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>So it seems like the face of the moon</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>I'm gonna float with you up to heaven</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>My pure and faithful girl</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Cuz nothing and nobody matters as much to me</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Inside or out of this world.</em><br />
</div><br />
I place the page back on the dresser and go downstairs to join him, blinking tears out of my eyes the whole way. His glass is gone and I can smell him as I descend down the stairs.<br />
<br />
I pick up one of the cushions and place it back on the couch and sit down. After a little while I start to feel like I should say something, but nothing comes. The harder I think, the more urgent it feels, but nothing comes. Thankfully, he finally speaks.<br />
<br />
"I've been writing. Here."<br />
<br />
He hands me a coil notebook from an Architecture firm he did help desk temp work for when he was in school.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>Too many knives to count</em><br />
<em>in my dried out heart</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>I should make an effort</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>so few do.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>My soul is like a dusty cloth</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>whipping in the wind</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Maybe I could just lie to myself</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>but it wouldn't numb </em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>anything.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>My leprous heart heaves within me</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>As the film on my soul remains undisturbed.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>No one must touch nor see me.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>To do so would be</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>facing. beside.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>My life is a blinking cursor.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Waiting for me to make it something.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Nosebleeds all over the desk.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>My organs like filthy water balloons.</em><br />
</div><br />
<br />
I turn the page.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>The Wasteland</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em></em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>The old civic center</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>with its marble walls.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>They're here, they found me</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>tonight, tonight.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Darkness bleeds through</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>a child's play world.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Wheels keep turning.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Sounds strange, doesn't it?</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>The end of all you've done.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Your art was a nightmare.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Now we can sleep in peace.</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Never more happy endings.</em><br />
</div><br />
What do I say? <br />
<br />
"Wow. These are neat" What a dumb thing to have said. He seems unphased though.<br />
<br />
"Thanks. Kinda dark, I know. I've been pretty down lately, of course."<br />
<br />
"I bet." I bet?<br />
<br />
The next thing he says makes me realize he's drunk, and I look to see that his glass sits empty on the coffee table.<br />
<br />
"My parents have the kids. They came over a few days ago and got a bunch of stuff and took them. They seemed kind of mad or something. Whatever."<br />
<br />
I didn't want to know why, but I already knew.<br />
<br />
"I think I scared them." He slurred that last word.<br />
<br />
"My mom said "They're sad too. They miss their mom just as much, if not m-more than you. You have to deal with this. For them" Easy for you to say. The love of your life didn't just die. So they're with my parents now. I was just way too depressed to get off the couch. I think I kind of scared myself a bit too."<br />
<br />
He looked over at a little orange bottle of prescription pills. They had Agnes' name on them. I hadn't noticed those before.<br />
<br />
"You're gonna get through this. It has to get easier. You have to do stuff. Eventually you have to get on with life."<br />
<br />
He shouted. Loud. It startled me and I almost peed a little.<br />
<br />
"NO! You don't get it. My life is over. She's gone forever. GET OUT!" His teeth were pushed together so hard. I've never seen him so angry.<br />
<br />
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. But I'm taking these."<br />
<br />
I got up, quickly walked around the coffee table, grabbed the pills and narrowly missed the fist that he swung at me as I did so. I headed for the door and shouted at him from down the hall as I left.<br />
<br />
"This isn't over."<br />
<br />
I drove away and at the first red light, I started to calm down. My hands were shaking. Even as I write this I'm almost brought right back to that living room. I guess he needs more time.Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-6434473729066476012009-10-27T14:14:00.000-07:002009-10-27T14:14:46.087-07:00FiveThanks to everyone who came to the funeral. I'm sure Ben and Agnes' parents were touched. I'm posting Agnes' obituary for all to read.<br />
<br />
Reynolds, Agnes.<br />
<br />
Agnes Reynolds, of Calgary, Alberta, and Prague, Czech Republic, passed away, October 16, 2009, at Peter Lougheed Hospital, in Calgary. She was born, March 30, 1980, in Prague, Czech Republic, the daughter of Miklos and Eliska Biskup. Agnes graduated from Zatlanka School in Prague, and Southern Alberta Institute of Technology in Calgary. She worked for Siemens Canada for 2 years, and was an Electronics Technologist. Agnes married Ben Reynolds in Calgary, on June 12, 2003. <br />
<br />
Besides her husband Ben, she is survived by a daughter, Israel (3), a son, Ajax (19 months), a brother, Milos Biskup, Santa Monica, CA, and a sister, Ivana Jelinek, Prague, Czech Republic. She was predeceased by her sister, Marjeta Biskup in 1984. Funeral services will be Saturday, October 24, 2009, at 4:00p.m. at Foster's Garden Chapel Funeral Home, 3220 4 St NW, Calgary, with Rev. Mark Alexander officiating. Interment will be in Queen's Park Cemetery, following the ceremony. Calling hours are Saturday, from 2:00 p.m., until the time of the funeral. In lieu of flowers, please consider the North Calgary Community Church, c/o Clay Stanwick, 5720 Silver Ridge Drive, Calgary, Alberta.Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-28548589684668949402009-10-16T14:41:00.000-07:002009-10-16T19:03:25.673-07:00FourBen called me this morning and according to the caller ID, it was from his house. I interpreted this as good news.<br /><br />CS: Hey man. How's it going? How's Agnes?<br /><br />BR: Oh, she's still in the hospital. I'm about to drive over there now. Did you want to come?<br /><br />CS: Totally.<br /><br />BR: Okay. I'll pick you up in twenty minutes.<br /><br />CS: 'Kay thanks. Bye.<br /><br />BR: (hangs up)<br /><br />Brian pulled up half an hour later. I expect the snow held him up a little. I hopped in his car and we were on our way to the Peter <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Lougheed</span> Hospital.<br /><br />CS: So how's she doing?<br /><br />BR: Well that's hard to say. On one hand, she's hospitalized. She's had trouble keeping food down. She looks different. She doesn't have the energy to talk much. But on the other hand, she's still got a positive outlook. She tries to smile at me, or at the the kids a lot. It's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">weird</span>, she comforts me when the doctors give us updates, because she doesn't seem to be upset by it. I can hardly handle it. Without her help, I'd be a mess.<br /><br />CS: ...Uh... what does she have?<br /><br />BR: I never told you?! Oh man. She has pancreatic cancer. They're going to operate as soon as she's a little bit better. I think they're going to remove it. Actually, they're messing around a lot in there. I guess it's pretty major, so they have to wait a bit.<br /><br />CS: ... (I was speechless. I'm terrible at these things.)<br /><br />BR: But she's getting a little better, well, what I mean is, she comes and goes. And today is a good day, so that's why I wanted to bring you. My parent's are bringing my kids too.<br /><br />It's at this point where Brian becomes silent. We pull up to a red light, in the left turning lane on pretty dormant street about halfway to the hospital. He puts the car in park and opens the door. I could sense some sort of tension, so I didn't say anything when he opened the door and stepped out onto the snowy median. I looked over at him, about ten meters behind the car. He was on his knees. I knew I had to go to him, but not yet. Somehow I knew he had to be alone right now. I waited. I heard some snow crunch and looked back to see him returning to the car. I was nervous. His eyes were open wide. He seemed shocked. He started to speak, and every word affected me, like it had substance and passed through me.<br /><br />BR: God just put his arms around me and was holding me back there. She's dead. Craig, she's dead. He was preparing me for that. I see now, that he's been preparing me for days now.<br /><br />I was as shocked as he looked.<br /><br />BR: Can you drive? I wanna go see her.<br /><br />I got out and walked around the car and got in. I started the car, and continued to the hospital.<br /><br />His phone rang.<br /><br />BR: (Flips open his phone, reads the number.) Mom? (his voice is so troubled)<br /><br />(Indistinct)<br /><br />BR: I know... I'll be right there...(hangs up)<br /><br />What I heard next was completely unbearable. Brian was breaking down. His hands were shaking. He was wiping his face with his palm from ear to chin deliberately and slowly. His hand was completely stiff as he did so. He said things that were moans of pain but were <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">simultaneously</span> words. His speech was so quiet and desperate. He was breathing as though he was shivering.<br /><br />BR: tsk no..... oh no... no no no no....<br /><br />My eyes teared up and I had to blink my tears away so I could see the road.<br /><br />BR: no...oh...oh... not my baby... tsk... my sweetie's gone... Oh no... no...tsk I can't.<br /><br />I wanted to tell him I was sorry. But there was a lump in my throat. I half cried, half spoke.<br /><br />CS: I'm so sorry.<br /><br />For the rest of the drive neither of us spoke, and he just slumped in his seat and stared out the window, looking at nothing.<br /><br />***At this time I have to take a break from writing this up. It's too hard. My apologies. We'll miss you Agnes. You were one of a kind and the best kind of person.Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-5903506509596079102009-10-06T11:01:00.000-07:002009-10-06T11:28:07.989-07:00ThreeRight after typing up the previous interview post. I received a call from Ben.<br /><br />CS: Hello?<br /><br />BR: (His voice sounds forced.) Hey man. Um... when we went home after meeting you, Agnes, uh, started getting food ready for the kids and (sigh) she, uh, collapsed. Thank God she wasn't, uh, holding one of the kids or something.<br /><br />CS: No kidding. Is she okay?<br /><br />BR: ...<br /><br />Brian takes about a minute here before he can talk. I know it's because he's overcome by emotion.<br /><br />BR: Sorry. They don't know what's wrong with her yet. They took her in the ambulance. We're at the Peter Lougheed now. The kids are at my mom's. Something I'll never forget is...<br /><br />He takes another 30 seconds here.<br /><br />BR: Something I'll never get out of my head as long as I live is the look on Izzy's face when Agnes collapsed. She was so scared and confused. I can't explain it. Agnes hit her face on the chair I guess and there was some blood. We were all scared. But Ajax didn't understand, really. He was startled by the commotion. But Izzy seemed to understand better. When Agnes fell, Izzy's face was terrified and her arms trembled a few times. I've never seen anything that awful on a kid's face.<br /><br />Brian took the phone away from his mouth, but I could still hear him, quietly. He let out a frustrated moan of pain. He came back shortly after.<br /><br />BS: Hey.<br /><br />CS: I'm... so sorry, Brian. Can I help you guys somehow?<br /><br />BR: I think we've got it covered, for right now. You just go into, like a serious 'get-everything-done-right-now' kind of mode when stuff like this happens. It was weird. I stayed really calm, and didn't get emotional until just now. I'm sorry you had to hear all that.<br /><br />CS: Man, it's no problem. At all. Just let me know if I can do anything. And let me know when a good time to visit would be. When you guys are ready.<br /><br />BR: Sure thing, man. I'll let you know. And uh, put this on your blog thing so readers know why there won't be any interviews for a while. I better get going though.<br /><br />CS: Really? Okay. I can do that. Talk to later. Take care.<br /><br />BR: Bye.<br /><br />I hope she's okay. That must be so hard.Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-71356003962919113552009-10-06T10:18:00.000-07:002009-10-06T10:56:23.118-07:00TwoI've been trying to come up with a good time to meet with Agnes and Ben to conduct a second interview. It seems that they are as busy as I am. It's been over a month now. I finally got to meet with them today, after a lengthy game of phone tag.<br /><br />CS: So what's kept you so busy lately?<br /><br />BR: Well the kids keep us pretty busy. Having kids means you have to plan in advance if you're going to do anything without them.<br /><br />CS: I appreciate that you're making time to do this for me. Thanks. When I called you a few weeks ago, you said Agnes was sick. (To Agnes) How are you feeling now?<br /><br />AR: I feel pretty good. I've just been fighting this backache. That's why I picked this comfy chair.<br /><br />CS: I see. Did you fall down, or try to lift something heavy?<br /><br />AR: Well I fell down a while ago, but it didn't hurt for a few days. Then I got a bruise on my arm and my back hurt.<br /><br />BR: Yeah, it was a weird bruise. Pretty yellow. (To Agnes) You looked like Ajax when he was born.<br /><br />CS: Did you get it checked out?<br /><br />AR: No, not yet. I think it's going away. I have an appointment in a week or so.<br /><br />CS: I hope you feel better soon.<br /><br />AR: Thanks.<br /><br />CS: So where were we? Ah yes. How did you know the other person was "the one?"<br /><br />BR: We were in our Final Project class and I was watching her present the group's results to the class. We built a remote controlled car that could control itself, and learn to not run into walls and stuff.<br /><br />CS: That's pretty cool.<br /><br />BR: So I watched her, and I noticed how beautiful she was. Not just pretty on the outside. I thought about who she really is, deep down. She's fragile, imperfect, but so kind and warm. It was this fragility that made me think, "this is someone I could spend my whole life taking care of." I know she doesn't need "taking care of." But I knew at that point that I wanted to spend the rest of my life being a shoulder to cry on, being someone to laugh with, and just being there for her, with her.<br /><br />AR: Sorry. Just a second. (Agnes points her eyes up and wipes her lower eyelids, to prevent mascara from running. She sniffles.) When he told me that the first time, I knew he was the one. We promised that we would stay together. No matter what happened. We promised that no matter what mistakes we made, we would never let our hearts get hardened against each other.<br /><br />BR: So far so good.<br /><br />CS: That's really nice, you guys.<br /><br />BR: Yes, yes we are. (chuckles)<br /><br />CS: Agnes, you look pretty uncomfortable. Did you want to get back home?<br /><br />AR: Actually, yes. Sorry about this. By back is worse.<br /><br />BR: Your bruise is bigger, Agnes. Maybe you should go to the doctor sooner. They might put you under those fluorescent lights, like they did to Ajax when he was a newborn. You can wear that sleep mask with the sunglasses drawn on it. (laughs)<br /><br />AR: (forces a smile)<br /><br />BR: Too soon? Ok. Sorry. Let's go.<br /><br />CS: Okay, thanks again, you guys.<br /><br />Thus concludes the second interview. Hopefully Agnes feels better soon and we can continue this more regularly.Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6224557877625751437.post-61713814211232504052009-08-31T11:27:00.000-07:002009-09-02T09:42:32.528-07:00OneI have a pair of friends that fascinate me. It's not their jobs or personalities or their lifestyle that makes them stand out for me. It's how they love each other. I hadn't ever thought of myself as someone who would notice, much less care about this kind of thing. But here I am writing about them. They have agreed to let me interview them for this blog, and have an ongoing dialogue. First I'll introduce them.<br /><br />Ben and Agnes Reynolds live in Calgary, Alberta and are 32 and 29, respectively. They were married in 2003 after meeting in college. Ben was born and raised in Alberta, but Agnes was born and raised in the Czech Republic. Her name is actually Agneska, but she prefers Agnes. They have 2 children together; their daughter, named Israel (they call her Izzy), is 3 and their 1 1/2 year old son is named Ajax.<br /><br />CS: So you met in college. Tell me about that.<br /><br />AR: My parents felt that I should study in Canada, since my english was pretty good. Things in the Czech Republic weren't great at the time. This was before the EU. So it cost more money, but I studied at Sait and met Ben there.<br /><br />BR: Yeah, we were both in the Electronics Engineering Technology program, so we had almost all of our classes together. She was an amazing student. Me: not so much. I think that's why I first approached her. I was actually pretty nervous, because, I mean, look at her. I asked her to explain some digital circuit to me. She had this amazing accent, and she missed nonessential words. It was so cute. It kind of made her less intimidating. I thought she was really, like, cold, but she was just shy.<br /><br />AR: Most of the students thought that since I didn't speak perfect English, I wasn't intelligent. Ben was the first one to see past that.<br /><br />BR: Yeah! I don't get that. Why people from other countries, with superior educational systems come here, get by speaking a second language, which is quite a feat on its own, and they're considered the unintelligent ones. It doesn't make sense. Oh well.<br /><br />CS: No kidding. That's an interesting point. So your first interaction was in class. How long before an attraction developed?<br /><br />BR: For me, not long. For her, I still wonder. Just kidding. (To Agnes) What would you say?<br /><br />AR: He was so different from the boys back home. I thought he was weird, and not a good student. He didn't seem to take anything seriously.<br /><br />BR: Yeah, I could have done better in school, I guess.<br /><br />AR: Well, no, that's not it. As I spent more time with him, I could see some of the reasons he was like that. And it was okay. He had a hard time in school when he was younger. He was bullied, and he had learning problems. So making fun of everything was what he did to deal with it. I think at Sait, he did it to distract from him not being smart. Well, that's not what I mean, because he is smart, really smart. I studied almost every day, and he never studied, and almost did as well as me. He just loved learning it.<br /><br />BR: I have trouble with math. But I love electronics. That's a difficult situation. (laughs) I get Agnes to do the math.<br /><br />AR: Actually, Ben comes up with things and understands things that I never could. It's really amazing.<br /><br />CS: So, Agnes, when did you find yourself being attracted to Ben?<br /><br />AR: Ben asked me to help him with our Control Systems class. We would study in the family room of the host family I lived with until late at night. After a few weeks, we would talk until 2 or 3 in the morning, and Ben would have to walk home - and this was in the middle of winter! I saw through the way he is outside and saw something in him that was important, and special.<br /><br />CS: That's really cool. So did you start dating right away?<br /><br />BR: There were a few guys that wanted to date Agnes at the time. Like, she was friends with them and all, but I think they wanted more, y'know? But I called her one day and asked if she just wanted to walk around downtown with me. After that, we saw each other almost every day. I think some of those other guys were annoyed, but whatever.<br /><br />AR: (To Ben) I think I just liked you the best.<br /><br />CS: I think I'm going to stop there. We'll continue this next week. Thanks so much you guys.Craig Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08848858529568302132noreply@blogger.com0