Happy Valentine's Day

*Originally posted on Feb 14, 2019 from my old blog "This Is Why I Can't Have Nice Things"*

Hypothetical rabbit holes, the importance of having a back up and the greatest gift I’ve ever received... this is Happy Valentine’s Day... and this is the nicest thing that’s ever happened to me... 

Quick question: what’s the over/under on “I Hate Valentine’s Day” facebook posts? Because I can’t find anything in the Vegas sportsbooks, so I’m going to say -25.5. That’s assuming you have twenty-five single friends who complain about being single, in which case, I’d take the over. 

People love Valentine’s Day when they have something to do, like have pre-planned sex, but for most of us we pretty much hate Valentine’s Day. It’s a lot of work to get through the day when you’re trying to make your significant other happy, and it’s just as much work to have to endure all of those lovey-dovey posts if you’re single.

I’ve only had two “Valentine’s Dates” in my lifetime, and no not by choice. I didn’t want to go on those dates. Kidding, they were both lovely (thanks to me, of course).

I don’t particularly care for V-Day festivities like the average person, but my reason is a little bit deeper than just hating a “corporate holiday” and getting jealous of all my non-single friends. 

For me, Valentine’s Day has always been about love, specifically the different kinds of love you can feel. Typically this this the part of the story where I introduce you to this girl that was a big part of my life… technically, this story isn’t even about me. This is not a story about two people falling in love, either; In fact, this story starts with two people who have fallen out of love: my parents, Tom and Vanessa Freeman. 

My parents divorced in 1992 after six years of marriage that, frankly, I’m shocked even happened in the first place. You know how people say “The 80’s were crazy, man”, well look no further than that. Sure, they got two kids out of it and I know they’re pretty happy with at least one of them, but aside from that this has to be the weirdest marriage I’ve ever heard of, and I once saw Flavor Flav marry Bridgette Nielsen on televison. And I can say this because I know both of them pretty well, and I just can’t for the life of me understand it. I mean, sure, I’m glad it happened, otherwise I don’t think I’d exist (at least this version of me) but I’m also glad I don’t live in the alternate reality where they never divorced. That shit would be insane.

Anyway… my parents did at one point fall in love and even though it didn’t last, that’s not the point of this story. There’s a scene in the show Sex in the City where Carrie Bradshaw’s narration asks “when two people are in love and fall out of love, where does that love go?”. Does it disappear like it never existed, or does it go somewhere else like a memory or another person? In the case of Tom and Vanessa, it went to their two sons, one of which was about to test them in a way they had never been tested before.

Valentine’s Day, 1992… the day I almost died.

A few weeks prior — New Year’s Eve, to be exact — my mom told my dad she wanted a divorce. Naturally, this came as a little bit of surprise to my dad, as my mom had just given birth to my brother, Ryan. Still, the marriage wasn’t going to work. They had been together for several years and neither of them were as happy about it as they once were. To top it all off, I was dealing with some health issues. It’s not like this was the best time to ask for a divorce, but when is a good time to ask for that, you know?

Now, I wasn’t there for this conversation so I’m going to give my rendition of what I think went down. Follow me down this hypothetical rabbit hole…

So as far as I know, my dad and my mom we’re getting ready for a New Years Eve party. That’s all I know. My dad’s in the kitchen chopping veggies or whatever and my mom comes in like “Tom, we gotta talk. I can’t do this anymore.” 

“You know, I was thinking about it and I kinda have to agree.” 

“REALLY? I’m surprised you’d say that…” 

“Let’s just cancel the party then.” 

“Oh. No. I meant our marriage.” 

My dad stops chopping veggies. “Wait, what? You want to cancel our marriage?” 

“No, I want a divorce.” 

“Vanessa, that’s the same thing—” 

“See, Tom! This is why we can’t be together! We never agree!” 

“This I agree on.” 

“Oh, you’re such a smart ass! I hope our sons don’t take that trait.” 

“Yeah, speaking of which, didn’t I just give you another baby for Christmas?” 

“It was a great gift, he’s a bald bundle of joy. Now what I want is a divorce, can you do that for me?” 

“Yeah, maybe I’ll get you that for Valentines Day!” 

“Oh, bite my ass Tom!” 

“Yeah, classy! Happy New Year, honey!” 

The door slams. Then it reopens because my mom always has to have the last word: “And his name is Shea! I’m never calling him Thomas because it’s a stupid dumb fucking name!”  Door slams again.

I’m pretty sure that’s not how it happened, but then again I wasn’t there so don’t hold this against me. In fact, don’t hold it against them either. It’s not their fault. I mean, maybe it might be, but to me neither is to blame. The only thing to blame for their failed marriage is statistics. I mean, look at some other 80’s couples for example: Donald and Ivanka Trump: divorced. Christie Brinkley and Billy Joel: divorced. Don Johnson and Melanie Griffiths: divorced. Hell, even Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy broke up in Muppets Take Manhattan. Sometimes love is not always meant to be.

The thing with my parents though is not just that they were getting divorced, but they had two young kids to deal with. I was always going to have my medical issues, and I’m pretty sure the extra care and attention that was put on me may have made things a little more difficult for them. It’s one thing to have to raise a child, but raising a child who’s in and out of the hospital at such a young age can take a toll on you. There was always that risk that something could happen to me, and they were well aware of it.

Now, I’m not a doctor and I’m not the best at describing the medical intricacies that make me unique, but I’m gonna give it a shot here. Basically, I was born with a large crack that goes from the top of my skull, all the way down the middle of my face. Because of this, I was never able to grow a second layer of skull over my soft spot. And because of that, when my brain would grow and expand the skull would not, depleting me of oxygen. That’s just a small version of it, but it’s what’s relevant for this story.

I’ve had dozens of procedures to fix my skull and all the problems resulted from my syndromes, and when I was a baby I basically slept in an oxygen chamber. I had sleep apnea and airways for breathing were blocked, which scared my parents at night. These conditions started to make me lethargic and weaker, so my parents scheduled a tracheotomy for mid February 1992 to help with my breathing. I, on the other hand, did not get that memo and was going to throw a big wrench into their plans because timing is everything, and this is an early example of why I can’t have nice things.

It’s Valentine’s Day. The Day of Love. A day where I’m sure my parents really wanted to avoid each other. It’s crazy to think about because they had just welcomed their second kid two months before, and — wait… WAIT A MINUTE…. HOLY SHIT… I think I figured out why my brother exists… and it kind of makes sense.

Follow me down this hypothetical rabbit hole if you will… Valentine’s Day, 1991. My parents are sitting at a table somewhere, probably not too happy with their night. My life is basically up in the air everyday, and their starting to wonder what to do next. So my mom has an idea… what if we had a back up baby? You know, like, how you get two keys to a house when you move in; if you lose one, you have the other one just in case. 

I imagine my dad taking a sip of wine, nodding with approval. “Right. That makes sense. We would want to make sure we had a duplicate. I mean, we like this version we have now but, you know… what if we had an upgraded version?” 

Mom would sort of agree, “Yeah, a 2.0 sort of thing. Shea’s the VCR and the other baby would be BetaMax”. 

To which my dad would be impressed my mom knew there was a difference and agree “That makes sense, BetaMax would outlast VCR anyway. Speaking of which, I might buy Shea a VCR to fuck with him, but as an inside joke between us”. 

Then my mom says “Haha, that’s a great idea! I hope the new baby has your sense of humor.” 

“SO… should we do this?” 

“Yeah, we should do this. Just in case.” And then they did, and that’s what happened and you can’t convince me otherwise. Ryan’s life is a lie.

(Side Note: Just kidding, Ryan’s my favorite human being and I’m really glad they made that decision. It’s probably the best decision they ever made, and at least we know he’s not a mistake. So that’s good, right? Plus, without Ryan, there’s a chance I wouldn’t even be here. Back to the story we go…)

My dad’s always been an early bird, as is my mom, and regardless of who woke up and and did what first, this is how the story goes… My dad got up and unzipped my oxygen bag to wake me up. I wasn’t as lethargic as I had been, and my dad went into his office to get some things together for work. Ryan wakes up and my mom goes to change his diaper. That’s when she found me, blue and not breathing. It had been minutes between when my dad and my mom had seen me, and that’s all it took for my heart to stop working. My mom left Ryan on the changing table and rushed down the hall to my dad’s office, clutching my possibly lifeless body in her arms.

“He’s not breathing!” 

Lucky for her — and extremely lucky for me — my dad was a lifeguard and knew CPR, but had never given it to a two year old before. Hell, I’m pretty sure he didn’t ever think he’d have to. Yet here’s my dad, a pretty big dude physically, trying to resuscitate his little boy. 

Before the paramedics came, I jolted up but my eyes were still in the back of my head. Nevertheless, they gotten my heartbeat back and took me to the hospital, where the emergency tracheotomy was performed. There was hardly any oxygen in my brain and we were eventually going to need to lift my skull up to allow myself to grow properly. Again, I’m not a doctor. I don’t know how to explain this. My parents know more about it than I do.

I try to put myself in their shoes sometimes. I know what it’s like to live my life and go through the things I’ve gone through, but I’ve never had to endure it from their side. I don’t know what it’s like to wonder if it’s your fault your kid was born this way, like if you’re responsible for it happening. I don’t know what it’s like for them to have to worry about the world not accepting their son because of his differences. I don’t know what it’s like to think about the possibility of your child not making it through the night because of his breathing. To have to sit through those surgeries. To look at their son in hospital bed, all beat up and swollen, and want to take the pain away, but can’t.

Every time I think about that, I wonder how they managed to do it. They were essentially my age now when this went down. I don’t know how I would’ve handled it. And I don’t know what the conversation was like at the hospital that day, but you better believe I have a hypothetical rabbit hole for it…

I imagine my mom and my dad sitting in the ICU, my little self hooked up to monitors, sitting in a hospital bed. My dad cuts the tension. 

“So… the divorce. That’s still on?”. 

My mom nods. She’s in shock. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know. I’m sorry, too.” 

He looks at me, holds my little hand. “He needs us. They both do.” 

She gets up and walks the bed. “And we’ll be there. We can’t do it without each other.”

 “Even though we can’t do it with each other.” 

She laughs, wipes a tear. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there. I don’t know CPR.” 

“Had you not run down the hall I might have been too late.” 

“It took a team effort. It’s gonna take a lot more, too. Are you ready for it?” 

He looks at her and nods with conviction. “I’ll be there. Every step of the way.” 

“I know you will.” She smiles and hugs him. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Val.” 

“Don’t call me that. But… you can call Shea by his first name.” 

“Good, I will. I like it.” 

“You’re the only one.” 

“He likes it. You know what else he liked? The VCR I got him for Christmas.” 

“That was pretty funny.” 

“Hey, where’s our back up baby?” 

“Oh shit! I left him on the changing table!” cue laugh track because this is a sitcom now

I’m not sure any of their conversations were anything like that, or any of how I imagined, and if they were then that’s great. I do know that it was difficult for them at first to transition to co-parenting. Shared custody doesn’t always mean fair custody, and it was hard on my dad to see me as much as he maybe would’ve liked. I’m not blaming my mother for that, though, so don’t get it twisted. I’m just stating the facts. Another fact I would like to state is that my mom and dad both did everything they could for me and my brother and always put aside their differences when it came to us. Especially when it came to me.

I was in and out of the hospital for much of my early years and I’ve had too many surgeries to recount in one blog post (maybe one day). Each surgery always went according to plan, with my mom staying at the hospital at night and my dad taking over in the morning with my grandmother. They ran the show like a well oiled machine, a championship winning team. Like, imagine the Lakers when they had Kobe and Shaq. Those two guys couldn’t stand each other, but they put it to the side and won rings. That’s exactly what my parents are: they’re a team, albeit a dysfunctional one that knows how to succeed.

I wouldn’t be here today without my parents. Obviously, I needed them to meet in order for me to exist but I also needed them to keep me alive. The love they have for me and my brother is what gets me through my days. They taught me how to be strong, how to be brave in the face of fear and how to love someone more than yourself. I’m blessed and forever grateful to be able to say that I’m equal parts them, but hopefully only the good parts. I can honestly say that I’m probably the most expensive investment they’ve ever made, and while I don’t know if I’m doing a good job on the return, I owe it to them to to make something of myself. They, in a sense, gave me a second chance at life, maybe even a third, who knows.

Every now and then I rub the scar on my neck, where the tracheotomy was performed. I wore that trache (?) for eight years. I definitely stood out, but I made it work like I always did. Now, you can’t even tell it’s there unless I say something. But I know it’s there. I will always know it’s there. It’s a reminder of how lucky I am to be here, that things could’ve been much different. That every Valentine’s Day my parents would be reminded of the day they lost something they loved more than themselves. It’s even more poignant now, in 2019, for me to think about this.

I think about Parkland. about those parents of the seventeen teenagers who were killed, on Valentine’s Day of all days. I think about the moment they dropped them off at school. I think about the fact that they will never get to hear their children say I love you, or be able to say it back. Those parents who had to bury their children, those brothers and sisters who lost their best friend… they can’t get that back. And they will never look at Valentine’s Day the same way again. The immense pain and sadness that those people feel, I could never begin to imagine.

But it makes me realize why we need this day now more than ever. We all need love. Who cares if Valentine’s Day is a made up holiday to sell greeting cards and candy? When you get a card and some candy, don’t you feel a little special, perhaps even loved? What’s bad about that? Valentine’s Day might be a made up holiday, but who cares? What’s wrong with love? Today is supposed to be a reminder that you are loved and you should tell the ones you love,too. Because you never know when it will be the last time you can. Those parents at Stoneman Douglas didn’t know; I know they would give everything for one more phone call.

That’s why every year I call my mom and dad to thank them for what they’ve done for me and for being by my side through everything. They don’t have to give me anything; they’ve given me everything already. The best thing they ever gave me was their unconditional love, whether I deserve it or not. It’s what kept me alive on this day twenty-seven years ago and it’s what keeps me going today. Everything I do in life, I owe to them. They have always been there for me, through thick and thin, no matter what. I’ll never understand how they even came to be, but I’m really glad they made that mistake in the first place. The greatest mistake of their lives… I’ll take it!

And you know what? This story has a happy ending. Not only am I alive, but my parents found the love of their lives and are currently living happily ever after. My dad remarried to a lovely woman named Laurie, and they will celebrate twenty years this May. My mom married a good man named Allen and they are celebrating twenty five years this September. I was in both of the weddings, and I have to say, it was really nice to be included. They had to drag two people into their mess, and they have been through enough in their own right. I’m glad they make my parents happy, because I know my parents love them and that’s how it was always supposed to be.

So with that, I want to say Happy Valentine’s Day to anyone reading this. Know that you are loved, know that you are appreciated and know that you are worth it. All I ask is that you return the favor to someone you love. You’ll be surprised the power it has in this world. I would know; I’m here because of it.

Love you, Mom and Dad.

Until next time…

SF

“A parent’s love is whole no matter how many times divided” – Robert Brault