I am Going to Hell

Are you the type of person who panics about things? If there is ice on the road, are you sure you're going to crash your car? If the media is hyping some disease, do you sit at home, cowering from the unseen germs waiting to infect you? Me personally, I don't. Until yesterday that is. Yesterday, you see, I knew I was fated to be struck by lightning. There was an incredible thunderstorm last night, the lightning coming fast, furious, and close, jagged streaks visible throughout the sky. I, of course, realized just as it was reaching a crescendo, that I needed some things from the store. Why not wait it out? TV schedule, of course. As I opened the door and set foot outside, watching the preternaturally black sky light up again and again, I realized this was my moment of judgement. I'm not a particularly religious man, but I do believe in something, and I was sure that right then, that something was lining me up in his (yes "his") sights to drill with a million volt bolt of judgement. You think I'm joking, but no; as I walked from my car, I resigned myself to the fact that my life would end, ignominously enough, in a Target parking lot. Why was I so sure my time was nigh? And what does this have to do with the wedding? Allow me to explain.

A few days earlier, in (literally and figuratively) sunnier times, I was preparing to leave for a weekend trip to Boston. I was really looking forward to it; visiting a good friend from college for a nice weekend of booze, bud, and of course Ultimate Fighting (yes, once again the timeline for the wedding is intertwined with my viewership of combat sports). Scant moments before I was to walk out the door, the phone rang. My sister answered and immediately her face and her gasped "Oh my God!" made it clear that this was not someone calling to chat. I wanted to stay and offer emotional support, but I had a bus to catch, so I callously got up and headed for the door. Before I set out though, I read her hastily scribbled note: "Paul had/is having a heart attack!" And with that, I left.

To be fair, I did take this seriously. I mean, damn, that's insane. This guy is only 28. Me taking something seriously is not the same as a normal, caring-and-feeling human being taking it seriously, though. All weekend, I told people about this craziness, the concern in my voice genuine. But I also made a point to add "...I've met his fiancee though, and trust me, I unerstand" pretty much every time. (It should be noted thatI did show sufficient restraint, at least up until right now, not to correlate it to the circumstances of the proposal.) And for that reason, my mocking of what was nearly a horrific tragedy, I was sure that God was going to smite me yesterday.

Postscript: I feel compelled to mention that the groom-to-be, at least in the big picture, is doing okay. He's out of the hospital and the wedding will continue as planned.