It was a hot, August afternoon in 2003. I was driving in my 1990 Acura Integra with broken A/C. I remember sweating profusely on my journey to the animal control to meet a photo-less listing on Petfinder.com. As I walked in the door, I noticed there was a large cage in the front room with the most beautiful, blue-eyed boy. We locked eyes as I bent down and he instantly sidled up eagerly trying to cram his nose through the square hole to touch my fingertips. I giggled as his feet sloshed about in his water bowl from his haste to try to get at me.
"This has to be him," I thought to myself.
The staff pulled him out and led us both to a private room with a floor littered in cloth mice and feathered toys that will quickly be ignored. He jumped into my lap immediately purring and frantically burying his face into my side as if to say, "You finally found me..."
$25 later, warranting the nickname I'd later give him of my "Bargain Kitty", he was coming home with me.
And, that was it. From then on, I had my best friend. I had only lived in Nashville for three months and was desperate for a sense of home. And, here he was needing the same thing.
Over the years, his hugs went from five seconds of simple obliging to him meowing at me in protest when I had to put him down after a few minutes. We would lay together eye-to-eye staring at each other for moments that seemed like eternity. Countless times his fur would wind up soaked with my tears on exceptionally bad days as he listened to my worries. That fur... I will miss the smell of his fur. A combination of stuffed animal and warmth and home. There is really no other way to describe it...
I will miss him racing from another room to try and climb in the fridge to nibble on six-pack rings on the bottom shelf...
I will miss finding him sitting in the window staring at birds...
I will miss him growling at the garbage trucks as if defending me while I napped...
I will miss him reprimanding Sparky for me with hisses and swats when he was a bad dog...
I will miss him waking me up every night sitting on my chest purring and nudging my face for some love...
I will miss him stretched out on my legs as the only male to watch romantic comedies time and time again without a single complaint...
I will miss him army crawling up my stomach to my chest to weasel his head under the bottom of my book and nudge it out of the way...
All this to say... I will miss every little thing about my fur boy.
Some people may think he was just a cat but I'm lucky to say he was one of my soulmates.
Until we meet again my sweet boy, I love you Oscar Fox.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
A Message from the Fallen
Mourn me if you must,
But do not forget I died for you.
You.
And, you.
For your freedom to love.
For your freedom to live.
For your freedom to breathe.
For your freedom to simply be.
Cherish these freedoms like newborn children fresh from the womb.
Feed them.
Hold them.
Wrap them in blankets to guard from harms way.
Fight for them.
And, for the love of all things,
Do not let them be ripped from your hands by the bastards shedding my blood.
But do not forget I died for you.
You.
And, you.
For your freedom to love.
For your freedom to live.
For your freedom to breathe.
For your freedom to simply be.
Cherish these freedoms like newborn children fresh from the womb.
Feed them.
Hold them.
Wrap them in blankets to guard from harms way.
Fight for them.
And, for the love of all things,
Do not let them be ripped from your hands by the bastards shedding my blood.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Home is Whenever I'm with You
The title of this blog, I'm very lucky to say, could relate to a few people in my life.
But, only one has a birthday this week and this is for her.
My sister.
She is home to me.
Mind you, we didn't always get along swimmingly. I was the little brat who would steal her makeup, clothes, etc. However, these actions were all in effort to be just like her. I've always wanted to be just like her.
About the time I started to become of age, she had moved back home for a short spell. It was this period of our lives where we became best friends forever. We would watch terrible television like Friends and 90210 together. The tradition later turned into Dawson's Creek as it carried forward into her first house and included copious amounts of Chinese food and Dr. Pepper. She was also my early "Ticket-to-Ride" to the mall as we'd shop for hours and eat Cinnabon. All the while, she would listen to me carry on about boys and general junior high and high school woes. I would watch her do all these amazing adult things like buying a house and having a baby. Still always wanting to be just like her.
Even to this day, I still want to be like her. Who wouldn't? She is among the most giving people I know. If the world is bringing you down, she is there to help figure out what needs to be done. Sometimes this happens over margaritas with lots of laughter and drunken renditions of "Sisters! Sisters!" (Song linked below....although our version is bastardized as we sing "We're sisters! We're sisters!")
Okay, I'm getting a bit off track here.
So, the original inspiration for this came from being asked "What kind of people's homes do you find yourself most comfortable in?" and the answer was, of course, my sister's. It's always so cozy and homey. Always. From the moment I pull into the driveway, her beautiful kids run out to greet me with insanely good hugs. I step in the door and instantly feel warm and relaxed. The TV is usually on with some sort of sport playing in the background, candles randomly lit throughout, snacks scattered on tables, the hum of laundry going in the other room, and my sister. The person with the exact same makeup as me, sometimes literally, but still her own, beautiful person.
When you really think about it, there are few places one can go for refuge to unapologetically be who they are and her house is one of them for me. It's because she is there. You can feel her everywhere in it from the smiles on the faces of my niece and nephew, the softness of the throw blankets on the couch... It's like she is giving you one big, warm hug. Regardless of the location, from Crystal Lake, IL to LaVergne, TN, it's always been my sanctuary.
Thank you, Jennie, for always being there for me...for being my sanctuary...and just being the amazing person that you are....I have no idea who I would be without you.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY WEEK!
I love you!!!
(PS - I would be lying if I said part of my inspiration for this wasn't payback for all the tear-jerking birthday cards you've given me in the past! Haha!)
Sisters, Sisters - White Christmas
But, only one has a birthday this week and this is for her.
My sister.
She is home to me.
Mind you, we didn't always get along swimmingly. I was the little brat who would steal her makeup, clothes, etc. However, these actions were all in effort to be just like her. I've always wanted to be just like her.
About the time I started to become of age, she had moved back home for a short spell. It was this period of our lives where we became best friends forever. We would watch terrible television like Friends and 90210 together. The tradition later turned into Dawson's Creek as it carried forward into her first house and included copious amounts of Chinese food and Dr. Pepper. She was also my early "Ticket-to-Ride" to the mall as we'd shop for hours and eat Cinnabon. All the while, she would listen to me carry on about boys and general junior high and high school woes. I would watch her do all these amazing adult things like buying a house and having a baby. Still always wanting to be just like her.
Even to this day, I still want to be like her. Who wouldn't? She is among the most giving people I know. If the world is bringing you down, she is there to help figure out what needs to be done. Sometimes this happens over margaritas with lots of laughter and drunken renditions of "Sisters! Sisters!" (Song linked below....although our version is bastardized as we sing "We're sisters! We're sisters!")
Okay, I'm getting a bit off track here.
So, the original inspiration for this came from being asked "What kind of people's homes do you find yourself most comfortable in?" and the answer was, of course, my sister's. It's always so cozy and homey. Always. From the moment I pull into the driveway, her beautiful kids run out to greet me with insanely good hugs. I step in the door and instantly feel warm and relaxed. The TV is usually on with some sort of sport playing in the background, candles randomly lit throughout, snacks scattered on tables, the hum of laundry going in the other room, and my sister. The person with the exact same makeup as me, sometimes literally, but still her own, beautiful person.
When you really think about it, there are few places one can go for refuge to unapologetically be who they are and her house is one of them for me. It's because she is there. You can feel her everywhere in it from the smiles on the faces of my niece and nephew, the softness of the throw blankets on the couch... It's like she is giving you one big, warm hug. Regardless of the location, from Crystal Lake, IL to LaVergne, TN, it's always been my sanctuary.
Thank you, Jennie, for always being there for me...for being my sanctuary...and just being the amazing person that you are....I have no idea who I would be without you.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY WEEK!
I love you!!!
(PS - I would be lying if I said part of my inspiration for this wasn't payback for all the tear-jerking birthday cards you've given me in the past! Haha!)
Sisters, Sisters - White Christmas
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Just a Walk
Alright kids...this is another writing prompt from my friend Seng. When you are done here, please take some time and check out his thoughts - www.sengseri.com
It's nice to have another writing friend challenging me to get words out onto the very scary, blank page!
*****************************************************************************************************
Bring someone back from the dead. Write about it.
I was just standing at your gravesite one Sunday afternoon. The sounds of Chicago interstate traffic whizzing by hums in the background as I bend down to brush off the leaves and grass clippings that have accumulated over the past year. Hesitation comes over me as I survey the ground below and then sit with my legs crossed. The trees still have some leaves clutching to their branches in brilliant, fall colors. I close my eyes for a moment meditating in my own thoughts trying to work up what it is I want to say this visit. The flask in the pocket of my zip-up, hooded sweatshirt thumps my hip as adjust my position. I had almost forgotten it was there. Reaching for it, I hear a rustling behind me. Quickly turning my head around as I feel the air changing around me but no one is there. As the new warmth begins to envelope me, I try to shrug off my senses and take a sip of the bourbon. It burns going down my throat.
“You want some?” I ask you offering it out to your nameplate with half of a smirk.
“I would if I could…”
Your voice startles me nearly out of my skin as I quickly try to jump off the ground but stumble down on to my knees. It’s you. It’s really you.
“Uh...hi?” I’ve dreamed my whole life of a moment like this and that’s the first thing that comes out!?
“I was wondering if you would be able to see me,” you say as a warm smile drifts across your mouth.
“But…um…”
“Look, kid, we don’t have time. Let’s take a trip.” You reach down to help me off the ground. My hand actually clasps yours. I stare down at them holding each other in awe before looking up at you. I can feel my eyes ready to pop out of my face as I hold your gaze while awkwardly coming to my feet.
Suddenly, we are strolling the streets of downtown Chicago. No flying like in the movies. We are just there. You are telling me random tidbits of your life. A few times, we stop so you can stare up at new highrises like the ridiculous Trump Hotel, the river, me. You study me a lot almost nearly as much as I study you.
“I see your mom in you,” you finally say.
“I see my mom in you, too!” I reply in an excited whisper and then quickly look around to see if anyone notices I'm talking to myself. You chuckle and we continue walking again. Strangely, there really is not that much conversation between us. We just are in the other’s company. We stop outside the ABC Studios and you look on for a few minutes. Your eyes make slow scans up and down the building and the sidewalks outside of it. Finally, you step up and place your hand on the wall for a few moments before turning to lead us back in the direction that we came.
Before I know it, we are back at your grave. We stop and turn to each other. You reach out your hand and place it on my cheek before pulling my forehead to your lips.
And, then, you are gone. I’m standing there without daring to let my eyes leave the space you were once just standing. I couldn’t say how much time passed before I blink and come back to acknowledging it really is just me again. The metal of the flask feels warm in my hand from being in pocket as I raise it to my lips, close my eyes, and take a long pull. I then hold it out and pour a shot’s worth into the grass in front of your name plate.
“Cheers, Grandpa Frank.”
I turn, pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, and head back to my car.
"La Valse D'Amelie" - Yann Tierson
It's nice to have another writing friend challenging me to get words out onto the very scary, blank page!
*****************************************************************************************************
Bring someone back from the dead. Write about it.
I was just standing at your gravesite one Sunday afternoon. The sounds of Chicago interstate traffic whizzing by hums in the background as I bend down to brush off the leaves and grass clippings that have accumulated over the past year. Hesitation comes over me as I survey the ground below and then sit with my legs crossed. The trees still have some leaves clutching to their branches in brilliant, fall colors. I close my eyes for a moment meditating in my own thoughts trying to work up what it is I want to say this visit. The flask in the pocket of my zip-up, hooded sweatshirt thumps my hip as adjust my position. I had almost forgotten it was there. Reaching for it, I hear a rustling behind me. Quickly turning my head around as I feel the air changing around me but no one is there. As the new warmth begins to envelope me, I try to shrug off my senses and take a sip of the bourbon. It burns going down my throat.
“You want some?” I ask you offering it out to your nameplate with half of a smirk.
“I would if I could…”
Your voice startles me nearly out of my skin as I quickly try to jump off the ground but stumble down on to my knees. It’s you. It’s really you.
“Uh...hi?” I’ve dreamed my whole life of a moment like this and that’s the first thing that comes out!?
“I was wondering if you would be able to see me,” you say as a warm smile drifts across your mouth.
“But…um…”
“Look, kid, we don’t have time. Let’s take a trip.” You reach down to help me off the ground. My hand actually clasps yours. I stare down at them holding each other in awe before looking up at you. I can feel my eyes ready to pop out of my face as I hold your gaze while awkwardly coming to my feet.
Suddenly, we are strolling the streets of downtown Chicago. No flying like in the movies. We are just there. You are telling me random tidbits of your life. A few times, we stop so you can stare up at new highrises like the ridiculous Trump Hotel, the river, me. You study me a lot almost nearly as much as I study you.
“I see your mom in you,” you finally say.
“I see my mom in you, too!” I reply in an excited whisper and then quickly look around to see if anyone notices I'm talking to myself. You chuckle and we continue walking again. Strangely, there really is not that much conversation between us. We just are in the other’s company. We stop outside the ABC Studios and you look on for a few minutes. Your eyes make slow scans up and down the building and the sidewalks outside of it. Finally, you step up and place your hand on the wall for a few moments before turning to lead us back in the direction that we came.
Before I know it, we are back at your grave. We stop and turn to each other. You reach out your hand and place it on my cheek before pulling my forehead to your lips.
And, then, you are gone. I’m standing there without daring to let my eyes leave the space you were once just standing. I couldn’t say how much time passed before I blink and come back to acknowledging it really is just me again. The metal of the flask feels warm in my hand from being in pocket as I raise it to my lips, close my eyes, and take a long pull. I then hold it out and pour a shot’s worth into the grass in front of your name plate.
“Cheers, Grandpa Frank.”
I turn, pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, and head back to my car.
"La Valse D'Amelie" - Yann Tierson
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Don't cry, Mom!
A friend of mine sent me the following and I thought I'd share it here:
"Write a short death scene for yourself, what would you say to the people around you? how did you die (accident/on purpose?)? What is the one thing you would want everyone to know?"
MY RESPONSE (Don't cry, mom!):
My death would never be on purpose. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve suffered from depression so severe at points where it has entered my mind but I know it would be selfish. I force myself to think back to the times when my parents scraped together money to help keep me fed, clothed, etc. that the image of their sacrifice alone is enough to never do it. Plus, I’ve come to be too much in love with my life, even during my episodes. I’ve become friends with my depression forcing myself to enjoy the days where I don’t want to leave my bed. It’s comfy hiding in my cocoons and being a hermit for a moment. It helps that I have people around me who understand now so I spend little to no time feeling ashamed of it anymore.
Anyways, so yes.. it would be accident or health. I would vote for accident so let’s go with that.
I was driving home one night on the interstate when a 16-year-old with a freshly minted license smashes me into a wall. The internal bleeding and broken spine leave me alive but just barely as I’m rushed to the hospital. My brain is intensely fuzzy from all the painkillers they plunge into my wrist. To tell you the truth, looking down with the needle sticking out of my arm is a bit creepy really. I hear whispers in the corner as the on-call doctor is talking to my husband. Even though I can’t hear them, I know what they are saying. Somehow all of this has left me coherent enough to understand what has happened and how my life is nearly over. There is nothing more they can do but keep me comfortable. My heart is breaking as he’s squeezing my hand sobbing by my bed. I allow him a few minutes of this before opening my eyes. He stops and stares down at me with his tear-filled eyes.
“You have to remember my plans of what I’ve always wanted. Green Day “Time of Your Life”… whiskey shots to gain entry into my funeral…the keg… all of it. You have to do this for me. And, know that you are truly one of the most amazing people that I could ever be so lucky to adore me the way you do and I’m happy some other girl would get to experience your brilliant love someday.”
The conversations with all of my nearest and dearest would go the same. I would beg them to never pick on themselves because that would be picking on my friends and my ghost would haunt their asses. I would try to list off the most beautiful thing about each of them urging to let it always shine for the world. And, my final request would be for them to not mourn but celebrate me as well as read out loud from time to time so they can read me the books I will no longer get to read. I would want them to continue on loving with all their hearts without fear or shame. Because, love is all we have. It’s one thing that no one can take away from you.
"Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" - Green Day
"Write a short death scene for yourself, what would you say to the people around you? how did you die (accident/on purpose?)? What is the one thing you would want everyone to know?"
MY RESPONSE (Don't cry, mom!):
My death would never be on purpose. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve suffered from depression so severe at points where it has entered my mind but I know it would be selfish. I force myself to think back to the times when my parents scraped together money to help keep me fed, clothed, etc. that the image of their sacrifice alone is enough to never do it. Plus, I’ve come to be too much in love with my life, even during my episodes. I’ve become friends with my depression forcing myself to enjoy the days where I don’t want to leave my bed. It’s comfy hiding in my cocoons and being a hermit for a moment. It helps that I have people around me who understand now so I spend little to no time feeling ashamed of it anymore.
Anyways, so yes.. it would be accident or health. I would vote for accident so let’s go with that.
I was driving home one night on the interstate when a 16-year-old with a freshly minted license smashes me into a wall. The internal bleeding and broken spine leave me alive but just barely as I’m rushed to the hospital. My brain is intensely fuzzy from all the painkillers they plunge into my wrist. To tell you the truth, looking down with the needle sticking out of my arm is a bit creepy really. I hear whispers in the corner as the on-call doctor is talking to my husband. Even though I can’t hear them, I know what they are saying. Somehow all of this has left me coherent enough to understand what has happened and how my life is nearly over. There is nothing more they can do but keep me comfortable. My heart is breaking as he’s squeezing my hand sobbing by my bed. I allow him a few minutes of this before opening my eyes. He stops and stares down at me with his tear-filled eyes.
“You have to remember my plans of what I’ve always wanted. Green Day “Time of Your Life”… whiskey shots to gain entry into my funeral…the keg… all of it. You have to do this for me. And, know that you are truly one of the most amazing people that I could ever be so lucky to adore me the way you do and I’m happy some other girl would get to experience your brilliant love someday.”
The conversations with all of my nearest and dearest would go the same. I would beg them to never pick on themselves because that would be picking on my friends and my ghost would haunt their asses. I would try to list off the most beautiful thing about each of them urging to let it always shine for the world. And, my final request would be for them to not mourn but celebrate me as well as read out loud from time to time so they can read me the books I will no longer get to read. I would want them to continue on loving with all their hearts without fear or shame. Because, love is all we have. It’s one thing that no one can take away from you.
"Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" - Green Day
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