Gains made in the "year of loss." A look back on 2012.

I’d be lying if I said 2012 treated me well. The tail end of 2011 was a slow tragedy leading into the sadness that surrounded 2012. I remember arriving at my parents house only to turn around and return to the Soo because a friend of mine was dealing with personal tragedy. I sat across from him at my kitchen table and we talked about death and sadness lingered in the air. Meanwhile around that time we put Gramps in hospice care. Mortality is a terrifying side effect of life. I suppose it was no surprise, if I’m being honest Gramps had been dying a slow death for years, but the impending doom of death hung in the air twisting and flashing amongst the twinkling Christmas lights we’d hung in his room. I knew when I kissed him on the forehead the night before I left for Ohio that I would probably never see him again, and I didn’t. Shortly after the beginning of the new year he closed his eyes for the final time and finally he was free of pain. It was both heartbreaking and relieving in one fell swoop. I dearly loved—love my Grandfather, but for as long as I can remember he’d been sad.  There was a sadness in his heart that came from losing my Grandmother to cancer when she was so young, and to then later in life lose his old friend, soulmate, and wife to another form of cancer. So when he finally slipped away I felt selfishly sad and comforted in knowing that perhaps he was reunited with the women that he so dearly missed. It was a rough way to begin a new year, but my heart was healing and I was moving on. Then, tragedy struck again, this time unexpectedly. My only surviving Grandmother was a force of nature. My father’s mom was a woman that greatly shaped me into the person that I am today. She was a lover of life, a zealot when it came to laughter, and a true angel walking on earth. She was 89 years old with more spunk and life in her than most kids my age. But, in one fell swoop life caught up with her, just short of 9 decades of life she suffered a stroke. She held on for a week and then the last of my grandparents silently left this earth. She was much older than my Grandfather on my mom’s side of the family, but her death was the surprising one of the two. I sat on the stool and listened as my mom took the call from my dad as he whispered the news I had hoped wouldn’t come. I left minutes later to drive back to my home in the Soo and in that hour long drive I mourned the loss of two grandparents. I was overcome with a new felt sadness for Grandma Marnie, my mom’s mother. The woman I never met. I cried for Grandma Connie, my mom’s stepmom and a woman I barely remember. I choked back sobs over the loss of Pa, my dad’s father and a man I was robbed of at a such a young age. There was a sudden realization that I had reached the point in my life where I no longer had grandparents. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thought of my parents, now parentless and I was filled with unbridled terror over the thought that I too would someday have to live without my parents. I cursed and I screamed and I cried as I drove north on I-75. This was the start of my year and already I had had enough. I wished the year away.

As Spring broke we said our final goodbyes to Gram in a funeral service filled with both tears and laughter. I was glad for the laughter, because I knew Gram would have wanted it that way. Summer slowly crept in and a clash of family schedules postponed Gramps’ memorial. I spent all Summer slowly but surely healing. I knew I owed it to my Grandparents to pick my heart up off the floor, dust it off, and move on. In the early Fall we gathered on a boat to send Gramps’ off for one last sail on the water. As we sprinkled his ashes into the lake that holds so much meaning to my mother’s family I choked back tears and read the poem that always meant so much to him. It was the final chapter in the year of loss for me.

As Fall dragged on I was filled with a feeling of new beginnings. Fall has always been special to me, I was born in the Fall, and something about the crisp air, the leaves whispering in the winds, and the beautiful sunsets have always moved me. I’ve always believed that with loss comes gain and I was on the brink of gaining new members of my family. For me family has always been about love, not blood. Family to me is a strong sense of connection to another human being, an undying love and appreciation for someone that finds themselves deeply enclosed in the crevices of your heart. I found my new family members in a place that has always been a beacon of hope and happiness in my life. I met two of my dearest friends—sisters in that place. The motto I’ve always had in regards to our friendship is “all I had to do was turn around.” They’d been standing behind me as I stood in front of the glass for months and suddenly I turned around and our friendship was born. That same magic happened again this year. I turned around and looked around and found a whole new group of people. A friendship forged through a shared passion for hockey, slightly warped senses of humor, and a need for family whilst away from the ones we already called family. Those people have been the saving grace for the year of 2012. Suddenly a year that had made me feel so alone suddenly made me feel supported. Though I do not know these individuals as well as I would personally like to, our times together have made me smile and laugh during a year I was sure would only be filled with tears.

As I sit on the brink of a brand new year I can’t help but be hopeful. Though with these new friends came a specific person that made me shed tears for a form of heartbreak I’m all too familiar with, I wouldn’t never wish them away. They have given me what I so desperately needed, a feeling of family. Though these people and this bond can never replace the Grandparents I’ve lost this year, they can help heal the sadness that came from that loss. I can only cling to them and the memories we create as I finish up the last moments in the town I’ve loved and lived in for over half a decade. I can tuck them safely in the crevices of my heart and keep them with me even when I finally leave this place. I shudder to think what this year would have been had I not met them. For a girl that avoids using words like fate and destiny I can’t help but think that I was meant to still be here and a searching for family because it was in the year of loss that I gained so very much. 

The Story of a Lighthouse and a Ship

I remember the first moment I saw him. Something deep inside me screamed. A loud earth-shattering scream that vibrated through my entire body. His smile. Oh, his smile. It was like a lighthouse guiding, drawing me in after years of floating out at sea. That first night, everyone could see it in my eyes. A new light, slowly seeping into my hazel eyes, my heart was awake. That first night we spent in my sacred temple. I forgot to say my prayers because I was, in that moment all consumed. He stood so near and I could feel his warmth. I could hear the bells in the distance or perhaps it was a ringing from the blood rushing to my face. Then he made me laugh. He made me throw my head back and laugh the way my Grandmother taught me how. It echoed off the ceiling and he smiled. I made him laugh. A deep laugh working its way from his toes to the ceiling. It circled through the air and encompassed me. It lit up the part of my heart I had promised to let remain dark. His eyes, the way they danced to the sound of our jokes, lost in a melody no one but us two could appreciate. That first moment, first night, I was so sure it was the start of many…and it was.

I remember the first night he let me entangle myself in him. We sat close, too close for friends. We shared whispers and secrets. I snuck a glance, and he was looking back. Our eyes locked and we stared at each other. Something so comfortable about the discomfort of looking into each other’s windows of the soul. I smiled and he whispered “What?” and I knew there was no reason for that question—he knew. Our bare arms touched and sparks ignited in the dimly lit room and I shook from both fear and excitement. Who was I in that moment, but a young girl on the verge of something she thought wasn’t possible? I asked the stars for more moments like that and they gave me what I needed.

I remember the way it felt to fold into him. He shifted and twisted so that I could lie beneath his sun. My fingers stretched to get lost within his hair and he tilted his head and I believed. I danced with my friends on back porches making more wishes on the stars of Northern Michigan and they smiled. Something was starting, and like a wildfire spreading through my veins I burned with hope. I was sure, I’d never been so sure. The girl that swore destiny was a lie that people told themselves started whispering words such as fate and the stars twinkled.

I remember the first sick twisted shred of doubt as it crept into my mind. I remember crying in front of the people I loved and them telling me hope was not lost. The same twinkle that danced within my eyes was there within his. I confided in my brothers that my heart was falling and they held me and told me that I deserved this feeling. My captain took my hand and told me I was beautiful and meant to be loved. I believed. I set timeframes and created opportunities to bring him to me. I reached out and touched the flame and came out unscathed. I was sure. They were sure. It was only a matter of time—or so I thought.

I remember the night he shattered the last beating corner of my heart. I stood within my temple and he softly whispered venom in my ear and I nodded my head like an obedient child. There is no such thing as fate. This silly girl should have known. My Irish blood craved escape within a bottle and I drank. I forced laughter to my face while my friends saw the broken bits of glass in my eyes. I sat on tables and sang silly songs and he watched. He tuned in to watch the show that he was directing and my past whispered lines for me to say. I escaped to a cold porch and looked up to find no stars. He asked me questions and I gave him truths he wasn’t ready to hear. We murmured false apologies that neither of us meant and I bled out in front of him.

I remember lying in bed replaying moments and analyzing footage. Something deep inside me screamed again, this time the scream was blood curdling pain. I refused to run aground in front of his lighthouse, I refused to let the shore rip my ship apart. He refused to push me away so I answered his muted calls. I catered and pined and clung to the hope, my friends, brothers, and captain had given me. I clung to the hope that swelled when his golden browns reflected in my hazels. The longer that I looked the more the stars laughed.

I remember giving. Letting little pieces of the broken glass fall into his hands thinking the heat from his body would meld them into something solid again. Like lightning striking sands on the shores of Lake Superior I thought he could meld my tiny pieces into a beautiful sculpted mess. But though the thunder rolled the lightning never struck. In a last ditch effort for salvation I rained upon him and he pulled on his raincoat and turned away.

I remember giving in and giving up. I swept the broken glass into my pocket and slowly turned away. Salt water poured from my eyes and I let it fall to the ground. I pulled anchor and slowly turned back out into the dark December seas. I set a course for anywhere but here and I looked for the stars. The stars that promised and then laughed had disappeared. A cold winter of the soul had settled in and the clouds covered the sky. The compass that had spun in his direction was now cracked and broken and tossed into the waves. I turned one last time to see if his lighthouse was still shining and though I could see its outline in the distance its light had burned out. I sailed into the dark without him ever knowing the life changing goods I had come to deliver. They stayed wrapped up in tattered boxes within the hull of my ship waiting for a lighthouse keeper with courage to shine for me.

Penny's Grey.

Listen Along
Her name is Jordan. She’s been alive on this earth for over two decades. She’ll never win a beauty contest, her weight makes sure of that. She’ll never blend into a crowd, her hair makes sure of that. Those are the first two things you notice about her, her hair and her weight. But, then she starts talking. There’s a 90% chance that within the first moments of meeting her she will make you laugh. She’s got a sharp Irish tongue, she exudes false confidence, and she laughs when anyone is watching. She’s passionate, or dear lord is she passionate. There is not much grey in her life, it’s love or hate, right or wrong, good or bad and she relishes in the extreme. When she commits to belief it takes over her soul. She is forever trying to keep it positive when it comes to other people. She wants them to feel loved. She wants them to feel like she would do anything to support them, because she would. She wants to be a P.R. maven and help the people of the world fall in love with the people she already loves. In the decades she’s been alive she’s perfected the art of loving other people. With no holding back, with no shame, she loves. She wraps her loves in perfect blue paper and stores them deep inside the softness of her soul, forever careful to not let those people venture into the harden, bitter depths she hides from the world. Oh she’s jaded. Little parts of her soul have been blackened by her loving ways. She never learned to love herself. She thinks she’s ugly because others have told her so. She thinks she’s a lost cause because others have let her wander. She knows she’s heartbroken because she can’t feel it beating.  There is dead tissue left and it festers. It hides behind her eyes and she smiles.

Her name is Morgan and she is forever 21. No, no, not like the store. No, forever 21 in that she doesn’t age. She’s a young adult with a chip on her shoulder and a beer in her hand. She’s the protector. She comes around when Jordan can’t be seen. When the darkness creeps into Jordan’s eyes, Morgan hides Jordan away in a room with a book and a Hanson CD. Morgan doesn’t play games. She too does not believe in grey. It’s now or never with Morgan and if the answer is never she won’t bat an eyelash, she will simply walk away. Morgan drinks too much and she talks too much. Morgan will tell you things Jordan wouldn’t dare utter. She’ll give truth out like it’s candy on Halloween and she’ll laugh when your teeth rot.  At any given moment she will spew all of Jordan’s secrets and let them leak into your ocean like an oil tanker run aground. She’ll start off quietly passive aggressive and then shift into full blown aggression. She doesn’t like when Jordan gets hurt, because then she has to make an appearance and it’s not the kind of appearance she likes to make. She likes command performances on the stages of bars and townhouses making people laugh, complaining about the music, and blowing people’s minds with her unbridled drunken dysfunction. She likes to be a good time, she doesn’t like to be the center of a bad time. But, she will be, she’ll make your night the worst you’ve ever had if she has to. She’s the fury and the storm and she talks.

Her name is Penny. She has no age, just an old soul. She’s quiet, poetic, and kind. She’s shy in the worst times and can only ever express herself through art. She loves music, she lives inside a melody, and she’s sure every song she hears was written just for her. She’s the kind of girl you could fall in love with.  She’ll hold you as tightly as possible while you fall apart and she’ll cry tears over your pain. If you need her she will entangle herself with you and you won’t know if the tears on your cheek are hers or your own. Penny will write you songs. She will immortalize you with the swift movement of a pen or the click of fingers on a keyboard. She won’t be the one to make you laugh. Jordan and Morgan have monopolized that venture, laughter is their defense. Penny has no defense. Penny is the heart on the sleeve left for the elements of life to erode away. But, she never fades, she just quietly creeps back inside until the storm has passed. Then she’ll process it. Penny will take Jordan’s heartbreak and Morgan’s drunken mistakes and she will make something of them. She will be the one to find the moral at the end of the story and say the things the other girls don’t want to hear. She is honest, she cannot, will not lie. She will tell the others that she loves him and the others have no choice but to listen and to love. She will create the playlist of sad songs and make Jordan and Morgan feel something they don’t want to feel. Like Morgan, she never likes to see Jordan hurt, but she won’t pretend it didn’t happen.  She lives in the grey the other two claim don’t exist. She knows nothing is clear cut so she thinks and she feels. She will over analyze a situation until every moment has been gone over and then she will talk about it some more. She is the hurt and the pain and she feels.

They are three girls. Three completely messed up sides to the same person. They go through life taking turns so that not every side is seen at once. Jordan’s broken soul hidden by love and laughter take center stage. Morgan makes appearances and her fury leads to conversations most people don’t want to have. Penny tries to never show  her face, she lies hidden in prose and teardrops. But, all three of them fell for him. It was a general consensus  that this boy was different, he laughed at Jordan’s jokes and looked into her eyes even as the darkness crept. He sat next to Morgan while she gave her performance, he listened to her fury, and he didn’t run away. But Penny, she liked him best. He stirred within her that quiet, peaceful warmth, that had long been forgotten. He had side stepped the other two and he looked Penny in the eyes, he saw her, he’s the only one that’s ever actually seen her. But he hurt them. He told Jordan the words she couldn’t handle hearing again. He forced Morgan to step out and drink and laugh and then he forced her to truth and she gave it to him. But, Penny, he hurt her the worst. He denied her the chance she’s been waiting on since the moment she looked at him. She was going to be the best she’d ever been for him, she was going to forget the hurt and feel and write and sing and dance and love. Now, here they are again, all three huddled around the computer while Jordan pretends like it’s no surprise, Morgan smokes her millionth cigarette, and Penny types and she cries. Tomorrow they will all go back out into the world as one to smile, to talk, and to feel, lost in Penny’s grey. 

I Have No Title

She sat in a dark room, with music playing, an empty pack of cigarettes had fallen at her feet. Her fingers brushed across the keyboard so swiftly the text struggled to keep up. She was poised for the anger, she knew it had to come. It always follows the sadness. She screamed for the anger and she shook with the need to feel the fury. She’d learned this lesson before, if you can get to the anger the hurt stops. Yes, she’d learned this lesson before. She was a self-taught genius in the world of hurt. She once joked that she’d write a book. It’s cute how they really thought she was joking. No, she could write a book, she should write a book. Something with a catchy title like “He’s just not that into fat girls” or “They’ll always just want to be your ‘friend.’” It would fly off the shelves and women would laugh and relate and she’d be understood. Isn’t that what she was chasing? The ultimate understanding? She went over it again and again with everyone. She calculated her moves, she leaned her head, she looked him in the eyes. She hates looking into eyes, but she did. They all encouraged her. Oh how she loved when they smiled and said “he likes you.” Those little whispers about how adorable she is, they had no idea she could giggle. She had forgotten she could giggle. She gets lost in memories of the nights standing at the bottom of the stairs and her brother telling her she deserves this boy who makes her feel this way. Her old friend telling her she was beautiful and worth it and he’d be crazy to say no. They all kept whispering “go for it!” So she did. She moved closer and she lowered her voice and he leaned in to listen. That memory, god she can almost feel it’s warmth. So she cries. She’s sad today. It’s been a horrible week. It began with a verbal assault that included every possible hurtful thing in the world. She was violated, she’d lost trust, in a matter of seconds she had been hurt by a shower of verbal bullets and she barely pulled through. She thought she could prove the shooter wrong. She thought that she could survive it if she showed him the things he had said were lies. If she could be wanted he’d be proved wrong. But, he was right. A week later he was right and she was left with that knowledge. Perhaps that’s why she keeps avoiding eye contact with everyone. She’s the liar. She made them believe that she could have it this time. She tricked her friends into seeing the best sides of her and now they are left with this broken side of her. The side they've never seen. She’s so sorry. Every time she crys she just feels so sorry. She’s sorry to herself because no matter how much she hates herself today no one should have to feel this way. She’s sorry to her friends who don’t deserve to have to watch her cry. They shouldn't have to comfort her. She’s so sorry for him. She didn't mean to spill her heart out and make him feel guilty. That’s not fair and he doesn't deserve that. Most girls just move on right? She should move on, he said no. But, no always hurts. Especially because she only actually asks once every couple of years. She knows hurt, so she doesn't let it happen, but she fell this time. This time she opened up to people and she took direction, this time she thought she might actually have the shot. She ran the play over and over again in her head, she stops at the point, takes one last breath and shoots. But, she didn't even get the puck, she tapped the ice to let the world know she was ready to take her shot, and he denied her the shot. That shot could have won the game. It could have changed the entire season. So she’s sad because she missed her shot and that asshole was right about her. She’s sorry, sorry for herself because she’s starting to see a major pattern. She’s sorry to her friends, because she’s taking this way too hard and even she’s annoyed. And, she’s sorry to him, maybe she will be his friend, because he’s wonderful, and better to be friends with wonder than not know it all. She sits in her dark room and she types. She cries a little bit more because someone once told her “crying is not a sign of weakness, since birth it has always been a sign that you are alive.” She’s alive, she’s sad, but she’s alive. She’s not angry. He’s not angry that she cares too much how can she be angry that he doesn’t care. It’s a story she’s lived before and she’ll probably live it all over again. Because that shooter was right and until she can tell him he was wrong nothing will ever change.

Ends With You

 As with all blogs like this I have included an audio file for you to listen to because it makes it easier to follow and understand....also as always I love your comments and feedback! Laker Love!


Ends With You:

To tell him. To give a speech not for credit or glory, but for your heart. To hope that the smile he puts on your face doesn’t fade as you finish your conclusion. To take a chance that you just might be worthy of the love that pours from your soul so easily when you are amongst souls like his. Love, a strong word, a hurried word, infatuation more fitting, but not the word you’d use in your presentation. Desire, desire for the warmth radiating off him to cover you like your favorite blanket from your childhood. A split second, yes or no, victory or failure with no grey area. Mixed singles and confusion a thing of the past and then you’d know. But, no-- fear. Unbridled, all-consuming fear, a memory, a night in a car and being told that you were unworthy of love. A night spent crying on the steps, comforted by friends, knowing they’ll never understand, they try to say the right things, but it’s not their words you need. A quick glance behind you, eye contact, all else forgotten. Hello, I’ve been waiting for you. A sudden belief in fate, did the Creator finally send him after all this time? Were you meant to take six years because in that final year his soul would entangle in your. Did you just say that outloud? No, no, you typed in on a screen. That’s safe, maybe he won’t know it’s all about him. He already knows…he knows…he hasn’t ran…should you reach out. NO! NO! Don’t reach out, the burn, it’s still there from the last time. The scar, do they see it? No? You feel it. STOP! STOP! Don’t let this chance go, tell him, love him, no regrets. No, not love yet, adore him, you adore so well…admire him…BELIEVE in him. He’s not the team, he’s not a player, but he’s one that could be so much more than they ever were. What a passion without someone to share it with? Let them tell him, NO PLEASE DON’T SAY ANYTHING! He can’t know until you’re ready. You’re ready, You’re not ready. You’ll never be ready. Make an excuse, text him, wait for the response, blush when you see his name. Blush when you see his face, blush when he says your name. Blush, you’re always blushing, everyone can see it! DAMNIT! More face paint, all day, every day, don’t let him see you. He thinks you’re crazy and loud and crazy. So crazy. He doesn’t know you’re quiet, poetic, broken, lost, hopeful, so hopeful, he gives you hope. Oh shit, it’s that feeling again, hope, a desire, anticipation. Don’t anticipate, you always get let down. Could he catch you? Is he strong enough. Yes, no, yes, maybe, fuck. Beer, another cigarette, another talk with your friends. They see it, but do they see what they want to see? Do they have the same hope for you. Hope is blind, you scratched it’s eyes out the night the boy told you you were too fat to be loved. Aha! There it is! That boy is still haunting you. You swore you let him go. Can you let him go? Could reciprocated love make you finally forget? They swear you are worthy. Are you? Do you want to be? Love’s not safe and you need quiet and safe at the end of the night. Safe, he makes you feel safe already, if you jump into the water will he throw you a line? Pull you in? Or watch you sink, sink like an anchor. NO! YOU REFUSE TO SINK! Look at you, you could have given up on so many things so many times but you never do. You’re a believer and a lover. BELIEVE in yourself. LOVE yourself. BELIEVE he could LOVE you. To tell him. To give a final speech with a proper introduction, body, and conclusion. A short simple speech that begins with “I” followed by “want to love” and ending with “you.” It always ends with you.

Laker Love Is My Solution

You see, I have this theory. I truly believe that every once in a while life gives you a chance to reinvent yourself. For some women it’s a new hair cut, dress, or lipstick. For me the reinvention involves a moment of internal epiphany – a split second when I decide my life is going to be different.

 I remember the first time I felt the pull of this opportunity; I was a freshmen in high school. I felt some odd build up of excitement and pessimism. I was listening to jaded music that brought out some bitter side of me that was a direct result of the sideshow my life had been leading up to that. I felt like I had to make a statement. I would be the girl to laugh first, the girl to make you laugh first because I’d been a constant victim of drive by “humor” that left the masses in laughing fits and me simply wanting crumble. I’d stand out in a crowd for who I was. It would not be my physical appearance, my build, my hair, that would first draw them in. It would be the words and laughter seeping from my pores. That’s what they would see, that would be what they remembered. I used my Irish gift of gab as weapon against the world and I learned make them adore the very best sides of me. I hid the insecure little girl who wrote crappy poetry at night and listened to Janis Joplin songs with her cat. I took my jaded view of the world and turned it into comedy and like the best comics I kept them coming back to sold out shows in the halls and classrooms of my high school. I found an equally messed up group of kids to call my crew and we numbed the pain of small town Midwest kids the best way we knew how. Bon fires, back roads, drunken nights in farmers fields, and telling ourselves we were invincible.

Though we may have been invincible, our time together wasn’t. You add one girl with a small ambition to make it out of this country one day and work at a job she doesn’t hate and mix it with a group of kids that have no dreams past their latest bottle of whiskey and an end is inevitable. I finished my high school career and the moment my diploma was in my hand I took one mental step out of that town. Then, once that final summer was over I took my first physical step. I crossed the bridge and once again a chance of reinvention was presented to me. I could go somewhere else in the world where nobody knew me. They didn’t remember me by nasty play ground jokes that never really went away, they didn’t remember me as the girl of “that group” they had no memories of me but the ones I could create. I made new friends that once again I thought would last forever, but freshmen year friends that last forever are a rare and loyal breed. The reality is that only one truly lasted past that first marker year, the one who knew me best. The girl who stayed up late with me while I poured my heart and soul out about my entire life. She was with me when the lights went down on the stand up routine that I call life and she never once made me feel like I was the jaded, messed up person I always felt, feel, like I am.

She’s the perfect example of the people I have met on my journey through my college career. The great thing about ivory towers is that you get to pick and choose the people you allow to enter your gates. You don’t have to deal with people simply because you’re stuck in the same small town school they are. Granted in this place not dealing with people often times means turning a blind eye, this is a small school with towers placed very closely together. So ,you weed through the bad people and hope that the plants you gather are flowers. You press them in books and you promise yourself forever because you feel like forever is the greatest possibility in the world. I’ve spent so much time in my Ivory Tower in the Upper Peninsula, I’ve stumbled and fallen and learned to take my time because the journey has been everything and the destination feels like too much.

Which brings me to now, that latest and greatest chance for reinvention. No longer do I need dwell on the fears of making a complete fool of myself and being forced to pass by towers with people inside laughing, always laughing – at me. This time next year I will be a memory. A student in the photos from the games, the only moments I ever felt it was OK to put my heart and soul into something because being denied victory, no matter how much you love the team is never as painful as being denied as a human being. I will be a lingering force of laughter and love in the hearts I have touched in the years I have studied here. I will be immortal in the only way possible for humans, in the hearts of the people who remember me. In my final reinvention of the soul in my academic career I have promised myself to stop muting the lights, grabbing the mike, and making them laugh all the time. For once in my life I want to be something more than the girl who can create laughter in a split second with a snarky choice of words and a well placed self put down. I want to be remembered as the girl who truly loves. The girl with a soul red with passion much like the hair that frames her face. The memory of the friend, fan, and fellow student who made you feel appreciated, loved, and respected. The people that I have locked deeply within my heart are the most lovable, admirable, and respectable beings I have ever had the honor of knowing. That is what gives me hope, for if I can be surrounded by people that I can love, admire, and respect it must then mean there is something inside me worthy of the great human trinity. A three part mix of the greatest things another human being can give you.

So, maybe then, this isn’t a reinvention, it’s a new release of the same show I’ve always done, with more behind the scenes footage on what drives the comic. A raw un cut bonus selection riddled with human flaws of a lack of self esteem and a need to be loved, admired, and respected. A truth I will attest to until my dying day, the humor is a shield, but the look in my eyes when I stand before you and speak will always be the truth. The slight increase of fluids in my eyes, the quiver  of my lip, the redness of my cheeks, and the catch in my voice will reveal what I’m really trying to say. My message that you move me to feel and to be, because you are human beings that matter to me. You are the stars in the winter sky that twinkle with promise even on the coldest of nights. The stars I wish upon when I make my promise to make this final year the best year I have ever had in my life. The whisper that I will “be myself and either be loved or left behind.” Because I’m starting to learn that no matter what I look like, what I say, or what I do, there is going to be a group of people dead set on hurting me. However, more importantly no matter what I look like, what I say, or what I do, there is always going to a group of people dead set on loving me. Laker Loving me, because with Laker Love, the more you give, the more you get. 

Lest we forget.

The tumult and the shouting dies—

The Captains and the Kings depart—

Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

(Passage from “Recessional” by Rudyard Kipling)

There are moments in time that are slipping away from us. 

Moments in history that each generation becomes more and more disconnected with. My generation will someday face the time when moments and events of great purpose will be all but lost in history. I can assure you September 11^th will become a day remembered by only the few still alive to remember the day and others that learned about it through textbooks or personal family histories. There is no doubt in my mind that the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq will become chapters in books and the soldiers will become numbers an entire generation of veterans lost to time, their stories and sacrifices lost and only remembered on days when the History channel runs a special. Time does a horrid thing to world changing events and wars that transpire. It slowly pushes them farther back in the collective mind of the world. They become questions on tests we take in high school with answers we never fully commit to memory. They become movies and television shows that we somehow disconnect ourselves from while sitting in our safe plush seats. It breaks my heart to think that the events that my generation has lived through will soon be as forgotten as the stories of my parents and moreover the stories of my grandparents. 

                Many people have no idea what today is in History. You

may be sitting at your computer right now asking yourself what June 6^th has to do with anything. If you are still in close contact with your grandparents (i.e. living with them, in contact via cellphone) you could take a second and ask them. They’d probably know. It might even spark a conversation with them about your Grandfather or maybe Great Grandfather. A story about the years he served his country and the world during the Second World War.  Maybe, just maybe that Grandfather may have been a part of one of the most pivotal moments of WWII. If he was American, Canadian, or English he may have risked his life on this day in history battling the elements as well as the enemy for the right to survive a small period of 24 hours that occurred during a war that lasted six years.  Possibly he fell from the sky as member of the Airborne troops, or maybe he struggled to fight the wind and the waves as he swam onto the shore with countless other men.  Your old Grandfather was lucky, he wasn’t one of the approximate 10,000 war casualties (killed, wounded, or MIA) of this day of which the total killed is estimated at 2,500. Now, stop for a second and think about those numbers. In a world where the number “trillion” is thrown around so freely we’ve become numb to numbers. Those numbers may have passed over you without a second of emotion. You forgot that the numbers 10,000 and 2,500 represent soldiers, men, each one human being added together to get numbers in the thousands. Those aren’t just facts and figures, they are lives on paper and those numbers only represent Allied forces. Let us not forget the members of Hitler’s army, some of which were Russian, French, or Polish prisoners turned into soldiers by the commands of what history has deemed a lunatic but the current times had hailed a savior of a country. The numbers of those casualties are greatly debated but range from around 4,000 to 9,000. 

                  In the early moments of this day in history the war was

completely changed and by result the history of the world was changed. Had the members of the airborne troops not fell from the sky and the other members of allied invasion not fought the sea to land on sand being showered with death from above the entire history of the world could be different. June 6^th was the day it had to happen. Countless elements had to fall into place on one single day for the event to happen. A late rising full moon to light the way for the airborne troops as they silently moved across countryside’s of France, calm weather, and shortly after dawn a low tide for the troops to enter the way through. June 6^th did not meet all these requirements, stormy seas left men aboard ships so sick they could not function and shotty moonlight that left men straining to see in front of them. However, despite the less than perfect conditions Eisenhower knew it had to happen. “I don’t like it, but there it is….I don’t see how we could do anything else.” Thus, this day in June 68 years ago became the day the Allied forces faced a “great and noble undertaking.” On the beaches Sword, Juno, and Gold Allied troops from England and Canada arrived whilst on the beaches of Omaha and Utah Allied troops from the US landed. They had arrived on the beaches of Normandy, they had invaded the land occupied by Axis troops, they had entered the war. 

               Two years short of seven decades ago the war changed 

and less a year later the war ended. Today is many things, but first and foremost today is the 68^th anniversary of D-Day. A day that many have forgotten and few members of my generation know anything about. Only recently did my true understanding and appreciate for this day in history bloom and I’ve made a commitment to remind members of my generation and those to come about the importance of this day. D-Day is not a chapter in history books, a television special, or fine print on a calendar. D-Day is a day to be remembered in our hearts and souls, a day to remember the soldiers that came and went before our time, and that fought when the world needed them most. The “Free men of the world (that marched) together to Victory!” For there is nothing we can do for them now but remember and honor. Lest we forget.

Links:

Further reading online:

The U.S. Army Remembers D-Day

National D-Day Memorial 

For a better understanding, appreciation, and "life changing read":

The Longest Day

A personal look at D-Day featuring US Army vets

Letters from the Front

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(This started off as word vomit and turned into a bit of a poetry moment. If you want to listen along as I read it out loud click the play button on the player below. IT STARTS LOUD so don't get blown away. Also, I apologize for the sound quality, the mic on my computer isn't the greatest.)





You’re like a sickness. The winter cold that I just can’t shake. A lot like a tickle in the back of my throat that keeps me awake at night coughing. Tossing and turning praying for rest, but too miserable to grasp the peaceful serenity of sleep. Or, maybe that burning itch in my eyes that comes from staring at something too long. That odd pain that I can’t quite explain as I try to blink away the tears that welled up in my eyes. Suspended in a moment while my eyes desperately try to focus on something as my head spins from imbalance. You’re the sound of my alarm clock in the morning.  A brazen reminder that I am alive to live another day, but that for the time being I’ve lost the peace that comes from being unaware. You’re an endless goodbye. The scratchy throat, red in the face, how am I going to make it through this emotion type of goodbye. The kind that leaves me restless for days. You’re like a night of binge drinking. Just like that girl wrote that poem said. You’re an endless memory of good times and rash decisions followed by the conversation in front of my bathroom mirror. Why did I do this to myself? Why did I tell myself I could handle just one more? You’re the cigarette in my hand that everybody says will someday destroy me. I inhale you anyways to curb the nagging need, but I fear I’ll never be able to put you down. You’re the rush of fear and adrenaline the moment before my face hits the ground. An unsettling preparation for the worst possible outcome that leaves me drained even if I don’t bruise. But, I always bruise. Dark purple and blue. Blue, just like your eyes, but not blue like the color of my soul. Not the blue that means happiness, dedication, belief, and love to me. But blue like lips in the dead of winter after they’ve kissed away warmth of life. You’re every little pain in life that I’ve learned to survive. You’re the moments that remind me that I’m really alive. You’re nothing I can’t handle.


I could be your final moments of the game. That feeling that rushes through your veins and tells you it’s do or die. That last shot suspended in motion while the world stops turning and your heart keeps beating. I could be a summer day. That force of nature that calls you out into the world and makes you realize the grass isn’t greener on the other side it’s a beautiful verdant field right underneath your feet. I could be the waves that lap against the boat. A comforting feeling of connection to something greater, but a challenge to withstand on a rough day. I could be your favorite movie. The one you know inside and out but never pass up the chance to see again. A story line that never grows old and that you compare everything else like it too. Or even better, I could be your favorite band. That one band that means more than all of the rest. The one that has the songs that always seem to fit your life and the album you turn to as a sense of identity. I could be your memory. The one that always makes you smile and fills your heart with the warm sensation of a genuine life experience. The one you remember on the days where life takes too much from you. I could be your home. The place where you lay your head. The safe haven you return to when life hands you the pains you remind me of. A cure for you winter cough. The soothing sensation that comes from resting tired eyes. Waking up to the sound of nothing with sunshine on your face. That lasting Hello that never leads to a goodbye. A tall glass of ice water sliding through your body after the alcohol has left you dry. That feeling in your lungs when all you breathe is fresh air. The feeling of victory when you catch something right before it hits the ground. The one to ice your bruises when life knocks you down. I could be a reminder that you are alive. I’m the one you can’t handle. 

I can be pessimistic too.

Every once in a while I stumble across some quote on the internet that goes a little something like this:

Was your first thought is to agree with this? Maybe that person you feel emotionally invested in popped in your head and your heart. Did you feel butterflies or terror? Because, I’ve learned there is a fine line between the two. A very, very long time ago I took that chance. I sat in my car and I poured my heart out to the person that I loved. Long before I was a comm. major I still had the talents to present a good argument. I listed the reasons why I loved him and then I listed the reasons why he should love me. Then, finally I took all the excuses he could give me for why we should not be together and refuted them. But, there was one argument from him I never totally expected. I never really thought that the boy I had loved so much and had given everything to would turn me down simply because I’m what the world likes to call a fat girl. Little did I know that the emotions that I felt in the moments driving away from him would last for so long. There are still days when those emotions leak into my blood stream and like liquor in your system from a night of binge drinking, bring bile to the back of my throat and regret into my mind. So many boys have entered my life since that moment in the driveway. A few of them have stolen my heart and ran away with it but I’ve never once told another one how I felt. I’ve spent countless nights wondering how my life would be if I could just walk up to the person I feel so strongly about and say something like “I really dig you and I think we could be great together, you wanna maybe give it a shot and see what happens?” But, I won’t ever do it again. You see the trick to being a girl that wears her heart on her sleeve is to keep it slightly tucked in under the cuff. That way everyone can see it but nobody has easy access to it. There is no doubt in my mind that my fear of being shattered again has led me to miss out on life in more than one occasion but fear is the world’s most powerful motivator, or “demotivator” rather. It’s not really love that rules the world and don’t you dare let Hallmark tell you otherwise. There is safety in keeping your heart to yourself but joy in sharing it with someone else, but don’t ever let yourself blindly walk into a conversation where your heart is involved. Hindsight is 20-20 and my hindsight has taught me that the minute my heart becomes emotionally invested in someone else I can do one of two things, I can open my heart up and tell them and suffer the consequence, or I can keep quiet and live off of song lyrics, tea, and hopeless daydreaming. Because, here’s the real secret, people will let you down, but your daydreams, they never will.