"Mirror, mirror, on the wall..."

Tonight, I sit in front of my computer knowing that what I am about to type may forever change the opinions of me had by those that read it.

When I typed that sentence, I had every intention of just using it to open this blog entry. And, while that may be a profound purpose in the life of a sentence, I would hardly call it one of life-changing proportions. After I typed that sentence, however, I just could not move on to the next. It just stood out to me. I read it over and over, and it echoed in my mind. Then, all of a sudden, it hit me. The only potential change of opinion that matters is my own. Not only does it matter.... it is absolutely, positively, and ridiculously necessary. And, if anyone else changes his or her mind about me, maybe that it just how it is meant to be. Maybe this is all exactly how it was meant to be.

As most that know me are aware, the past two years have really thrown me through a loop. To say that my world has been shaken is not an exaggeration. And, I have grown and changed in so many ways during this time, as one would probably expect. Many of these changes, I feel, have been very positive. As a whole, I like to believe that I am a more caring, more mature, and all around better rounded person than I was two years ago. But, below all of this, deep inside by core, I am less of a person than I was. Some days, I wake up with a feeling so empty and draining that I cannot think of a single adjective that would give it justice. It is almost like a blanket of sadness.... so heavy and dark. On these days, I cannot stop thinking about things that I feel guilty about, things I should have done, time I should have spent more wisely... the list goes on and on. I think when you lose so many people in such a short amount of time, you are unable to finish grieving for one person before you have to begin for another. And, all of the feelings and memories become intertwined and tangled. Before you know it, they've built up into massive oceans of feelings that have not been faced. When someone avoids coming to terms with something, it quickly turns into regret. What I have now are tidal waves of regret. Ladies and gentlemen, I am drowning.

When someone imagines drowning, he or she probably pictures being surrounded by darkness, unable to breathe, and having no control over his or her own fate. That is how it is in my nightmares, at least. Whenever someone drowns in a movie, I never see it coming. It always happens so, so fast. But, the victims always put up a fight. They grab on to anything they can and hang on for dear life. That is exactly what people do when metaphorically drowning, too. They find anything that can get them through the day, and they hold onto it with all they've got. It is this very survival technique that has cost me the most, I think. Human beings will go to insane extents to keep their heads above water. And, when it is all said and done, is the survivor ever the same person he or she was when the fight first began?

There is something about hard times that pull people together. Because I have grown so familiar with the way those "bad days" feel, look, and even sound, I can usually tell when someone I love is having a bad day of their own. I see it in their eyes. I hear it in their voices. I have watched them go through the stages of grief at their own paces, and they have each gone about it in their own unique ways. Some people threw themselves into their careers, detaching themselves a little in order to heal. Others clung to others, finding comfort in the company and embrace of friends and family. I heard people pray for God's healing hand. I saw Bibles being opened, verses circled, and encouragement found in the words of the Lord. I heard stories being told, favorite songs being played on iPod's, and laughter bursting out of the mouths of friends. I attended a birthday party for an angel. I saw some drink away their sorrows, searching desperately for something to ease the pain. I saw it all, and for as long as I live, I will never forget the way it has all made me feel. I relive it in my dreams, and I still run away from it in my nightmares.

For me, the hardest part of it all is feeling like I have no control over anything. That being said, I guess it is no secret that the medical issues and other events of the past two years have had an extreme effect on my appearance. As of right now, I am doing a lot better, according to my doctors and loved ones. But, I think that I need to come to terms with the fact that I do have a problem when it comes to my issues with body image. I like to think that I have done a really good job of hiding this from everyone, but those that know me best have not been fooled. While others relied on other things to get through the day, I chose to grasp onto the first thing I encountered that I had control over, which happened to be my weight. For the longest time, I truly did not believe that I had any sort of problem. Because I had been so sick, I had gotten used to eating very small amounts, and my appetite was basically nonexistent. Later, when my appetite began to return, I found myself feeling accomplished for having willpower when I felt hungry. Food is not an enemy to me, but a sign of weakness, I believe. When I am happy, I eat, which makes me feel guilty. Guilt leads to anxiety about gaining weight, which makes me not want to eat. It is a vicious cycle, one of self-loathing and endless criticism in the mirror. The full-length mirror in my bedroom has become both my best friend and my biggest enemy. On good days, it feeds me compliments. On bad days, it emphasizes my flaws, giving me determination to do just a little bit more in order to feel beautiful. Even on the best of days, I am never good enough.... not to the mirror, and not to myself.

The reason I am confessing all of this to the entire world is because I believe I owe it to myself and many others. There have been so many people that I have treated poorly. I have judged people for their appearances more times than I can count. I have laughed at people for their weight. I have made rude, immature, and hurtful remarks to people that did no wrong to me. And, I will never be able to apologize enough for all of the horrible things that I have done in the past. I never understood how much pain a person could carry under his or her appearance. I was too ignorant and childish to stop and think about what could have happened in the lives of others that could have effected the way they carried themselves. The people that have impacted my life the most did so not because of their appearances, but their souls. I deeply regret spending so many years placing so much more importance on the human body than the soul. I am so incredibly human... so incredibly flawed. I cannot see beauty in myself, just like I could not see it in so many others. My entire world is upside down, and the more I learn, the more that I realize that I have a hell of a lot to learn.

A huge part of me wants to smash the long mirror on my bedroom wall with a hammer into hundreds of tiny pieces and let the garbage truck carry my demon away. But, I know that I would feel defeat the second I throw the mirror's remains into the trash can outside. Walking back into the house would feel like walking away from another obstacle that has stood in my path. I don't want to walk away... I want to win. I want to look myself in the face and feel beautiful because of the size of my heart, not the size of my jeans. I do not need a lecture, nor am I fishing for compliments. I am asking for compassion, because I am in over my head. The pleasure I get when I feel the curve of my hip bones and the definition of my ribs is one I do not find with many other things these days. I am unable to cut the ties between beauty and happiness, as the two have always been parallel in my eyes. This is not just an issue of a 22 year old girl feeling pretty. This is my life, and I am clinging to the hope that even I deserve to be happy. I am not whining or pretending that life has treated me unfairly, because to be honest, I probably deserve all that I have gone through. But, I have trouble believing that the people that I love most should have been affected by all of it. I cannot carry that burden with me any longer. When you're drowning, you only have two options: sink or swim, and burdens are like weights on your ankles.

I am not sure whether the expression on my face when I recall the girl I used to be is a smile or a smirk, but I am relieved that I still have a sense of humor about all of it. I used to be so sure of myself, of the world, and of the future. And now, the only thing that I am sure of is that life is precious and far too short, especially when it feels as if it has only just begun.

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This is how he watches Wheel of Fortune. He's an odd one :)

don't wake me up

Maybe I should be angry about everything that has happened to me, but I'm not. Look at this picture. Look at every single bit of beauty falling and splashing. Look at the obstacle these two crossed just to have that perfect kiss. The world is full of this beauty. Sometimes, I just have to remind myself to breathe and take it all in....and then, the moment passes. And, I always wonder if I'm only dreaming. There are over six billion people in this world.... and the only thing they ever want is to feel something like this...
weightless...
flawless...

i wish you would.

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Photoshop fun :)

"Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"

"Memory is a way of holding on

 to the things you love,

the things you are,

and the things you never want to lose."

-Kevin Arnold (The Wonder Years)

I always get a little sentimental during final exams. For me, these dreaded tests mark the end of another chapter in my life. Some chapters are more exciting than others, of course, but I have grown to cherish them all. The more I learn in my classes, the more I learn about myself. This semester, I fell in love with my Twentieth-Century Drama course. With each play we studied came new relationships in my life...relationships between my soul and people and ideals that influenced me deeply.

 I felt inspired when A Raisin in the Sun's Beneatha realized that there was nothing shameful about being dependent on her family in order to make her dreams come true. One does not have to be rebellious to be great. Our achievements aren't ours, alone. They are also our family's.

 My heart nearly burst when Rose Maxton stood on her front porch, took that baby from her unfaithful husband's arms, and said, "From right now, this baby got a mother... but you a womanless man" in Fences. Rose, without a doubt, completely exemplifies the idea of compassion. She is kind, patient, nurturing, forgiving, and loving. She know that all things must be nurtured in order to grow or change. And, she knew how to forgive without getting run over or giving in to fear of change or loneliness. She didn't want a fence around her house to keep people out. Instead, she desired one to keep people in. In the end, Rose learned that a fence can only stop those that are too afraid to climb. 

Reading Mother Courage and her Children had a colossal impact on the way I thought about the world....about everything. When it comes to war, I have always been supportive of the brave men and women that go into battle, but I have never thought any cause was worth the brutality of war. I have always had trouble finding it in myself to hate the "enemy" and/or its troops. Everyone fighting in these battles are just human beings, like me. They have friends. They have families. They have dreams. And, they happened to live in a country involved in war, leading them to become soldiers for their countries, usually as a career move or one of financial desperation. When Mother Courage, in the final scene, looked at the emptiness and despair around her, then picked up her wagon and kept going, I had tears in my eyes. This woman had just lost all three children to this war, yet her mind was set on one mode: survival. Some people see her as a hero, a woman of strength...but, I think she is a coward. Becoming a mother means giving up a part of yourself to form another human being. If your child dies, a part of you dies, too. A mother's survival should directly depend on the survival of her children. Mother Courage stood on the battlefield in the final scene with a sense of accomplishment. She and her business had not been taken down by the war. There were no tears running down her face, but there definitely were on mine. I decided, right then and there, that my future children will never doubt the lengths I would go to for their survival. I will be a mother that would not only die for her children, but kill for them too, if necessary. We are raised to believe that one must have money to survive, and for the most part, this is true. But, most people are not reminded that money is everywhere. There is always a way to make it. And, there is no amount of it that is ever worth trading a friendship, morals, or family members for. Mother Courage had strength when she should have had faith. Mother Courage wasn't like me, though. She walked up and down battlefields every single day. She witnessed people fighting for and losing their lives. She saw up-close-and-personal how a human life is of so little value during wartime. Realizing that made me realize how lucky I have been to have never seen something so horrific that I begin to see human lives as disposable. Trust me, nothing that ever exists can do so without making a mark on someone's world. 

When we studied Buried Child, every single conclusion I'd come to with Mother Courage and her Children resurfaced. That play was the most disturbing piece of literature I have ever read. Every character seemed to just live in his or her own little world. They were all disabled in some way, whether it be an artificial leg, alcoholism, deep denial and shame, or a dark secret. In the final scene, the alcoholic father's freshly dead body is seemingly unnoticed, while his son walks through the pouring rain with the corpse of a baby in his arms. He was covered in mud, the result of digging up an old grave in a heavy rainstorm. This baby was the product of incest, buried both figuratively and literally. I pictured the rain washing away the mud that covered the son and the child he was not allowed to love. For his entire life, guilt had plagued him. He'd become a quiet, bitter, and an often angry man. He could not forgive himself for something that everyone around him refused to even acknowledge. He lived life with his biggest secret laying under the very same soil from which the corn that fed and supported their family grew. In my own life, I have made decisions that caused me a lot of guilt and shame. At first, I accepted the help of others to keep my decisions private. To this day, there are things about me that nobody other than the chosen few would know. It would have been easy to keep things secret. But, I had to forgive myself. I had to lean on loved ones for support as I learned and grew from my failures, mistakes, and hard decisions. I became a better person the minute I allowed myself to let go of the shame and guilt. And, as it always does, life went on. And, I was finally able to enjoy it again. Buried Child ends without even a clue as to what happened in the days, months, or years after the day the secret was uncovered. That is the most chilling part about it all, I think... wondering if this play was a prologue or an epilogue for this family. Perhaps, it it up to the reader. If your darkest secret was revealed today, would your life end? Or, would it finally get a fresh start?

 Until I read How I Learned to Drive, I doubt I would have been able to answer that question with 100% certainty. This play, which was written by Paula Vogel, was the last one listed on our syllabus. For a class to read this play and study it together, there has to be a level of comfort between the professor and the students. One's reaction to this play is difficult to hide from others, and when it comes to material as heavy as this, one learns just as much from the reactions of others as his/her own. I can say, without even the slightest doubt, that I learned how to live as L'il Bit learned how to drive. This play had no acts, but instead, changes in gears. When her grandfather responds to her statement about wanting to learn Shakespeare by saying  she will get through life by the two things on her chest, she kept her head up. Her retort contained a line from The Merchant of Venice, followed by the number of the act and scene from which the line was quoted. Then, she went on living. When driving lessons from her uncle turned into sexual encounters, she traded the part of herself that society told her was most valuable for a skill in which she found feelings of pleasure and freedom. Her uncle took something from her, but he also gave her a gift: the ability to drive "like a man," as he says. She eventually went to college, but dropped out to work low-paying jobs for quick money. But, she never stopped feeling on top of the world when behind the wheel of a car. There, she was in control. She could escape. She was free... from everything. Her uncle, Peck, (related by marriage, not blood) proposed to her when she was 18. But, she refused, telling him that what they were doing wasn't right. After that, he drank himself to death, unable to move past a relationship fueled by benefits rather than love. In teaching her to drive like a man, he'd taught L'il Bit how to love like a man, how to make love like a man, and how to leave like a man. In an act titled, "Shifting from Third to Fourth Gear", L'il Bit recalls what she was once told was the "Recipe for a Southern Boy", which said:

"A drawl of molasses in the way he speaks

a gumbo of red and brown mixed in the cream of his skin

warm brown eyes- bedroom eyes

a dash of Southern Baptist fire and brimstone

a curl of Elvis on his forehead

a splash of Bay Rum

a closely shaven beard he razored just for you

large hands-

rough hands-

warm hands

the steel of the military in his walk

the slouch of the fishing skiff in his walk

neatly pressed khakis-

his heart beating Dixie-

the whisper of the zipper-

you could just reach out with your hand and...

his mouth

You could just reach out with your hand and hold him-

in your hand."

Every single time I read it, I am speechless at its beauty. This recipe contains pieces and parts of so many of the greatest men that have ever been a part of my life. I think of Brother Larry's southern drawl, Uncle Randall's hard-working hands, the way my little brother walks with his fishing rod towards the nearest creek, the way Russell's heartbeat sounds when my head is on his chest, the way my dad's face felt on the Sunday mornings of my youth... and how I thought he shaved more carefully for Jesus than he did for his clients at work. I think of my grandfather's big, warm hands holding mine as we walked across the backyard to feed the dogs so many years ago. I think of Uncle Randall's always mandatory khaki pants, and how I never saw him without them. I think of how I wouldn't have any of these things any other way. 

You see, writing for me is just like driving was for L'il Bit. It makes me feel alive. It helps me escape the worries and pressures of the present. It sets me free. And, I am only able to write like I do because of the experiences I've had, the "battlegrounds" I've stood on, my dependence on my family and friends, the times I learned to forgive and still stand my ground, the people I've left standing on my front porch instead of welcoming them inside, the fences I have put up and torn down, secrets I've buried, the muddy process of digging those same secrets up, the innocence I've lost throughout the years, and the power I felt the first time I drove my car all by myself. There's something unforgettable about the way it felt to sit behind the wheel of my car with the windows down, the music blasting, and the wind blowing my hair all over the place. The world looked differently from behind the windshield, and all I had to do to escape it all was press the pedal to the floor. For the first time, I knew what it felt like to fly. And, I liked it. 

Tomorrow, at 8 A.M., I will take my final exam for this course. But, I have the strangest feeling that the real test of what I've learned will come much, much later, in a classroom much larger, with classmates whose names I do not know. I think I'll pass both tests with flying colors. In fact, I just might make A's. Anything is possible.... anything.

Revelation.

After hearing that my church was studying the first chapter of the Book of Revelation, I decided to join them by reading it myself. For as long as I can remember, I have seen the uneasy look on the faces of people when this part of The Bible is mentioned. And, to be quite honest, I never understood the meaning for the anxiety and fear felt by many that have read and/or studied this book. It is possible, I suppose, that my opinions concerning this issue will change as I grow older. All that matters, though, is how I feel about it today, as we are only given one day at a time. Today could be the best day of my life. Today could also be the last day of my life. And, I am going to use this day, as well as all that will hopefully follow, doing, saying, or writing something worth remembering. I will not worry about tomorrow. I will not be afraid.

Why is it that people generally fear most what is unknown to them? How is that any different than a child being afraid of monsters under his or her bed? When I was little, I remember how hesitant I was each night to turn the lights off in my bedroom. The switch to my lights was by my doorway, while my bed was all the way across the room. I would wait until the very last minute to flip the light switch, run like a madman to my bed, and hop onto the mattress before any monsters could reach out from under my bed and grab my ankles. As an adult, it seems a bit foolish. But, the more I think about it, the more I see that many adults act daily just as I did before bedtime as a child. Many people, including myself, are guilty for putting off today what can be done tomorrow. The people that do this the most are probably, I'd think, the same people that are afraid of the prophecies found in the final book of The Bible. While I'm sure everybody has their own reasons for procrastinating, I have come to find that the root of it is almost always fear, whether it be fear of failure, fear of rejection, or fear of regret. We, as human beings, generally find it difficult to make decisions, as we always wonder how today's actions will affect us tomorrow, next week, or next year. At 22 years of age, I have already been lectured by professors about planning for retirement. This seems a bit ridiculous, really, seeing as I have yet to begin a career. It is rare for one to make any sort of decision without first hesitating, even if only for a second. And, I feel that those that hesitate are the ones that miss out on whatever lesson they are meant to learn. What if one moment of hesitation derails one's entire fate? Following a plan is not the same thing as living, regardless of the amount of success that could result from a thoroughly thought out plan. We make plans to avoid failure. Like I said, adults are not as different from children as they would like to believe. Some of us make plans to avoid imaginary monsters, and some of us make plans to avoid ever seeing the monsters that may very well lie inside each of us.

The Book of Revelation is the only book in The Bible that promises a blessing to its reader. Why should anything else matter? Believe it. Believe in kept promises. Believe that it is worth it to seize the day. Then, go out into the world and do just that. For centuries, poets and prophets have urged people to grab each new day by the hand and do something beautiful with it. And, for centuries, people have continued to sweep today's possibilities under tomorrow's rug. Tomorrow never comes, nor does a second chance at yesterday. Today is all that we have. So, learn from your mistakes. Do everything you do to the best of your ability. Be good to others. Be good to yourself. And, learn to embrace your failures.... because it sure beats the hell out of not trying. God will take care of the rest.

the REAL prize egg

Luke, Daddy, Momma, and me :)

(I'll post the picture of me and Russ whenever my mom sends it to me!)

Just as last Easter was our first without Brother Larry, this Easter holiday was the first without Grandmother and Uncle Randall. Because of this, I found that I now see this holiday differently than in past year. I am so thankful that Jesus died for our sins, giving each and every one of us the gift of forgiveness. Because of this, I will get to see my loved ones again one day in Heaven. There, they are safe from pain and harm. And, they are truly happy, which is exactly what I want for each of them. This Easter, I felt closer to them than I have in a long time, almost as if I could reach out my hand and touch the tips of their fingers. Some days, I miss them so badly that it is hard to make it through the day....but, I do. Jesus rose from the dead on Easter, leaving behind an empty tomb. That will forever be seen as a miraculous thing. So, this Easter, I allowed myself to believe in miracles, because they do happen. They happen every single day. 

Spring Break in New Orleans

I decided to spend my Spring Break in New Orleans. Although New Orleans attracts tourists for many incredible reasons, I did not choose this location based on anything one might find in a brochure. Instead, I chose this location for one very important reason: Matthew Adam Birkhoff. 

When I went to the University of Alabama, I met Matty through a mutual friend. We clicked right away, and the bond that we formed has proven to be one of the strongest imaginable. This spring marked three years since I'd seen my dear friend, and Russell knew that there was no other place I'd rather spend my week off from school than in the company of someone that meant as much to me as Matty does. So, we drove from Jacksonville, AL to Metaire, LA, which is a quick drive down the interstate from the infamous Bourbon Street. The trip was about 7 hours, and each second behind the wheel of my mustang was completely and totally worth it the minute I saw Matty's ridiculously gorgeous face. My heart felt like it was going to burst when we pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building and I saw Matty running down the stairs.

It would be impossible to explain why he means so much to me, but I'll make an attempt to do so. When Matty and I went to UA, we were both going through some seriously hardcore personal issues. He was far from home, having just gone through the wrath and devastation of Hurricane Katrina. I was unhappy with myself, struggling to deal with the poor decisions and mistakes I'd made in the months before I met Matty. The night that we met, we sat on the front porch of my apartment and just talked. We talked about life, love, and everything else under the sun. We just spilled our guts, and from that night on, he was one of the people I trusted most in this world. In a time that I felt completely alone, he came into my life and reminded me that I wasn't alone at all. We became each other's lifeline, family, and best friend. He really saved me from the world, and most importantly, from myself and the guilt that I thought I should feel. If I had not met him, I do not know who I would be today. In fact, I do not even know if I would even still be here. But, I did meet him. And, I am still here. For this, I owe him everything, even though he would never ask me to repay him for all that he did for me. He has never asked me to do anything other than love him, and I do... with every ounce of my being. He is one of the greatest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing and loving, and Hell would freeze over before I could ever forget him.

We spent five days in New Orleans, each of them being absolutely wonderful! I went to a casino for the first time, and surprisingly, I did not lose any money. In fact, Russell and I were both pretty lucky, winning all that we'd gambled and more! We walked down the streets of downtown New Orleans, exploring the French Quarter and the interesting people on Bourbon Street. We went to his favorite pub, where I had the pleasure of meeting some of his awesome friends, including a funny and kind bartender named Mark. We danced, laughed, sang, drank, slept, and reminisced. I had a blast, really, and I can't wait to return for round two!

I learned that the best vacations are the ones you spend with the people that you love most. I fell in love with Russell all over again when I saw how happy he was to see me smile as big as I always do when I'm around Matty. And, when he met Matty, he completely understood why I've missed him so much, which reminded me how great of a boyfriend he really is. I learned that some people are meant to come into our lives, because they help us love ourselves again just by loving us for who we really are. That is what Matty did for me, and that is what I hope I did for him, too. He gave me a reason to enjoy life, regardless of how terrible it may seem sometimes. That is what I hope to give him forever, even when we're old and gray (and still as fabulous as we were in our twenties!). I learned that loving and laughing are the most therapeutic things in life. We've loved and laughed from the very beginning, and all you ever really need to know is to always love and laugh. 

Crazy? Okay!

It has been a long time since I last wrote, and since then, so much has happened. I have made many changes in my life in the past few months, and for the most part, these changes have been exactly what I needed. It is often difficult for me to write about decisions I make when they are as personal as my most recent ones have been. I find it easy to avoid this blog when I do things that may or may not cause anyone that reads this to judge me too harshly. To be honest, I do not really know who, if anyone, reads this blog. I do not keep up with the number of hits it gets, because for me, this blog serves as an outlet for my feelings, as they are often extremely mixed up and all over the place. But, I've decided that I would rather be criticized for standing behind the things that I do than judge myself for being too afraid to write about the things that are most important to me.

First, as most already know, I ended my relationship with Kyle a few months back. I think that it is important to be there for those that need you, but I also believe that being needed too much can take away from a relationship. Most relationships end because one person is being loved too much, while the other is not loved enough. In fact, I feel like few relationships actually end because of a lack of love. It is, instead, the lack of balance concerning that love and how it is distributed within a relationship. I have always loved Kyle, and I will ALWAYS want him to be healthy, happy, and successful. However, when I am with Kyle, I stop being myself. Over the past eight years, Kyle and I have dated on and off, and throughout it all, I'd like to say that we have remained friends. And, regardless of what people may say or believe, I absolutely do not regret being there for him when he needed me. As I helped him cope with his grief, I learned a lot about myself. I saw just how far I had truly come in my own grieving process. In order to help him understand what he was feeling, I had to go back in time in my own mind and dig through all of the immense layers of emotions stored in my memory. As he moved forward, I almost seemed to move backwards, traveling from acceptance all the way back to denial. I found myself over-analyzing each step I had taken, wondering if it was really the best move I could have made. Then, one day, I woke up, and I realized that helping him was hurting myself. His acceptance was not his at all... it  was mine. Because I care about him and want the best for him, I had to let him go. I had to let him take his own journey. I pushed him away as hard as I could, and in the end, it worked out for us both. I will always smile when I hear good things about him. I do not hate him, nor will I ever. From January 6th, 2009 to January 6th, 2010, I lost four people that I cared for deeply. I attended four funerals. I cried over four different sets of memories. I said goodbye forever four times. And, I needed to deal with these losses on my own, instead of putting all of my energy and attention into what was going on in the heart of one other person. So, I said goodbye for a fifth time, but in a totally different way. This goodbye was happy, and I said it with a smile.

After Kyle and I ended our relationship, I finally allowed myself to admit that I had been missing a certain someone very, very badly. For anyone who does not know, Russell Wofford is one of the best friends I have ever had. When we lost Brother Larry, he was my ROCK. When I could not sleep, he did not sleep, either. When I cried, he held me. When I wrote, he let me read it to him, and afterwards, we would talk about it. We talked about everything, in fact. I have no secrets from him, and even if I wanted to change that, it would not be possible, because I just cannot hide anything from him. Russell and I, without a doubt, made some huge errors in the year and a half that we were together. We are young, and we both make mistakes. The day we broke up, I'd just found out about Callie and Kyle's accident. I was already hysterical that day, as I had just been told that Uncle Randall's condition was worsening quickly, and I knew that Callie was not the only person I'd be saying goodbye to that week. I was an emotional wreck, to say the least. Russell and I did not break up over an argument or silly fight, we just stopped talking, because the best thing for both of us was to be at home for a while. I needed to be there for Kyle, who was in UAB at the time and had no memory of the wreck at all. I needed to be at home with my family and loved ones as we said goodbye to a man that we all loved and admired. And, Russell needed to be at home with his family, too. We both needed to take a few steps back from our relationship and focus on the one that matters most of all: the relationship we have with ourselves.

Now, Russell and I are together again. And, for the first time in a long time, I am very much myself. He is so smart and cares so much for me, as I do for him. He knows my dreams, and he will be there to help me make them come true. He has always understood why my love for my family and church family runs so deep, and when I get down and depressed about those I've lost, he reminds me that they loved me, too. Even though some people think I jumped back into this relationship too quickly after ending another, they must understand that neither of these relationships were new. Both Kyle and Russell have been a huge part of my life for as long as I've known them both. Russell cared enough about me to let me go when he knew that it was what I needed most, and that is a kind of love that I both understand and appreciate. It is strange, isn't it? Sometimes, the people that love us the most are the ones that do not fight us when we push them away. These people stand patiently on the sidelines, keeping us in their thoughts and prayers, until the day comes that they can re-enter our lives. Letting go of someone you love is impossibly difficult, but sometimes, it is the best thing you can do for that person. This is true love. This is what he has given me, and what I hope to give him every day. When he and I are old and covered with wrinkles, we will still be able to look at each other and smile, knowing that the lines on our faces are from a lifetime of worry and laughter. And, it will all be worth it... every single bit of it. Whether I waited one month or six years to get back together with him, it would have happened eventually. After all, soul mates are a lot like lives- you only get one, and if you worry too much about being politically correct, it will be gone before you know it.

While I understand that all of this may sound crazy, I need for everyone to understand that this is my life. This is the only life that I will ever have. This is my one chance to really experience the world. I want this experience to be everything that I ever dreamed that it would be. I want to put myself out there and help people, especially people that are going through the long, draining process of grief. I want to love and be loved. I want to be able to open my eyes and see, through all of the tears, heartache, pain, and emptiness, all of the beauty in this big, old world we live in. I want to do all of these things, and still, at the end of every day, be able to love and respect myself- both for the person I am at the time AND the person I will one day become. So, yes, it may be crazy. It may be the craziest idea I have ever had. But, in my book, crazy is not bad. It is not bad at all.

"This is your life. Is it everything you dreamed that it would be?"

Last week, my words about my grandmother were read at her funeral. As a grieving young woman, it made my heart ache. However, as an aspiring writer, it was an honor greater than any other I have ever received. It allowed me to give something back to a woman that had given me every single thing I could ever want from the moment I was born. The night I wrote that piece about my grandmother, I laughed while typing some parts, and cried during others. As my grandmother's loved ones listened to the pastor read it, they laughed and cried, too. I looked around the room, surveying the familiar faces inside, and I realized that what I saw was the definition of a successful life. Below the teary eyes of those who loved her most were smiles, and it became clear to all who were present that one cannot possibly think of the life my grandmother lived without grinning. She left behind a legacy of love, laughter, and living life to the fullest. In my book, that makes her one of the most successful people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing and loving. In a world full of people fighting viciously for a taste of success, it is refreshing to see proof of a person that earned the title without having to hurt themself or others in order to do so.

The day that I was born, my grandparents were there with a pink dress for me to wear home. My cousins, my brother, and I were all so blessed to have those two wonderful people there waiting eagerly to hold us as we each began our lives on Earth. We all have countless pictures of Grandmother holding us when we were babies. Grandmother's arms always made us feel safe, and she seemed happiest with a sleeping grandchild on her lap. She was a natural with children, and even as we got older, she had no problem handling what most others would consider a handful. I cannot even begin to count the number of summer nights that all five of us would spend several nights at a time at Grandmother's house. She somehow managed to wake us up, cook a magnificent breakfast, play ball with us outside, cut grass, make us lunch, wash clothes, make the beds, clean the house (which she claimed was always dirty), warn us to stay away from the water hose, mud, or whatever else we could get into, change our clothes when we played in the water hose and mud anyway, cook dinner, put bandaids on all injuries sustained during the day, catch the fireflies we set loose in the house, give us baths, change us into pajamas, and put us to bed. Then, she did it again the next day, as well as any other day that we wanted. She loved us being there, and no matter what tricks we pulled, before we left to go home, she'd whisper in our ears, "Now, you call me if they are mean to you, and I'll come pick you up." And, she always did. She never broke a promise to us, even as we grew older and found ourselves breaking promises we made to her. She did not love us because she thought we were perfect. Instead, she just loved the great things about us so much that our flaws were unnoticed by her. At Grandmother's house, love was always stronger than hate. Always.

My grandmother was recognized as the type of woman that could always be seen working hard in the background. She never wanted to be the center of attention. She never sought after glamour or glory. At our family gatherings, Grandmother can be seen in the background of nearly every photograph or video that I have ever seen. We always struggled to make her sit down long enough to eat more than a bite of food at a time. She worried more about us having enough tea in our cups and rolls on our plates than most people do about their mortgage payments. She insisted we eat, leave our plates wherever we ate, and then relax. Helping her clean or do anything else was not an option. The only other rule besides this was that in her home, one was to respect three men: Jesus Christ, Elvis Presley, and Paul "Bear" Bryant. None of us ever found out what the punishment would be for breaking these two rules, which is exactly the way Grandmother wanted it. To her, holidays were special because they allowed her to make her family happy. This past Christmas, she said, "You know, when I was little, we got in trouble for laughing at the dinner table. I think it should be a happy place. I think we should get in trouble if we DON'T laugh at the dinner table." Of course, she said this while eating her steak on a fold-out card table that was set up beside the big dining room table. She did not care anything about sitting at the head of the table. She had a better view of her son, daughter, son-in-law, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren enjoying Christmas lunch from that little card table. That, to her, was the best seat in the house. Five minutes after she sat down, she was surrounded by grandchildren that gladly traded their seats at the kitchen table or in front of the TV to sit with her. We flocked to her. Like I said, she was a natural.

Even though my grandmother enjoyed being a background worker, her personality and incredible character set her apart from others. She was smart, beautiful, witty, charming, saucy, bright, hilarious, adventurous, brave, generous, careful, strong, thoughtful, and forgiving. She kept all of the little things we all wrote about her when we were little, and one said, "Why hasn't her hair turned white?" That is perfect when remembering her, because we all thought our grandmother was way cooler than everyone else's. She did not fit the stereotype of a grandmother, nor did she fit any other stereotype. It was not until the last year of her life that I ever heard her say, "I'm tired." That was the first time that I realized that my grandmother was not composed of rechargable batteries. Honestly, I would not have been shocked if someone told the energizer bunny was really just my grandmother wearing a costume all along.  She had wonderful friendships with others, and when her grandchildren grew older, she began traveling often with close friends. She had a vibrant social life, refusing to sit at home and do nothing with her time. Hearing her talk on the phone with a best friend was like listening to two teenagers, always giggling and making fun plans. Whether she liked it or not, she was never able to fade into the background as she wished. Some people just shine without knowing it. She was one of those people. She was a star.

People ask how I am doing, and I tell them, "I'm okay." And, I am not just saying that, although it is the generic response to that question. I am okay, because I know that my grandmother is somewhere awesome with people that she has been waiting patiently to see again. This is how she would have wanted it to be, without a doubt. I keep telling people that the one thing I can do for the woman that gave me everything I ever wanted is to allow her to have what she would have wanted. I cannot be selfish and be angry with God for taking her from us. Instead, I am thankful that he took her in a peaceful way, allowing her to maintain her pride and dignity, just as she wished. I am grateful that we were given so many amazing years with her. I am blessed to have a multitude of memories, photographs, videos, stories, and keepsakes to remind me each day of the kind of person my grandmother was, which will allow me to live the kind of life that she can be proud of as she watches over me from the clouds. My grandmother's story is not a tragedy, regardless of how it ends. It is a comedy. It is a romance. It is an inspiration. It is everything she ever wanted it to be... and more.

I did not cry when I wrote this; I smiled. It makes me happy to remember the way her laugh sounded, how she would say, "I've got to watch my stories." before turning on her favorite soaps, the way her scrambled eggs were always perfect, and the way her perfume smelled. It makes me laugh to think of the adventures we had as kids during the summer at her house. I can literally feel my heart warm when I picture her walking around her house, making sure everyone had every single thing they could possibly need during a meal, stopping only when the grandchildren all yell, "GRANDMOTHER! GO SIT DOWN AND EAT!" She'd say, "Oh, you hush." But, she'd go sit down.... even if only for a few minutes. Goodness, I'm going to really miss her. I already miss her like crazy. I cannot wait to see her again. Until then, I just want to make her proud.

"But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint."
Isaiah 40:31

I think this is what my soul sounds like.

"....like your sheets."