"May Angels Lead You In."

:"Grandma, Help me!" I squealed in my seven year old sing song voice. I reached my chubby hands skyward as the worn flannel paint shirt sleeve drooped lazily over my wrist. Paint covered the newspaper in giant glops, decorating the black and white print with swirls of red, yellow and blue. More color made it onto my small hands than made it onto the magnificent canvas, a cardboard box. "Hold on a minute!" Grandma's voice replied, smooth as the coffee clutched in her hand. She bent down and gently rolled the sleeve up past my elbows. After settling down into the chair next to me, she picked up a brush and began smoothing out the globs of paint. She worked intently until I sandwiched my body between her and the table and crawled into her lap. My globs slowly smoothed into flowers, hearts and balloons with a few swipes of a brush held in the experienced hands of grandma. I twisted my small body around to face her while still remaining seated. As I gazed up into her eyes blue as the paint on my fingers, I tried desperately to catch her attention. "Hey Grandma, Grandma, Hey!" In my most determined attempt, I snaked my arms around her neck, bringing her face close to mine. "Grandma, I love you!". She set the brush down on the newspaper and wrapped her arms around me. "I love you too, Erin."

The IV tower beeped continuously, signaling an empty bag. Grandma looked tiny in the hospital bed with her legs drawn up close to her and her arms clutching a stuffed animal. The stuffed puppy was an afterthought, a last ditch effort to feel like I was doing something that was important. Her small hands no longer held a paint brush but were painted with the black bruises characteristic of a hospital stay. Two days left until my nineteenth birthday, and she was oblivious. Years before, plans would have been in place for sleepovers the night before my birthday. Cardboard castles would be constructed for the Beauty and the Beast characters on top of my cake. Years before I would have taken for granted a flash of recognition, the calling of my name, the correct structure of a sentence. And yet today, I was content to lay with her, watching whatever show flashing bright colors and catchy oldies songs. “Hey grandma, my boyfriend is coming to visit today, remember him? And I think that the cute nurse is on call tonight. Grandma? Hey there pretty girl.” I ramble. Desperate for eye contact, thirsting for something, anything to signal she knows what I’m talking about. I refused to be put off by the awkward silence. I promised myself I wouldn’t be like most family member and talk around her. I would talk with her, not above her head. Finally, I just stay quiet. I lay closer to her, my head on her shoulder. “Grandma, I love you.” I say in a shaky voice. Her small frame stirred and rolled slightly towards me. “I love you too.”

There are few things in life that “are worth it”. Worth the struggle, worth the aggravation, worth the effort. And then there comes a moment, one single moment in time, when you realize everything wasn’t in vain.
Rest in peace, Grandma. It was worth it all. I am forever indebted to you memory.

:/

I'm in an awful mood, and if i don't get it out of me i'm never going to fall asleep so here it goes.

WTF? Are you that desperate to not let your son get anywhere with his life? Are you determined to make sure that he turns out to be the low life loser you make him out to sound? Get off your lazy ass and help him find the paperwork. He is trying to make the best out of his life. School wasn't for him. Get over it. It wasn't my doing or anyone else's. He just does not like it. This is the first opportunity he's had at snagging a job, and by misplacing that damn folder, you're making him risk that job. You are fifty some odd years old, grow up.

And you. Quit messing with him. He may not see it. But I am a girl, and I know how girls work. So I sure as hell see it.

Mr. Hiring Person- Not hiring Tory will be one of the biggest mistakes you have ever made for your company. You will never find a more committed worker that will strive as hard as Tory will. He is not only willing to work the overtime, he WANTS to work the overtime. Stupidity isn't cute. Hire him.

And you. I could not care less about you or what you do or where you live. It's your business not mine. Stay out of mine and quit making crap up.

And please. Just go tomorrow. Just try. Please?

Looking ahead terrifies me. I'm still living at home and I already worry about money constantly. I don't want a lot of money. I want enough to live in my little house, with a little yard, comfortably. To be able to pay all the bills, on time. To live in the present and not worry about the huge debt cloud following from years past. I want to be married with a decent job, making decent money and living a decent and comfortable life.

Everything is two steps forward, two steps back. As soon as I gain some momentum, I slip in the mud.

And you, go ahead and judge me on your loaded questions. I may hate where I am in life, but i'm obviously happier than you.

Am I ever going to not feel over whelmed? I can't even remember what complacency feels like.

I don' t ask you for much. It wouldn't kill you to give me a hand.

And I'd like to pretty much give the world a big "Screw you" tonight.
:..exceptforafew..:

Somebody told me this week that writing was a cathartic experience. Writing down one's emotions, takes power away from the emotion itself. Sadness doesn't seem nearly as desperate. Anger doesn't seem quite as consuming. So dear pen, take it away.

At nineteen, I am nowhere near where I want to be. I for whatever reason can't seem to finish anything I start.
I quit at a four year school, going after my bachelor's degree in sociology/social work with hopes to continue on to get my masters. I traded all of that for an associates degree at a no name community college. Not for me. I could fill an entire page with how unhappy I am there. But I WILL stick it out there, get my degree, and move on.

I observed for the first time today. God, I know now that this is what I was made to do. Those wide eyed kids want nothing more than to please you. My first class called me Mrs. Wires or Miss Aguire. Apparently my last name was a little too tricky! So the next class called me Miss Erin. Which was pretty cool. One little guy told me that I was pretty and asked if he could make me a plastic pineapple smoothie. He was a real sweetheart.

Emma Grace visited today. She is one of the only things that can make me forget all the crap. It's impossible to be grumpy when she's around. She left me a note on my bed that says, "Dear Erin, I love you. Love, Emma." :)

Tory and I keep having conversations lately about how I can finally become happy with where I am. He thinks I need to make a list. Honestly, I don't think I know how to make a short term list. All of my list consist of long term goals, jobs, marriage, kids, the works. I probably should work on that list... It's a valid way of going about it. It would be nice however to know what exactly it is that I'd like to accomplish.

I'm not sure where I expected myself to be at 19. I see people I graduated with getting married and having babies, and more than anything, that is what I want. But unfortunately, it's not the time for that. At least for now.

Fight for me.

Fight for me, damn it. Prove it to me. I've never once had someone fight for me. Tell me i'm being over dramatic so I can tell you that your being insensitive. Grab me by the shoulders and tell me that I will never find someone who cares as much as you. Just fight for me. Just prove it to me. Words are meaningless until you attach an action to them. Stand in front of a crowded room and fight. Don't back down. Yell, scream, throw a fit until I get it. If my skull is that freakin thick, use a surgical drill. Just fight for me. Grab me and kiss me until I believe you. Don't let go until you can tell that I understand. Don't listen to my words, i'll just push you away. Wait until you can feel it in my bones, the very core of every vessel. Fight for me, damn it. Do not walk away like a coward. If you say I'm worth it, prove it. Prove it, damn it. Fight. Ingrain it in my DNA. Make sure that I never forget that I am worth, for even only a moment, fighting for. Tell me that being lied to before is not an excuse. Tell me that if I don't let go of the past, I am going to drown in it. Be honest. Don't sugar coat the blow with flowery words and promises of perfection. Tell me that the only certain thing is love and that of which you are certain. Fight for me, damn it. Damn it. Just fight.

Fae

Happy 20th birthday sweetheart.



Photography Graphics


"So let's drink to memories we shared
Down one for all the hopes and cares
Here's too for being unaware that you're gone
Because before too long you'll be a memory."

RIP Fae..: you are terribly missed.

Photography Graphics


I don't think you'll ever get it.