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Countchahugs&kisses…and.be.glad.
A week or so back….I said that I was thankful for a lot of things but didn’t want to get into it.
It’s true. I am thankful for so many things.
The food on the table, in the fridge, the cabinets, and in my bag….and anything anyone graciously bestows upon me.
The roof over my head. I have been lucky enough to have had people that always make sure there’s one there. And that there’s a pillow under my head.
The 3 beautiful and wonderful little girls in my life; they have been the reason I get up every morning for longer than forever. They’re my idols, my loves, and my life. They hold my admiration and my heart.
For the best, most generous, and loving friends anyone can ask for [you definitely know who you are…JESUS]. Through every step I’ve taken in the last year so many of them have made sure it’s been a step forward, have caught my tears, picked me up when I couldn’t stand, and hugged me when I needed it even though I thought I didn’t want it….and never judged me until it was the right and best moment.
My parents have, no matter what, stood by me. They are two of a select group of people that I know I can just say and do what I need to do and they’ll still love me. Even if I worry they won’t…they always do. They make sure I get through and love me no matter what. They support my decisions and rarely question them unless they think my safety is an issue. I can only hope I can make them as proud as they deserve to be made.
My family, in general, because they are amazing people with wonderful and understanding spirits. Especially my Uncle Tim and my cousin Brian because they have helped me move, twice or more, this past year.
For Ryan. The Best Friend of All Time. That is enough said. There are way too many reasons to list why I’m thankful for him. He knows.
My roommate, Nadine. She’s a lifesaver. She gets special mention because….let’s be honest….I’m not easy to live with, as most of you probably know. She is amazing, patient, and glorious. She holds the key to my heart. Our home and us….we were meant to be. Things could not have fallen more into place at the most very right moment.
Work…haha….I am grateful for as many jobs as I have at any moment.
Why? They pay the bills. They get me through. I learn new things at each and every one of them, even if it’s trivial.
I will never enjoy or get as much happiness out of working anywhere else than I get at Columbia. Despite the drama, the ridiculousness, and what have you…I love it. With all the budget cuts I’m grateful, in more words than can ever be expressed in any language, for still being there.
I thank Chiara a million times over for Streetside. The bit of money and tips get me by every week. And the group of people I work with….are phenomenal.
Freelance work gives me grounding and extends my belief that I can do things I never thought possible, even if I hate it.For the opportunity to travel so much this year and have excellent traveling companions in all my endeavors.
This…this brings me to Dave.
I have dated and hung around with plenty of guys this past year. How many or who….not important. He’s treated me better than anyone. I, for once, have found myself in a position in which I am content as an individual. This is why finding someone else who can make me even happier…is just the topper on the cake. His patience has not yet worn thin and that is more than I could ever ask.Overall, I am grateful for every good and bad instance that has come to me in this past year. Every life lesson, every person, opportunity, and every experience that has happened to and upon me. I have learned to appreciate more than I ever thought I could. I have learned to let go and have matured more than I could ever imagine due to it. At the end of every bad day I know I will only be more grateful for the good days ahead when they arrive. Each day is a new day and sometimes the sun doesn’t shine and the wind blows too hard but you get out of bed, pee, and take it on. What else is there?
I know it’ll all be okay because if it isn’t then it’s not over yet so as hard as it is I just need to stop worrying and whining so much and just GET IT. -
Kind words can sometimes cut worse than glass….
Open wounds and make them bleed worse than before…
But you just have to clean those wounds out, dust yourself off, remember where you once stood and how it felt, and how those words….what makes you appreciate them. -
I didn’t fall off the face of the earth.
I really didn’t. I just didn’t have real internet….on a computer….from my home.
But I’m back. To your enticement or happiness or irritation or just plain disapproval…it doesn’t matter I’m still back.So get over it? Or don’t. Whatever.
Pumped to hear all about all your lives via the interweb. So give it so I can geeeeet ittttt!
<3 -
Kelsey & Dan; 10.22.11
This past summer, one of my oldest and greatest friends of all time got engaged. She got engaged to someone who could not be better and more perfectly meant for her. I got to be lucky enough to take their engagement photos. I have never witnessed two people more comfortable and adorable for one another, in a long time.
This happens to be one of my favorite shots. -
In my head for weeks....over and over.
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Kate, helping me at a wedding.
6.18.11 Clifton, ILI know I’m late to the game but Lightroom is awesome.
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Want to know the moment last night that is letting me have faith in this week?
Seeing the giggly, excited, happy smile on one of the most phenomenal people, women, and friends I have ever had.
It’s been long awaited to make a legitimate appearance again and no matter what happens this week that moment has made mine.
And I’m grateful for it and all reasons causing it. -
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Say hey, thanks asshole who dropped their lit cigarette from the upper floors of the building above the Au Bon Pain on Adams. Don’t worry, you only slightly burned my foot, ashed all over my clothes, and you didn’t ruin my lunch at all.
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Preservation
It’s sort of amazing how hearing a song can take me back to an exact moment in time. I can remember how that moment smelled, how the light danced, the weather, and even what I was wearing. I can do all of this without photographs. Though, over time I’m sure I’ve embellished the memory to be more than what it may have been. Memories are interestingly strange things.
Last Thursday was June 16th. It’s like every other day of the week, the month, of the year. There’s nothing incredibly great about that day. No one I know has a birthday and there’s no holidays or festivals. It is just the day that my Grampa Hay passed away.
Every year it comes and it goes. And its significance always plays its part but it hurts less and less with time. It’s strange to think it’s been 12 years since I heard his voice or touched his face.
It’s weird the things the mind recalls. The simplest of things. I couldn’t tell you the day of the week he died but I can tell you what time I woke up that day—10:02 am—and how the couch felt against my cheek as I laid on it, curled up, waiting for my Mom to get off the phone with the news. I can even tell you what I was wearing.
I can tell you that I felt nothing, at all, in the instant she told me. I was 13 years old. It’s probably one of those reasons my family thought I was so cold emotionally. My Mom was talking through welled up eyes, near sobbing, and I sat up and looked at her straight faced, almost unaffected. He had been sick for a while and had gotten worse in the weeks leading up to his passing. It was no surprise. It just didn’t sink in.
The entire procession of events for planning a funeral ensued. I can’t remember many of those. I only remember parts of the wake. The girls were all so very little. Kate and Sam were about 4 and 5; Paige was still a baby, she couldn’t even walk. They went up to the casket and were talking to each other. All I could hear them saying was, “Grampa’s sleeping. He’s just sleepy.” It was a devastating moment. How little and uninformed they were which is why looking back now, when we talk about it we laugh a little. My Grampa would want it that way.
I remember through all of it I couldn’t really cry. I just couldn’t. I went up to his cold, thin, and frail body lying in the casket and I didn’t cry. I wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t really come. I didn’t even cry when I thought about how very few memories I had of my Grampa. I didn’t have nearly as many as my sisters or cousins. I had some sleepovers and a silly nickname and a few things to hold onto but most of my memories had been washed over with instances of him in the nursing home, him being sick, and him beginning to forget.
When it was time to take him to the cemetery we all went out to our cars and waited for them to bring the casket out. My sister, Vicki, and I got into her car. It was just the two of us in her car. Kate had gone with Candi, Tony, and the girls. Vicki turned on the radio while we waited in the parking lot. She was flipping through the radio stations and landed on a now old and obsolete radio station, LiteFM. I don’t recall what was on but it ended quickly and “Tears in Heaven” by Eric Clapton came on. By the end of the first verse of the song they were finally walking out the doors to the car with the casket. It was not until that very moment that I realized that this was it. So with each word out of his mouth and into the speaker another series of tears poured out of my eyes. I was near sobbing. Vicki was crying. She began to drive. She finally looked over at me and tried to make me feel better but it was clear that I was inconsolable. So she drove on to the burial site and we put him in the ground. It was a really beautiful, warm, and sunny day.
For years that song would make me break down when I heard it. I would have to leave a room when it came on. As time passed, there was a point where it began to ease the pain.
I always take some time on June 16th to remember James Hay. The man who raised my mother as if she was his own. The man who smoked cigars. The man who was serious but so funny. The man who was so very caring. I may not remember him as well as everyone else but I remember him. I always make some small gesture on that day. When I was 18 years old I wrote him a poem and left it on his grave. When I was 19 years old I bought 2 cigars, went to his grave, and smoked one and left the other. When I was 22 years old I brought him a beer. I almost always go there but this year I couldn’t. I had work in the morning and I needed to start cleaning the new apartment. I had been thinking about him for part of the day. It only makes sense that once I had finally found a radio station to come in and get going with the scrubbing that “Tears in Heaven” begins to play. I stopped what I was doing and just laughed. I said out loud, “you know I didn’t forget. Talk about a guilt trip, Grampa.” I smiled and continued to clean. Only a few tears welled up in my eyes…I mostly just laughed.
“Beyond the door there’s peace I’m sure.
And I know there’ll be no more…
Tears in heaven ”
