#i grieved so much in january and never truly got my hopes up even though i of course wished something would happen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

juliasdowntonstuff · 5 months

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Just some late night ranting

This will be an unusually personal post for me. I never truly talk about all these feelings and emotions, at least not my own. So this is quite a different post to what I would usually put on here — and it has nothing to do with Downton.

I just think I have to get this off my chest, and I feel like my friends just wouldn't understand. This will also be my own personal reminder that feeling like this is okay.

I contemplated posting this a lot since I wrote it a few days ago. In the end, though, I am putting this on here with the hope that maybe someone else finds this who needs to read this at least partly as much as I needed to write it.

Also, this is the raw, unedited text copied straight from my notes app, so please excuse any mistakes.

This will talk about loss and grieving for a loved one, so take this as a trigger warning if you don't want to or can't read about that.

It’s currently 3:15 am on the 21st of November 2023. I am writing this to hopefully make some sense of at least some of what's keeping me up so late when I am doing just alright during the day, mostly at least. My friends wouldn't understand, and I don't blame them. How could they? None of them have had to deal with this yet, and I am happy for them. I truly wish they won't have to for years or even decades to come.

My mum is dying. Even just writing that sentence hurts like hell. She was diagnosed with cancer in late January this year. She did the chemotherapy, had radiation treatment and then had an operation. Everything was looking so splendidly after that. The doctors said that she was in remission and that should be able to get back to work sometime in the New Year. She truly started getting better after all the treatment, and it looked like she could start her new job after all. She was originally supposed to start said new job the day she got her diagnosis — a job she has worked so hard for all her life, and now she'll never get the chance to do it. Still, there was hope and we all clung to it. We were happy with the progress she made during the summer. And then they found the metastases, most prominently in her brain, and ever since then she has started losing parts of herself and abilities she once had, almost on the daily. Everything she once loved, she can’t do any more. She’s losing her memories and she’s starting to lose her control of words. My mum was always one of the most eloquent people I ever encountered. She was who I always turned to whenever I needed anything, anything at all. She’s not dead yet, but I am already agonizing over all the things I never asked her and the answers I’ll never get. And that is perfectly acceptable.

My mum attended every single event I ever participated in since kindergarten, all the choir concerts in school and now at uni; every single swimming or reading competition I ever took part in: she was there, front row, cheering me on endlessly. Next week I'll be singing and playing the first ever concert she won’t be able to attend and I am already saddened by her absence even though she is still here. She just won't be there in person. She was and is my biggest supporter. She’s not dead yet, but I’m already grieving just thinking about all the things she won’t get to witness, the milestones I won’t get to share with her. And that is perfectly acceptable.

I'm driving the 300 kilometres home from university every week to help my dad care for her. While I am there, I'm also doing the grocery shopping. People in my hometown have started looking at me and talking to me as if she’s dead already and it hurts unlike anything. She’s not dead yet, but I am already feeling her loss whenever I have to go out and see people who knew her. And that is perfectly acceptable.

I have had some time to come to terms with the reality of it all — that my mum won’t be here forever. Of course, she was never going to — that’s how life works. But she was supposed to have so many more years of life ahead of her. Now, suddenly, she doesn’t. All she has left are a few more weeks. No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot imagine a life without my mum in it, and I don’t want to in all honesty. But the truth is: I have to. Because sometime soon that will be my reality. I am already mourning my mum even though she is still alive. I get incredibly sad every time I look in a mirror or someone takes a selfie with me, because I don't just see myself in there, I also see her. I am the spitting image of my mum, and that serves as a constant reminder of what I'm about to lose and it won't ever stop reminding me and my family of this, of her. My mum is my best friend and I will forever be grateful for this special bond we shared and still share. This is not what life's like for so many people out there. People who don't get along with their parents or have no contact with them for various reasons. That's a fact that makes me even more emotional about it all. I am grieving the person I am and I will be grieving who I was when she was here because I know that when she dies, a not-so-small part of me will die as well. And that is perfectly acceptable.

I am grieving the woman who has been with me all my life, who raised me to be so independent, but who also helped my whenever I needed help and who stood by me no matter what. I am grieving my guiding hand in life. I am grieving the woman I have looked up to ever since I was a little girl, amazed by the effect my mum had on other people, most notably all her students. My mum is the reason I am becoming a teacher as well, her passion for that occupation and all it entailed was the match that lit the spark within me. My mum was my role model — she is my role model.

I am mourning my mother, prematurely. She’s not dead yet, but I am already agonizing over her loss and the huge gap she will leave in our lives. What I’ll do when the time has come to truly mourn her I don’t know and I wish I wouldn’t have to find that out for a while yet. But I'll have to, and that certainty hurts unlike anything I've ever felt. I've lost both of my granddads to the same illness, so I know this kind of loss and what the weeks and months leading up to the inevitable feel like. But what I felt then and what I am feeling now simply cannot be compared. During our drive home from a visit with my granddad ahead of his death almost exactly two years ago, she said: “We're saying goodbye a little more each time we go, aren't we? Because a little part that was there last time has already gone missing and won't be found again by the time we return. And at some point, there won't be anything left at all.” And she was right. The extent this time around, however, feels so much greater and much more profound.

People in my life I've told about this situation ask me how I am doing all the time. All I manage to get out is a (mostly fake) smile and a forced “I'm fine.” Because how am I to say all of this to another person, straight to their face? I can't and I won't. After all, my mum is still alive. She is not dead, yet. I have nothing to grieve for, not yet.

And still, I am grieving this loss. Which is perfectly acceptable. At least, that is what I have decided for myself.

It is perfectly acceptable.

#bit of a personal post #excuse the rant #dealing with grief #loss of a parent #sorry for being depressing on here #grief #loss #death #losing yourself

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louloubabys1992 · 3 years

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Five Favs of 2020

I was tagged by the amazingly talented @mercurial-madhouse to do this and I thank you for it as its been a while since I’ve looked at my fics or any of my work really....so here goes :D

RULES: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work.

1-Hang there like fruit, my soul/Till the tree die

Fic summary;

''You still want me?'' he asks, voice thick. ''Yes,'' Harry's answer is absolute, almost defiant. ''But my hands are empty,'' Louis shakes his head. ''I've got nothing to offer you.'' ''I don't care about that. Do you see my hands?'' Harry asks before he cups Louis' face. His touch is gentle. He's always gentle when it comes to Louis. ''When I'm not holding you, I feel empty, but like this,'' he presses closer until their faces are inches apart. He caresses the apple of Louis' cheeks and that's when Louis realizes that he's spilled tears and Harry's wiping them. He didn't even notice; too busy looking into Harry's kind, kind, kind alpha eyes. ''I feel like I'm holding the world and I don't feel empty anymore,''

Louis knows he's a defective omega. He knows its also not his fault but it is what it is. He takes the world head on even when the world is unkind to him. Not Harry though; stubborn as he is, he doesn't back down, not when it comes to Louis

Note;

Those who read this fic know that this is my first ever abo fic. I wrote this in a time when I thought the world was ending. I had been on lockdown like the rest of us with not much to do and yet all the time in the world to finally do what I’m truly passionate about, which is writing. I don’t know if anyone noticed this but the difference between this fic and my latest one was six months (aside from a 16 chapter fic which I was writing almost simultaneously with ‘’Hang there’’ so for it to get any kudos or comments at all is quite unbelievable to me and I am really proud of the journey it took me on. It was one bumpy but amazing ride.

2-As the snow flies

Fic Summary:

’'I can’t sleep without you anymore. Got used to you.’’ Harry is always like that, so transparent with his feelings, so abundant with his love. He cuddles Niall the most, always stares up at Zayn like he’s something cool and out of this world, always attentively serious with Liam and always helping Leona out in the kitchen. He’s not so different from the shy, timid boy he’d first met, still stands pigeon toed when he’s waiting for Louis and the lads to go home after school, still stands with his shoulders all hunched but then he sees Louis and suddenly he’s taller, brighter, smile and dimples on full display.

He’s so beautiful.

-Or the fic in which Louis and Harry are foster kids who get separated long before they could even understand what loving each other means. They were so young and since then, circumstances had made Louis tough, had forced him to harden up. What happens when he and Harry meet again?

Notes:

Probably the easiest fic I’ve ever written because the idea had been swirling in my head for years, I just never had the time to sit down and put pen on paper (or letters on a word document hahah). It’s not for the faint of heart, I know, but I’ve always wanted to write it and flush it out of my system and when I did finally start writing it, it wasn’t as hard as writing my other fics. Like, I knew how it would end, I knew what scenes I had to cut out, what fit, what did not fit and I have to say, even though the outcome is not the way I had imagined it at first but it is everything it was meant to be in the end :D

3-The Boy with the Tin Chest and a Glass Heart

Written for the @bottomlouisficfest

Fic summary:

Alpha Harry Styles, world-renowned author of fairy-tales, is being persuaded by the Beta, Liam Payne to hire a new illustrator. Since Harry’s own illustrations are too graphic for what is supposed to be children’s stories, Liam feels the need is dire. Omega Louis does not agree with Liam since he believes that Harry’s stories are fine just the way they are. Of course this has nothing to do with Louis being totally biased or totally head over heels for Harry. It certainly has nothing to do with being jealous of the mysterious omega illustrator Liam has in mind to team Harry up with. Seriously, it has nothing to do with that at all. Nothing, absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. Yeah...

Notes;

During my time of self isolation while the world tore itself apart, I busied myself with writing and watching k-drama series to distract from being anxious and swept by it all. It did wonders for me, occupying my time like that as I have always loved writing and this year, I found a new love for korean actors and their dramas and I have to say, their stories have such amazing plot lines. This fic is heavily inspired by one k-drama series called ‘’its okay not to be okay’’ starring Kim Soo Hyun and Seo Yea-ji (I hope I got the names spelled right). Please do watch it if you haven’t already :D

4-The Importance of being Earnest

part of the @1000feelingsfics

fic summary;

Harry cannot help but pay extra attention to Louis' order, even if it is just a warm cup of tea with a dash of milk and no sugar. He also makes sure that the Danish Louis asks for is warm and fresh from the oven and not the one in the display, even if it means delaying Louis a bit when he fetches said Danish from the kitchen. It's all worth it when Louis smiles his crinkly smile at him before he rushes off to work.

Man, he's hot, he cannot help but think.

Or Harry is a barista who's been harboring a crush on Louis for months. Little does he know that Louis actually likes him back.

Note:

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this before but this fic was included in a podcast which has never happened to me before and I am so so so happy and proud that my fic got that type of attention (or any attention at all hahahaha) so like, it is quite special to me and honestly, a lot of the fics written for the @1000feelingsfics challenge are really, truly incredible

5-Bed of Nails

fic summary;

Louis has been keeping a secret for a very long time. The boys don’t know because he doesn’t tell them, not because he doesn’t want to but because he doesn’t think they need to know or be bothered by his troubled past. When they find out, they look at Louis differently. But Harry doesn’t. No, he loves Louis and will do anything in his power for his love to find its way through the cracks.

Or the one where Louis has a troubled past that catches up to him and Harry does his best to save him from it.

Notes:

This is my longest fic ever, not just in chapter count but in time (it took me actual years to finish it, whew, what a journey). A lot of things happened while writing this fic but one event that stands out among the rest; I lost my younger brother back in 2016. He was only 23 years old. I started writing this fic in 2015 and finished it January 2020. Losing George crippled me both mentally and emotionally. I had no power, no inspiration and definitely no will to do anything but try and seem okay for the sake of my grieving parents. I bottled it all up to try and seem strong in front of them and in return, I forgot about anything else, including my passions and my hobbies. It took me a herculean effort to finish this fic and I mostly did it because writing to me, is like an itch. I can stop writing sure but every once in a while, that itch that nags at you like an incessant person knocking, begging you to just open up the door on the swirl of words blasting your brain in the middle of the night, begging you to just do something, doesn’t ever completely go away. So, I didn’t ignore it and decided to finish it, no matter how long it took. The itch to write went away after that and a sense of calm and accomplishment took over instead. I miss George till this day. Nothing will ever turn off that feeling but writing to me, in any form, whether in my journal or fics or whatever, does have the power to push me through the day.

And there goes; my 2020 fics. I want to tag a lot of people but I think most people I know here already did it but if you see this or read this, take that as your cue to do it too. We all need some self love in this world and self love is what we deserve.

Happy new year everybody :D

#fics #larry fics

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terrifictrauma · 3 years

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How can we let her die?

Shivering, I sat crunched over as the doctor gave me my epidural. Nothing felt warm despite the warm blanket draped on my legs. I had my headphones on, playing inspirational music. I compiled the playlist for months, in the hopes it would help the situation. I remember her saying, “Just breathe and relax. Your baby girl will be here very soon.” I was fighting back the waves of tears. Tears may be made of water, but I felt flames. I was consumed with fear and all of it was ignited by this place. Hospitals, sterile tools, monitors, and the smells of bleach ignited the dread in my heart.

Let’s rewind. Around three months before this day, I was walking around the county fair with my parents and my five year old daughter from my previous marriage. My husband was out of town and things had been stressful. I was trying to give her some good kid fun in the chaos that was our life. She was riding the rides with my mom as my dad and I spoke about livestock and nonsense. I had a difficult pregnancy up until this point and was enjoying feeling pretty good for once.

I had lost my son in the second trimester that January and was gifted my rainbow two weeks later. Was I stressed? Sure I was, but my grieving was numbed by the excitement of my new baby girl, Naomi.

As we walked I started feeling sharp pains. I couldn’t stop them, sit them off, nor drink enough water. My dad drove me quickly to the local hospital. I knocked on the door with hope for some relief and was met with, “We can’t help you here. You need to go to the next hospital over.” It was my hometown hospital, where I was born 29 years before. After a sonogram, I found out that night that my amniotic fluid levels were low. I had a follow up the next week with my OB. I was expecting the small and crass little man to tell me I was dehydrated or something. Then, he urged me to go to a bigger hospital with my high risk OB. I have type one diabetes. That lovely autoimmune came to me in college, and gave me my high-risk status. Anyways, my husband rushed me to the bigger hospital. If the county fair and livestock talk wasn’t a give away, I’m from a very rural community. The bigger hospital was five hours away. We drove on nerves. We were unsure of our condition, and discussed how everything would be okay, as we drove.

Everything was not okay.

There, the high risk doc told me they have saved younger babies. I was given steroids for her lungs, and was expecting her to come then. My fluid kept getting lower and lower. My preterm labor was stopped and I was sent home for another follow up with him the next Monday.

After the sonogram, “The good news is there’s dialysis and kidney transplant available in pediatrics.” Wait, what?? “Your daughter’s kidneys are enlarged and echogenic. They aren’t making urine. That is why your fluid is basically gone. I’m referring you to the Children’s hospital. I have a college buddy that works there, and it’s closer to you.” I recall him telling me of the will of a mother. He had another patient, whom he was for sure the baby was going to die, and the mother refused to believe it. The baby lived, even though it was a complicated and trying go. This was not the story I wanted to hear. Those were not calming details to learn about my unborn gift.

I was teaching at the time. I had finally got back into the classroom after moving back to this area, my childhood community, after a rough divorce and a new and wonderful remarriage. I had finally somewhat escaped my ex and was surrounded with the love and support of nearly all of my family. Teaching is my heart, my calling. Have you ever loved something so much that you can’t think of doing anything else? That was me. Education excited me. I loved planning lessons, decorating my room, watching kiddos learn and grow, and I even enjoyed parent teacher conferences. At the time of the relocation, it seemed that everything was looking up and things were starting to settle in my life...even after the miscarriage. My custody battle was long and ugly. Even though that portion of my life wasn’t over, I felt as though there was an end in sight...away from him. More on that later.

I drove back to my classroom after the devastating news. I drove in silence; my mind wondering and my heart pounding. I remembered the day I lost my son, Huck, as we named him. I woke up the night it happened with spotting. I called my OB and she said it would be fine. She said all the normal things you say to a pregnant chick. “Drink water, rest, and put your feet up.” I went back to bed after obediently listening. 3 am came with agonizing cramps. I looked down at the sheets to a puddle of red. It was a warm coldness that I will never forget. I looked at my sleeping husband for a second. Should I wake him? He looked so sweet and was so exhausted from work. That choice was no longer a choice. He came to me as I ran to the bathroom, terrified. Luke, my new love, was staring down at me after calling the hospital. I told him I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay on that tiny bathroom floor forever. I looked down at my son. He was so tiny and so perfect. My hands were red and so was everything. The bleeding didn’t stop; it wouldn’t. I didn’t want to leave my lifeless baby, so I put him in a container and we left. I left him, and it was unbearable. I had to have emergency surgery that night, a ride in an ambulance to the “bigger hospital,” and a blood transfusion. The doctor said they nearly lost me, but I felt alone in the wilderness anyway. Losing a child is a desolate and unexplainable experience.

We buried our son between our newly planted apple trees. I thought of those trees in the car. So little...perfectly designed. They had cute little leaves at that time and they were anchored down in the soil next to my garden. They were so petite and yet so full of life. The irony was too much.

That seemed like the longest drive of my life, and I drove a lot in those days. But like I said, more on that later.

It was a catholic school, that I taught at, and after arrival I wobbled in and I told the head mistress what the doctor said and immediately went to the church. There was no way I could continue with my lessons for the day. My daughter was in my class. She saw me in the hallway, and I could see the joy leaving her face. It was replaced with worry and that made me sick. I told her mommy was fine, but she knew I wasn’t. A sweet lady that volunteered at the school followed me. She tried to comfort me, without knowing me...not really knowing me. I cried and cried to Jesus. I was angry, terrified, and anxious. I recall the altar of the church and how beautiful it was. I was pissed. How can this altar be so beautiful, and my unborn baby be marked with some unknown disease? I know that is a strange comparison, but it truly was agonizing. My baby was beautiful to me. I had seen her many times in the sonogram. I had felt her wiggles so much, her hiccups, and her kicks. I adored her as much as I adored the God that lived in that church. She was from Him, so I had to refocus my thoughts away from despair. I couldn’t though. I couldn’t pray it off, kneel it away, or cry to him and receive respite.

I left the church feeling alone and helpless. This was a feeling I would feel all too often in my very near future.

I had an MRI scheduled at the “closer Children’s hospital”. My husband and I were a wreck. Our bond grew stronger as our hearts grew weaker. I had prayed for the intercession of a Saint that provides roses, in times of distress, the days before. I had prayed for my roses to tell me everything would be okay. I had the MRI and as we walked to the room where we were given the diagnosis I saw beautiful roses on the nurse station desk. I didn’t think anything of it. I had forgot about my prayers with all the stress of the situation. Little did I know that those roses would change my life.

Once again, I was sitting on a hospital bed getting another sonogram. I looked at my sweet baby and could see her abdomen was completely full of something fuzzy...her kidneys. The tech left the room without saying anything. I could see her expression. I knew something was gravely wrong before I walked in there, but I wanted her to give me rest. What seemed like forever later a geneticist arrived. He was a man about my age, tall and slender. He was so put together. He seemed so calm and collected as he told me our daughter had autosomal recessive polycystic kidney disease, and both Luke and I were carriers that’s how she got it. He said we can get tested, and test for other deformations and genetic diseases. He mentioned that most parents abort these babies. He was calm and expressionless. It was too easy for him. It was his job, and that was science. Then he left.

We were moved to a room full of doctors. Pediatricians, a nephrologist, a counselor, nurses, my new high risk OB..”the college friend,” and others were in attendance. Most of it is a blur to me now, but I remember the nephrologist saying, “We like a challenge but she will probably not live more than a few hours to a few days. There is a one percent chance for survivability. If she lives, she will face more challenges than dialysis. She has underdeveloped lungs and will probably get multiple infections, and will suffer her whole life more than likely.” The pediatrician said, “We can terminate, or just let her go after she is born. No one will judge you morally, religiously, personally..” etc. They kept asking us if we had questions. Our only question was, “How long do we have with her?” They had answered it, and we just wanted to leave.

Another long drive back home as Luke and I fought the idea of letting her die right after coming into the world. How can we let our baby just die without giving her a chance? I remembered seeing the roses. Those beautiful roses. As we were driving we saw a pro-life sign with an infant on it. It said, “choose life.” We determined then and there that we would fight for her as long as she was willing to fight too, and that began this story.

I continued to work after the diagnosis. Sweetly smiling and teaching through my agony. I would mutter words of hope and faith to others that asked, even though I rarely felt those feelings. I would look onto the faces of my students and want to cry, because my little girl would never have a sweet smiling teacher. She would never learn to count, or read, or have the joy of watching the class butterflies hatch from their chrysalises. Everything was melancholic. All my thoughts were consumed with comparisons to how my perfect little girl was not perfect, and that she would never experience the life that I was then just floating in.

Then, one day, as I was giving a lesson on the alphabet, I felt those all too common cramps and pains. They gained aggression and so I drove myself to the emergency room once again. I was in preterm labor again, and they flew me to the Children’s hospital to a room next to the “diagnosis room” I had been at weeks before. I was given many drugs on the flight to fight the pain and to hold off the inevitable. I awoke in my new bed to another doctor saying, “You know there is a zero percent chance this baby will live, right? I just need to be realistic with you.” My husband told him to get out, and I fought off the delivery all night. My labs came in and I was having a cardiac emergency. They said my triglycerides were high and I was ambulanced to the the hospital “just for adults.” The reason for my elevated levels was never fully diagnosed. I remember one cardiologist saying it was “broken heart syndrome.” They wanted me to do another test, but it would effect Naomi’s kidneys, so I said no. There was no way I was going to hurt her little body anymore than nature was already doing.

I was hospitalized and on bedrest for most of the third trimester because I kept going into labor. My body knew. It was trying to get the diseased baby out. Yet, we fought. Everyday they monitored me and the baby. As I stayed there by myself I capsized into myself. I tried to stay positive, and appeared to be on the outside, but that trauma was so much, I still haven’t gotten over it. I longed to be home, fat and happy, while my husband doted on my pregnant body. I wanted the experience to be with him and my daughter at home, and to be normal. I imagined taking pictures in front of the mirror and posting them on social media with comments like, “36 weeks and feeling good.” But, that wasn’t our story. This was not a fairytale. I drew a picture of an inmate behind bars, and marked the days I stayed there until they decided to do a C-section. I wasn’t allowed a delivery because of all the complicated aspects of the pregnancy; and there were quite a few.

The birthdate was chosen. October 1. I came to find out weeks after the birth that this was the feast day of St. Therese(The intercessory rose Saint). This was the day Naomi Grace was to be born and the day she was to die.

Now back to the surgery table. Crying as my legs went numb. I was feeling no comfort. The only other surgery experience I had was after I lost my other baby, and here I was about to birth another baby that was probably going to die. I knew I would probably only hold her after she had passed, or as she took her last breath. I had months to fear and grieve the loss of those precious moments; breastfeeding in the silence of her nursery she would never see, kissing her cheeks as she whimpered for me in the wee hours of the morning, changing wet diapers I had carefully washed and put away in her drawers in anticipation of her arrival months before. I had already told myself that I wouldn’t get those experiences, and now her birth was even more hideous to me. There was no joy, and no excitement, and no happiness. I was terrified once again.

I heard her cries and they let me look at her, very briefly. She was irregularly swollen. I had a five year old daughter, so I knew what newborns were supposed to look like. I battled wanting to hold her, but they swept her away. I told myself it was probably better that way. I wouldn’t have to listen to her gasp for air, or see the light leave her eyes. My husband, my rock, left me there too. He watched as they got her ready for her fight. And I....I laid there crying helplessly with so much exasperation that I thought I could die too. The typical exhilaration that comes after having a baby wasn’t there. The relief from successfully carrying a baby for nearly ten months, and bringing them into the world to start their beautiful story, wasn’t there. I felt completely alone in that moment. Then, my headphones started playing a song about a phoenix, and I closed my eyes, sighed, and prayed.

#arpkd naomistrong infantloss miscarriage St.Therese dialysis sonogram pray

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shelbywanders · 3 years

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Chapter 23: Infertile

So...let’s start from the beginning yeah?

February 2018, we found out the best news, we were expecting! With my past history, we thought for sure we would be trying for a while. So the fact that I was staring at a positive pregnancy test after just a mere two months trying to get pregnant was unreal. But 9 extremely long, tiring and definitely taken for granted months, out popped the greatest gift I’ve ever been given; my Adeline Mae!

She was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, I know that sounds so cliche. She came out looking like her daddy’s clone (go figure) except for that sweet little button nose & I just couldn’t believe that we had made something so damn perfect.

I won’t get into the details of being a new mum and all that jazz in this post, but of course, there’s a lot that goes on in the first year. But one thing that started to get on me and my husband’s minds pretty quickly was growing our family. When Addy was around 6 months, we decided it was time to start trying again. We always talked about having our kiddos close in age and at the time, we wanted lots of them. I had a hard pregnancy with Addy, but that didn’t change my feelings about wanting that big family I always dreamed of having with the person I loved. I have three younger brothers who are 10, 8, & 7. I’ve grown to love how close they are in age and wanted that for my kids too. Me and my older sister are 4 years apart and while we’re super close now, there came a time where we weren't. We’ve always envisioned ourselves with kids just a couple years apart, and get all of our baby making years out of the way so that we can then stop, relax and watch all our kids grow up together. Of course, plans don’t always exactly go as planned.

I exclusively breastfed Adeline until she was 20 months. When we started trying, my periods had returned but weren’t regular at all anymore. So I started my TTC journey a bit different than I did back in 2018. OPK’s became my best friend and little did I know how many I would go through the next almost two years and counting. But they did help me learn more about my cycle and I grew accustomed over constantly peeing on things every day.

We were super excited in the beginning, it always is. It’s fun, it’s sexy, it’s exhilarating. The two week wait is exciting as you anxiously wait to pee on some more sticks. The first few times of getting your period, of course it’s a let down, but you keep on keeping on because surely...it will happen soon! Until it doesn’t...

Around Addy’s first birthday which was around 6/7 months of trying I started to get that aching feeling that was new to me. Why isn’t it happening? Shouldn't I be pregnant by now? What are we doing wrong? In our grand plan of our life, I was wanting to be pregnant by Addy’s first birthday and that came and went. Sex wasn’t much fun anymore, I was tired of having to buy more ovulation tests and tired of squinting at clearly negative but also wait, is that a line? tests over and over again. But of course...we just kept trying, praying that next month will be our month.

December came, month 7/8. I was so busy creating orders for my small shop and we weren’t hardcore tracking. We did the the deed once, the day before my birthday. Two weeks later, I realized I was late. Two days late actually. What?! This hasn’t happened before...grabbed the nearest test to me and finally. Finally. Two pink little lines. A faint line, but a line nonetheless! We were pregnant!!! I remember running to the store to get more tests because I have to see the progression, ya know, peace of mind. I stopped in the kids clothing section and spotted a cute “Big Sister” shirt and grabbed it. I wanted Addy to wear it out and see how long it took my hubby to notice what her shirt said. Unfortunately, she never got to wear that shirt and it’s stashed in the bottom of her dresser three sizes too small now.

To keep it short and sweet, we lost our squishy baby that should’ve stuck around for 9 months and created a family of four just a couple of weeks after finding out. Instead, it started a whirlwind of emotions that I didn’t even know I could feel and a fight that we’re still battling to as I type this all out. Maybe one day I’ll make another blog about the miscarriage and all the feelings that came with it, just not in this post.

At this point, here we are entering 2020 grieving the loss of what would’ve been. We picked ourselves up as much as we could and kept on going. Trying. Praying. Crying. Trying. Praying. Crying. We hit a year TTC in May 2020 and I felt a new level of hopelessness. Chapter 23: Infertile?... But how? I’ve gotten pregnant easily in the past, I’ve carried a baby, my body has done this before...what is wrong? 13 months TTC and we had the talk. The talk about trying to find answers and get some help. I set up a costly consultation with a fertility clinic in June. Our insurance doesn’t cover anything so of course, it was a big decision we had to make. While waiting for my cycle to start so that we could start fertility treatments, I had my first chemical pregnancy. So that was another heartache...moving on.

August 2020, I have my first medicated cycle with my RE. I was on Clomid 50mg, triggered with Ovidrel and progesterone supplements after ovulation. The first cycle was perfect. Absolutely beautiful. I was ecstatic! My body responded so well to the meds and I ovulated at the perfect time and everything seemed great. Didn’t get pregnant, which sucked. $1200 in the hole, but hey! The meds worked. Let’s try again. Second cycle, same thing. My body didn’t respond at all. Nothing. Cycle cancelled...$1200 done the drain again. At this point the holidays were quickly approaching and our wallets were struggling so we put a hold on fertility treatments and we haven’t done any since. The month after we stopped, I had another chemical. That felt like a big ol’ screw you.

Hold tight, you’re almost caught up! We’re nearing the end of 2020, thank GOD. That hellish year needed to leave STAT. January 2021. New starts, new chances. I had an appt with my primary to talk about what I have been suspecting to be the problem of our infertility struggles. And that’s when a diagnosis came around. PCOS. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. it’s one of the most common reproductive conditions in women and one of the leading causes for infertility. It runs in my family, my symptoms matched, I just couldn’t see it being anything else. As for Addy? I truly think we just got lucky. Blessed. I will never question it. I’m beyond grateful because I cannot imagine not having her right now. I started on Metformin a couple of weeks ago, a drug that helps treat PCOS. I also started a diet and have lost about 15 lbs so far! My motivation is because after this we will probably start doing IUI’s and I want to make sure I’m in good health so that are chances are as good as they can be. But of course...we are praying and hoping that it doesn’t come to that and by some miracle, we get pregnant naturally again before we go down that road.

So there it is! You’re caught up. I didn’t go into many details on individual experiences because I knew this post was already going to be long. I just felt like a little synopsis of our TTC & infertility journey was needed before I continue writing about my experiences! I’ve felt pretty alone, even though I have people around me who care and love for me but they just haven’t gone through this so it’s hard to relate to anyone. I find writing to help. Getting it out there even if no one reads it. I am absolutely determined to make 2021 beautiful and I believe in every inch of me that our rainbow baby is coming to us. This month. Next month. Maybe at the end of the year. But I know it will happen...I can’t lose hope even if I wanted to. I’m hoping by sharing our journey, we can all find hope within each other. You’re not alone. I’m not alone. Our wishes will come true. Our prayers will be answered. As they say...even miracles take a little time.

xoxo shelby

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yaysof11037 · 3 years

Note

Can we get part 2 of Michi's death? Can it involve Mondo getting therapy? And lots of hugs? And realising its not his fault????

Hi!! So sorry for the long wait on this! Was working on other things around this time! But now I’ve finished those other things, so now I can answer this ask! Yes, Mondo will absolutely get lots and lots of hugs and comfort from Nekomaru!! Ahhh, it takes a good while for Mondo to truly realize that the accident wasn’t his fault, but Nekomaru and Daiya will do their best to convince him it’s not his fault!

Anyways, here is the long awaited sequel to Cut Short!! Again, so sorry this took so long! Hope this doesn’t disappoint! Also, if y’all want a break from the angst, just drop a fluffy suggestion in the ask box!

Repairing A Shattered Diamond (The Death Of Michi Part Two)

Mondo hadn’t been in class for a while…

At first, Nekomaru found that to be normal. It was normal to take time off to grieve for a loss. Many of his friends had done that before. He’s even done that to grieve for his grandparents (on his mother’s side) back in his first year of middle school. So it wouldn’t have been a surprise for Mondo to take some time off to grieve for his friend.

It was when almost the entire month of January passed he became concerned. Not to mention that Mondo hadn’t been responding to his calls, texts, and voicemails.

And now, here he was. Standing at the biker’s doorstep. Hoping, praying that Mondo was doing okay. Hoping that he was alive at least.

He had only met Takemichi Yukimaru once in his life. That was when he had gone over to Mondo’s house for the first time to meet both him and Daiya Owada. (Will go into more detail about that in a separate ask lol). He seemed like a really cool kid. Hell, he kinda saw him as a little brother upon first meeting him.

It was a shame that was the only time he had ever gotten the chance to talk to the poor kid…

For someone so full of life like Michi to die at such a young age… Nekomaru’s heart ached for the kid just thinking about it. So… even if he tried, he couldn’t even imagine just how horrible both Mondo and Daiya felt.

Nekomaru was about to knock on the door, but hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should be doing this.

But, after receiving a few texts of encouragement on his phone from his friends and family, he wasn’t going to back out now. Not after he’s drove all the way to Mondo’s house through the snow and ice on the road. And so, with a wave of uncertainty and determination, he knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

There was a loud curse, followed by someone shouting, “Coming!” He then heard the loud footsteps approaching the door. Right off the bat, he knew that voice didn’t belong to Mondo…

“Oh. Hey Nidai. What’s up?”

“Hey Daiya. Is uh… is Mondo here?”

Daiya’s smile had faltered slightly as he asked him this. That let Nekomaru know that something was wrong.

“Yeah. I dunno if he’s expecting visitors though…”

So Mondo wasn’t expecting company? That made Nekomaru even more unsure of himself…

“Um… is it cool if I come in? I just wanna talk to him for a bit. See how he’s doing, y’know?”

“Yeah, of course.”

After walking inside, Daiya tells him that Mondo was up in his room.

“He’s been sitting up there ever since the accident…”

“He never leaves his room?”

“No. Only time he does, it’s just to take a piss or something. Been trying to get him out of there for weeks. But… he just won’t come out…”

Nekomaru noticed the man beginning to tear up after his sentence. He could tell that he’s tried everything to get his brother to come out of his room. He put a hand on Daiya’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

“I’ll go talk to him.”

Daiya let out a sigh and wiped away his tears.

“You can try. Doubt he’ll listen to ya though.”

After pausing for a moment, Nekomaru made his way up the steps and got in front of Mondo’s bedroom door.

‘Here goes nothing…’

Knock knock.

“Um… hey Mondo. It’s me, Nekomaru. Can I… can I talk to you for a bit?”

Dead silence had followed his question, prompting him to knock once more.

“Mondo, can we ta—”

“I’m busy…”

Bullshit. Mondo had been sulking in his room for one too many weeks. He needs to come out at some point.

“With what?”

“Homework…”

Ah, he supposed that was valid. Taka did take it upon himself to bring him his missed assignments after all. But… he still has to get out of his room at some point…

“Need help with it?”

“No.”

“…”

“Can I come in?”

“…”

“Please? I’ve… I’ve been worried about you…”

“…. Fine…”

Without hesitation, Nekomaru opened the door. He was greeted with a messy room and his boyfriend with his back turned and facing the window. There was a small pile of unattended worksheets on his unmade bed, dirty clothes scattered across the bedroom floor, and a plate of tamago kake gohan that had gone completely cold at this time on his nightstand. The unpleasant scent of BO lightly filled the air, but it didn’t bother Nekomaru. He was used to that scent, since he spends a lot of his free time at the gym.

He inched closer to his bed, being careful not to step on any of the biker’s clothes. He eventually made it to the edge of his bed, unsure of what to do next.

“Can I sit with you?”

“Do whatever you want.”

Nekomaru slowly sat down on the bed and moved closer to him. He had managed to get a closer look at his face. He still had his eyeliner caked on his face from many days ago. It looked to have been smeared and smudged after it trickled down his cheeks along with his tears. His hair was no longer in his signature pompadour and was instead down and disheveled. A few strands of hair were sticking up after going undone for so long. His lips looked very dry and cracked. Nekomaru assumed that was because he hadn’t been getting properly hydrated. He always told him how important it was to drink water daily. He wanted to tell him that now, but he knew that it wasn’t the right time and place to do so.

“How are you feeling?”

That was a painfully obvious question that he mentally kicked himself for. Mondo obviously wasn’t feeling good, not after all the time he had taken off from school. Not to mention the state of his room and his face was a dead giveaway.

“I’m fine… you?”

Yet, Mondo still felt the need to lie about how he was really feeling. It was an obvious lie. One that Nekomaru didn’t feel entirely comfortable calling him out for.

“I’m okay…”

The two boys remained silent for a while, both uncomfortable about the current situation. Eventually, Nekomaru’s attention was drawn towards the object Mondo held tightly in his hands.

“That the necklace you wore when you met my family?”

“Mhmm.”

“I like it a lot. It looks good on you.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“I dunno…”

“Did someone give it to you?”

“Mhmm…”

“That was nice of them. Who gave it to you?”

An uncomfortable silence followed Nekomaru’s question. He looked down at the diamond shaped stone pendant, then back up at Mondo.

“Who gave it to you?”

“…”

“…. Michi…”

“Oh…”

He understood why Mondo had hesitated to answer that question. He decided not to press upon the issue with the pendant anymore. But what else could he talk about? How is he supposed to comfort his boyfriend? He’s never really done something like this before…

“It’s… it’s kinda funny. He gave it to me cuz I was nervous about making a good first impression that day. Said it was for good luck or some shit… guess it kinda worked…”

Well, he supposed all he can do is listen. He’s gotten Mondo to talk now (somehow), the least he can do is lend him an ear. So, he simply nodded and waited for him to continue.

“I uh… kinda forgot to give it back to him… until uh… that party we threw for him… I tried giving it back, but he said I could keep it. He… he said I could wear it…”

Nekomaru understood where this was going. Mondo was having that troubling feeling that the pendant somehow protected him on that night. If the situation didn’t end in such a tragedy, some would say a miracle happened. Nekomaru wasn’t sure about believing that the pendant had actually protected him, for he didn’t really think there would’ve been much of a difference if he hadn’t wore it.

“Fuck… I shoulda just gave it back to him anyways…”

Mondo clutched the necklace tightly and held it up to his heart. He then looked up at the ceiling and cleared his throat. Nekomaru could see tears forming in the biker’s eyes. He put a hand over his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

“Hey… it’s okay…”

“Don’t. Don’t even say that to me.”

Shit, he fucked that up. It obviously wasn’t okay. He pulled his hand away from his shoulder, ashamed of himself. Shortly after, Mondo looked up at him rather coldly.

“Why are you here?”

Nekomaru had never heard Mondo use that kind of tone around him before. It was a jarring mixture of melancholy and annoyance. That tone kind of scared him in a way. But… he wasn’t gonna let that stop him from being there for his boyfriend.

“I… I just wanted to check on you. See how you were doing. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m fucking fine. Can you leave now?!”

If that was the best thing to do, he would’ve left Mondo to sulk a bit more. But Nekomaru was stubborn. And he was never the type to ignore a teammate in need. Especially his boyfriend.

“I also wanted to talk. Or… at least give you a chance to talk to me. I’ll listen to you, you know?”

“There’s nothing else to talk about. I’m fine, okay?! So just go home! Don’t waste your time on me.”

“I didn’t drive all the way here for nothing.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have drove here at all! Why the fuck would you wanna see someone like me?! I MURDERED someone! I killed my own best friend! I… I killed my little bro…”

Nekomaru was shocked to hear Mondo use such strong words. He knew he wasn’t the type to kill, let alone, hurt someone on purpose.

“You didn’t kill anyone. He saved your life. It was an accident. You were just drunk. You didn’t know what was gonna ha—”

“I shouldn’t have been drinking at all! Don’t you get it?! If I hadn’t challenged Michi to that dumb fucking race, if I didn’t drive my stupid ass into traffic then—then…”

Mondo let out a quiet sob as memories of that awful night played back in his mind. The painful look in Michi’s eyes as he stared back up at him, barely clinging on to his life.

“H-he would still be here…”

And with that, he flopped onto his bed and shoved his face into one of his pillows, trying desperately to muffle his “pathetic” sobbing.

It broke Nekomaru’s heart to see the boy he cared about in such a sorrowful state. In an attempt to ease his pain, he gently tousled his hair and said the words that played on loop in his mind ever since he arrived on his doorstep;

“It’s not your fault.”

Mondo lifted his head from his pillow and looked at his boyfriend in shock.

“W-why? Why are you still here?! Aren’t you mad?!”

Nekomaru gave him a sympathetic look as he continued to run his fingers through his hair.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“D-don’t you understand?! You shouldn’t even be around me after what I did! I’m a fucking MURDERER!! Aren’t you… aren’t you AFRAID of me?!”

Nekomaru put both his hands over his shoulders and gave him a sad, gentle smile.

“Don’t go around calling yourself a murderer, cuz you’re not. And I could never be afraid of you. I… I care about you a lot…”

That wasn’t what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell him something more. Something that means just a little more than ‘I care about you.’

“Well, you shouldn’t. What if I do something like this again, huh?! What if I kill someone again?! What if I killed you?!”

“You won’t. I know you won’t. You never have, and you never will.”

Mondo wanted to believe him. He really did. But… he just couldn’t. He couldn’t help but continue to cry and stare at him in disbelief.

“W-why would you even say that?! Y-you don’t know what the future holds! D-don’t you realize how bad I’ve fucked him over?! Tomorrow’s his birthday, y’know?! He’s supposed to turn sixteen! Daiya and I got him his own car and everything!”

He tried to wipe away the tears and mucus dripping down his face before continuing.

“A-and he was supposed to s-start school again! He’s supposed to be here! H-he’s supposed to be coming back from his new school, t-tell me about his day, t-talk about the friends he was supposed to make. H-he’s supposed to be out in the yard running around in the snow and throwing s-snowballs at the neighbors’ house!”

The memory of Michi bleeding out on the pavement, feebly gasping for air and clinging onto Mondo’s jacket was burned into his brain and playing on loop, taunting and tormenting him. Reminding him of his fuck up. Reminding him of the boy who will still be fifteen ten years later.

Forever fifteen…

Forever a kid…

Forever a kid who didn’t deserve to die…

“B-but I took that away from him! I took away his only chance to grow up and live his own life! A-and now… now he’s dead! And it’s all my fucking fault!”

He buried his face into his hands and let out a few shaky breaths for air. He then said something that Nekomaru would never forget.

Something that cracked his heart in two;

“I-I… I should’ve been hit by that goddamn truck instead… I had it coming… I deserved it…”

Suddenly, he felt a pair of hands cup his face and lift it up.

“Don’t you ever say that.”

The tears finally began to form in Nekomaru’s eyes as he gazed into his boyfriend’s glistening lavender eyes.

“Listen to me. No one deserves something like that. There are people out there who care about you. Your brother cares about you. All our friends care about you. I care about you. And… I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without you.”

His voice was so calm, quiet, and soothing to Mondo. That was a certain kind of tone that he hadn’t heard from Nekomaru before.

“I… I may not have known Takemichi for long, but I believe he wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up over what happened. He… didn’t really seem like the kid to blame other people for stuff like that.”

“B-but what if—”

“He was your best friend, wasn’t he? Blaming you for something that wasn’t your fault doesn’t sound like something a best friend would do.”

“But… but it is my fault. I-it’s all my fucking fault! Why c-can’t you understand that?!”

Mondo let a few more hot tears stream down his face while Nekomaru refrained from shedding any more tears in order to be strong for him. He felt like allowing himself to cry any longer would only make his boyfriend feel worse. So, he gently wiped away Mondo’s tears with his thumbs instead.

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. Don’t even blame yourself for something like this.”

Mondo couldn’t help but let out a choked sob at his boyfriend’s kind words.

“W-why are you telling me this?! The fuck makes you think this ain’t my fault, huh?!”

“Because it’s the truth. I don’t just think it’s not your fault, I know it’s not your fault.”

“Well, if you’re telling me the truth, why don’t I believe it then?! How do I know ya ain’t lying to me?!”

“Would I ever lie to you?”

Mondo hesitated for a moment. He couldn’t really think of time where Nekomaru had ever lied to him. It would simply be out of character for him to lie to his face.

“…. No…”

“So how come you don’t believe it’s not your fault?”

“I… b-because…”

“…”

“I-it is my fault! It just is! W-why are you even trying to tell me it’s not?! Why are you STILL trying to help me?! I-I don’t deserve your help! I don’t d-deserve you! Y-you shouldn’t be with a fucking MURDERER! You—”

Without a second thought, Nekomaru pulled Mondo into the tightest hug he had ever given him. He absolutely hated hearing those words coming from his boyfriend’s mouth.

“Mondo…”

“…”

“… I… I love you. You know that?”

Holy shit. This was the FIRST time Mondo had ever heard Nekomaru say he loved him. Not that it was much of a surprise. He kind of had the feeling that he loved him. He just wasn’t expecting him to actually SAY it.

“I’m only trying to help because I care about you. I’ve been worried sick about you. Y-you haven’t really been responding to my messages… I-I just wanted to know if you were okay…”

A new wave of guilt had splashed over Mondo. He was right. He had been ignoring everyone’s messages on his phone. Including his.

“That’s why I came here. To check on you. To… talk to you.”

This time, Mondo remained silent. He didn’t have any energy left to tell Nekomaru that he shouldn’t have come. That he shouldn’t be visiting a murderer.

“I don’t want you to blame yourself for this. Sure, you were driving drunk. And yeah, that was pretty stupid. But you didn’t kill Takemichi. You weren’t the one driving the truck. It was an accident.”

Mondo still wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t his fault. But there was no use in arguing with Nekomaru.

“So just… please… don’t call yourself a murderer. Because you’re not. You’re an amazing person Mondo. And I love you. So much… don’t ever forget that, okay? Takemichi wouldn’t want you to forget that.”

God, Nekomaru was just so sweet. Even after Mondo tried to push him away, he still stayed right beside him. And that’s when Mondo finally let out the waterworks he had been holding back. He buried his face into Nekomaru’s chest and sobbed into it. He felt his hand rubbing circles into his back and his other hand stroking his messy hair.

“I-I’m sorry… I’m s-so sorry!”

“It’s okay. Just let it all out. I’m here for you.”

He continued to let out a few more ugly sobs as Nekomaru shushed him and whispered words of comfort into his ear. What the hell did he do to deserve someone so loving and caring like Nekomaru?

As both the boys sat on the bed, holding each other tightly, Daiya was peeking through the door. He couldn’t help but let out a few tears of his own, for he was so grateful that Nekomaru had finally gotten his little brother to open up.

From that day on, Mondo started returning to school and catching up on his assignments. Nekomaru, Taka, and Leon helped him with it, of course (Leon’s definition of “helping” was sneaking a photo of Taka’s homework and sending it to Mondo for him to copy). The pain and guilt didn’t vanish right away, but his boyfriend, his brother, and his friends stood by his side and slowly helped him to feel better every step of the way.

#danganronpa #mondo owada #nekomaru nidai #nekowada #daiya owada #takemichi yukimaru #kiyotaka ishimaru #leon kuwata #non despair au #headcanon requests #artychaild

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sassysatsuma · 4 years

Text

Don’t Forget About Me - Ghost/Bones

"Hey, hey Without you there's holes in my soul Hey, hey Let the water in

Where ever you've gone? How, how, how? I just need to know That you won't forget about me Where ever you've gone? How, how, how?

I just need to know That you won't forget about me Lost through time and that's all I need So much love, then one day buried Hope you're safe, 'cause I lay you leaves Is there more than we can see? Answers for me"

Don't Forget About Me - CLOVES

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Cue a Satsuma desperately trying to stay relevant. I dunno man, something about the new Ghost reveal trailer thingy ma jig just got me dusting off the old word processor. As always, I fell into a trap of thinking about Ghost and Lara McCoy, because quite literally a decade on, I’m still writing about these lovesick fools.

I’m not sure what this is, but it was just one of those things where the picture in my head, the song and the words just knitted together and I bashed out 2000 hasty words like a woman possessed. It’s a weird mash up of Modern Warfare 2019 (we’re on the eve of new Ghost dropping), Caught in the System AU where Lara and Riley never stop being a thing and old school Modern Warfare 2. I’m just as confused as you are.

Dedicated as always to my muse and my love @smashinterrupted because she inspires me to write even when she doesn’t know about it. Also because she puts so much into the friendships and communities she cares about, which is just you know, all kinds of beautiful.

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On a painfully average Tuesday, Lara feels her heart beat again.

It's been a dismal February, grey and filled with thick welling clouds that by now seem perpetually hung in a snow white sky. The start of a new decade, although with January all but a memory the world's eagerness for a fresh start has faded. The new decade is more of an afterthought now, just another chance for likes and validation. The magazines might have dropped their “New Year, New You” bullshit for another year, but social media is still filled with ten year challenges and glow ups set amongst its usual materialistic fakery. For most, it's an annoyance, seeing selfie after selfie clog their feed. For the people who are struggling to move forwards, each fresh, light hearted post cuts as deep as the last.

Lara is a creature of habit although in truth she no longer remembers if she has been all along or if the army made her this way. Regardless, almost every afternoon she finds herself here, queuing in her local coffee shop for the biggest, most caffeinated beverage money can buy. It's her daily ritual, a blessed half hour of peace and quiet before she has to return to Sandhurst Military Academy and somehow teach the officers of tomorrow to be better than she ever was.

It's oddly mild for February, but the constant fine drizzle outside chases away any hopes for Spring. Inside the packed coffee shop it's sweltering, a humid, artificial warmth that has her shrugging off her khaki jacket and tying it around her waist. Anywhere else and she'd look quite the sight, dressed fully in her army fatigues, trousers tucked dutifully into her standard issue black boots. But here, she blends in. She prefers it in almost every way, her desire to stand up and be counted long since passed.

The barista doesn't even bother to ask for her order, greeting her with a soft smile that he reserves for polite regulars. Barely minutes later, her to go cup is clasped between her sweaty palms and she turns on her heel, bracing herself for another afternoon teaching at an institution she no longer truly believes in.

It's in that moment when her heart threatens to burst from her chest.

If she'd been alone, she would have been so sure that she was hallucinating, the face that greets her one she's spent the past 4 years so terrified that she'd forget. But they're flesh and blood as they stand in front of her, customers bustling around them in a way that tells her that this can't be anything but real.

Simon Riley, dressed in civvie clothes that still somehow manage to look so alien, even after all this time. His face is weathered, more scarred and a little older than the man she remembers. And yet the look in his eyes takes her back in an instant, brown irises that look at her as though she's all that matters.

He's a ghost in every sense. There hasn't been a moment in 4 years where she hasn't grieved for him.

Right now, it's all she can do to put her coffee down onto something solid before she drops it.

"Bones..." His voice his hoarse and he visibly swallows before her, nervous hands hanging idly by his sides. His dark hair is slicked down with rain, whilst bigger droplets pepper the exposed skin of his neck and arms. Despite the weather, he's only wearing a t shirt and jeans, the fabric betraying a body that is thicker with muscle than she remembers. There are what look to be deliberate scars littering his forearms and what little she can see of his biceps but she's not even sure she wants to know why they are there.

Lara quickly realises that she's been staring dumbfounded and silent. She swallows, her throat drier than it has any reason to be. There's a part of her that just wants to run forward and hold him, but it exposes a vulnerability she doesn't dare show. Instead her brow furrows, her voice stronger than she feels when she finally does speak.

"...How?"

Riley looks at her as though it's the hardest question in the world.

Maybe it is.

"Outside." The word comes out like an order, an echo of the man she met when she first joined the 141. It's unfair how she feels it like a kick to the stomach, memories she's fought to repress suddenly flooding her mind. She's sure that she doesn't let it show and yet somehow, Riley softens, barely. He cocks a head towards the door. "Please?"

Her feet decide for her, her coffee long since abandoned along with some confused teenagers.

Outside, she barely feels the rain, despite her jacket still hanging around her waist. She folds her arms, grasps her biceps in a way that somehow feels like the right thing to do, although not for a moment do her eyes leave Riley. She falls in step beside him as he leads her to the shelter of a nearby bus stop, her fingernails biting into her skin to fight the intense desire to reach out and touch him.

"I thought you were dead." It appears stating the obvious is the place where her mouth chooses to take over and begin.

"It was safer that way." Riley shrugs, although it's by no means as confident a gesture as he intends. "Price wasn't the only one to get his name dragged through the mud that day." There's another name missing from his admission, but Lara knows him well enough to know that he'd never want to give voice to MacTavish and the black mark they put against his name. Not even now, when the world knows the truth of it, a truth their Captain fought and ultimately died for. "I needed to disappear. No better way of doing that than dying."

'You could have told me,' Lara says to herself, though she knows better than to give the words voice. Her heart hates his decision, but her head understands. Would have likely done the same even when she would have had a family to mourn her. For Ghost, she was his only family. Instead, she leans back against the bus shelter, the sole of a boot propped against the shoddy plastic wall. "You still haven't told me how."

"I don't..." She can almost feel the crack in Riley's voice, but he swallows it back expertly. Instead he runs a hand through the wet tangle of dark brown hair atop his head, grimacing as he struggles to find the words. "I was... lucky." The word rolls off his tongue with an air of disgust. "Shepherd slotted Roach... right there in front of me. Shot me too but it didn't put me away the way he expected. I played dead in the dirt like a fucking possum, wondering if any of it was worth it. I don't know what made me finally crawl away. I came back for him, but by then... they'd taken care of him with all the others, Makarov's men, the lot. I threw my mask in the fire and figured it was better if everyone thought I was gone."

It's too much, the grim resignation in his voice, an almost monotone quality that fights to mask the emotion behind the words that leave his mouth. Lara can feel anger stirring in her gut, her heart panging with the same pain that had hit her that morning she'd woken up from surgery, away from the 141 and out of the fight. It's all too easy to picture, her eyes welling up with tears for the little brother she'd found in Roach. It crushed her the moment she found out they were all gone, but it's no easier now hearing it from Riley all over again.

He notices before she can try and look away, practised eyes reading her the exact same way they always have. It's another reminder of everything she's been missing, another stab at her gut that somehow isn't soothed by his presence beside her. Tears slip from her eyes and she swipes at them with frustrated hands, turning from him in a mix of shame and confusion.

His touch is a question. A hand reaches for her shoulder, a gentle squeeze of pressure that is more timid than anything they've ever shared. It feels like an unknown, like they're right back where they started except this time they are both fragments of the people they once were.

There's so much to say; her thoughts a chasing whirlwind that clouds her mind. She hasn't the words to even begin to express them. She wants to feel anger, wants to thrash and scream and punish him for every empty feeling she's had since he's been gone.

But she can't. Maybe one day she will, when the tempest in her mind has finally calmed and she can think clearly again. Now, the only tangible emotions she feels are the pain of losing everything and the complete and utter relief that he's found her again.

Her heart is his. Despite everything, that's the one thing that's never changed.

She spins around before her head can tell her no, arms wrapping around a neck they'd never dreamed to hold again. They're both off balance, stumbling backwards clumsily until Riley's back presses against the plastic wall. His hands fall to her hips, a familiar weight that threatens to choke her as she closes the distance between them.

The kiss is messy, a jumble between two people fighting to take as much of each other in as possible. Teeth and noses clash and they move clumsily against each other, hands gripping fearfully as though they could drift at any second. It's everything she's forgotten and nothing she remembers all at once.

She breaks away breathless, eyes closed as she rests her forehead against his. She can feel his heart hammering against her own, doesn't dare speak in case she ruins everything with the wrong words. Outside the shelter, the rain is falling heavier now, beating off the tarmac in a steady rhythm. She wishes that the white noise would swallow them both.

"I'm sorry." It's barely a whisper, but Riley's apology is there, brushing against her lips. It's enough to shake her from her thoughts, and she takes a cautious step from him, her eyes finally able to meet his. She reaches out, straightens his shirt were it lies crumpled against his skin.

"There's so much more we should say." Her hands move to his arms, tracing the foreign scars her fingertips find there as if to prove a point. He looks at her as though he doesn't even know where to start and she shakes her head, cutting him off before he even begins to try. "Are you staying?"

"... Do you want me to?"

"I never wanted you to leave." Her words are blunt, echoing the only thing she knows for sure right now. Her right hand traces his arm down to his wrist, before her fingers slip clumsily between his. The soft grip of her hand tries to convey everything she doesn't feel able to say. "Stay."

And she means it, wants it more than anything she's ever wanted before. There's so many questions, so many complications that she knows deep down it will never be easy, that they have countless hurdles laid out in front of them. She knows that talking will hurt, that memories and emotions she's buried deep will come back to haunt her as soon as he begins to answer her questions. She's under no illusions that this will be anything like a fairytale.

And yet despite that, she knows he's worth it. Knows that she's never for a second stopped loving him. Living without him was the cruellest of lessons; the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. Now that he's back she can't imagine ever wanting to feel that again. She won’t. She barely made it out alive the first time.

He's the type of ghost she never wants to stop haunting her.

#sass pretends to be a writer #caught in the system #cits #lara mccoy #simon riley #skeleton #ghost/bones #smashinterrupted #smash satsuma #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2019

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betweendreamsandwishes · 4 years

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unsent letter #1

i decided to make my first unsent letter to you, because you always held a special place in my heart.

i remember the first time i connected with you. you couldn’t have been more than a few months old. your mom was out, and various people were trying to get you to stop crying, but you wouldn’t, you just kept going on and on and on. and then it clicked, you were hungry. so i quickly made you a bottle, and carried you into the library with me, shut the door, and began reciting suratul-baqarah to calm you down. i’ll never forget how you looked into my eyes so gratefully at that moment. your big, brown eyes masha Allah. and then slowly, slowly your eyes began to close. you fell asleep. and i fell in love.

i don’t know exactly what it was about you that made me love you so much, but i did. i still do. even though i’ll never see you again. i hope you never forget me. i’ll never forget you.

in the time that followed, i watched you learn to crawl, say your first words, take your first steps [which you really didn’t want to at first, partly because of how much you loved to be carried around].

you were always so smart masha Allah. i’ll never forget the time when you were less than a year old, and i handed you [what i believe was] a wallet, and you looked inside and said “mon-ey, mon-ey.”

you used to do this thing when you were thinking really hard, where you’d put your tongue out and turn your head to the side. sometimes you would hum, too. you’d do this when you were learning, painting, trying to figure something out - it was such a cute thing masha Allah.

oh, and cake pops, you loved those so much. i tried to bring you one as often as i could. you loved to come with me to get them when you could. you’d cry and beg your mom and dad to let you come with me for a quick starbucks run, and people would say not to bother, not to trouble myself, but truly i just wanted to do something for you. i loved you.

i got too attached to you. people would call me your second mom. i don’t know how i felt about that. i did love you immensely, but i think a mother’s love can’t be replicated or emulated. so, i don’t say that i loved you as my son, only because that might be slanderous to a mother’s love. but i loved you as closely to a son as i knew how.

i can’t explain why i was so attached to you; it was unknown to me. you can’t always know why you get along better with certain people or why you care more about them; you just do.

when you needed stitches, my heart broke. you were jumping on the seats next to the cafeteria window, and you hit your face on the edge of the window sill. your scar is small, but it will be with you forever. i was with you then.

i accidentally hit the fire alarm one time. [i hate that memory because it was embarrassing. but i hate it more because the people who laughed with me and comforted me and reassured me that it was no big deal became the people who ripped my heart in two. but that is a story for another time. and a story you will likely never hear]. but i was holding you on my hip when it happened, so you are forever attached to that memory for me, too. you had no idea what was going on, but i was happy to have you next to me when i felt so embarrassed.

your mom and i became friends, i believe, largely in part because of how much she knew i loved you.

you learned to say my name early, you were a good speaker masha Allah.

your younger brother nearly always outran you masha Allah, and that frustrated you to no end.

you loved to eat masha Allah, but not just junk food, almost every kind of food masha Allah. may Allah bless you in that and always keep you healthy. you would take whole raw tomatoes and onions, and just take a giant bite right into them masha Allah. you loved original flavored lays. you loved reese’s, especially the white chocolate one, and you loved the cookies and creme hershey’s bar, too.

and any time i said something was my favorite, or that i liked something, you’d say “oh yeah, me too” and i’d laugh inside at your silliness.

you went through a tumultuous time potty training with your parents, and there were countless times when i helped you out of a sticky situation, when you needed to get cleaned and changed. but i didn’t mind, i just wanted you to be okay. i wanted you to be clean and warm and dry. i wanted to wipe away your tears and tell you it was going to be okay, because it was. but when you were two and three and learning to potty train, you didn’t feel like it was going to be okay. but it was. and it will be. and i guess that’s a lesson for me, too. it will be okay.

your innocent laugh, the way you called my name, your smile, the twinkle in your eyes when you were happy, your hugs, your grubby little hands, your hair, your runny nose, your small little clothes, your batman backpack, your shoes [you loved shoes]...

i could go on forever about all the things i remember about you, but i won’t. it hurts too much.

i miss you. i miss you so much. i can’t believe i’ll never see you again . it hurts so much to think about, so much to say.

this past year, you turned five, and you began to come to my class for lessons on learning to read. you were progressing so well masha Allah. once again, speaking and verbal reading were easier for you masha Allah than the physical, written part - you were always that child - but you loved coming to my class.

you had been popping in my class for the better part of five years, to come see me after school, to make a mess, to ask for candy, sometimes just to say hey and then run back out to your friends, but now you were finally my student, even it was for just a few hours a week.

then the virus hit, schools closed, and i began to see you only once in a blue moon.

then my world fell apart, and i never even got to say salam to you one last time.

i was too attached to you, and you became a part of me, and then our lives were ripped apart, and that was that.

you’ll be six in january insha’ Allah, but i won’t get to see it.

i’m in tears as i write this, because i’m grieving my loss of you. i thought i would be able to see you grow up, to be there for you, the way that i’d been there for you in the first five years of your life. i wanted to see you learn, grow, make more friends, become a young man and eventually go to college, get married, and have a happy life. but i wasn’t meant to be there. it was never meant to be that way.

i was meant to be in your life, and you in mine, for those five years. and then i was meant to never return to the place that united us.

so, from afar, i tell you now that i hope and make du’a to Allah that you will remember me as a mentor who cared about you to no end, who would have done almost anything for you.

i make du’a that you won’t forget me. i make du’a that Allah rewards me for the times i poured my heart into doing things for you that humans have probably long forgotten, if they ever knew in the first place. i make du’a that Allah accepts those things. i make du’a that you make du’a for me when you get to be my age. i make du’a that Allah blesses you with a happy life, and with people who will always love and care for you and treat you well. i make du’a that Allah protects you from feeling sadness, heartbreak, and pain that feels unbearable.

maybe we’ll meet again in the next life. i ask Allah for that.

until then, may Allah bless you and protect you in your journey through life, child.

you’ll always have a place in my heart.

#unsent letters #n

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chiefnooniensingh · 4 years

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I Won’t Hesitate (for you) Chapter 12

Chapter 12: What is lost will be found (when the truth hunts you down)

In this chapter: The truth.

A/n: Oh my god guys. Here we are. I'm so nervous about this chapter because I am equally excited and nervous about your reaction to it! After this, there's only an epilogue left. Enjoy, and please let me know what you thought of it!

As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!

@hmd23 guessed it, last week's chapter title was from Third Eye Blind again. Congratulations!

Can anyone guess this week's?

Also on: ao3

other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

January, 1934

Liz Ortecho, now 23 and wise beyond her years, entered the little cabin she had rented, a newspaper clutched in her hand. They were living just outside of New York, trailing a ghost that refused to be found.

They’d travelled all across the country; starting from New Mexico, they went to San Diego, Sacramento and Seattle, travelling north past the Canadian border, even going so far as Calgary, before returning to the States to follow even the smallest hints of Rosa’s killed.

Five years they’d searched. Five years of barely any food, finding work wherever they could, and constant disappointment. They’d built up a steady network of informants, through a mix of bribery, good Samaritanism and flirting, but apparently Rosa’s murderer instilled fear in the hearts of men. Not many were willing to sell him out. Those who were, quickly dropped off the radar after that.

Liz knew she was being watched. She’d seen the shadows in the corner of her eye, the unremarkable cars in her rear-view mirror. She knew, if she ever got truly close, she’d probably end up dead. But she was determined and so were her travel companions. Rosa’s killer needed to be unmasked, taken off the board, or he’d kill again.

“I have news and you’re not going to like it!” Liz announced as she entered the tiny living room. The other two women immediately joined her at the table. Liz smacked down the paper, pointing at a small article, accompanied by a picture.

The immigrant man Sheriff Valenti had had to let go because of lack of proof. Looking fancy and happy, standing next to an absolutely gorgeous blonde young woman. “That’s him,” her friend said, her voice shaking, “that’s Rosa’s killer.”

“I’m pretty sure, too, yes. Sheriff Valenti was never able to get any proof, but…he’s the only suspect we have. Either we cross him off the list or we get the bastard. Either way, we need to find him.” Liz looked at the picture, her face hardening. “And he just made it extremely easy.”

The headline read: Oil Mogul Noah Bracken (33) and noted event planner Isobel Evans (25) tie the knot in Malibu.

Liz looked up at her companions, who looked back with the same determination on their face. “Alright, call everybody. Michael, Kyle, my dad…” She felt her lips pull into a sardonic smile. “We’re going to plan a murder.”

Maria and Mimi DeLuca nodded, heading off to pack up their stuff and call the cavalry. Maria had grown up with Rosa, had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. Mimi had taken care of Rosa, and Liz when she came along, for years. When news reached them of Rosa’s disappearance, Mimi had wanted to return immediately. Mr DeLuca’s illness prevented that. When Michael called another few weeks later to tell them Rosa’s body had been found, just days after Mr DeLuca’s own passing…something broke in Mrs DeLuca, and she was never the same again.

Both were extremely determined to hunt down and kill the monster who killed that little girl.

Present day, 22nd of October, 9PM

Alex was standing in front of the passengers that had occupied so much of his mind for the past three days. He looked over all of them, and he wondered why he hadn’t seen it before, why he’d missed all the little things that could’ve tipped him off. He wondered if he was getting rusty.

They were all sitting in the dining carriage, their chairs moved to face Alex, who was standing with his back to door. He had always been able to command a room with just his silence, and now, too, people were waiting for him to speak.

“Thank you for coming,” Alex began, his eyes locking with each of them in turn. Isobel Evans, Max Evans, Beth and Arthur Otto, Kyle Vale, Maria and Mimi DeLuca and…Michael Guerin. All of them liars. All of them trying to hide themselves from him. But the jig was up, the curtain had fallen, and Alex could see clearly now. He continued. “I have a decision to make. I need to decide what to tell the police when we arrive in Paris tomorrow. And I was hoping you all could help me.” He saw the surprise on Michael’s face, and most of them exchanged worried and confused looks.

“We all know there was a murder here on this train. I have been working relentlessly to find out who did it, and after three days of hard searching I have narrowed it down to two theories. I will lay out these two theories before you now.”

Several people shifted in their seats, others smoothed down their clothes. Alex couldn’t help a small, half-smile that played around his lips. “My first theory is as follows. In 1920, Noah Bracken kidnapped and killed Rosa Ortecho in revenge over a workplace dispute with her father, Arturo Ortecho.” Alex let his gaze fall on Mr Otto, who blushed and lowered his eyes. “Rosa was loved by many, and her death instilled a rage in the hearts of those who loved her, none more than in the heart of her sister, Liz Ortecho.” His eyes moved over to Beth, whose eyes were already filled with tears. “So, presumably when she turns 18, Liz sets out to find her sister’s murderer, aided by her sister’s best friend Maria, and the latter’s mother and the Ortechos’ former house maid Mimi DeLuca.” Beth, Maria and Mimi all looked at each other uneasily. “Somehow they find out who Rosa’s killer is. Maybe they saw him on a train. Maybe they read about him in a newspaper. It doesn’t really matter how; they find him anyway. So they bring in the cavalry; Rosa’s father, still grieving for his eldest daughter; Kyle Valenti – ” Kyle shifted in his seat but kept his eyes steadily on Alex, though Alex could see the tears forming in them. “ – the son of the Sheriff who tried to find Rosa’s killer and failed, killing himself with shame of it – ”

Alex took a deep breath and turned his eyes on Michael, who looked at him with clear eyes and an expression of love and acceptance on his face. “ – and finally, Michael Guerin, the boy who took care of the Ortecho sisters when he couldn’t take care of himself. Six people, who all loved and adored Rosa, who all wanted to see justice for her death, a justice the system would never give them.”

“Rosa was the brightest star on this planet,” Liz burst out, tears falling freely down her face now. “She was happy when things got tough, when dad had to work long hours, when mom died. She loved and laughed and lived and that monster took her away from this world.”

Alex merely acknowledged this outbreak with a simple bow of his head, then continued. “So they devise a plan. A plan that would bring them justice for Rosa, that would – if carried out properly – help them get away with murder. It soon becomes clear they can’t get close to him. Noah Bracken has transformed himself from illegal immigrant to an oil mogul; rich, powerful and, in almost every sense of the word, untouchable. So they approach his wife. Isobel Bracken, née Evans, who may have already figured out who her husband really is…”

“He had a box,” Isobel whispered, her voice hoarse, her eyes hard and filled with disgust. “A box filled with newspaper clippings and writing. He boasted about killing that poor girl. Kept track of what the police knew. Disappeared when he needed to. I had unknowingly married a monster.” Max put a hand on hers, and she trailed off again.

Alex continued again, as if he had never been interrupted. “Isobel, having figured out who her husband really is, realizes nobody will believe her. Noah Bracken is rich and powerful, surely he would never harm a child? So when Rosa Ortecho’s loved ones show up with half a plan, she knows the only way out is through; she has to kill her husband. She knows someone in the police department of Roswell, someone with access and credibility and skills. Her own brother Max. This is also presumably how the two siblings find their long, lost brother; by planning a murder.”

“I couldn’t believe it when we suddenly were face to face,” Max muttered, glancing towards his brother. “After searching for so long, to find him in the middle of this awful tragedy.”

“So now the group is 8, and they need a plan. A plan that can help them get away with murder. A plan so intricate that even the most brilliant minds would have a hard time finding the truth.”

“Such modesty,” Michael muttered with a small smile, and despite everything, the group chuckled.

Alex smiled, too, but continued. “And then, a window of opportunity. Noah Bracken has a meeting in Istanbul with other big oil companies, and Isobel manages to convince him that they should make this a little holiday. Fly to Istanbul, spend a few days there, and taking the scenic route back; the Orient Express. A little…second honeymoon, as it were. What reason would Noah Bracken have to doubt his loving wife? She’s an exceptional actress and has not once slipped up in her façade of loving him, though she has known, at that point, for a long time. So, they come together to plan the perfect murder.”

Alex started pacing slowly up and down the dining carriage, his leg already twinging, but biting through the pain, nonetheless. He needed to get through it, he needed to know their reactions to his theory. “Isobel has her own income from her business, so she buys out an entire car on the Orient Express, two for her and her husband, and 6 for the remaining group. Michael gets a job at the Compagnie, getting himself stationed aboard the Istanbul-Paris line. There needs to be a minimum appearance of foul play. Coincidences is where they hope to confuse and befuddle anyone who tries to look closer. Simply coincidence that Isobel’s brother is on the train. Simply coincidence that the Ortechos’ house maid and her daughter are on board. Coincidences hide facts more completely than people think. This group of avengers realize this.” Alex looked at all of them in turn. Liz was still silently crying, with her head on her father’s shoulder, who in his turn looked stricken, almost sick. Mimi and Maria were sitting straight-backed, staring right at him, almost challenging him to continue. Kyle stared at his hands. Michael merely looked at Alex, an expression of pure wonder and awe on his face.

It almost made Alex falter.

“They needed a weapon that would also be a coincidence. The knife Michael always carried with him, because it reminded him of his first great love.” They locked eyes and for the first time, a single tear escaped Michael’s eyes. Alex’s heart ached. “And so they plan, first finding the perfect time to commit the murder. Kyle has medical training, and he knows that cold decreases body temperature faster than usual. So the time of death needs to be when the train passes through the coldest regions; the Alps. The decreased body temperature will not only throw off the time of death to a time that coincides with a brief stop and will provide alibis for them all. For who is awake at 3 the morning? Isobel starts taking sleep medication, weeks, maybe even months in advance, complaining of insomnia to her doctor who is fooled – again, she is a terrific actress – so that she cannot be the murderer; she was asleep, heavily medicated, so how could she possibly have killed her husband?”

Alex stopped for a moment to prop himself up on a table, unable to take the twinge in his leg any longer. “And so, on the morning of the 19th of October, 6 seemingly random people board the Orient Express, pretending not to know each other, knowing they are stepping into a closed environment with a murderer. In the evening, either Isobel or Michael put a sedative in Noah Bracken’s evening tea.”

“I did that,” Isobel said, her voice strong. She looked hardened and sure of herself, a stark comparison to the shocked and traumatized girl Alex had seen that first morning. “Michael brought the tea, but I put the Barbital in his drink. I knew if he woke up at any point, he would be able to fight back and win. He was a terrifying man, Mr Manes.”

Alex inclined his head. “At 4AM that night, everybody sneaks towards the Brackens’ cabin. Every one of these people has a reason to want Noah Bracken dead. So instead of just one person committing this murder, the knife Michael brought exchanges hands. This has the added benefit of thoroughly confusing any coroner examining the body, because not one of the stab wounds has the same depth and patterns. So every single one of the hurt and grieving people takes a stab at Noah Bracken’s chest, ending his life like he ended Rosa’s, justice finally done, Rosa’s spirit finally at peace.” Alex took a breath, examining the faces of the people in front of him. Liz and Arturo were quietly sobbing, Max holding Liz’s hand tightly. Michael’s face was wet as well, but a small smile played around his lips, too. Kyle was white as a sheet, his face taut with emotion. Maria and Mimi were holding each other’s hands tightly, their knuckles turning white. Isobel just stared at Alex, an open challenge. Alex let them all absorb the information he had laid out so far.

After a minute or two, he cleared his throat. “Now there was one thing none of them counted on. Passenger number nine. The unknown variable. I believe they tried to fill it with someone they trusted, a Miss Cameron. But she never showed up, so the cabin was given to a man who had already tried to get a ticket to Paris, but failed. Me. When the group realized a renowned private detective had somehow gotten aboard the train and straight into their meticulously planned out murder, I believe they panicked. Maybe they tried to blow the whole plan off, to try again at a later date. But they knew this was their one shot. So they went through with the plan. I think Michael was supposed to be my distraction, an actual coincidence that we had known each other in a previous life. He’d always been rather good at that, and maybe he was supposed to be that again. And it worked. For a while.”

“In the end, it was you who distracted me,” Michael said, with a shrug. “Long enough to understand that you are more important to me than anything in this world.”

Alex’s heart twisted in the best way, but he ignored it and continued on. “The group tried everything to throw sand in my face. The fake identification papers were a stroke of brilliance. The broken timeclock. Even stabbing Liz. I presume that was your doing, doctor Valenti.” Kyle inclined his head. “I still don’t understand the placement of the half-burned newspaper clipping, though – ”

“ – that was Noah’s doing,” Isobel interrupted, shrugging. “When he realized you were on board, he burned all his memorabilia he always carried with him, so you couldn’t inadvertently catch him. You scared him, Mr Manes. And my husband didn’t scare easy.” She gave him an impressed smile.

Alex inclined his head towards her slightly. “In the end, I realized I should’ve seen it before. Should’ve realized who each and every one of you was. I think Michael’s distraction worked beautifully. If only it had worked a little longer.” He let a silence fall, the group digesting Alex’s words slowly. Michael reached over and squeezed Alex’s hand. Alex squeezed back.

The silence stretched between them all, as each tried to compose themselves. After a few minutes, when even Kyle had lifted his head to look Alex in the eye again, Alex pushed himself off the table and went back to the middle of the room, facing all of them. “It’s the most plausible theory I have, it is true. But it is not bulletproof. While I have uncovered every identity, I have not a single shred of proof.”

“You said you had another theory?” Michael said, sharpest of them all, the love of his life, and Alex smiled.

“I do. After I lay out this theory, each and every one of us is going to have to make a choice. A choice that we will have to live with, one way or another.”

“Share it with us, Alex,’ Liz said, wiping her nose on her sleeve and looking up at him, trust in her eyes. She trusted him still, after all this.

Alex inclined his head. “Noah Bracken was murdered at 3AM when we were stopped in Vinkovci. An unknown assassin slipped on board this train while the conductor was making his scheduled telephone call, killed Noah Bracken in his sleep and locked the door to incriminate his sleeping wife. Then he slipped out through the window, which he left open, and disappeared into the night.”

A stunned silence fell in the dining carriage. Everyone was staring at Alex, then at each other and then back at Alex. Alex knew it was the simplest theory of all the ones he’d run through his head, and the one that had the least chance of ever being proven wrong. “Are you…are you serious?” Isobel said, leaning forward and staring up at Alex. “That’s…that’s your other theory? After you spend 20 minutes explaining your first one?”

“The simplest theories are often the truest, Ms Evans,” Alex said with a small smile that made Michael chuckle. “Every investigator knows this.”

“But in this case…” Liz started, but Alex held up a hand.

“In this case, I am faced with a choice. A choice of what I will tell the French police that will be waiting for me in Paris. If I choose option 1, you will all go to trial for murder. You may get off, since the theory I have is merely a theory. But your lives as you know it will be over. I will have to live with putting the man I love and good people to whom bad things have happened, behind bars.” Alex swallowed thickly. “If I choose option 2, you all walk away from this, and we will all have to live the rest of our lives knowing the truth. You will have to live with blood on your hands. And I will have to live with letting murderers walk free.”

Alex put his hands in his pockets as he looked at all of them. They were all looking at him, scared, afraid of his judgement, of his choice. But Alex shook his head. “I cannot make this decision alone. This is going to affect all of us. So we are all going to make a choice. And whatever we decide, that decision will haunt us for the rest of our lives.”

A stunned silence followed that. Alex looked at them all in turn, ending on Michael’s face which was filled with love and hurt and fear, mixed with just a tiny hint of pride.

“So,” Alex said, “what’s it going to be?”

#malex #malex ff #rnm ff #malex fanfic #roswell new mexico #Alex Manes #Michael Guerin #a disaster bi and a chaotic gay #what could go wrong #otp:I Don't Look Away #my fanfics #my rnm ff #my malex ff #motoe au

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crazy-loca-blog · 4 years

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Personal thoughts on… 2019 releases (Part III)

Note: As the title says, these are just personal opinions on Choices books and chapters. Of course, you may agree or disagree with them, I only use this platform to express my thoughts on what I read every week.

I’m so sorry! Not only I wasn’t at home during New Year, but I also noticed that I hadn’t finished one of the books I had to write about, so I was kind of stuck! Welcome to the final part of my review of 2019 books. As I said before, I will include current releases and books that were released on 2018 but finished in 2019. The list is organized in alphabetical order and it doesn’t include the VIP Books (as I don’t have access to the feature) or the seasonal books (as I’ll talk about them in another post, after all of them have been fully released). You may see Part I here and Part II here.

Red Carpet Diaries, Book 3 (June 7, 2019 - September 27, 2019): I still wonder “what were they thinking”. Personally, I have no complaints on the first book, it was a nice story, but I already had problems reading the second book (blame Teja and Seth for it), but dealing with the third one was just a nightmare. And I hate to admit it, but I only finished it because I hate to see incomplete books in my feed. As I said plenty of times in the past, we didn’t need a wedding book. Ninradell (did anyone figure out what Ninradell was about?) and the stalker plots were enough (we could have seen our MC winning some awards as well). The wedding left me speechless… and not in a good way. It was simply painful to read at times. We basically planned it by ourselves, and we had so many LIs and so many storylines (one per each LI) that I ended up feeling like they were the worst.

Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance, Book 1 (January 25, 2019 - May 3, 2019): I don’t remember people complaining so much about a book before its release as they did with ROD. People were destroying it even before we knew what the plot was about! Based on those comments, the book was destined to be a failure. And then, Chapter 10 came. You may have seen it coming or not, but the plot twist of the book was brilliant, despite of being somehow predictable. It made so many people change their minds about the book and it attracted so many new readers, that this story ended up getting a second book at the very last minute (that’s the power of reading a book and buying diamond scenes, people!). Luckily, I’m part of the people who decided to give it a chance and I enjoyed it since the very first moment; however, I feel the story came to full circle at the end of the book, so I’m not that convinced about the idea of getting a second book.

Save The Date (September 29, 2019 – December 29, 2019): I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say everything about this book screams “toxicity”. At some point, I ended up feeling like half of the characters in the story had to go to therapy to control their anger issues, and the other half needed therapy to improve their self-esteem. Poor Ali, the only “real adult” character in this book, who had to deal with this bunch of crazy people. Despite having too many weddings this year, I liked the premise behind the story before its release: I saw it as an awesome space to meet different types of couples and celebrate different types of weddings (as all our wedding books at that point felt quite similar). And certainly each wedding was different and cute in its own way. However, the fact that the weddings were not the center of the story was disappointing. Instead, they focused on showing us the worst of each character: they were dull or too shy (hi Simon! hi Lindsay!) or they were too explosive and controlling (hi everyone else!). Too bad, PB… too bad.

Sunkissed (June 26, 2019 - October 9, 2019): I have some mixed emotions on this book. On one side, we have the grieving processes of this book’s characters. I just loved how the writers addressed it. They showed so many different reactions, points of view and feelings (they even addressed the grieving process after a breakup through Samson’s story), and they did it with so much respect… they did a brilliant job. On the other side, we had our family. Everything was OK at first, but as the book moved on, we ended up dealing with a mother that was quite toxic and manipulative (I’m still surprised that any of the girls suggested her to go to therapy because she was seriously damaging the family) and a sister who was a bitch with the guy who loved her. At the end of the book, I couldn’t believe that it took our mom like two chapters to move on from our dad and start dating “the artist”, and that our sister ended up in a relationship with the “not so hot” boy. Those guys deserved better than those women.

The Elementalists, Book 1 (October 24, 2018 - February 22, 2019): Spells, magick, and a whole new life. I wish we all face the same destiny as our MC when we feel out of place! I read this book a little later because it was hard for me to catch some things, such as making spells or knowing when to attack or defend myself (thanks for existing, dear wiki), so it was kind of inevitable to see some spoilers, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. I actually liked it a lot! Where do I begin with? The attunements. You can tell there was research and that the writers really took care about the elements to be used as attunements (I got metal, by the way). Then, the evolution of the MC, in a process that lasted a whole book. From thinking that everything was a mistake to defeating Raife, the way our MC grew during the story was beautiful. Also… we had a twin who protected us without us knowing of his/her existence! That’s just true love. And finally, some of the most loyal friends. They made mistakes, sometimes they screwed things (hi Beckett!) but in the end, it’s cool to see them learning from their own mistakes. There is only one thing I still don’t understand. Why did a lot of people think that Zeph would be the one to “betray” us? I mean, at some point everyone was convinced of it, but I never understand why. Was it because he wasn’t a LI? He never gave any clues for us to think that! Anyway… you can tell that I really liked this book, and as a person who doesn’t understand a thing about magick, this is huge!

The Elementalists, Book 2 (March 15, 2019 - August 2, 2019): The reason why it took me forever to finish this post was this book (oops, sorry!). I hadn’t finished it until a few days ago because I’m the worst when it comes to making spells, so I had to replay certain chapter (ahem, Chapter 10) like three times to make things right. What I like about this book (it’s definitely my favorite in the series) is how the writers link certain events from the first book, but at the same time they make us feel like this is a completely different story. We got new characters, new villains and a whole new story about sources. Also, our MC is more mature, he/she deals much better with his/her new powers and he/she found a whole new support network in Evelyn and Alma. However, I think the biggest mistake was the insane amount of diamond scenes with Beckett. I can totally understand how uncomfortable it was if you’re not dating him. The book was already fine, it wasn’t necessary to add so many diamond scenes with him just to get more money from us! Anyway… I can’t believe they finished this series after book 2. The ending was so open that I can’t imagine they won’t revisit this story in the future. What about our mom? What about Gemma trying to bring Alma back to life? Was Alma a good or a bad character? Are there other sources? Have we truly seen the full power of the twins? I need answers!

The Heist: Monaco (December 10, 2018 - March 18, 2019): I completely understand why people love this book. It definitely has a lot of things to love: we had a chance to choose our MC’s gender, our crew was customizable, and it’s not focused in romance. The plot is pretty solid as well, but (and here is where my only complaint about this book comes) I felt like some of the chapters in the middle of the book were just fillers to make the story longer. I don’t know if you noticed it, but in every chapter one member of the crew had a problem and we had to help them. After three or four chapters of it, I was bored and I just wanted them to talk more about the heist and less about their personal problems. But overall I enjoyed it, and just like most people, I still can’t understand why this story is not having a second book.

The Royal Heir (June 22, 2019 to October 26, 2019): One of the things I like the most about The Royal Romance series is the sense of friendship and loyalty in our gang. But when The Royal Heir was announced I had some doubts. I liked the idea of seeing these people again, but after seeing our MC physically fighting the bad guys, it was weird to imagine her with a belly and trying to keep calm. The biggest mistake in this book was not changing the story. When they decided to take the short book about Bertrand and Savannah’s wedding and turn it into a pregnancy/motherhood series, they should have realized that no one expected to spend most of the book at the Walker ranch planning a wedding. They should have kept it simple: no more than four chapters at the ranch, and then back to Cordonia, maybe deepening Olivia’s plot. However, and even though I’m hoping to have a better plot in Book 2, I do have a favorite moment in this book. Playing as Bertrand was a non-sense, but I don’t remember laughing out so hard in a long time. Making the choices that he would make and seeing him doing stuff like riding a motorcycle, serenading Savannah or dealing with a bear was just priceless.

The Royal Masquerade (October 18, 2019 - Present): Even though I think this book helps us to understand some things about politics in Cordonia, I don’t think it’s actually working as I thought it would be. I assumed this would be like a link between The Crown & The Flame and The Royal Romance, but so far, I still can’t see the connections clearly. Hunter is the example of an assigned king/queen (just like in TRH if you didn’t marry Liam), we also know that Percival and Annalisa are Bertrand and Maxwell’s ancestors, and if you read chapter 13 (spoiler alert!) you got to know the link between the Nevrakis family and the monarchy in times of queen Kenna, but that’s all. There is something about this story that I like (I’m still trying to find out what it is) but at the same time, I think the book still lacks of that “wow” moment to blow our minds. I also feel like choosing a LI at the beginning of the book was not the best idea (damn, they both are so good!). And I still have so many questions! Why is there no mention to houses Fierro and Vescovi in TRR? Where does our magic come from? Why do I feel our MC could be related to Dom? Is Vasco a friend or an enemy? Too many questions, only a few chapters left.

Wishful Thinking (April 15, 2019 - July 8, 2019): This book had so much potential that I can’t believe they messed it up so badly. You may have liked it or not, but you can’t deny the overall idea of the book was attractive. You had this shy character who suddenly goes from unknown to superstardom because she gets some powers and reads people minds. I’m still not convinced that this story deserved a second book, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t deserve the rushed ending it had. If they didn’t want to release a second book, the least they should have done was to give WT the same treatment as Across The Void and A Courtesan of Rome, that is, a single book, but longer, so that the writers could explain everything properly, because there were too many unanswered questions (mostly everything about her powers!).

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milesawaylove-blog1 · 5 years

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When those we love, have to go

Firstly, I just want to say this is a post I have been very nervous about. It’s been written for months but I've been very apprehensive to share it. It’s is very personal to me, but I also thought why would anyone want to bother reading it. But after much consideration I realised that this subject is one all too many of us are familiar with. Loss. Those who know me well know that I could talk for England, but I really struggle to be honest with myself about things I NEED to talk about. Hence why this piece became reality. And by sharing my own experience it may help someone else to feel less alone with the pain that so many of us share. Writing for me is therapy, it allows me to channel my thoughts positively- and lift weight from me mentally.

Like most little girls my Dad was my best friend. I always wanted to be around him. I was so fortunate to grow up with parents who I am wonderfully close to, and each relationship was so different and special in its own way. My Dad was my superhero. He made me feel safe and like we could do anything if we put our minds to it. Scary things were less scary when he was around. I was the more adventurous one out of my sister and I- so it was always me and Dad trying the new theme park rides, together. And we were the strongest team. We are so similar in many ways too, I definitely got my opinionated nature from him. He was never afraid to say what he thought- sometimes this was for good but it could also land him in hot water occasionally! But he also didn't care what other people thought- something I admired so much. He didn't care about making himself look silly, and always stood up for what was right, and for those who couldn't always do it for themselves.

I was only 12 years old when we received the news. Cancer. The word that every family dreads to hear. Before we knew Dad went for initial testing for the pains in his lower back that were stopping him from walking properly and I remember thinking how scared I was that it would be cancer. And when we found out I was so upset as I thought it was my fault for thinking it. As you can imagine, the next year was hell for my family. Endless chemo treatments, hospital visits, tears, cuddles and being the most scared I've ever been.

But my Dad was so strong. He took it all in his stride. He hardly ever complained and I only ever saw him cry once. Even though he was so ill, he always remained so positive and was always thinking of others, because thats just who he was. And he was incredible.

The 21st of January 2011 was the day my life changed forever. The day that all our lives changed. Suddenly he was gone. My happy, outrageous, fun, caring wonderful Daddy was gone. Half of me was gone and I was never getting him back. I couldn't believe it and I didn't want to believe it. I asked the nurse to double check, and bless her she did, probably to give me peace of mind. Everyone reacts differently to death, and I was numb- I didn’t cry. I couldn't. That has always played on my mind- how can something so devastating happen but your body doesn't flinch, no tears? No acceptance and shock, I guess that’s why. My last ever memory of my Dad, is when I gave him a final kiss goodbye. He didn't look like himself anymore and he was so cold. That is something that will stay with me forever.

The next few weeks, months and years were weird, we tried to go on with normal life but in reality we couldn't. Our foundation had been taken away. We crumbled, and it was going to take an incredibly long time for us to even think about beginning to rebuild.

My mum and sisters grieving process began straight away and I felt like mine never truly began. Seeing them both cry meant I couldn't cry. I had to be strong for them, just like Dad would have been. It definitely made me grow up so quickly. But this wasn't healthy for me, as I ended up bottling my feelings for months on end, that then resulted in colossal breakdowns that would last for hours on end, and when I was all tired from crying, it would begin again. The bottling. The un-acceptance. The feeling of it just not being real. I would definitely say for the first year I didn't even process it. We were so used to being without him when he was in hospital, there was always the childish hope that he would just come back or that it had all been a horrendous nightmare. But sadly, this nightmare was a reality. Every time I thought about it, I thought “why him, why did this happen to us?” I was really angry and constantly felt how unfair life is. I thought there are some people in the world that deserve this WAY more than him, he was a good person so couldn't it just have taken a bad person instead? Yes that’s bad, but it’s honest. I genuinely thought that most days. It was just horrible that one of the two people that brought me into this world, and who I loved the most was ripped away from me & I still feel like that now.

Today I am 21 years old. I have been without my Dad for 8 years. I lost him at such a young age, I feel as if I have been cheated of the life that I should have had with him. The last 2/3 years have been particularly hard for me. If I'm honest, probably the hardest yet. As an adult I have realised the consequences of living a life with one parent missing. And he has missed so much. My GCSE’s, my singing, my first ever show and all the ones to follow, getting into University, getting jobs. It truly breaks my heart that my Dad never got to meet Charlie. The person that loves his nutty little girl for everything that she is both good and bad, and has provided nothing but love and support over the last three and a half years. I always found it weird and creepy when people say you end up with people like your parents, (sociologist/media students you know what I mean lol) in some ways this could not be further than the truth but in others it is. I’ve been lucky enough to find someone as kind, funny and warm-hearted as my Dad. I just know if they had ever met my Dad would have given him hell for the first few weeks, but they would have got on so well- and I know this because my whole family agrees.

There will be so many more things that I wish he could be here for, and that I would give anything for his guidance on. He won’t see my graduate in a few months time, or get my first proper job and help me move to London. He’ll miss out on my wedding and my children will never know their Grandad- I know all of that is so far away but you just can't help but think about it. Even though he may not physically be here, I truly believe he has been watching over me and guiding me through the past 8 years- because as Winnie the Pooh says (one of my faves growing up) “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart. I’ll stay there forever.”

People always say it gets better in time, but for me this is bullshit. The longer I go without him the harder it gets. Generally, I think I’ve done pretty bloody well. I know I should give myself credit but it is so hard to. I’ve been through a lot and I’m still going through it. It’s so much harder for me as my family are at different stages now but I still feel stuck, longing and not wanting to move on. I don’t think I ever want to move on completely, and thats okay. It still hurts and it hurts so bad. Those who are lucky enough to have not experienced anything like this don't always get it, and that can be frustrating, but I have to remember what ever I feel is normal and okay, and I should never feel bad about feeling upset wether it has been 8 years, 18 years or 80 years.

However, through all the hurt, and sadness, what I am left with is beautiful. Family, friends, and loved ones, but most importantly memories. The brilliant family holidays to Devon, Christmases, Birthdays, Weddings, game nights, golf lessons & nights in. I was lucky enough to spend 12 years with my Dad which is more than some. I will cherish those years, but my god I wish every day that they weren't cut short. I miss you constantly Papa Bear. I hope you are proud of me. I love you forever.

Your Emsie xxx

P.s- To those of you I cherish the most- both family and friends, you know who you are. Thank you for being there for me and keeping my head up when I feel down. Forever grateful for you all. BIG LOVE xxxx

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ppdoddy · 3 years

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Michael Moore

AN OPEN LETTER TO JOE BIDEN Dear President-Elect Biden:

First of all, congratulations! YOU did it. WE did it! You stopped the madness. A grateful nation - and myself - are in a state of joy, hope and relief. Thank you for that! We are all eager to join with you to repair the damage done to our country — and to eliminate that about our society and our politics which gave us Donald Trump in the first place.

Mr. President-Elect, I first met you at the Democratic National Convention in Boston in 2004. It was clear to me from our talk that day that you were not the politician I remembered from the 1990s. On that day in Boston, we were by then over a year into the Iraq War, a war you voted for. My “Fahrenheit 9/11“ had just come out and you wanted to let me know that you were aware of the folly you had been sucked into. It seemed to me that you were doing a lot of soul searching and you wanted to hear my thoughts. To be honest, I was distracted by how perfect your teeth were, and I wondered, could you really be from the working class? By the end of our talk I was convinced there was something that was quite real and very good about you, though perhaps somewhat buried inside. Would it ever come out so the public could see it? As I reflect today on it - and you - I am sincerely hoping that you will indeed govern as a president who’s from the working class. You - one of us - in the White House. That’s how it should feel. Your actions, if bold, and brave, will make that true.

You are also our second Catholic president. I believe you are a person of faith. You and I were taught the same lessons in Catholic school: to love our neighbor, even our enemy; to create a world where everyone regardless of status or station has a seat at the table, and everyone gets a slice of the pie; a world where “the rich man will have a harder time getting into heaven than a camel will have getting through the eye of the needle.” We were taught that we will be judged by how we treat the least amongst us. Do I have that right? Are these not the moral, foundational principles of the coming Biden presidency?

I was so moved by your victory speech Saturday night when you told the immigrants and the children of immigrants that the Dreamers no longer had to live in fear. That Muslims were once again welcomed into our country. That the world could breathe a sigh of relief because we were going to let the planet Earth itself breathe and have some relief. And you told the teachers of America that starting January 20th, “one of your own will be living in the White House.” That just felt instantly good.

So if I may, I’d like to suggest a few things that might make your presidency one of the best this country has ever had. You and I may have our political differences (you like Amtrak trains, I’d like to ride a bullet train from New York to LA in 10 hours!😎), but I know that you and I - and tens of millions of others - all want and believe in the same basic things: • Health Care is a human right and every American must be covered; • Everyone must be paid a living wage and all of us must work to eliminate poverty and rebuild our broken middle class; • The massive and growing gulf between the ultra rich and everyone else must be narrowed — and the wealthy must go back to paying the taxes they should pay; • Women must be paid the same as men, and no man or government has the right to tell them what they can do or not do with their bodies.

So here’s my two cents:

1. You are right to make containing Covid-19 Job #1. Had Trump won, I’m guessing up to a million people in the next year or so would have died from him ignoring this virus. Yesterday you named your Covid task force of doctors and scientists and you are putting them to work. We don’t have a second to lose. Thank you for this.

2. As soon as you can, please provide much more unemployment relief for the jobless, stimulus checks for all, help for small businesses, and the creation of jobs we desperately need.

3. Millions have lost their health insurance because our system ties one’s health coverage to their employer. What happens when the employer, like now, is suddenly gone, or the boss wakes up one morning and decides these employees’ health benefits are too costly and must be cut? BOOM! Millions of families suddenly have no health insurance. This is nuts.

You MUST create a health system like every other industrial democracy — one backed by the government, not by the whims of the boss where you work or the pandemic that has shut him or her down. This is just plain common sense.

4. I see various people trying to take credit for your victory — and using their personal agendas to push you away from the progressive Left and toward the cowardly center which believes that the best way to beat Republicans is to just be a more easily-digestible version of Republicans. They think because Trump got 70 million votes the Democrats should reject Black Lives Matter, AOC, and anything that vaguely sounds like socialism — at a time when the majority of our citizens under the age of 35, according to most polls, prefer the idea of democratic socialism over the greed of modern-day capitalism. Why risk losing them? We need to listen to and understand why they feel this way. They’ve been saddled with crushing student debt and we’ve handed them a planet In the middle of its 6th extinction event as their future. You and Barack introduced them to the benefits of democratic socialism by letting them stay on their parents health insurance until they’re 26! The result: They just set a record by coming out and voting for you in the largest youth numbers ever.

But you know all this. And you also know how you won these razor-thin victories in the final five states as we nervously watched the final ballots come in from Black Philly, Black Detroit, Black Atlanta, Black Flint. Out west, it was Latinx and Navajo voters who delivered Nevada and Arizona to you. In your speech on Saturday you acknowledged it. And never in our history have I heard a President-elect single out the Black community and thank them “for having my back. And I promise you, I will have your back!” Black and brown and indigenous peoples, plus a landslide of women and young adult voters made this happen. Wow. I absolutely know you’ll keep that promise.

5. Please do not make the same mistake an otherwise well-meaning President Obama made in his first two years. He wanted everyone to get along. He was willing to compromise on anything. Kumbaya. The Republicans had already decided they were going to block EVERYTHING Obama proposed and that’s exactly what they did for eight long years with a discipline and a ruthlessness we should probably envy.

Don’t let this happen to you. Charge in on January 20th like FDR on steroids. You have no choice. People are dying! You need to sign executive orders and cajole, demand and shame Congress into action. And GO BIG! Eliminate the Electoral College through the National Popular Vote Act! DONE! Ratify the Equal Rights Amendment for women! Just one more state needed! DONE! Send in the Army Corps of Engineers to Flint to replace the poisoned water pipes! DONE!!

And none of the above needs a single vote of the United States Senate! In fact, this past summer, your “Biden-Bernie” unity joint task force identified a whopping 277 policies and decisions of Trump’s that you have the legal authority to immediately reverse by executive order or presidential policy decision https://prospect.org/…/277-policies-biden-need-not-ask-per…/. Find that big fat black marker of his and do it!

But, yes, we also desperately need those two Georgia Senate seats to get the Biden/Harris years off to a blazing start. So let’s make that happen! All hands on deck between now and January 5th!! We will all do whatever is needed.

Friends of mine on the Left who are more cynical than I am are probably wondering why I’m sending you this letter. Haha! Well, because I saw you kiss the head of that young grieving man at the Parkland, Florida memorial for the shooting victims of Stoneman Douglas High School. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyMa96yOel0

And because I saw you in New Hampshire this year while we were there working for Bernie, and you were doing a campaign stop and there was a restless five-year boy in the front row. His parents were trying to get him to settle down. You stopped and spoke to the boy. “Hey buddy,” you said in a kind but parental way, “if you can hang on and be a good boy for just a little bit, I’ll buy ya an ice cream!” The boy quieted down, you wrapped up and afterward you went over to the boy and his parents and you gave the kid five bucks so his mom and dad could go get him an ice cream cone. And I thought to myself, this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen — and then I started to cry because I wanted so much for that piece of America to come back — goofy, kind, and focusing on what’s truly important: a goddamned ice cream cone!

I think that’s why you won. People saw what I saw with you there in New Hampshire and back in Boston on that day 16 years ago — they knew that maybe, just maybe, their lives might just get a bit better - hopefully a LOT better - with you in the White House. Maybe less of them will die from the virus, this preventable horror. Trump, of whom we knew many despicable things and thought we’d already seen how low the bar could possibly go for one human being — but we never considered him under the moniker of mass killer, terrorist or superspreader. Then you, Joe, came along and offered us a respite, a break from the insanity — “Mr. Biden, we’ll be happy if you just give us four years of ‘Not Trump!’”

But I think you can give us much more than that. What could our lives be like in four years or eight years (with a Democratic Senate to boot)? How ‘bout no one ever goes bankrupt again because they got sick? How ‘bout no one is sitting in a prison cell for possessing marijuana or actual drugs? How ‘bout every child gets to go to a great school and every neighborhood has an expanded free library open seven days a week? How ‘bout paid family medical leave so you can take care of your elderly parents and not lose your job? How ‘bout my bullet train! You and we can make all this happen. It’s not rocket science. 30+ other countries already do it. (https://www.amazon.com/Where-Invade-Next-Micha…/…/B01EGW9EOU) They’re happier. Why not us? Our founders promised it to us in their second sentence: “the pursuit of Happiness.“ They said that’s what America would be — and it’s been a rare day when we’ve actually had a glimpse of it.

Joe, you’re the guy to fulfill the promise. I’ll help. So will my neighbors on the floor where I live. As will the woman who delivers my mail, the workers who stock the shelves of my neighborhood market, the nurse who just wrote me in tears because yesterday she watched her 22nd patient die, alone, no family allowed, from Covid. Not to mention the millions upon millions of Americans who are ready to be foot soldiers in your army of justice, equality and love. We’re all in! We don’t want to go back to the old “normal.” We want a new normal!

We want ice cream.

All my best, Michael Moore

P.S. You know why I think you can and will do this? You picked Kamala Harris to run with you! Ranked as the most liberal senator in the U.S. Senate. A woman. A Black woman! I saw the first debate, the one where she challenged you and threw shade on your younger self. Most people (including me), if that had happened to us, we probably wouldn’t have gotten over it. You did. I’m guessing your conscience whispered to you, “well, dang, maybe she has a point.” You hold no grudges. You are a forgiving soul. But then you didn’t just forgive her — you put her on the Big Ticket! Who would do that? You did! That’s why my cautious, hopeful bet is on the good hands we’re now in — both your hands, Kamala’s hands, and the hands of the mass millions who voted for you and will continue to rise up and fight for this new, better, post-Trump, post-pandemic America.

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thesmallestwonders-blog · 4 years

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Tough.

My whole life perspective has switched.

I guess when you are faced with the body of the one you love shutting down, the questions about life and death hits you.

I said this before, my dad had cancer and when I saw him in the hospital, I saw him in his last few days, but I never knew it then. I never knew that when a person is given morphine, they will probably be never taken off morphine. I never knew that when the nurses said, “we are trying to make him comfortable”, I never knew those were the last days - or may be i did not want to believe it. Because how could I?

But when I found out that my dad had made a decision to let go because his cancer has reached a stage where he could no longer return, it hit me, hard. How was I to accept that I would be losing my dad for the rest of my life?

My dad was not even 60, I was not even close to graduating.

But when I saw my dad in true true pain, when we spoke to him for the very last time, we held him. When he was struggling for his life, when he struggled to breathe and he took out his nose oxygen, when they had to put in morphine to ease his pain, when i realised that his body was slowly shutting down while he was in and out of consciousness.

It was that night, I went home to the B&B and at some point, I told God, “he is in so much pain, and I know that he has reached a point where it is difficult to get better. Please take his pain away Lord, it is hurting him.”

It was the toughest prayer i have ever told God, it was painful. But it was then I knew how much I had matured, how I stopped being afraid of death - a little bit, may be. I was asking God to take stop my dad’s pain, at the expense of me never ever being able to see him again. It was painful but he was in greater pain than my heartache. I got angry, angry with cancer in itself.

God took him away the following day. My dad fought through the pain to see his two little last wishes, his children. And he fought the bravest fight for 1.5 years, from Singapore and back to England.

The day dad left, we saw two double rainbows. The following day, his image flashed my mind, he was smiling and I noticed myself smiling out the window, just reminiscing his image of when he was young, and not in pain, and I will always remember that youthful smile.

The planning of the funeral was another heart breaking experience. I never thought that I would be planning my dad’s funeral at 25 years old, when my dad was not even 60.

I think the other toughest part was when I had to carry my dad’s urn to lay him to rest. I remembered walking to the garden of remembrance - my boyfriend was with me, my family was with me but somehow I felt like I was walking with my dad on my own, and I think I needed that, i felt like my dad was taking a stroll with me, by just carrying his urn. But i tried so hard to swallow my tears, because I remembered thinking, “mummy and daddy were the first to hold me when I was born and now, I am carrying my dad to lay him to rest. How did his body become ashes?” I guess it was a painful passing thought.

But I did what I could to honour my dad, because he deserved a beautiful send off and we laid him to rest in January. And if the current situation allows, I do hope to pay respects to my dad yearly.

I cannot forget the many angel in disguises in which God has placed in my life, both emotionally and physically. My family and close friends who prayed constantly and who constantly checked up with kindness and love, even though we were physically far away from each other. I also could not imagine how tough it was for my boyfriend, mum and uncle to witness and understand the situation before I understood it but how could you tell someone they were losing their dad? Yet, he silently supported me throughout.

Grieve only started to hit in January, grieve still hits today, it hits every day, every day and honestly, it never ends. Do i have regrets? Yes, I wished I could have spent more time with him, to be able to speak to him again, to hold him. I just kept thinking that he had time. But I and we will always live on, in memory of him and the loved ones we lost.

I guess, to who ever is reading this, please always remember to look after and treasure your loved ones, friends and family. In today’s busy lifestyle of work and constant work, even if it is just for a short while, check in on your loved ones, make sure they are doing well - mentally and physically, even if it just a simple “how are you doing today?” It goes a long way and it does not take 5 minutes of our busy schedule to do so, they are important. They truly are.

Why did I decide to type this? I don’t know but it took a lot of courage.

Until the next, X.

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evestaylors-blog · 6 years

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new years stream of conciousness

This was the most difficult year of my life. I don’t know how to express the extreme intensity of the pain and emotions that I have felt and that still stick with me. I didn’t know that it was possible to feel the amount of pain that I’ve felt. I grieved the loss of so many aspects of my life, which caused me to completely spiral into an incredibly dark and unhealthy mental and physical state of being.

I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom as hard as I possibly could have, and that I’m slowly rebuilding my shell and gradually healing my soul. There’s a new sense of strength and permanent change that comes with that.

The only way I’ve known how to handle things during this time in my life has been to simply make it through each day; I felt unable to do anything more than that. Even without feeling any motivation, energy, or hope, I somehow faced fears and put myself in vulnerable situations that I never thought I could. Some are seemingly simple things, like buying a writing journal, attempting to learn new instruments, continuing to work hard at my school/job, and going through trial and error with seeking professional help. Others were scarier things, like taking singing lessons, trying out a scare-actor position at a haunted house, taking an acting class with a new teacher who didn’t see eye-to-eye with me, failing at an audition, and getting on an airplane by myself to live in Europe for a month – all while in my worst physical/mental state.

I genuinely have such gratitude for those amazing experiences. I credit them for all of my growth and strength. I absolutely benefited greatly from it all. Despite that knowledge, I noticed that I can see, hear, understand, and realize the validity of words of wisdom and recognize the beauty of the world around me… but I could never fully feel it. Advice from smart and meaningful people in my life have made perfect sense, but it couldn’t fully reach me to a point in which I could truly emulate it.

I remember staring at the Eiffel Tower this summer – something I never thought I would be fortunate enough to do and that I’m truly so amazed and thankful to have experienced – and seeing the beauty of it, recognizing my privilege in witnessing it, but still feeling completely broken.

I absolutely love Paris, love Europe, love traveling, and love my best friend who I got to do it all with. Looking back on my trip, it is one of the best things I’ve ever done in my life, and I look back with immense pride, joy, gratitude, and an itch to travel again. As knowingly lucky as I am to have this incredible life, the wisest of words and the most stunning of sights somehow could not pull me out of the deep, dark hole that I spiraled into. They did, however, absolutely shape me and give me life experience and personal growth that I’m so thankful for. Depression did not allow me to fully feel it, though.

I couldn’t relate to the “roller-coaster” analogy for a while – the concept of having “good days and bad days”, “ups and downs”? Nope. Day after day was miserable for a long time, despite my efforts. I’m only recently starting to find genuineness in my smiles and laughter again, starting to feel the joy that spending time with cool people brings or beautiful places feel or good food tastes…etc.

This post will not have a set “happy ending”, victory, solution, full-circle-epiphany… because I’m still going through it; It’s still a current experience – not a beginning-to-end story from the past. I’m still healing, growing, learning, re-building from everything.

For now, my victory is that I am starting to relate to that “roller-coaster” analogy – that I have seen better days after losing hope in seeing them. My victory is that DESPITE not being able to say that I’ve fully “found the light at the end of the tunnel” or DESPITE not being able to fully feel the beneficial power of those wise words or stunning sights or amazing experiences, I’ve still seen so much, accomplished so much, faced so much, and I’m still here with wonderful friends and family by my side who I love and appreciate wholeheartedly and can’t thank enough for sticking by me.

Emotions, situations, thoughts, feelings, people, etc. don’t change or go away or get resolved purely because it’s almost the end of a calendar year. The end of a calendar year does, however, give me inspiration to reflect on where I’ve been, where I’m at, and where I’m going. I still don’t know where any of that is. But I can still plan to keep going, to keep learning, and to just keep being in this next year. I can plan to continue the seemingly impossible journey of finding self-love and to challenge myself to experiences that terrify yet excite me. Even though I’m not at a place where I’ve fully learned or fully grown or fully healed from anything, I have started to see the possibility and notice the change that I’ve gone through and the strength that I possess.

Despite the nostalgia and the anxiety that this time of year gives me, December 31st isn’t necessarily an end of anything and January 1st isn’t necessarily a beginning of anything – 2017 began and ended while this process and journey is ongoing. But it’s a reminder that I’m still here, still going, still seeing, still being.

[I always feel silly and embarrassed for making long/sappy types of posts about my life, because, like, who cares? I don’t want the type of attention that it will get me, and I don’t want to be looked at as some superhuman just for being myself and writing about how I feel. BUT, I also feel a sense of inauthenticity when I only post pictures that make myself appear happy all of the time and make my life look perfect, but I do it anyway (although I found myself unable to for most of this year), which I also question why anyone should care about, and it also gives me attention that I suppose I must crave, but don’t really like the concept of or feel deserving of. So, since I already share the good stuff (which I do NOT think doing so is a bad thing, because optimism and putting positivity out into the world is good!), I might as well also share the reality that might be relatable to others.]

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asiawrites · 7 years

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Tragic Crush Tales: #10 Part Deux

When will I ever learn that some people are not meant to make a reentry into your life? I learned that again for the millionth time recently. Let’s recap on the first part of E’s shenanigans. He was a guy I met on social media at the end of 2015. He was in and out of my life until about August of 2016 when I realized the reason he was in and out of my life was because there was another woman. That’s pretty much the whole gist. He’d play victim and tried to blame me for his betrayal, but the conclusion of it at is that he was dishonest.

We fast forward to about April of this year. I’m in the car and I get a text message. It wasn’t from a saved number, but it said “I’m in your neck of the woods.” Now I was kind of freaked out at first because who just randomly texts a stranger that? Then I noticed that I had previous texts from this number and realized it was E again. I never deleted his old messages, because I never get rid of receipts. Against better judgement I let him back in again. He apologized and said that he had made a mistake. All was forgiven, but not forgotten. See, I forgave him because from the very start I could tell he was broken. Perhaps it’s the Libra in me or the depression I battle that allows me to see through someone’s mask. He wasn’t much for a deep communicator, but I could tell. So he was forgiven for his mistake and we got back to flirting as usual. Even before we started talking again I had already purchased tickets way back in January to see my favorite band, U2, in Chicago in the summer. We counted down the days until we would finally meet. The butterflies got stronger and I was honestly more excited to see him than I was to see a band I’ve loved since I was seven years old.

Later that night when I arrived in Chicago we finally met. I couldn’t believe he was standing right in front of me. I tried to keep my cool and not become giddy as I saw this man I’d become infatuated with finally there in the flesh. It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be. It felt like we were old friends getting a chance to hang out again after years of being apart. We went out on a date for some good pizza. He opened doors for me, made sure that I didn’t walk on the curbside of the sidewalk. E was a complete gentleman. After our date we came back to my room to wind down for the night. I kicked his ass in Uno a few times and we chatted a bit, especially about our past so that we could hopefully start fresh. He made me feel comfortable. He made me feel like I could open up again. It was really nice. He stayed the night. It was nice laying next to him. The next day He dropped me off so I could try and meet the band and we met up later that night for another date. When our dinner date ended I had no idea that we would be parting ways. I would only be seeing him the following day for him to take me to the show and then that was it. That would be when we would say our goodbyes until who knows when. Understandably I was a little emotional and upset because I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t want to say goodbye until it was absolutely necessary to say goodbye. He stayed a little while longer, but my heart sank as he turned to leave. The next morning is just as I thought it would be. E drove me to the concert, I kissed him goodbye, and that was it. I was left on a high, but also a low because I immediately missed him terribly.

When I returned home, still on a high from both this man and the U2 concert, I was already planning my next visit. Hell, I was planning on a move, which was always the plan whether he was in the picture or not. Everything seemed great. We still talked and spoke about how we missed each other. It was great. Soon approaching was the one year anniversary of my father’s death. Leading up to that day there was no huge emotion one way or another. It was just kind of an empty feeling. That feeling that something was missing. On his death date I had planned to get a tattoo to honor him and take my mom with me. The night before E and I were talking. He had joked about something dealing with us and why it was taking him so long to commit and in that moment in time it rubbed me the wrong way and plus my mind was elsewhere. I told him I was going to bed and said good night. I stayed on social media a few minutes more before reaching back out to him because 1. I wanted to let him know that I really wasn’t in a joking kind of mood because I was going through my own thing, 2. but on the other hand I did need someone to talk to because I really needed to distract my mind, and 3. I couldn’t really fall asleep like I was hoping too. When I reached back out he got snotty in a “Oh now you wanna talk to me?” sort of way. I was caught off guard and really confused as to what he was upset about. I let it go, because I was already going through too much hurt reflecting on the fact that my father had been gone a whole year and since my dad died Father’s Day weekend I had to deal with both of those events at once.

Reaching back out to E sometime later that I night he expressed he was upset because I was so happy earlier that day then all of a sudden got quiet and that I didn’t tell him what was going on beforehand. Since I didn’t tell him beforehand that I may need alone time due to my grieving he labeled me a liar. I explained several times that when it comes to that my moods are up and down. It’s only been a year. Sometimes I still cry out of the blue. Certain dates, places, songs, and events will make me teary eyed. My life is forever changed. I’ve never dealt with a loss of this magnitude so I don’t know how or when moods will hit me. Sometimes I’m not even sure how to cope. I just do what I can and try to go about my day as normal. For some reason he still didn’t get that. He didn’t get that people take losses differently. E still made it about him being hurt that I still stayed active on social media when I said I was sleeping. Now, for me that says he’s upset about something else and making it about that because there is no way possible that someone would be so furious about something so trivial especially knowing what I was going through that weekend. All of a sudden we went from having fun while we were together when I visited to “I just don’t like you anymore”. All because I was dealing with the one year anniversary of my dad’s death. Let that marinate a bit. I still don’t get it either. The sad part is I still want to make it work. I’m not sure if he’s been so hurt in the past that he thinks everything someone says is a lie, but it just makes me want to protect him more. Although, I know (or at least hope) he doesn’t mean to be so hurtful I don’t deserve to be treated in such a way. I need a man to understand that some days are hard for me. That father’s day weekend will always be a sore spot for me. I deserve to be heard out and have a partner who is willing to communicate. I don’t know what I’ve done for someone to think they can treat me like that. I spent that weekend crying over E when I should have been bonding and healing with my mother. He took that away from me. All I ever wanted was to care for him. That time we had with each other was something great. I saw him as someone I could build with when the time was right. I don’t know how we went from “I miss you” to “I don’t want you”. It breaks my heart. It truly does. I’m not sure what to do, but life must go on even though I do miss him. Maybe we’re not right for each other right now, in this lifetime, or even at all. To think about it that way really sucks, but I don’t have anymore tears to give. For this man I’ve shed them all.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2017(c)

#By: Asia Aneka Anderson #Tragic Crush Tales #amwriting #writing #love #personal

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katykarnivore · 7 years

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I need to get this off my chest.

The main reason I got back on Tumblr was to share a story I couldn't tell anyone in my personal life. The story isn't complete but I have enough information to make this post. This will most likely be miles long, but if you do read to the end, thank you, and it's definitely worth the read and I could use some feed back. On February 4th of 2016, I had just lost my dad to cancer in December and was moping over a small breakup that I had days before, but I have this thing where, to make myself feel better, I'll download an app called Whoshere, and troll people on it. I do that ever time I have a breakup, it never fails me to make me laugh, but this time I met a guy that I felt down right ashamed to troll him. He was so sweet and charming and not looking for nudes or to dirty talk, he was just interested in knowing me, talking to me, and he held conversation very well. We will call him Johnny, but Johnny wasn't my typical type. I am in no way a racist, but the family I come from is and I'd been living under the shadows of them for a long time, so when it came out that Johnny was a different ethnicity than I am, I was immediately slamming the breaks. Shallow of me, I know, but I got passed it, keep reading. He was also a bit younger than me, not too much, less than a year, and the same height as I am, which is pretty short. But, the biggest threat to us was the distance. We're several states away from each other, and even though I'd been to the state he lived in, I'd never been there before, alone. These were all red flags to me 12 months ago, but he intrigued me like no one ever had and I couldn't let him go. He literally spent every waking minute talking to me, he helped me like no ever had, he helped me through my grieving process of my dad's passing, we had almost everything in common and I knew our friendship was special, because I never once had to ask him "so,whats up?" because I was bored of the conversation. I never got bored with him. I felt ashamed for leading him on for so long, because it took months of me saying "I love you" for me to actually believe it. He said it first, which was a relief, but I said it back way too soon, because I was afraid of losing him. Stupid reasons, I'm well aware, but one day, about 5 months into our "relationship", he'd gone somewhere and I told him "Love you!" and that I'd talk to him later. That "Love you!" felt different than all the ones before it. And I knew why. I had really started to fall in love with him, legitimately had feelings for this boy. I panicked. Like most girls do, and broke up with him. I'd recently gotten a job and he worked nights, we were barely spending time together and I stated that as the reason for our breakup. I shouldn't have asked him if he wanted to tell me anything before we said goodbye, because he told he was madly in love with me and had been thinking of us having a life together and that he had really hoped we could have made things work. I felt so guilty. He'd had feelings for me for months while I was just passing time and when I finally reciprocated those feelings, I gave up on us. Doubling the pain, I now had to get over a new breakup alone. I hate being alone. It took 5 days of crying and no sleep before I finally messaged him and told him I'd made a mistake. I told him everything. I got scared because I had feelings for him and wasn't even sure for most of our relationship if I did have feelings for him, but when I did I ran from them, and he welcomed me back so fast, I knew he had missed me just as much if not more than I had missed him. And I apologized about a million times before he told me he completely forgave me and that we needed to put this in our past. I was more than happy to do just that. I had my man back. 💕 So far, I haven't mentioned anything about anyone else, because there wasn't anyone else in this story. I hadn't told anyone, not even my best friend that I was dating someone. No one knew, I was keeping him my little secret for as long as possible. And I had two reasons why I was doing that. The first, I've already mentioned. My family is an acquired taste, and they wouldn't like Johnny's flavor, but I also kept him a secret because I was performing an experiment. Before Johnny, most of my relationships had failed because I'd let other people in them, my best friend, my mom, my aunt, other people on the Internet and if something was going wrong, they each had a way to deal with it, without me asking for help. And I truly believe my past relationships failed because I wasn't in control of my half of the relationship. So I didn't tell anyone, if things needed to be solved, we were going to solve them without any outside help, and it worked! Believe it or not, we never fought, never had an argument, mostly because we're the type to not have conflict, but we loved each other too much to let stupid things come between us. And we were tested. Oh, boy were we tested. During the elections, we were on opposing sides. He didn't vote, but would have for Trump (don't hate me for that), and I voted for Hillary (hate will not be tolerated) (this is irrelevant), but it didn't matter because I did what was my duty and if he chose not to, that was his choice. We respected each other and I'd never had anyone respect my opinions before. And, I'm crying a little right now because we really did have the best relationship in the world, but I digress. Before I say the bad, I want to tell you the good, because there is way more of that than there is bad. He's talked me out of a panic attack on more than one occasion, he fully embraced that I was a college drop out with no job, and told me on more than one occasion that a few extra pounds meant there was more of me to love and he did love me, so so well. He never, not once, asked anything of me. I didn't ask anything of him. We were just two people who truly wanted to be with each other. Every anniversary, I always got a very long, very detailed message of all the things he learned to love about me that month. He once sent me a picture of a beautiful Carnation and told me it was randomly growing in his yard and that it reminded him of me, something beautiful he didn't ask for, but he was glad he got it anyway. I was so desperately in love with him, I began having the thoughts of "could he be the one?", "he's not my usual type but maybe he's what I needed", and "I'd go to the ends of the earth to make sure he was okay". He bought a body pillow to sleep with at night because he wanted the feeling of me next to him even though I couldn't be. For his birthday, in December, I searched Pinterest over for Long Distance Relationship ideas and found some cute pictures of things like "You're my favorite notification" or one that had a map of our two States with a red string connecting us. He would help me decide what makeup I was going to west when I did it. He was my entire life. 💜😊 He made me happier than I've ever been and I was eternally grateful for that. Our relationship wasn't just rainbows and sunshine, though. We each had our fair share of sad times. He lost both of his grandmothers in 2016, the most recent one was in late November, early December. I lost my 92 year old grandmother days after that, and then I had to face the reality that my dad had been gone from me for a whole year. These kind of things do something to a person. Alone, you can grieve and moved passed it, but to have all of this happen all at once broke him. I will admit I'm a stronger person than most, and certainly stronger than him, but this all literally broke him. He spent a week in a psychiatric hospital under evaluation for suicidal thoughts. He was too far gone, I couldn't help him, I even suggested he seek professional help, but I can't say that it did him any good, because on our 11 month anniversary, January 4th, he broke up with me. Horrible timing, but I don't blame him for that. He stated the reason is that we were too far apart and he craved having a family so much that he couldn't stand begin with someone right now that he wanted so desperately to start a family with but couldn't. He didn't know I'd been feeling the same way, that I'd been lonesome in the idea of having a family with him. He was the first person in my life to make me want to have children. I never wanted them before, but I wanted to be the woman his kids called "mommy". I wanted it all, but he couldn't wait for me. I'm sure there were other things. He mentioned he thought we were holding each other back from someone closer to us, but I argued that if I wanted to be with someone closer, I would be, but I don't. I want him. He asked for a break, but I told him that was stupid, because even if we did come back from a break, the problem is still going to be there. He didn't know I'd already planned to make a trip to see him within the next year. I was willing to move to him. I was working on it. He told me he still wanted me around, that it might just need some time for him to get over this and I asked if we still had a chance, and he told he believed we did, but it was slim. There is no doubt in my mind, I'd face my family to be with this man. I'd move across the country, leave my whole life to be with him. And I fear everyday that I've lost him and it's because of something I can't control right now. I don't know what the silver lining is in this story, but at this point, I'm just glad to know that real love is still out there. I spent so long believing in fake love, but I experienced it for real, and it's out there. Even if you can't see it.

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