At a young age, people rarely think about death. After all, aren’t we supposed to be invincible?
When you receive the dreaded, “You need to come home”, phone call from a mother who is obviously holding back sobs, you know that nothing good could possibly come out of it.
Going home and learning that you Grandfather has passed away, that you are leaving to drive halfway across the country in fifteen minutes and that your Nana was taken to the hospital in the ambulance that same morning, is a very scary experience. And then while driving through Indianapolis late that night, learning that she was diagnosed with brain cancer before discovering that it had spread throughout the majority of her body just added to how surreal we all felt. The doctors told us that the damage was irreversible and predicted, correctly, that her brain would stop functioning before her lungs ever would. Before this day and my experiences that followed within the next month, I had never had much experience with death, I had no idea what to think.
After spending a week of attending and planning a memorial and funeral, my father, sister and I found ourselves back in our Subaru on our way back to Vermont. We spent a beautiful, heart-wrenching, tearful, twelve days full of soul-searching surrounding my Nana with family and love.
On June 21, 2013 my Nana, the stubborn, beautiful, matriarch of my family passed away surrounded by those whom love her. Read more »
After my fifth grade basketball season, I had been contacted by the coach of the fifth grade boys basketball team at a nearby elementary school and invited to join his team for a few weeks to take part in the Karp’s Klassic basketball tournament that year. I was rather enthusiastic about basketball at the time, as many elementary school boys are, and two of my good friends that I went to school with had informed me that too were invited, and were joining. So I excitedly accepted the invitation.
The practices began and at first my two friends were the only familiar faces. Read more »
Five years ago on a cold November night a mom and dad sat down with their three girls to talk. Right away the girls sensed something was...off. There wasn't the usual joking around or perpetual questions about how the day went. It was quiet. And on that cold November night the mother spoke the four words that made the three girls the most scared they would ever feel: I've found a lump.
About 20% of the people diagnosed with Breast Cancer will die. Luckily, my mom was not part of that 20%. Luckily, it had not spread much. Luckily, they were able to save her. But the journey from finding out she had breast cancer to going into her last round of Chemotherapy was not an easy one. Walking into the hospital for each round of Chemo meant walking into weeks of Hell. Constant headaches, vomiting, fatigue, stomach aches, tingling, burning, numbness of the nerves, and hair loss were only a handful of the obstacles my mom had to face while killing the monster inside of her. Read more »
I walked into the lodge wrapped in my hat and coat, carrying my bag. I went straight to the ski report board. It had all of the necessary information on it; the trails that were open, snow condition, the temperature at the base and the most important information of all the temperature at the summit. Just reading the number written there made me shiver, -25 degrees. On top of that the wind was averaging 30 mph with gusts up to 50 mph.
Once we finally put on as many layers as we had with us we shuffled off to grab our skis and head over to the tram. Of course being the idiots that we were we decided to get on the tram and got to the summit for our first run of the day. Read more »
The saddest I have ever felt was at the end of my trip to England, Wales, Ireland, and Scotland. Over nineteen days I had become great friends with all of the 31 other high schoolers from Vermont, New York, and Florida. We did some awesome stuff, like repelling down a castle tower in Wales, climbing on the rocks at Carrick A Rede, and going to the Giant’s Causeway in Scotland.
the alarm beeps
god, is it that time already?
5 more minutes
I won't fall asleep
God, it's so warm
I've got plenty of time
I slept another hour?
OH NO OH NO OH NO
I really need to hurry
the air's so cold though
no, no more delays
I'm so tired
I miss bed already
The good thing about being cold, is that at some point you will become warm again. When you live in a place like Vermont, you are used to being physically cold. However, at times you will still find yourself being cold. One day in late January, when I was six, it was a snow day. We had just received a huge storm system, and had a good deal of new snow on the ground. My sister and I were sledding when I decided to walk across our brook, which was frozen over. Well, it apparently was not frozen over as much as I thought it was, because I fell in. Read more »
I stare at your stain as I watch you fill with salty water that spatters much like the rain that is hitting the windowsill. It runs around about an inch from your bottom. He had left you on the counter the morning he went out on his drive in the country. He hadn’t quite finished all of the coffee. I hadn’t finished crying. But I eventually picked you up when I got around to cleaning the house, which had accumulated a layer of dust that left footprints when I walked across the floors.
I had begun to wash you, but you slipped from my hands and crashed in the sink. Shattered in two, I remember sobbing on the floor with each hand holding one half of you, dripping soap onto the linoleum. Later that day, I glued your two halves back together.
But you will never really be together again, will you? Even with chips and rises and falls of your glaze, you had always been faultless to me. Malcolm, even with his rough edges and his habit of “earlizing” everything, was always faultless to me. He still is. But we used to be faultless; the way we talked, and the way sometimes nothing needed to be said.
To others, he was flawed. Their definition of flawed obviously varied from mine. Their definition of flawed was Malcolm; my definition of flawed was me without him. Read more »
A woman tugs on the hand of a little girl dressed in a blue raincoat with pink yellow hearts. The ringing of the bell at the top of the door jars the setting silence of the room. I can hear the woman’s clogs, the shuffling of wet rubber boots, and the waitress’ heels as she hurries over to help them. The mother takes the order, the little girl mumbles, and the mom repeats in her softly tired voice; a cup of tea and lemonade. They make their way to a booth, and when I look over at the girl with the fine hair and freckled face, she giggles a toothy smile and attempts to wrap her hands all the way around her glass. Her fingers fall short.
I remember both of us trying to wrap our fingers all the way around my expanding waist, but neither of us could do it with just one pair of hands. My pajama shirt had little sailboats on it, and Malcolm had said that if I didn’t wear something besides boats, anchors, and life preserver rings, that our boy was bound to be a sailor. Of course it wasn’t in protest, simply an observation. And in most ways, he was correct on that front. Read more »
I apologize in advance for taking up the room in the recent post section... but this is kinda long, and I decided to break it up.
I fill you with black coffee; it’s the night with no stars, and it’s the unforgiving tar of car wheels. At least that particular car wasn't forgiving to him; it was indirectly cruel to me. At times it seems that I may have been God’s intended target. But that’s an awfully self-centered way of looking at it, now isn’t it.
I don’t add any milk. I hope you don’t mind. I try to keep you warm most of the time, but I couldn’t today since it’s raining outside and I had to carry you here. I have to say, you collect water quite well, but I suppose that’s not too surprising, since your intended purpose is to hold liquids. But I wouldn’t blame you if you let it spill out sometimes; I know it happens to me sometimes.
Most people look at me strangely when I ask them to fill you up instead of their own foam cups which are littered with their own brand name. Not only do I resent their self-proclaimed righteousness, but foreign coffee and foreign cups are too similar to strangers to be added to the equation of me at the moment. I’m hardly an acquaintance to myself. Read more »
Winter is a hard season especially here in Vermont. You don't know the cold until you've spent a winter in the north. The sheer blistering cold between the low temperatures and the wind chill bring temperatures far below 0. To prepare for the season there has to be a lot of hard work to be done. Chopping the wood, splitting the wood, and carrying wood in to be burnt in the stove. Besides the hard work there is a lot of beauty in the coldness that winter brings. The first snowfall, the Christmas decorations, the smell of smoke from the scattered chimneys throughout the state. The season also brings a sense of wonder and merryment. The elderly enjoy the time of their grandchildren. Memories flood back from their old childhoods warming them like a cup of hot chocolate. The innocent children play in the snow, they counting down the days until the night before Christmas comes. Their excitment keeping them from from the sleep that would bring the new day. They awake with a rush of excitement. They race down the stairs and stare at the glorious lit up tree. It has more gifts than they had previously remembered. From Santa himself. The children all across the world smile and indulge in the happiness that winter and Christmas bring. Along with winter, does still come the cold, but alas, I welcome the cold. I welcome it all.
As soon as the moment I predicted the missile would annhiliate me, an explosion rocked my plane violently. The shock wave nearly sent me into a tail spin, I recovered, but only barely. I immediately started scanning the skies for what happened and to update the situation. All of a sudden a large, silver object jetted past my canopy. As it got further away I could tell it was a plane, military, but wasn’t sure if it was friend or foe. But as soon as it setteled into a flight path above me, I could see its design on the tailfin. It was an image of a plane flying over what looked like a cougar. I immediately identified who these flyboys were.
“Plattsburgh Air Command this is Demon 1, we have reinforcements from the U.S.S. Roosevelt. The wildcat fighter squadron is here!”
“Roger that, Demon 1! Update the reinforcements on the current situation and continue defending the fleet.”
“Roger, Demon 1, out.”
Read more »
The day you left me, there all alone, I turned cold. My outter shell does not show this subtle chill, but as you venture toward the inner core, it gets colder and colder. When you reach the inner depths of darkness you yourself may become cold. I hide this cold with a fiery personality and depending on who I am around it will shine through. The day you left, it started a whole chain reaction and now i’m left to fend for myself. No more parental role models, because they to, fell apart. So now there is this wide world with an endless amount of possibilities and the only thing I can do is wonder why. It wasn’t supposed to be you who left, it was supposed to be me. The coldness in me comes from bottled up regret, sadness, remorse, and guilt. The constant battle in my head finds its way into my heart and buries itself deep inside. My heart turns cold and I no longer know what it feels like to be normal. Happy? I don’t know what its like to be me. The day you left this world, a year and a half ago, you left a cold place inside me. The day you left it didn't seem real but I knew you left for a reason I just could not come to terms with that reason. You are my guardian angel and because of you I am here today trying to thaw this deep cold that I reside in. The day you died I felt the coldest I had in any previous moments in my life.
Ok guys, I was talking with Geoff yesterday and I realized something... Writing is like lucid dreaming. “No the character can’t do that, that’s impossible!” NO NO NO! Here, in the domain of writing we expand our imaginations to their breaking points. Anything is possible! You could write a piece about walking, but it is not just the smell in the air. It is the hovering flowers producing smells of unimaginable places (Imaginable now). So I beg you, to expand yourselfs to the luxury of creative writing. That brings me to another realization. Schoolwork (LEAF, Five hand paragraphs.) They all limit us. They make us believe that there are boundaries in writing. With that pointed out I want to tell you to not be blinded by these formats that they call writing. Don’t ignore it, but know in your hear that writing is infinite.
She looked out the window. The sky was the grayest that it's ever been and the grass was still yellow. Winter wasn't complete without snow. If only there was snow, she could go outside and taste the crystal flakes. If only there was snow.
She glanced one last time out the window before looking at the black armrest of her wheelchair. She wanted so badly to taste the cold flake on her tongue. She wanted bumps to appear on her arms because of the cold. She wanted all the things she knew she would never get. She was just a child, alone in a dark world of sorrow and tears. If only she hadn't walked across the street just then. If only she had waited. She closed her eyes and let a warm tear slide down her cheek.
When she opened her eyes, she saw some children. The children all looked so happy, so free. They were able to live a life with the ability to walk. They were able to live a life with the joy of legs. Two more tears dripped down her cheek. She once again closed her eyes, never wanting to open them again.
With just one yell of a child outside, she suddenly shot them open. Then she saw it. She saw the snowflakes. They swiftly drifted and sailed through the wind, as a smile appeared on her face. A smile that brought her happiness. A smile that brought her hope.