Goodbye is the hardest word to say.

I'm not ready for her to leave this world, not ready to say goodbye, not ready to not be someone's grandchild. She is the last of her generation of parents. She has fought long and hard and done her best. I know this is her decision, but it's too soon. It will always be too soon.

When white light passes through a prism it is broken into an array of colors. When grief is filtered through an individual's perception of death, grief is broken into an array of emotions too many to name.

You can't know what this is like for me, no one can. Death is filtered through personal experiences, we all grieve in our own ways. Hold me and let me sob, need to feel safe. If only for this moment, I need to feel this pain.



Dear Winkleberry,

Some grandparents are part of a child’s life only fleetingly, there to buy presents and spoil them, or there only on special occasions and then gone with little or no communication, some are not present at all. You have been an integral part of every stage of my life, helping to raise me, to care for me, to comfort me and to teach me. You took care of my sister and me.

When our parents would leave town, you would play games with me when I was lonely; you undertook projects to make headbands and play the organ, and bake cookies at Christmas. You were willing to get dirty, to help pick “pomatoes” in the garden, to sit on the floor and play with us. You made sure we knew you love us and are proud of us.

Once you played baseball in your back yard on Calle de Rosa with an Oar and a tennis ball, another time you invited me over to look at slides and you made me a Peanut butter and Jelly sandwich. I felt like the most special person in the world because you took the time to spend time with me. I treasure all the memories of you I have.

I’ve known you for 19 years, you’ve been there to shape who I am in every way. It was from you I learned to go after what you want and not to give up until you get it, it was from you I learned to be strong, and it was from you I learned that just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I’m any less capable. Thank you for everything you have taught me.

I love you very, very much. I want you to know that I will always love you. I understand that what you’re going through right now is exhausting, painful, and scary. I want you to know that even if I don’t agree with the decisions you make, I will respect them because I respect you. I understand that if you are tired you have every right to rest.

I don’t know what’s going to happen when you are gone, no one does. But I do know that I want you to know how much you will always mean to me, and that I love you very, very much. I’m proud of you for fighting as hard as you have in everything you’ve done, you’re amazing.

Thank you, for everything. Thank you Grandma Wink.

Love you.
Kate

The time for make-believe is over.

I suppose it’s sappy, trite, predictable, and very “emo” of me but I can’t help whining about how much it hurts to be without her. The summers are always a dry season: no real social happenings, never really busy, just sort of slow and sparse. But this is my last summer with her. After this summer she’s free to fly around the world and fall in love and make mistakes and forget about me. I just want this chance to have her to myself, to be content to sit next to her on her couch with her needy cat sprawled in our laps as we watch Cirque shows, or to watch her dance against the backdrop of the fire as I lie in the grass.

With her half a world away I realized that as much as I would like to replace her with something fleeting and superficial I won’t be able to fill that need for deep connection. I realized I love her, or rather I am in love, although I’m not sure she’s “with” me in this whole love thing.
Seeing her smile makes the world seem just a little easier to take, hearing her laugh puts me at ease. I value her opinion deeply, taking her thoughts and criticisms to heart. I love the thrill of when she challenges my opinions or ideas, picking them apart, cocking an eyebrow and gazing sternly at me as if to say “you can do better than this,” and I can. She makes me want to be better. Gives me reason to write. Pushes me to maintain my passion for life.

She is everything I never knew I wanted, unpredictably bounding into my life. She didn’t turn it upside down; she just rotated it 15 degrees: enough to throw me off balance and make it difficult to understand. And I know I’m awkward. I know I’m not what she wanted. I know I’m not what she expected or predicted when she meticulously planned her life. I know there’s nothing she can do. I just wish she could understand how much she’s done for me and how much I wish I could repay her.

I’ll never forget that the last time I saw my grandfather I forgot to tell him I loved him assuming I would see him later. Two days later I was informed that he passed away of a heart attack during the night. I never forgave myself for letting that opportunity slip through my fingers. Because of that, I spend my life hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I can’t bear the thought of missing another chance and couldn’t bear it if I did miss that chance.

I can’t stay quiet. I can’t keep this to myself. I can’t pretend I don’t dream about her every night, think about every hour of every day, miss her when I don’t see her, wish she were with me, wish I could hear her voice again, wish I could smell her hair and hold her in my arms. I can’t pretend that I don’t Love her. Not the new fleeting, changing, sugar glass, puppy, pretend, lust version of love, no I mean the kind of love that is simultaneously earth shattering and as delicate as the wings of a humming bird.

I can’t pretend I don’t honestly feel this hollow ache in my breast. I can’t pretend I haven’t cried without her. I can’t pretend she hasn’t changed my life.

I miss you, Clara Bow.

Farewell Falwell: Falwell buys the farm.

It doesn't get a whole lot better than this.

I've been waiting for nigh on a decade for this fucker to bite the dust. I prayed in vain to our Glorious God, hoping he would take pity on me and the rest of "the family" and give us a fighting chance.

On Tuesday, May 15th my prayers were answered and Falwell kicked the bucket!!!

The world is split between celebration en masse, a la Stonewall Riots, and mourning like Superman just died. On the whole he pissed off enough minorities that the line to dance on his grave will be longer than the lines of people waiting for the next Harry Potter book.

Any man who supports Aparthied and criticizes the efforts of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr deserves to be roasted by the living as well as those dead he joins in hell. I suppose my overwhelmingly Liberal true colors are shining through and may piss off a few people but I know that I'm not alone in my celebratory mood. I found particular comfort in the words "Ladies and gentlemen, Evil has left the building. " posted by an individual identified only as "rufus" on the Gawker forums.

Yes, it's tasteless. What can we say? We're giddy!!!

I'm throwing a huge drunken, gay, interracial, pagan, orgy in honor of Herr Falwell.

Happy Beltane, it's a little late but we'll take it.

Overactive Imagination

I could explain to you exactly what I’m doing, but that would be boring so instead I’m going to lie and say that I’ve become a fabulous secret agent, and have not been lazy but rather executing high stakes operations.

So far I’ve busted a sticky-toffee pudding smuggling unit out of Botswana; a terrorist organization dedicated to undoing the world by having really, really white people try (and fail at) dancing to hip-hop; and an evil mastermind who has been slowly building support for his world takeover by bribing the people of the world with “preferred customer” cards at supermarkets when really it just makes the prices normal rather than extravagant.

My last mission I posed as a ceiling tile in order to collect evidence on a terrorist cell of secretaries dedicated to putting the world into a mass coma by replacing all regular coffee with decaf. But not before I was captured by the enemy and tortured in an effort to get me to tell them about the agency I work for, and their whereabouts. I endured countless hours of off key singing and was forced to watch tapes of the Eagles/Cowboys playoff game. Still, I remained strong.

I managed to escape from prison with a cunning plan involving a paper clip, a banana, a zebra, two mimes, a blimp, the entire collection of Blackadder, a copy of Great Expectations and my trusty albuterol inhaler. But I won't bore you with the details.

After managing to convince the giant moth to fly me to America I returned to ************** (location must not be named for security purposes) and had a bagel; then I met with my superiors and looked over our newest weapon. It was absolutely brilliant, the best yet I’ve no doubt, regular wheat bagel with some high quality butter and strawberry cream cheese, it really hit the spot, especially with that smoothie... the weapon was fine too.

Why haven’t you known about this you ask? I’ve cleverly disguised my secret goings about as sleep and anti-social tendencies. I am sharing this information with you now so that if you don’t see me for a while, you’ll know why.

But more about my intensely interesting life later, right now I have to return to my undercover work as a student infiltrator.

So far I’ve managed to learn that language experts are trying to create mass hysteria by making the rules for colon use even more confusing. So far, no one seems to care.