I remember the day Granny died. I remember being there the day before, telling her we were leaving to get ice cream (we weren’t; we were leaving for the night to stay with my aunt). She knew the truth, and she knew she wouldn’t be there when we got back, but she played along and told me to bring some ice cream back to her. I told her I would, and that’s the last conversation I had with her. The next morning, she was gone. One minute, she was breathing; the next minute, she was no longer of this world. I saw her lifeless body soon after that, and it wasn’t the easiest thing to endure. I was fifteen, and I felt like my world had collapsed around me.

Eight months later, Pawpaw came to visit. We went to the aquarium, and he wasn’t feeling that well. Later that night, he asked to go to the hospital–something he wouldn’t have done if he wasn’t worried something was wrong. He told me he’d be back; he didn’t come back. He died of congestive heart failure in the hospital bed. I was sixteen. He was my favorite man in the world, and Granny had made me promise to take care of him, the love of her life. I wasn’t hard on myself when he died–by that point, I knew it was a part of life, and I was becoming numb to death. I was angry, though, that two people who I loved with my entire being were gone.

I’m twenty-one now. As the years pass, it gets easier to live without them–because it has to. In the past, I was confused. I had some really bad moments.

Today, I miss them. I miss them every day, but it’s different some days. I often try to forget that year of my life because it’s sometimes easier to do so. There are a few things I won’t forget, though, because I don’t want to: the way they held hands in bed while Granny was sick; the way Pawpaw cried when Granny was saying her goodbyes–it showed me exactly what true love was; the way they kissed when they knew they’d be apart for a little while; the way Pawpaw sat next to me at Granny’s memorial service and squeezed my hand, allowing me to realize I didn’t have to try to prove my strength around him–that I could cry now. They’re all sad moments, but they were the perfect example of love.

Those memories are also a reminder of where they are now–together for eternity. Wherever that may be, it’s exactly where they want to be.

June 17 – Happy 2-year Anniversary! from Megan Hill on Vimeo.

I caught a firefly upon my lip,
And as it danced and lit up
My skin,
I recalled childhood memories,
And fell to the grassy floors
Beneath me,
Pushing the bug into the sky,
And watching it light up the world
While I breathed.

Falling from existence–the pace quickens.
I have never seen your face before.
Somewhere there is a smile hiding from me;
I felt that way once, but the clouds collided,
And time forgot to let us breathe.

Coffee shop. Well, it was a restaurant with “coffee shop” in the name. I actually worked in the kitchen washing dishes. Fun. I only worked on Sundays, but I got to work around 6am and left around 3pm. I always left aching and covered in soapy water stains. It taught me a sense of responsibility, though.

McDonald’s. After I had worked at the coffee shop for a while, my parents bought me a car. (It was a 1992 [maybe?] Honda Civic, and I LOVED IT. The engine in it eventually blew up, and it’s still sitting in my parent’s yard, but I’d drive it again if I could.) Dad told me he’d pay for my first tank of gas, but that I’d have to get a job with more hours because I was going to have to pay for my gas after that. So, I started working at McDonald’s in October 2005 (my junior year), and I worked there (well, at two different locations) until July 2007, when I moved to Chattanooga. My senior year of high school, I was working full time (I got out of school at noon), which is now insane to me. I don’t know how I did it then.

Ruby Tuesday. In July 2007, when I moved to Chattanooga, I started hostessing at Ruby Tuesday. I was in my first semester of college, and I went to work after school (usually around 3pm) and went home around 11pm, sometimes later. When I dropped out of school in March/April of 2008, I also quit my job here. I didn’t work again until June/July 2008 (after my wedding/honeymoon), so this period was the only time I haven’t worked since I was a sophomore in high school.

The Hotel. I worked at the hotel for about six months. I worked third shift (11pm to 7am), and I loved it at first, but it soon began to drain me. I mostly just checked people in and out and put out breakfast in the mornings. Then, I’d go home and sleep until about 3pm. It was a horrible schedule.

In January 2009, I started at my current job. I don’t like to go into too much detail, but I’m and administrative assistant for an engineering group. It’s a really laid back position, and I’ve been here for almost a year and three months. I work full time, Monday through Friday, and it’s nice having weekends off. I also go to school full time, but my classes are online, so it’s not that bad. I plan to stick around here for a while longer. Job stability looks good on a resume!

So, what have your jobs been like? Do you believe in making your children work while in high school? Why or why not?

 *I’m in the last couple weeks of school this semester, so my brain is filled with too much to write an actual post right now. Lists will have to do.

It’s sad, really. I’m honestly completely over the idea of “death.” It still scares me sometimes, but when people die around me, I feel no emotion. I think I felt too much pain when Granny died in August of 2004, and then Pawpaw (her husband) died eight months later, unexpectedly. I honestly felt like my world/life was over at that point. I felt as if I could never be who I was before, when they were still breathing. That’s mostly true. I’m not the same. I was once so free and in love with reading and writing. Now, it seems I don’t allow myself to feel those great emotions again, which has caused my writing to fail. When someone dies, I sometimes start to feel the pain creeping back up, but then I almost literally shrug my shoulders and move on. I don’t want to go back to that place–the one I was at six years ago.

When they first passed away, I didn’t dream about them. I thought that maybe I would forget the way they sounded. I dreaded the moment I would forget how blue Granny’s eyes were or the way Pawpaw smelled. Those moments never really came. I told myself that the reason I didn’t dream of them was because they were visiting the dreams of others who needed it more than I did. It took years before I finally dreamed of them. (I hate that I can say “years,” knowing that they’ve been gone that long, rather than just months.) Now, I dream of them weekly, sometimes multiple times in a week. Last week, I had a dream that Granny wrapped me up in a tight hug, not letting me go, even though I had some place to be. I dream of seeing them in their house, as if nothing ever happened. I dream of loving them even more than I did then, knowing they could be taken from me in an instant.

Knowing that Husband will never meet two of the most amazing people in my life breaks my heart. Knowing that my future children will only know them through stories I tell them breaks my heart as well, and I fear I won’t be able to tell the stories well enough to do them justice.

Most of all, though, I fear the possibility that Heaven doesn’t exist, and thinking of never seeing them again breaks my heart in the worst possible way.

I hope that is how I’m living. I hope that I’m becoming more clearly myself, rather than going down the path that isn’t wholly me. How can we tell? Is our life planned out for us, written in permanent marker? Or do we have the pencil, allowing us to draw/erase our own path? Are we genetically pre-determined, some higher being knowing just what we’ll become?

Thanksgiving was once my favorite holiday. It still is, in some ways, but it doesn’t have that same ring to it. It isn’t something I look forward to (anymore), nor is it something I dread. It just is. The last Thanksgiving I spent with my paternal grandparents (together) was in 2003. It’s been six years, and really, has it been that long? Has it taken me six years to come to a point where I can say, “I’m okay. I can breathe through it”? I’ve spent six years holding my breath through holidays, holding back tears. Even just last year, I wanted to crawl in a hole and let the holidays pass by me. What has changed? Have I become more wholly myself?

Granny and I always made the stuffing together. The last year she was alive, before she knew it would be her last Thanksgiving, she let me make the stuffing on my own, showing me that I could do it … That I was old enough, finally, to take something on without her. Little did I know that I would soon have to take on life without her … But I have been, and I will continue to do so. (Without her physically, at least.)

When she was diagnosed with lung cancer in May of 2004, I was already prepared. I knew it was coming one day. Afterall, she had smoked for decades. What I wasn’t prepared for was the day she wouldn’t beat it, just three months later. I don’t blame her, though. She didn’t just give up.  She was ready, and her body was tired of fighting. She fought long enough to show me the true meaning of life–to love wholly and to live without regrets.

So, this Thanksgiving, I will enjoy it without regretting that my Granny (and Pawpaw, her husband) are no longer here. On my 21st birthday (in just less than a week), I will love wholly and be thankful for another year of life. If she were alive today, she’d pass me a beer; knowing I’m not a fan of beer, she’d say, “Try it, Meg … because you may not have a chance tomorrow.” So, in honor of her, I might tip one back, unwillingly, and with the blue sparkle in my eye that matches hers, I will continue to live without regrets–becoming more clearly myself.

*I’m unsure where this quote comes from. Ironically, it was in a spam comment on my blog.

• The year was 1994. My kindergarten teacher (Mrs. T) was amazing. I remember her being a family friend, so I had even been to her house a few times. I’m pretty sure she lived on an Ostrich farm. Crazy, right?
• I remember having a girl in my class that would go around biting people during nap time. She threw tantrums all the time. I actually imagined myself punching her in the face one day, but I was way too shy to do that.
• My sister started pre-k this year, and I thought it was cool being someone’s big sister. I always made sure she got on the bus, even if I had to go by her classroom to walk her to it. If she wasn’t on the bus by a certain point, I would get really scared and protective. She had bouncy curls, baby blue eyes, and she was my “baby.”
• I have a hard time remembering anything I learned this year, sadly. I’m assuming I learned to read and some writing skills.
• I always had lonnng hair (to my waist). This was the year I decided to get it cut, and mom let me get it cut to my shoulders.

Do you remember your first haircut or any crazy things about past teachers?

P.S. I was featured as Alana’s Blog Friend Crush today!

• Pre-Kindergarten was my first year of school … I think I was around four. I had two teachers, and I remember having tables to sit at instead of individual desks. We ate breakfast and lunch at these tables, along with doing classwork.
• I remember Dad coming to eat lunch with me once, and he sat in one of the tiny chairs at the table. The cafeteria ladies would bring our food to the classroom on carts, and I remember having special juice boxes because I was allergic to milk.
• I had a “boyfriend” at the time (and I believe he had a chili-bowl haircut), and I kissed him behind one of those tables.
• We also had “stations” where we could play “house” and things of that nature.
• I made my first best friend that year. (She and I were friends up until fourth grade, when I was in a different class than she was. We recently found each other on Myspace, however.)
• I remember learning to tie my shoes, but it was so hard! I learned my ABCs, too.

Can you remember pre-k or daycare?

Though I hardly ever have nightmares now (knock on wood), I had them often when I was a child. My nightmares have always been fairly colorful (literally!) and I can remember a great amount of detail about a specific few. Care to jump into my head for a moment?

Nightmare #1 - (I know I was younger than ten.) I was standing on my enclosed front porch, and you know those dreams where you couldn’t move, no matter how hard you tried? Yeah, it was one of those. So, I was standing there, looking out the window into the darkness. There was in acre or two of land in front of that window, and there was a red car in the distance, driving toward me. I was terrified, but I couldn’t move. I continued to have this dream nightly for who-knows-how-long, and on the last night, the car finally made it’s way to me. The car stopped; a man got out, walked to the window, and just stared at me. I don’t remember a face.

Nightmare #2 - I was in a red wagon (there’s that color red again), and a vampire was pulling me around in it. Now, this was no Edward Cullen–this vampire was mean. As he pulled me around in the red wagon, he killed everyone in my family while making me watch. He never killed me, though. Even when I woke up from that nightmare, I could still see his eyes when I closed mine. This was also a recurring dream.

Nightmare #3 - (The strangest of the three.) This one is a little fuzzier than the previous two. Mostly, all I remember from this (recurring) dream was waking up from it. I remember the day it started–I was at my grandparent’s house. Apparently, it caused me to sleep walk because I always ended up waking up in another room with someone asking if I was okay. One time, after the dream, I woke up outside my house with my mom chasing after me. She said my eyes were glazed over and I had been crying and saying, “I want my mommy!” When asked if I could explain the dream, I never could. I remember feeling like there was some sort of an evil force trying to suffocate me, though. Eventually, those dreams stopped completely, and I haven’t sleep-walked since.

Now that I’ve shared with you three of my most memorable nightmares, I want you to share with me. Do you have nightmares now as an adult? What about recurring nightmares? Do you dream in color or black and white?