How much tragedy can one family take?

Those of you who read my blog are well aware of the horrible tragedy that struck my family a year ago when my little cousin Nicole was hit by a car.  

One week after that, my grandmother passed away.  

And then, almost three weeks ago . . . a year and a day after my gramma passed away, tragedy struck again.  

On December 8th, 2008, Ana -- Nicole's mom and my hero -- was killed in a single vehicle accident when she hit a patch of black ice on her way to work.  

It's been almost three weeks, and it still doesn't feel real to me.  I can still here her voice in my head, clear as day.  I can still imagine her face as if she were standing right next to me.  I still expect to see her when I go into the domestic violence shelter where we both worked.  

When I think about the things we'd normally talk about on Thursdays when I'd stop in her office before I clocked in, I can still imagine her responses and her reactions to the things I'd have to say . . . how when I'd tell her about a guy I was attracted to and flirting with, she'd always ask "Is he a good kisser!?" Or how when I'd vent about how tired I was from working so much while trying to go to school full-time, and still being unable to keep up on bills . . . and she'd ask me if I wanted her to hit my dad up for money! Heh . . . she always made sure I was taken care of. 

And when I'd talk about school . . . about my achievements and my future goals . . . she'd tell me to reach for the stars, and I'd get them.  She'd tell me that I was soaring, and that she was so proud of me.  

I wanted so much to make her proud of me.  And she was.  She never missed an opportunity to make that fact abundantly clear.  Her encouragement was genuine and true, and it was never ending. To have someone whom I've looked up to so much for so many years believe in me as much as she did was an amazing gift that I would never even think about taking for granted. 

I felt I owed so much of my success in life to her, that when I recieved my big scholarship this past fall, it was her and Nicole that I asked to be my guests at the awards dinner.  And during my speech that night, it was during the part in which I was thanking Ana for her years of support, and telling her that I've always wanted to be just like her that I broke down crying.  

The emotions that came along with telling my hero that she was, in fact, my hero, were just overwhelming.  

How did this relationship come to be?  How did she become my hero?  

I met Ana when I was 8.  She was in a relationship with my cousin Mike, and was about to give birth to Nicole.  My home life at that point in time wasn't exactly stellar.  My mother was in a physically abusive relationship, and I was around drugs and alcohol in abundance.  Every other weekend my older brother and I had visitation with my dad.  Dad drove a semi, long-haul, for a company out of St. Louis, and didn't really have an actual home at the time, so on the weekends he had us, we stayed with family.  When I was 8, we started staying down on my cousin Mike's farm.  

I was in heaven.  It instantly became my favorite place on earth, and not just because it was a big farm with lots of animals.  Ana treated me differently than the other adults in my life did.  She made me feel welcome and accepted and never excluded.  She taught me things . . . we'd cook, we'd sew, we'd use tools and build animal hutches for the various creatures that would always make thier way down to the farm that I've always referred to as my oasis.  She taught me those things that I was severely lacking . . . life skills.  

More than anything else, she taught me how a healthy couple should behave.  

I can remember one time, sitting on the couch watching a movie.  I could hear Mike and Ana in the bedroom arguing over something.  I remember feeling so scared I was sick to my stomach.  The more thier voices raised, the stiffer I sat, deathly afraid of what was to come.  After all, everytime that happened at home, it ended with bruises and blood.  

And then, after a while, Ana cracked a joke, and Mike laughed.  Next thing I knew, they were both giggling and being silly.  

Ana taught me that people can disagree and still love each other . . . and not hurt one another. 

Life didn't have to be about jealousy or drugs and alcohol or power and control.  Love didn't mean to obey your spouse or get hit.  

I wasn't lying when I said in my speech that I wanted to be just like her.  And it started then.  Ana worked as an advocate at a domestic violence shelter.  I knew by the time I was 14, that I wanted to do the same thing, except with a psychology degree.  I job shadowed her in high school, and when I turned 18 and was old enough to do so, I took the 80 hour volunteer training course required to work or volunteer at the shelter.  Before I was done with that course, I had a job lined up there.  For the past 7 years, I've had the pleasure of working alongside my hero, helping victims of domestic violence.  

She was my hero when I was 8, and she will be my hero until the day that I die.  

It still hasn't really hit me that she's gone.  I don't know when it will sink in and become a reality.  A big part of me still refuses to admit that I'll never again hear her voice . . . that she'll never again be there to tell me that I can do whatever I want to do in life.  

I love her and I miss her, and there will always be a hole in my life where she belonged.  

I hope you are well, up in heaven, Ana.  I hope you are up there with Lori, watching us . . . watching your daughter walk for the first time since nearly losing her in her accident a year ago . . . watching me do my best to keep making you proud.  

Taking a break, it seems . . .

It's come to my attention that I can no longer safely open up on my blog, so if you don't see any posts from me for a while, that's why.

Be safe in this icy weather, everyone! 

So, what do you do when it's the middle of winter, and there's nothing worthwhile going on?

You wreak retail havoc!  

You surrender to your hunger at the rootbeer stand . . .

You test the furniture at Target . . .

You chow down some more at Steak 'n' Shake . . .

You nap at Starbucks . . .

You play Guitar Hero for an hour in the electronics department of Walmart . . .

You, um . . .

. . . well, nevermind!  

Prop 8: The Musical

Found this on one of the many forums I frequent!  

Jack Black as Jesus . . . PERFECT! 

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

One Year.

(Written Sunday, November 30th, but didn't get around to posting it until today)
A year ago today, my world came crashing down on me.  

A year ago today, my nightmares came true.  

A year ago today, something I never thought would happen, happened.  

A year ago today, my little cousin Nicole . . . the light of my life since I was eight . . . was hit by a car and severely injured. The pain, the desperation, the hopelessness I felt that night and in the months after that is indescribable. I almost feel guilty talking about my pain . . . knowing that the physical pain that Nicole was going through was so much more than I could even imagine . . . which hurt me even more.  

Looking at the early pictures is painful, too.  



I remember so well the hours and hours I spent standing at her bedside, praying she'd wake up. I remember so well the doctors and nurses telling us not to get our hopes up. I remember the 'V' word being mentioned, in hushed tones. I remember all of those times I made that hour long drive home, navigating the entire way through tears.  

I can recall how happy I was when she started opening her eyes . . . even though she couldn't focus them on anything.  



And then very slowly, more and more signs of recovery. How great it felt when she started holding tight to my hand, and looking at me, not through me.  



She fought through obstacle after obstacle, from MRSA infections to siezures . . . it was a struggle, but nothing stopped her.  

The first time I saw her respond to direction (look at the thumbs up!) I spent another tearful drive home . . . only it was tears of joy this time.  



And just look at those gorgeous eyes.  

There were so many nights I went home totally emotionally drained, thinking I couldn't feel any more empty . . . dead inside . . . it was those little milestones that kepts us all going . . . that fueled that faint glimmer of hope we all clung to so desperately.  I can't tell you how many nights I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning pouring my heart out to my friends and loved ones who held me up through the entire ordeal. But Nicole's strong will pulled us all through.  

After 5 months in the hospital, Nicole was transferred to the Walter Lawson Children's home, where she was expected to live until she turned 18 (which was only a little over a month away). The doctors told us she would need lifelong skilled care.  

Little did they know that within the first few hours at Walter Lawson, the angels that work there helped Nicole to prove the doctors wrong.  They began testing her abilities, and we quickly found out that she had the capacity to do way more than any of us had dreamed.  

And then came the happiest day of my life.  The first day I visited her at Walter Lawson.  Her mom, dad, and friend Ryan were all on thier way, but I got there a couple of hours earlier.  She was worn out from therapy, and slept for a good portion of the time . . . but I can so clearly remember when she took my hand and brought it up to her face and kissed it not once, but three times.  When Mom, Dad, and Ryan got there, they had a suprise for her . . . they brought her puppy, Gypsy, and her Guinea Pig, Cocopuff.  

When they came in, Nicole's eyes lit up, and she smiled the biggest, most beautiful smile I've ever seen in my life.  Seeing her smile for the first time made my heart burst with joy.  

That alone was enough to make it the best day of my life, but it didn't end there.  

She fed herself, and drank by herself . . . 

. . . and no, that still wasn't it.  After dinner that day, I thought she might like to color . . . I thought it might help with her motor skills.  I figured she might be able to scribble around a bit. 

But much to our surprise . . . 

If you can't read it, it says "I love you guys so much." 

Indeed, Nicole was not destined to stay there forever.  After only a few short weeks, they moved her to Marionjoy Rehabilitation Center, not to live out her days, but to rehabilitate her enough to go home.  

Home!  That's a word we never thought we'd hear in reference to Nicole.  

She soared at Marionjoy, and we had a lot of fun on our visits . . . from watergun fights, to board games, to playing "hide Dad's hat." 

We spent her 18th birthday in Marionjoy . . . 

She started getting anxious to come home.  She'd beg us to stay, and she'd get really upset when we left . . . but that strong will of hers kept showing through, and she got better and better . . . 

July 3rd, after 7 months in hospitals and rehab centers, she came home.  How symbolic, coming home the day before Independence Day! 

. . . and everyday since then has been a miracle for all of us.  The old Nicole shines through more and more each day . . . 

Recently, Nicole had surgery to try and correct the atrophy that was bending her foot up into a pretzel.  So far, so good . . . we're hoping her foot continues to stay straight, and we won't have any problems with that anymore.  In the meantime, she's starting to put weight on it, and slowly starting to use crutches to get around more and more, relying on her wheelchair less and less.  

Now to backtrack a bit . . . 

When Nicole first went into the hospital, we were basically living in the Neurological Intensive Care waiting room . . . the morning after we set up camp, a wonderful man named Alberto joined our family, too.  He, his wife, and his son had all been in an accident, leaving his wife paralyzed from the waist down.  Just as in our case, those first few weeks were very difficult for him and his family to get through.  Our families bonded, supported each other, took care of each other, and cried with each other.  Alberto is from Chicago, and owns a mexican bakery.  

Before Nicole ever woke up, I told her about him.  I told her that when she was better, we were going to go up to Chicago and go to Alberto's bakery for some tasty treats.  

It'll be more than a year in the making when it happens, but, as you can see by this long photo story I've written out . . . it WILL happen.  

Nicole is a living, breathing miracle, and not a day goes by that I don't thank the heavens that she is still here with us.  Not a day goes by that I'm not thankful for the hundreds of people that rallied around her and prayed for her and cheered her on and never gave up on her.  

Not a day goes by that I don't cherish every moment that I have with her.  

November 30th, 2008.  One year since that horrible accident.  I spent the day with Nicole, cuddled up on the couch during a snowstorm, watching movies, eating good food, and helping her set up her new Myspace page.  A boring day to some, but I had to keep myself from getting choked up on several occasions.  I never thought I would be so thankful for such simple moments.  

Here's to a year of sorrow and joy, tragedy and triumph . . . and miracles upon miracles.  

I <3 Rick Astley

Thanks to Stacey for passing this along!  

GREATEST RICKROLL EVER!!!!!  

That's the REAL Rick Astley, folks!!! At the Macy's Parade! How freaking awesome is that!? 

I have thanks to give.

Last year I posted my obligitory 'what am I thankful for' post on Thanksgiving, and I think I'll do that again this year, starting with some updates on last year's post.  

The first thing I mentioned in last year's post was the time that I had been able to spend with my Gramma in the several months previous.  Just a couple of weeks later, my Gramma passed away, making that time that I was able to have with her that much more special.  I'm having a hard time believing that it's already been almost a year . . . some days I almost forget that she's gone. This year, I am thankful that my Gramma lived a long life, filled with family and love.  I am thankful that I have so many wonderful experiences to remember her by. 

In last year's post, I mentioned my teachers that have been so great.  This year, I can add to that quite a bit.  As I mentioned, not long after Thanksgiving last year, Gramma passed away . . . but a week before that, my little cousin was in a horrible accident (something I've written about here often).  If it weren't for my teachers and councelors at school, I'd have had a much harder time getting through it.  First and foremost was my English teacher at the time, Mr. Lockwood.  I already thought he was a great teacher, but after Nicole's accident, he went above and beyond to make sure I made it through my most difficult time  . . . not only that I survived it emotionally, but also that I survived it without giving up all I had worked for at school.  He was always there with an encouraging word, a prayer, or homework/school advice. To this day, I consider him to be one of my closest allies at IVCC.  He has assisted me by giving me advice on several papers that weren't even for his class . . . he played a major part in the scholarships I recieved . . . and he is a big part of the reason I haven't had a complete nervous break down at school when things are getting to be too much.  

And he's just one of the great people I've been blessed with at school.  There are several others there that have helped to change my life, and to encourage me to become a better person . . . my Anthropology teacher from spring semester . . . my music teacher from last fall . . . my English II teacher, who still emails me with books she thinks I'd like, or scholarships she thinks I am perfect for . . . my co-workers in the financial aid office . . . my Geology teacher who has the ability to make me enjoy learning about a subject that is supremely boring for me (Sorry Mr. Phillips!) He's also my College Democrats Advisor, so I've gotten to have a lot of fun with him this semester.  The list doesn't end there, either . . . but if I named everyone, I'd be here all night! 

I'm thankful for a small group of friends I met on one of my forums whom I have become incredibly close with.  They've been there with me through everything for more than two years now, supporting me when I need it, and telling me I'm being an idiot, when I need it. ;) I'm honestly not sure what I'd do if I didn't have them there for me.  

I'm thankful that I got the chance to get so involved in politics this year.  I learned so much, experienced so many great things, and met some truly wonderful people who I am now proud to call my friends.  I'm also thankful that our efforts paid off.  

I'm thankful for the friends I've been blessed with from all around the world.  Once, I never thought you could have a true friend that you'd never met in real life before, but I can't tell you how many good people I've 'met' on the internet, who I grew to truly care about.  And I have to say, it's endless entertainment discussing language differences with my favorite Aussie, Ian! I'm gonna know all the lingo if I go there someday! :P 

I'm always thankful for Joe and Sky, my two best friends.  I couldn't begin to explain how much those two have changed my life.  Joe in particular.  Enduring Nicole's accident would have been difficult without my teachers and friends who supported me . . . but it would have been downright impossible without him.  I can still remember that day . . . the third day after Nicole's accident . . . when that awful nurse implied that we'd be meeting with the Dr. the next day to discuss pulling the plug . . . every one of us had the feeling of losing all hope . . . we were so empty . . . so dead inside . . . we couldn't stop sobbing for hours on end.  That's not an exaggeration.  When the priest came into the waiting room, I totally lost it, and had to leave the room.  I called Joe, who was incredibly busy with finals at the time . . . and he took the time to listen to me.  He didn't talk much . . . he didn't have to . . . and probably couldn't have if he tried . . . because I was just sitting there on the floor at the end of a long corridor of the Neurological Critical Care Unit, with my head on my knees, sobbing uncontrollably into the phone.  He didn't have to talk.  The fact that he was there, on the other end of that phone, was all I needed to make it through that dreadful night.  I know Joe knows how much he means to me and how thankful I am for all he's done for me . . . but I don't think it's possible for him to ever know how thankful I am that he was there for me that night . . . just listening to me sob.  He is an amazing friend, and I couldn't ask for anything better.  

And that brings me to the thing I am the most thankful for this year.  Nicole.  

I wish I knew the name of that nurse that implied that the meeting we were having with the Dr. the next day was to discuss pulling the plug.  I wish I could tell her the pain that she inflicted on so many of us that were already feeling like they couldn't hurt anymore.  

That nurse was wrong, and she had no business saying the things she did.  

We didn't discuss pulling the plug.  We didn't listen to anyone who put a limit on how far they felt Nicole could come . . . and neither did Nicole.  Nicole didn't listen when they said she might not live.  She didn't listen when they said she might never come out of her coma.  She didn't listen when they said she'd be a vegetable for the rest of her life.  She didn't listen when they said she would live out her days in an institution.  

I'm so very thankful that Nicole didn't listen to any of those people.  I'm so very thankful that Nicole came home on July 3rd, after 7 months in hospitals and rehab centers.  July 3rd.  Her Independence Day.  

I think it's safe to say that I have more to be thankful for on this Thanksgiving Day than any Thanksgiving I've ever had.  What a wonderful time to be alive.