The Stories of Cate

Authors Note:

Originally, I had planned to take real events from my life and spin them into a fictional web. The first three words of this tale were written with that in mind. As we move farther on in this piece, it becomes the story I told my daughter the day she was born, and the day she died. More than that, it is the story of my life. It is the story of who I was, where it led me and who I became. All of these stories are true, and I can't say that any of them are pleasant.
This is a memoir, a tribute and my way of letting go of my past. I have changed so much since the start of my life, and I have gone through quite a bit. Please bear with me and proceed with the utmost care and respect. This is a sensitive place for me.

Linnea's Story
To truly understand a story, you must wait until the end. It is this that makes me wonder where I should start telling this story. There is so much to say about who I've known you to be, all the lessons I wish to pass on to you, and all of my hopes and dreams for you. There is so much of my life that you have no clue about. Where should I begin? I'm not sure because you are the most memorable, wonderful thing to happen in my life but your story doesn't begin until the end.
I'm so scared. You shouldn't be here this soon but it's okay, because I'm anxious to meet you and I want to tell you my story. I know everything about you and yet you only know the last year of my life.
There isn't enough time in the world to tell you everything I have wanted to since we first met on that screen, but we don't have that much time and I need you to know me like I've known you. This is my story, and I believe there is some necessary back story for you to hear.
I was six years old. I was bright and lively, but in the bottom of my stomach there were knots. I felt detached . There was nothing connecting me to the world or the people around me. It wasn't until I was first introduced to pot that I made any connections.
Later that year, my parents got married. I still have photos. Maybe I will show you when you are ready. I was the flower girl. I don't remember much but I do remember being disgusted to have my brother escort me down the aisle, and at the reception I was so embarrassed to dance with my Uncle Jon-Justin. My friend Karana Rose Matthews and I caught the bouquet and The cake had a fountain in it.
When I was 8, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. For months before this, he had been in and out of the hospital. They kept sending him home with this one thing, or that other thing. No answer was never definitive. It was one week before we were scheduled to go to Disneyland. The trip was canceled and he started Chemo the next week. I was devastated. The stability in my life was suddenly weak and vulnerable.
Oh my sweet angel, I wish I could tell you more. I think the only thing that can be said at this point is that he died and he left us all brokenhearted. It ripped my family apart. My family split up after that. My sister couldn't stand to see anyone but Nick. My mom moved us away instead of dealing with the issues happening. Nick through himself into work and you'll soon learn what path I went down. My family was irreparably ruined.
Now that I've set the tone, my dear, I fear that I'm awfully tired. The ambulance we are in rushing us to a safe place. We'll be alright.
You've been alive for one hour.
You are absolutely beautiful. I'm looking at you right now and counting all your fingers and toes from left to right and, just for safe measure, one more time in the opposite direction. Your fingers and toes are the most perfect ones I've ever seen. Your fingernails are shiny , silky and your skin is like silk. I've been holding you for about fifteen minutes and I still can't believe you are mine. Out of one of the most devastating relationship/mistakes of my life, the odds are astronomical that I should end with you, pure and innocent. Out of all the crazy connections of my life, through all the gore, horror, and depraved indecency that I built up all around me, It's unreal to think that something so good and perfect. I've digressed but I believe I'm ready to continue tell you who I was and who I've become.
I was 8 years old, well into alcohol and marijuana, when I was first offered cocaine. To mention who gave it to me is not important, because I've forgiven them for doing that to a loved one, and by association, you have too. Forgiveness is important, little love. If you can fully forgive then you can fully love. It was said by someone very wise that a person can only reach their truest potential through the giving and receiving of love. Now pay attention, my dearest Linnea Marie, because the next lesson I am to convey to you is one of great importance.
Some drugs, and other forms of fun, are worth it. They aren't bad and they aren't evil, but pick your battles and carefully weigh the consequences. You may regret it if you don't; I did. Cocaine stole my soul. The first time was like riding a shooting star. It was hot and icy cold. it smack you in the face and made it all better with cosmic kisses. A door was opened up somewhere and an epic adventure ensued. It was like being grabbed by the seat of your pants and thrust into another galaxy. I was flying faster than any person should and it still wasn't fast enough. I fell fast and I fell hard.
Amazingly, I managed to stay a recreational user for about a year and then I tumbled down the rabbit hole. It consumed my life, it made me forget, and it gave me strength. While I would never change my past, because it led me here, I would never wish this addiction on anyone. It changed everything about me. it was like the cocaine monster trampled through m life and made me forget about every thing and everyone I loved. Eventually, the money ran out, and my personality left with it. After that, I was just another junkie looking for "the last line".
You have to understand that whatever mistakes I made up to this point in my life, nothing had been as bad as when I hit the bottom. It was December, and bleak, cold and completely representative of what I had become. I was only 13, but I felt so much older, used and worn. I was hurting really bad. I felt like I hadn't eaten in years, and hadn't slept for longer. I couldn't sleep it off, because every time I would try to fall asleep, my body would shake like a foal. I vomited everything I ate or drank, but that was infinitely better than the dry heaves that came when there was nothing left to puke. Something had to be done, and I was faced with two choices, one good and one bad. I could have checked myself into rehab right then and there, or I could have done whatever it took to get more. Mommy picked the wrong choice, Sweetie, and I will never forget it.
I sought out Big D. He was the biggest, baddest cat around, and the only one with room to wiggle. I rode the bus to the bad part of town, and found him at his mom's house. I stood outside for twenty minutes and just in that time, two 8 balls left, a pound of hash and I can't imagine what else. Finally, I couldn't take the dry heaves and worked up the courage to go inside.
I have promised myself that you will never learn the full details, but you do have to know that I sold my body for drugs, and while my body was being used, I used his chest as my table. The most disgusting part of this drug is the desperation. I couldn't even wait until I was done degrading myself to do the drugs I got from it. I had hit rock bottom. That night, after i spent 3 hours in the shower scrubbing myself with bleach, I called Micah and confessed. Two weeks later, her parents paid for me to go to out patient rehab.
This nasty addiction stole four years of my life. Worse than that, I compromised who I am for something else. I stress this point to you, my little love, Never give up being you. Nothing is worth it. Being yourself is the only way to be true to everything that matters. It's the only way to ensure that at the end of our lives, how we turned out is entirely our doing. It is my personal belief that there would be no greater punishment than to be on your death bed and realize that you didn't make the best of your life.
When I was 13, almost 14, I was sexually assaulted at a party. I was there as a guest to my brother. At first, i hadn't thought I would know anyone there but I was familiar with at least half of the people in attendance. It was an old friend that I'd had a falling out with, and he had said he wanted to talk. He raped me, and would have killed me if my brother hadn't come in when he did. He saved my life that day and I tried to live it responsibly.
Then I started dating your father. And we were together for a while before he made a mistake. I don't regret this mistake in the slightest because it gave me you. I didn't even know you existed for the first three months of your life.
I would love to tell you more but they say that they have to get you on the respirators now. I love you little one. We'll continue more in a while.
You've been alive for Two hours.
It's so odd. We have been together every moment for the last 7 and a half months. Now you are off in the NICU, and I miss you so much, it literally hurts. It's made me realize that once you've had a life inside you, it doesn't take long to miss it desperately.
I can't bare to take pictures of you. They tell me that you don't have long, my little love. It was just too soon for us to meet and now you are paying for it. I'm so sorry that I couldn't save you and protect you. Before we must say good bye, there is so much more I must tell you. I want to tell you the story of when I first learned you were alive. I was 15, it was November first and I was miserable. At the time, I was in an abusive relationship, one that cost me three ribs and a lot of unexplained bruises. I was desperately looking for a way out, but found none insight.
Two days before, I had learned that my good-for-nothing counterpart had been cheating on me for six months with more women than I've known in my life. Immediately after I found out, I went and had my blood drawn to test for any disease the Ogre may have spread to me and on that day, I was at the doctor's learning the results.
My doctor came in smiling. Everytime I saw him, it seemed he was smiling. He sat down in front of me and handed me a list of all the possible diseases that I could have contracted. None of them had come up positive. On the second sheet was a regular blood panel. There, marked clear as day, was one red, bold faced marked "HCG ----------- + POS." I remember looking at him in confusion, thinking, "Okay, am I mutant? Will I gain the ability to control matter?"
Then he asked me to lie back and lift my shirt. He spread this jelly onto my lower abdomen and the screen next to me started thumping like a heartbeat. That's when I met you. You didn't look like much back then. Sort of like a sea monkey, or a bloated sea monkey, but you stole my heart. It was then I decided that I couldn't care for you if I was with him.
It took me two weeks to get out, but I did it at just under five months pregnant. Soon after this, I met Michael, and through him, Brandon. They saved me and protected me. They would have protected you. It doesn't look like they'll be able to now but they would have.
My sweet little girl, I must sleep, but I promise we'll talk more after I've rested. I love you.
You've been alive for three hours.
I woke up this morning in a dead panic. My stomach was empty and you were no where to be found. i hadn't remembered the accident or your where abouts. I cried for an hour before they took me to you.
Have I told you yet that you are beautiful? You are everything that I had hoped you would be. You have the clearest skin and you smell so good. You smell like happiness. I know it seems weird to say that you smell like a feeling but it's true. You smell like happiness. I'm desperately clinging to this smell in the hopes that it will be ingrained in my memory.. I wish that I could save you, my little darling. I wish I had magic powers so that I could make your life everything you deserve. You should have every happiness, every heartbreak and every lesson that is given to all the other baby girls born. I feel like I could tell you all about yourself from now until the end of time, but you know everything there is to know about yourself. I fear that if I don't continue with my story, you will never know me.
It was January. There was snow on the ground and it was so cold outside that every time I walked outside, my teeth started chattering. All of the plants I had spent years nurturing were buried under a foot of snow. I was single, and enjoying it. Every day I could feel you growing larger inside me. You started to move and kick and I was absorbing every moment of your life. I marveled at how much I could love someone I hadn't met yet.
The day in question was the day I found out your gender. I was so excited I could barely contain myself. I went to school, putting up with the snickers about my roundness from your paternal donor, and tried to wait patiently through each class. At the end of the day, I went to hang out with Michael and Brandon. We headed over to Taco Bell, and you talked me into ordering half of the menu. It took nearly two hours to consume that much food, but we did it.
Then I said my goodbyes and got on the bus. I can't convey how terrified I was. Part of me knew that you were a girl, beautiful and perfect and then, based on impressions made by your waste-of-precious-resources-good-for-nothing-drain-on-society-drug-dealing father, another part of my brain told me that you weren't even human. According to that part of my brain you were going to be some demon that came straight from hell to inhabit my body and when the time came, you would rip me apart before joining the rest of the world.
When I walked into the doctor's office. I sat in the lobby and watched all the activity. I saw pregnant women with two or three children in tow and a large knot began to form in the pit of my stomach. I began to wonder how I was going to provide for you. I had no job, was too young to drop out and go get one, and that thought scared me to the bone. I was shaking and crying as quietly as possible when a woman, much larger than I, put her arm around me and handed me the tissue box. "You're first pregnancy?" She asked me.
It so silly, but I couldn't even answer her. The answer was somewhere between a sob, a nod, and a whimper. The more I cried, the worse I felt, and the more you got upset. The woman held me tighter and stroked my hair, all the while whispering in my ear. "It's alright sweetie. I know that it's scary, but you're going to be alright. Is Daddy still in the picture?"
I snorted at that. The thought seemed so absurd but it was oddly comforting in a way. Before then, I felt like everyone knew that I was a teenage girl, pregnant, and fresh out of the torture factory. I felt like there was a big sign above, invisible to me, that says, "Pity her, she was beaten up, and now she's going to be a single mom." Just the fact that someone was even asking was so touching and it was relief beyond relief.
By this time, you were throwing your own tantrum, large enough to rival my own. You were wildly upset, kicking about and sticking your feet and hands in my internal organs. I can't say that it hurt, but it was uncomfortable having something that takes up your stomach cavities rolling around and whatnot. I grimaced and took a deep breath in before I answered her. "That good for nothing son of a bitch tried to kill me when he found out. I got out of that as soon as possible. It doesn't matter though. Even if he were here, I don't think I could do this. I'm young, I'm still a kid myself, and I'm about to bring another life into the world. How did I get here?"
I remember looking into her eyes. There was a sense of laughter. "I can think of a few ways you got here. But don't worry, I know that you can do this. Women much younger than you have been doing it since the dawn of civilization. My name is Gwen." She held her out for me to shake.
That simple act alone brought me back to tears. She treated me as if I was her equal. This treatment wasn't common place for me. Most saw me as some kind of leper, like if they got too close they'd catch the pregnancy bug and end up in the same situation as me. I gratefully took her hand and introduced myself. "I'm Caitlynne."
She patted her stomach and laughed lightly. "And this is Alexi Janae. Do you know which you are having yet? Are you wanting one more than the other?"
I shook my head. "I'd be happy to have a healthy, non-monstrous baby. Either way, I'm fine." She laughed at that. We made small talk. Nothing important was said, just things like names, due dates, worries and aspirations.
Out of the side of the room, a little door opened and out stepped a short, fat nurse in bright purple scrubs. "Gwenneth Cooper?" She called out. Gwen limbered up and winked at me.
Just before she disappeared behind the door, she said, "I'll hang around afterwards. You look like you could use a friend who understands your situation. We'll do lunch, alright?"
I nodded, wishing she wouldn't leave me. I waited quietly, playing peek-a-boo with a cute four year old named Emanuel. He fell on the ground laughing maniacally when Purple Scrubs came out. "Caitlynne Fisher?".
I stood, feeling numb down to the very core of myself. She led me through the blue door, and into a little alcove just off of the hallway.
She had me step on the scale, and made polite conversation. The whole time I could feel her eyes on me, watching me, looking back at my chart, presumably at my age, and looking back at me. It was uncomfortable to say the least. She finished taking my temperature and blood pressure, then she led me down the hall to the very last door on the right. I sat down, and while I waited for the O.B/G.Y.N., I talked to you. At first it felt a little crazy, talking to someone who can't talk back and doesn't even realize that they are being talked to. After a while, though, that feeling faded. I had just begun singing you a song when the doctor came in.
"Caitlynne, it's good to see you again. How are you two?" Dr. Jenna Milos said in her Greek accent.
"Hello, Dr. Milos. We are good. Ready to find out whether I should repaint the nursery or not." I said smiling. Since we were moments away from finding out who you were, I got excited.
"You know better than that. It's Jenna, please. Lay back and let's found out this little one's true identity." She smiled warmly at me.
I laid back and lifted my shirt. She spread what she called "warming goo", but it really just felt like microwaved jelly, on my stomach and then put the ultrasound wand to my lower stomach. She shifted slightly, over and over, until sound broke in the room. Again, I heard your heartbeat. In an instant, that pit in my stomach dissolved. All my worries disappeared, love filling me with no room left for anything else.
Then I turned my head, and I saw your face, or rather the digital recreation of it. My little princess, the picture did you no justice. There you were, thumb right up next to your mouth, looking so peaceful. We went down your entire body, I saw your elbows, and your knees and finally I saw that you were a girl. Tears of happiness filled me. I made my next appointment and floated on Cloud 9 out into the lobby. Gwen was there talking with the receptionist.
When I approached, she turned and smiled at me. "It's alright, no bad feelings can survive through meeting your baby on that screen. So what's the word, bird?"
I smiled wider than I can remember smiling in a long time. "Meet Linnea Marie." In that short little moment, you became everything I know you to be.
You precious little girl, I can't ever tell you what seeing you on that screen did for me that day. I was so distressed, which in turn made you stressed. My heart ached, my stomach hurt and I had so many thoughts racing through my head. I wondered things like, how am I going to get my diplomas, how will I feed you, how will I afford your diapers, clothes, formula, bottles, binkies and essentials let alone toys and movies and bedding and all of things. My head was spinning.
The minute I heard your heartbeat and saw that picture of your face, it all went away. While those questions would have to be answered sometime, that time wasn't then. I eased. I filled with all the love I felt for you. That love made letting go of my fears and facing life so much easier. I have to wonder whether you felt it too. In your little slumber, did you know that mommy was watching you, thinking about you, loving you? Did you have thoughts inside there?
My sweet baby, I'm afraid that it's late and I have to get back to my bed. I'll see if I can talk the nurses into bringing all of your equipment down here so that we can spend our first morning together. Please, don't' be scared while I'm gone. It's only for a while, small one, and then I will continue to let you into my life.
You've been alive four hours.
I have to wonder whether you are in any pain. They say your lungs aren't quite strong enough to breathe on their own. It is terrible luck that plagues us now, my sweet child. Does it hurt? Is it uncomfortable? Do you even know that you aren't everything that you should be, at least health wise? These questions haunt me. I think them constantly, and an on many occasions, I ask you as much. You never answer though, which is the most haunting part of it all. I may never know the truth of the consequences that my actions carried.
They moved all of your equipment into my room. Your condition has worsened since we last saw each other. I knew that before I opened my eyes this morning. I dreamed of it. In this dream, you were the same, at least in appearance, as you are now. So tiny and perfect, seemingly frozen in time. But you spoke the words of wisdom. You floated in, like an angel or a miracle. The room was so bright, like it was composed of light. It flooded every corner, drowning out everything that wasn't pure and good.
There sat I, engrossed in the light you surrounded me with. Tears flooded me, and spilled into oblivion. We stayed there in the silence, you on your platform of nothing, me on the ground in tears, for Lord knows how long. I closed my eyes, gave into the worst of the sobs, though they made no sound in the all encompassing silence of the room. When I reopened my eyes, there you were, but you changed.
You now sat a woman, tall and gorgeous. Your green eyes shown out from the dark curls that surrounded your aura. When you looked down at me, there was such distress on your face. The light swirled out, and wiped the tears from my cheeks. The contact filled me with some kind of courage, a kind of easing peace, and the lump in my throat disappeared. Just that small amount of peace gave me the ability to still my tears, it lessoned the pain I was facing. You smiled, and the light surrounding us seemed to radiate brighter. When you spoke, the songs of time and the breathe of everything filled you. You said to me, "Mother, it's almost my time. Though you may not know it, I will always be with you. Though it wasn't my time, It's still our time. Come, walk with me." And you extended your hand to me.
No sooner had I placed my fingers in yours, than the light became blinding. It blotted out everything. It smothered the very breathe out of me, and then it cleared. There we stood, in the center of the church I was confirmed at. The light filtered through the stained glass mural of St. Joseph the Worker. Father John stood at the alter, where you floated to join him. And then I understood. This was your way of giving forgiveness, if I would only ask for it. I looked into your eyes, and the clarity I found there filled me. You bowed your head and went before me.
"Dear Jesus, help me to make a good Confession,
Help me to find out my sins,
Help me to be sorry for them,
Help me to make up my mind not to sin again.
have mercy on me, O Lord, and forgive me.
Mary, my mother, pray for me.
It has been a lifetime since my last confession." You said with a small smile.
"Confess to me, Innocent Child, so that I may absolve you of any sins you feel you have committed against God." Father John said to you.
"I confess to almighty God,
and to you, my brothers and sisters
that I have sinned through my own fault
in my thoughts and in my words,
in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do;
and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin,
all the angels and saints,
and you, my brothers and sisters,
to pray for me to the Lord our God.
These are my sins:
I have harbored ill thoughts against my God. I have questioned his decision that I should have to leave this earth before I've been given a fair shot. I have harbored animosity towards my mother, God forgive me. I have blamed her for the will of God .
O my God, I am very sorry for all my sins,
because they offend you who are so good,
and with your help I will not sin again.
Dear Jesus,
thank you for helping me to make a good Confession,
and thank you for taking away my sins.
Help me, dear Jesus, never to offend you again.
Mary, my mother, pray to Jesus for me.
My dear Angel Guardian help me."
When your beautiful voice had ceased, all eyes turned to me. The tears streamed down my face. The hurt, and the anger filled my heart, my throat, my being. I struggled to find in me the kind of courage you had shown. I struggled to find the words that had to be said, and to clarify the truth so that I may be as honest as you were.
When I found my voice again, the words poured from me. "Dear Jesus, help me to make a good Confession,
Help me to find out my sins,
Help me to be sorry for them,
Help me to make up my mind not to sin again.
have mercy on me, O Lord, and forgive me.
Mary, my mother, pray for me.
It has been 2 years since my last confession."
Father John did not speak. He looked at me and gestured to his heart. I directed my eyes to my own core, and a small thread of light began coiling out of it. I stared, frozen, unable to continue. I began to repeat the beginning of my confessional prayer. The thread returned and spiraled out of me. It gave me the strength to continue.
"I confess to almighty God,
and to you, my brothers and sisters
that I have sinned through my own fault
in my thoughts and in my words,
in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do;
and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin,
all the angels and saints,
and you, my brothers and sisters,
to pray for me to the Lord our God.
These are my sins:
I have harbored hatred towards my God. I have been furious with His will. I have cursed him over and over again. I have denounced His good name. I have tried to bargain my life for my daughter's life and been full of contention towards him for testing my faith with this. I have harbored animosity towards my friends. I have blamed them for asking for help. I have blamed them killing my daughter. I have given my virginity to a man who was not my husband, and conceived a child through this unsanctioned union. I have sold my body, dignity and purity to the highest bidder. I have not made the most of what He has given me and lost my faith more than once. I have been remiss in my prayer and have taken the dark path simply because it was easier than hurting the way He wanted me to. But worst of all, I have harbored ill will towards those who tried to help me.
O my God, I am very sorry for all my sins,
because they offend you who are so good,
and with your help I will not sin again.
Dear Jesus,
thank you for helping me to make a good Confession,
and thank you for taking away my sins.
Help me, dear Jesus, never to offend you again.
Mary, my mother, pray to Jesus for me.
My dear Angel Guardian help me."
The more I confessed, the longer the thread grew and when I finished, the thread began to expand and then it exploded. When the air cleared we were back in the room where we had started. There was a bed made of clouds in the corner, and this was where you drew me. You layed our heads upon the fluff, and spoke sweetly in my ear as you stroked my hair.
"Lay here with me, Mother. You will be awake soon, and then we will be apart again. Share this time we have left with me, Mother. I will miss you when it ends." There were tears in your eyes, and they fell as snowflakes. There was no cold, no shivers, and yet the snowflakes continued to fall from your eyes. They bonded together, and formed a cacoon around us. Slowly, warmth attatched itself to my stomach. From there it spread through me, leaving no platelette cold. The warmth lulled me to sleep. As my eyes closed, you whispered messages of love and happiness, though the snowflakes fell faster and thicker from your eyes. Just before my eyes closed, you asked me to remember you. When my eyes reopened, I was here in the hospital again, and you slept sweetly in your crib. The beeping of your heart was rhythmic and steady. I cried for a lifetime.
While I don't believe that you can understand me through my sobs, I must continue with my story. I must let you know everything that is me, so that you may become apart of me as much as I am apart of you. Hang on, you wonderful miracle, while we dive back in.
It was early Febrauary. I felt huge and loved every second of it. We took daily outings with Brandon, Michael, Brandon and Michael, or Micah. You grew stronger and moved around so much more. On occasion, we met with Gwen at Pioneer Square and had lunch or something of the sort. I don't think i had ever been as happy in my life as I was that winter and spring. You kept me sane, dusted the cob webs from my mind. You lead my life and kept me in the straight and narrow, which was where I needed to be.
I had dreams of living with you and the boys in a small town where the butcher knew our names, and our neighbor was the grocer. We would have pretty little flowers growing in our window box. You would grow up, experiencing things in a safe environment for yourself, and all the while, we would teach you the things you don't learn in a sheltered life. You would be my right hand girl, my second in command.
Then, late in the month, I fell in love with Michael. The picture of my life then changed dramatically. Here was a man who loved me not for what I could give, or my sexual ability, or anything superficial. I gave him a glimpse of who I truly was, and he latched on and forced the true me out. He refused to settle for my second best, and refused to take anything less than what he was giving. We fought and we kissed and we laughed. For the first time, I understood what it meant to truly be in love. He cherished me, and changed out how I thought about myself. he had me step outside my minds eye, even just for a moment, and see the truly beautiful, wonderful person I was becoming.
Never once did he bat an eye at me for being pregnant. He never chastised me going against everything we were taught as kids. And more than that, he connected with me on a level no one else could. He understood what it was like to have the parent who was the most beneficial in life die. His mother had passed away a few years after my father did. We bonded on a scary level. We fell in love fast, and burned out too soon.
My little love, it's time to move on from this story, but you should know that that kind of love fortifies and justifies life. It was once said that the most a person can hope for in life is to be loved as much as they love others. What they never said is that once in a great moon you get blessed with someone who fulfills everything that you had hoped for. Michael was that for me. He filled me with the courage to stand up against my fears, however great they were. He shed a new light on my life, and showed me that not everything is a struggled. He let me know that love doesn't have to be earned, it's just given. Respect is what you work for, but love is invaluable.
You've been alive for Seven hours.
Hello little love. As of right now, we will be together as much as I can possibly cram into being together. I'm no longer a patient of this hospital. Now I am free to spend all of my time with you, or at least as much as possible. I almost feel like I can't even think straight still. I feel like all of my energy is being put into praying for your health and the rest of my needs were forgotten. All of a sudden, it doesn't matter that I'm pretty hungry, and tired, and very dehydrated. The only thing on the fore front to my mind is whether you will get to come home with me tonight. The only thing that matters to me is whether you are going to be alright.
In the back of my mind, I know that you aren't ever coming home with me. I know because the doctors told me so. They said that at the very least, you will be here for another three months, and that if I was lucky, you would come home with severe brain damage. In the back of my head, I know the decision that is coming closer with every second that your condition deteriorates. Yet, still I choose to stay here in this ignorant bliss. I don't contest it's hold over me and I'm just fine to hide from the storm underneath it's umbrella. At least with this bliss, I don't have to cry for the entire time that we're together, especially since it won't be long. I would much rather be smiling and at least partially happy while I spend the last moments of your life with you. At least this way, when I think back on it, which I have a feeling I will everyday for the rest of my life, I'm not plagued with more regrets than I have now.
Oh my little darling, we are reaching the end of the story. While it ends not on a note of finality, but a note of uncertainty, I worry to think what will happen if I finish it so soon. What if this story, this woefully woven tale of life from a teenage girl's brain, is the only reason that you are holding on? What if, by finishing this story, I signal the end of your life? What then, little love, because I don't know If I can handle losing. Yes, I'm aware that, at some point, I will have to lose you. I fight this fact with evidence that on occasion, doctors have been known to be wrong. I also say that what is the point of speeding up my heart break?
No I refuse to finish the story just yet, Princess. I'm afraid that I have to find a filler. Maybe I should tell you about the people related to you. I realize that it's sort of unnecessary since I won't tell any of them about you, and None of them have met you. Besides, it will comfort me, even if only for a moment, knowing that you have at least a slight clue where you come from. There is a small catch. You will only be hearing my side of who you are. I refuse to regail your father's past, family and so on so forth. I refuse to indulge him and let him poison your mind.
You know about my father. His name was Mattson Lars Kaarhus. He was only 36 when he died, but it is not his death that I want to focus on. It is important that I mention he isn't my biological dad. He was there for me when I was very young, and he grew to become the man I respected as my father. He never let it be an issue in our house, though. As far as he, or anyone else, was concerned I was his daughter. It was that simple and in my childhood, it never, not even for a second, became obvious that I wasn't apart of his family.
He loved me like he did his own two children. He talked to me about everything from boys all the way down to cars. He talked to me for hours, like an adult. He never once phrased something like I was child. True, he simplified most of what he said so that I could make an attempt at comprehension, but there was never an inequality to our conversations. My opinion was valued by him as much as his was valued by me. He formed the basis for my advanced communication skills. He helped me define my wit and quick fire humor . He trusted me to know what felt right to me, and led me to realize who I was and who I wanted to be.
My mother's name is Marie Louise Kaarhus, formerly Zela Marie. She's not the worst mother to have by far. It's obvious that she doesn't know what to do with me though. She's trying to be the mother she thinks I need but she doesn't understand how I feel, so how could she give me what I need. Although it is true, I'm kind of a suck-ass daughter, I don't think I'm that hard to understand. Despite all of her faults, she really cares. Back before this whole dead parent thing came about, we made quite the team. She was a single parent back then, and she worked her butt off to make sure I was taken care of. We were great friends, and she totally understood my funky world.
My friends make up the biggest portion of who I am. Right now I'm at the in between area, but I've finally figured out who my true friends are and who is worth my time. It's important to stand up for who you are. Through out life, we are all told to stand up for what we know is right, but no one ever mentions that it's just as important to stand up for who you are and all the things that you could become. While it's said that you are your biggest critic, it's never mentioned that it's quite possible to be your biggest support too. The only person that can take you to your fullest potential is yourself. You can motivate yourself or bring yourself down, despite the best efforts of those around you. In the end, everything is up to you. No one can make you great, you have to do that yourself.
I have been lucky to have been blessed with some pretty amazing people in my life. I have to say that without a doubt, the most significant people in my life have been the Sullivan family and it all starts with Micah. Now, I'll be honest, Micah and I haven't always been friends. In fact, I used to refer to her as my sworn enemy. These days though, she's the girl who saved my life. At first we just started talking, and we became friends. And from their, she blossomed into this, albeit troubled, amazing woman. She knew who she was without any of the complications, and although she had her troubles too, she made everything else work for her.
Just Micah alone would have been a blessing in and of itself but then I met her father. Robert Sullivan was a middle aged, average man, whose spirit was so much bigger than his means allowed. He cared about his family immensely, and adopted me as if I was his own. He did his best to show me that all men weren't complete jack-offs. While he had his flaws, when it came right down to it, he understood a part of me that I'm not sure anyone could have. He understood the part of me that, no matter how good life was, still needed to take the edge off. He had his own addictions, but in the end, none of that mattered. He was still trying to be the best father he knew how to be. He spread so many good memories into my childhood that it could take me a million years to replay them all.
Then there was Micah's mom, Michelle. She was the pushing, guiding force, however annoying it got. She worked to keep us on the straight and narrow. We believed her to be too strict, and were afraid to come to her for help with anything. When the time came, though, Michelle didn't yell or scream at my cocaine addiction. She didn't chastise me, but instead offered me the hand up I so desperately needed. This is an important lesson, little one. Never under estimate the lengths that the people you love would go to for you. Michelle and Robert paid for my trip to rehab, without questions of repayment. They did it out of the kindness of their hearts, with as much love as humanly possible.
Then I fell in love with Micah's little sister. She was everything I wanted in a little sister. She was bratty, and defiant, and thought she was the family sized bag of Doritos. Some days, it was like she lived to get us in trouble, just to see us a little mad at her. Underneath all of that though, was this little girl who had seen a lot, heard even more, and still managed to maintain her naivety. She was this sweet girl who loved her family immensely, and wasn't quite sure of herself. Slowly, she unfolded herself into her own person, and Micah and I worked hard to keep the bad from touching her.
This wonderful family came into my life, refused to take no for an answer, and completely rearranged everything.

A cowboy’s Story

I

"I remember you. Distantly, but I remember you." These are the words I say, but in truth, my dear friend, I have come back to this place looking for you. Everything in my life has fallen apart. A new man wants to be my dad, my mother is just as absent as ever, and I've lost my siblings. My mother just had a new baby, and she's making a new life for herself, and subsequently leaving me behind. I came back here, to this school, to this state, to this neighborhood in the hopes that I could find something I had before everything fell apart. I think you may be my answer.
I am walking down the halls, seeing teachers and classrooms I must have been in, and they give me a small sense of comfort but this place is still alien to me. Everything is alien to me. I'm so detached. Nothing matters. All I want to do is feel as passionately about something, anything or anyone, as I did you in my youth. I want to know, beyond a reasonable doubt, that I am human. I want to know that I am able to give, and receive, love again; to know that his death was not my fault.
My age is young, and yet, my heart is old. I feel so old as I walk into this classroom they say is mine, until I see you. More than immediately, I know who you are. I would recognize you from anywhere. You've been all that I have held onto for the last three years. All the attention turns to me, and there are a few people that I recognize, and Rod has even hugged me by now. The introductions go around, random names coming out of the wood work swirling with faces I don't know or can't remember. Zach waves eagerly. And then it gets to you.
Your face clears, slowly, and then the recognition comes. There are no banners, no squeals of delight, but what I get is even better. I get a smile. There are no words in any language to tell you how badly I've missed your smiles. I understand the front that you've built up around yourself, which helps me to understand why you can't say hi or show any interest in me. It's the male facade, ever necessary in the cut-throat world that is the human social network.
Months move by slowly, and the dread I feel grows. The dreaded date, what some would call "the mourning anniversary", approaches rapidly, and I'm desperately trying to relieve it. I've found myself a boyfriend here and there, not that it matters, because none of them are you. I've come to realize that if I take advantage of your friends who are attracted to me, I can be near you often. I've heard no complaints from you on the subject. There are hidden smiles, and hidden touches, but mostly, there is just caring, however hidden and denied it may be. I grow bored of the games we play, the things we say, and everything we don't, but I wouldn't give it up because I know that that means that we won't be around each other anymore.
This is the thought that sends me into a panic. It's February 13Th, and it's raining. I've never felt the rain so cold, and everything is dark. Pity fills my house, everyone trying to comfort me, telling me its okay to cry, telling me its okay to feel what I need to feel to get through it. But the only person who understands what I need is you.
I’m out the door, running as hard as I can. I'm breathless, and I'm soaking and there is nothing more that I want than to see you. You are the one person who won't say "I'm sorry." You'll never tell me that you know how I feel and you've never looked at me with pity.
You see me as I am, however broken that may be. More than that, you love me as I am. So young, so broken, so hurt, I am desperate to find you. The odd thing, I think, is that now that I have made it to your house, all I can bring myself to do is stand outside in the rain. I'm becoming increasingly cold, down clear to my bones, and still I make no effort to move. The sobs rack my body, and my brain is screaming for comfort, for a friend. I don't ask you to come, nor do I know if I want you, and yet, you do. You come to my rescue as you always have.
You come without a thought to yourself, and in an instant you become my hero. There you are, in gym shorts, without an umbrella, shirt or shoes, and you've come just to see me. In your eyes is concern and the words you say to me affect me more than I could ever say. "I made you some Hot Chocolate. We'll go in when you're ready."
You smile at me from your porch, and step down. You walk to the center of this dead street, to where I am. You take my hand in yours, and you fingers find their way into mine. The warmth begins there. So we stand, not talking, no eye contact, we just stand. Years from now, I won't be able to tell you how long we stand there, but eventually the tears stop rocking my body, and you walk forward. You grip on my hand is not tight, and I fear that if I don't move with you, I'll lose that small bit of comfort. I follow without hesitation.
You lead me to your room, where I find the gym bag I had forgotten you had and a steaming cup of hot cocoa. The cocoa is the first thing that I move for, and just as expected, it warms me from the inside out. Inside my gym bag I find everything I need; Warm dry clothes, yours of course, and a towel for my hair. You only smile, then close the door, allowing me to change in peace. When you re-enter, you've brought me another cup of cocoa, and you sit down next to me. You arm wraps around me, and you kiss my forehead. You don't push the issue, or force me to talk. You just wait patiently, quietly.
"I was hoping that I would have woken up by now, because this dream really sucks." That brings a smile to your face, and makes it a little easier to keep going. "I don't even know what to say. I don't know how to deal with this. What kind of a God takes a little girl's daddy away?" This is the question that encompasses everything that hadn't been voiced before me. You turn my head towards you, wipe tears and kiss me so softly.
"He wouldn't have wanted this. You have to know, that if he had the choice, he would have chosen to be here with you. Yes, he's gone, and yes, it hurts more than I could ever imagine, but he wouldn't have wanted to see you like this. You are an amazing person, a star on earth. You have so much influence and hold over those that know you. You are a leader, an idol, and you deserve to be happy."
We lay down next to each other, and my head falls to your chest. There are no words left to be said. None are necessary. We already know where this is headed. Fear replaces the hurt. This is something new for me, and it is scarier than anything else I've imagined but when your mouth covers mine, the fear melts. I am filled with courage, and passion, and a kind of radiant heat that spreads from my stomach to everywhere else. Things move slowly, so slowly it almost hurts. You touch and explore, and learn the places of me no one else has.
You hover over me, taking your time. There is no rush and in this moment, it's just me and you. The rest of the world melts away and we are pleasantly alone behind locked doors. The sound of my shaky breath fills the air. Whispers of concern fill my ears, making me reassure you over and over that this is what I want. And it is. There is no doubt in my mind that this is what I want. Then your hands take over. You start at my shoulders, caressing the soft skin there, marveling at how it feels under your calloused fingers. Then it moves down, and caresses the tissues, down my stomach, before my breath is hitched.
I fall into the void. I'm spinning, breathless, trying to hold on to my wits and senses. I can't see through the eyelids that have sealed themselves shut. I feel everything, and just before this lightening storm of sensation calms, I realize that I will never forget this. Even as you move over me, and there is the sound of plastic tearing somewhere, I am recording every detail. I am memorizing every aspect of this.
The look on your face is almost pained. There is clarity in your eyes, and concern, and impatience. We are one now. We are connected in ways I hadn't thought of before. I think back five minutes and remember the feeling of breathlessness. It's nothing compared to how I feel now. I'm moving, desperately trying to get somewhere, but I couldn't tell you where. I'm blindly searching for something that seems more biological than a conscious thought process. I'm stretching towards this precipice, looking towards you for help. Your face mirrors my feelings, and before either of us have time to question it, fireworks fill my brain, heart and lungs. Panting, sweating, and completely astonished, we fall asleep there. When we re-awaken, there is no discussion, though both of us know that this will never be forgotten.

II