That Girl: Sometimes Words Are Just Words

If you've ever watched "Awkward" then you should understand the "That Girl" reference. Watching "Awkward" is the closest thing to re-living my high school years. You couldn't pay me to actually re-live my adolescence. There is no sum of money large enough for me to agree to it. (If you threatened me with the life of a loved one, then yeah, I guess I'd have no choice, but since that's not a realistic scenario, we'll just move on.) If Jenna were a real person, odds are she would grow up and feel the same. In fact, I think Jenna and I could be pretty good friends. But since she's not real, I'm thankful that I'm lucky enough to have some good friends already. Friends who were never ashamed of me, who would stand up for me, who were (and are) there for me whenever I needed them. 

If you haven't seen it, here's a brief summary:

Jenna, the main character, is a 15 year old girl who loses her virginity to a guy that is ashamed to be seen with her in public. Later that same day, she's blogging about how sometimes being a teenager makes you feel like dying (haven't we all been there?). She attempts to grab some aspirin and manages to trip, break the bottle so pills spill everywhere, bumps the hair dryer into the (full) tub, and busts herself up. Result: Everyone thinks she tried to kill herself and they keep referring to her as "that girl" who did this or that.

I can definitely draw some parallels between myself and Jenna. OK, so I didn't have sex until I was 18, and I wasn't the result of a teenage pregnancy (although my parents have been together since they were in high school). But I had some wacky friends, was less than popular, might've been a bit awkward here and there, wrote/typed up my every thought like it was my job (though I'm not nearly as witty as she is), and I was known as suicidal even though I wasn't. 

As you might know, in middle school, I wrote some kinda scary poems. Morbid? Maybe. But just words.

Then I tried to help out some friends starting an advice column and, in my infinite stupidity, wrote as if I were a girl contemplating suicide.

Again, it was a heavy topic, but it was just words.

I never had any serious suicidal thoughts until late high school, but from about age 13 on, I could just as easily have been "that girl" like Jenna. Maybe I even was. The only thing I ever remember people calling me was "the biggest crybaby at East" (I think I would rather have been "that girl"), but who knows what people said about me? 

Reality: Probably not much. 

In psychology, there are these two concepts known as the personal fable and the imaginary audience that sort of work together during adolescence to make us believe that everyone is paying attention to us and that everything we do is being scrutinized by our peers. But they're not and it's not. Most teens are too wrapped up in their own lives to give a damn about someone outside of their immediate world. There are exceptions, of course, but for the most part it's in your head. Unfortunately, that's where teenagers live: in their heads. So it's hard to get away from all those thoughts. Really, really hard.

Jenna actually manages to turn her imaginary audience into a real audience when she lets her private blog go public, which is not a move I would advise unless you're comfortable with people knowing all of your business. I only divulge here what I'm willing for the world to know about me, and while some of it is pretty personal, I'm at a point in my life where I really don't care of strangers or even acquaintances want to judge me for my thoughts or actions. And I know that my real friends won't judge me. Mock me? Maybe. But not judge me.  

So who cares what random people say about me? Or what someone might have said? Words are just word, especially when they come from someone with no real connection to your life. What someone else thinks of me doesn't have to change what I think of myself. It has taken a long time to understand that, and sometimes I still wrestle with my own opinion of myself, but in the long run it's my words that mean the most to me.

15 years old is now half of my lifetime ago. And it definitely feels like it! Well, most of the time. Sometimes I still feel that insecurity trying to creep into my brain, knocking on doors that have been closed and locked for years to keep the darkness away. I still struggle not to answer, even though I know that nothing good would come from it. Sometimes I wonder if I would be brave enough to face what's hiding in those rooms, and I wonder if I should just open the door and let the battle begin. But the real courage lies in walking past the door without even a glance, leaving the past exactly where it belongs. I might not be strong enough to fight my demons, but I'm smart enough not to let them back in.   

We Made it Through the Wilderness

Somehow, we made it through.

We went camping this past weekend. This is particularly significant for a few reasons. 

First, this was our first camping experience ever with Sgt Pepper. For the most part, he handled it like a champ. We had 2 minor incidents. 

1) We did kind of wear him out a bit on Saturday when we took a walk in a little park. OK, by "kind of" I mean "completely." Poor kid was so pooped that we had to carry him back to the car. And once we got back to our campsite, he made sure he was touching some part of the water dish at all times (since Hubby had just put ice in there, it was nice and cold), practically cuddling the damn thing. It was cute, but we clearly expected a bit too much from him in the heat. 

2) There was an intense thunder storm Saturday night. This was the first big storm we'd been through with Pepper and it had to happen while we were sleeping in a tent? Of course it did. Little man had super crazy eyes and wouldn't (or couldn't) stay still. We did our best to comfort him, but that thunder was insane. He was terrified. (Miss Maxine, of course, barely noticed anything was going on and slept through the majority of the insanity.)

Second, this was our first camping trip of the year. I always look forward to camping as a little family, and this year was no exception. Aside from the storm and packing up a bunch of wet camping equipment, it was a lovely trip. I'm already excited to plan for the next one!

Third, the storm itself. For anyone who has not heard, a young girl (10 or 11) died at Devil's Lake State Park this weekend. Reports vary a bit, but the gist of it is that a part of a tree fell on her tent during the storm and they were unable to free her. A quick Google News search will bring you up to speed, and Weather.com is even sharing the story. 

The family was camping at site 435 in the Ice Age campground; we were at site 338. You can see that these sites are pretty far away from one another (via this map of the campground), but I heard the sirens of the emergency vehicles. I didn't know where they were or what was going on. In fact, we didn't find out about it until late Sunday after we'd been home for several hours. 

The thought of "it could have been us" is one that is lingering in our minds. In fact, before the storm even hit, Hubby had mentioned something about how he was terrible for checking for "widow-makers" (branches that could fall during a storm) when deciding where to set up camp. I kind of laughed it off, but damn. In this case, they're saying the tree looked secure, so I guess it really was just a freak accident. Still, my heart goes out to the family. It should have been a fun trip with lots of happy memories. It should have ended with the whole family driving back home, lamenting the end of the weekend and the horrendous traffic. It should have gone so much differently.

So, assuming you've made it through all that unpleasantness, it might be nice to know that we had a nice weekend, though we were VERY glad to be back home. I'm not sure camping is Pepper's favorite activity, but at least we know what to expect for next time. We made an awesome dutch oven pizza (with Rocky's pizza sauce... YUM!), took in some beautiful sights, spent a lot of time relaxing and talking, and just enjoyed being there together. Yay!

Morbid Memories

When I was maybe 5 or 6, my great grandpa died. He's the first relative I remember dying, and I wasn't all that sad. I'm ashamed to admit that I was afraid of him; my understanding is that he had Alzheimer's and spoke almost entirely in German, so I didn't understand a word he said, and he was in a wheelchair (which was completely new to me at the time). I didn't go to the funeral.

Maybe a year later (I don't know the timeline, since I was so young) my great grandma died (also my mom's family, but different side of that family). For her, I cried. My mom was so upset that she actually scolded me for crying because I hadn't cried when Great Grandpa had died. She doesn't even remember saying it, but I did stop crying. That was the first funeral I remember. We had to travel for it, and I don't remember much. It was an open casket, and I saw my great grandma one last time. Otherwise, me and my cousins were in the Curious George room at the funeral parlor, reading books and playing games. 

When my great granddaddy died (my dad's grandpa), I was a few years older. Middle school or even high school, I think. I was sad, but I hadn't known him very well since he lived in Mississippi. He was nice enough to me, though. He didn't talk much, but he let me play with a Mr. Potato Head when I visited, which I just thought was the coolest thing ever. When his wife eventually died, my parents forgot to tell me for months. They had found out while I had a sleepover, and they didn't want to upset me. I found out at dinner one night when they were talking about it in passing. She was a seriously sweet lady and I was really sad for my Grandpa since his mom and dad were both gone.

I'd been seriously lucky since then. My family was all relatively healthy and most were in the same state as me.

Fast forward. When I was 21, I was woken up one Saturday morning by my mom telling me that my Gramma (her mom) had died. I'd just visited her a week or so before, and even though she was on hospice, I was shocked. I called my best friend/pseudo-sister K and she came to pick me up and spent the day with me. I took two or three nights off of work so I could help in any way possible. I helped with the picture boards and kept my mom company. At the funeral, I bawled. The hardest part for me was when my cousin N lost it, but the most vivid memory I have is my cousin P's son asking where Great Gramma was and she told him to remember that we could only see her in pictures now.

6 years ago tomorrow, my cat died. He'd been my 13th birthday present, and though I've always been a dog person, I loved that damn cat more than anything. He was a bitch (blocked a few of my friends in the bathroom, hissed at people, bit some of them...), but he loved me. He was also a tubby tabby (22 pounds!), and probably died as a result (heart failure, maybe). Once again, I was woken up by my mom, this time to be told Zeus had died and to ask if I wanted them to do something with him or to cremate him and bring him home. I wanted him to come home. I tried to work that day, but I only made it a few hours in before I broke down and asked to go home. I had been dating Hubby for a few months at the time, and after work he drove all the way from Milwaukee to Madison to be there for me. He brought me potted flowers and if I hadn't already known he was a keeper, that sealed the deal.

Since then, I've been lucky enough to not lose any family. Friends? Yes. It's been a rough year or two for that, actually. But family was safe and sound.

Until yesterday, when my mom called to tell me that my uncle had died in a car accident. He's my uncle through marriage, but my uncle nonetheless, and I can't possibly imagine what my aunt is going through. We don't know details, nor when services will be or anything like that. Right now, it seems cold to even think about it. All I know is that our family lost someone that we hold dear, and just before Christmas at that. I know there's no good time to lose someone, but this is just shitty. 

I've experienced a decent amount of loss this year, and many others have suffered far more loss than I can possibly imagine. I can only hope that 2013 is a little kinder to those in my life. I hope it's kinder to us all.

Be thankful for your loved ones, and hold them close this time of year. Be grateful for the time you have with them and how they've touched your lives. It can be over far too quickly.

Our House.

Nov. 15 - Yesterday, I was thankful for...

My house.

It's certainly nothing fancy, and paying mortgage sucks, but I am so thankful for our house. When Hubby and I moved in together (early 2008), the apartment we shared never felt much like home. It was the first place I lived aside from my childhood home, school, or camp, so it was kind of a big deal for me. And while the apartment was nice and we were glad to be living together, it just never really clicked.

In 2009, Hubby started talking about wanting a house, and how it was a good time to buy. I wasn't sure I was ready for all of that, and had to do a lot of thinking. While on a trip with my sisters in August of that year, I decided that we should give it a shot. I bought Hubby a sign for the garage our house would have and gave that to him to show I was ready.

We found probably 60 houses online that were contenders. Research got rid of some and others were off the market before we could blink. Of those left, we drove past at least half, which whittled the list down some more. We visited probably 10-15 houses and had it narrowed down to two. The other one we were considering was a lot like the house I grew up in; ranch style, 3-4 bedrooms, hallways, a big yard... It really was a great house, and I hope whoever bought it is just as thankful for it as we are for this house. 

This house won out for a whole lot of reasons (and also fell short for a few reasons, too; 1 tiny bathroom without an exhaust fan... 'nuff said), but there are 3 reasons I know pushed it over the top.

First, the garage. Hubby works on cars, and having a garage was a big reason for buying a house. Our garage is 2.5 cars and has all sorts of room for stuff. There's even this crazy attic thing! We don't use it, but it's kind of cool. 

Next, the kitchen. Like most apartments, ours had a galley kitchen; it was small and narrow and hard to maneuver. Our kitchen in the house is really open, with lots of space to move around and store things (though, I can always use more storage space). There wasn't a dishwasher, but my parents got us a portable one that works just fine. And my dad installed a garbage disposal for us, which is awesome. 

The third reason is two floors (plus a basement). The upstairs is small, since it's just an attic space that got converted into bedrooms, but that's enough. I knew that if I was going to be studying and working at home, I would need to be able to send Hubby somewhere in the house where he wasn't a distraction. So, my workspace is here on the main floor, and his computer room is upstairs where he can game and drool over cars without me having to give him an evil glare. It works out best for us both.

I love a lot of other things about the house, too. I mean, without it, we couldn't have gotten Maxine (our apartment didn't allow dogs). And though it's split into two parts, we have a long backyard with a couple spots for gardens. And I love our big, open living room (which is also my workspace and our dining area). 

We closed on the house on Oct. 2, 2009 and have been living here since mid-October of that year. It's hard to believe we've been here for 3 years, but we always agree that it's also hard to remember a time before this. The apartment feels like a distant memory, and forget about when we both used to live at home! This is where Hubby proposed to me, and where our married life began; it's where we became a family, just us and Maxi. It's our home. And for that, I'm thankful. 

Thanks For the Memories

I was really hoping that I wouldn't have to write another entry like this for a long time.  But here I am.

The first time (of many) I injured myself at school was in first grade.  I was running around the corner of the building - on blacktop, of course - and hit some gravel.  Down I went.  I think I only skinned one knee that time (many times it was both), and the friction tore right through my tights (white - what was my mother thinking?).  I looked at my knee, skinned with bits of gravel sticking to it, and started crying.  I don't remember who got the teacher on duty, but as soon as I had gotten myself to the door, she was on alert.

Standing next to her was a short girl with a cast on her arm.  "Erika," the teacher said, "this is Rachael.  She's going to take you to the nurse's office."  I sniffled and nodded, then looked at Rachael.  She beamed at me and opened the door.  

On our trip to the nurse (which was a bit of a hike for a six-year-old, since it was in the middle school half of our building), Rachael did the talking.  She told me how she already knew where the nurse's office was because she was in first grade last year, but she had to take it again.  She showed me her cast and kept smiling the whole way there.  I'm sure she told me other things, too.  I just remember that smile. 

By the time we got to the office, I think I had forgotten all about my knee (unless they poured alcohol on it - FCOL, that shit stings!).  Rachael waited for me while I got a band-aid and she walked me back to the first grade rooms.  With one more smile, she waved and turned into her classroom.  

Time went on, and I continued to run into Rachael (small school; it happens).  Though she got teased a lot (didn't we all?), she never quit smiling.  Sure, eventually you could piss her off (I think I only did that once; I'm a quick learner), but it was pretty rare.

I was never all that fantastic at making friends, since I'm terribly shy, but I hadn't had to think about it with Rachael.  She just became my friend. 

And we stayed friends for a long time.  It wasn't until after a party at the beginning of my sophomore year of high school that we really started to separate, and I haven't seen her since I graduated high school nearly 10 years ago.  

This week, she died.  When I heard about it, I could only think of two things: scraping my knee when I was six and that party when I was 15.  In a way, those were the beginning and ending points of our friendship.  (Though I saw her pretty often after the party, things weren't quite the same, and we weren't the friends we had been.)  After that, all I could think about was how I regret not trying harder to stay in touch.  

I will, however, always have some great memories of Rachael, and for that I'm thankful.  But now I'm starting to wonder who might be next...

RIP, Rachael.  Keep smiling.

D is for Disney, that's good enough for me...

Holy crap, the time is almost here, lovelies!  On Friday night, Hubby and I will drop the puppers off to be boarded and thus begins our vacation.  So close, but so far...

This will be my 5th trip to Disney World, kids, and I am so freakin' excited!  Even cooler is that this will be the second time I've been there with Hubby (the first being our honeymoon) and the second time I've been there with my bestie, M!  How cool is that?  

So, naturally, I've been thinking about past Disney trips.  My memories from my first 3 trips are fairly fragmented, but a few key points stand out from each.

Year: 1994

Age: 9

With: My parents

My first trip to Disney World.  Holy balls, was I excited for this trip!  Partly because I got to miss school for it (my dad's work didn't always line up with school breaks, and he was determined to take me there), but mostly because it's damn near every nine-year-old girl's dream to go to Disney.

Sadly, I only have a handful of memories from this trip.  I remember crawling around in the Honey, I Shrunk the Kids play area, while wearing my Minnie Mouse headband.  I remember going on Space Mountain with my mom and barely being able to walk afterward (I felt so effing sick).  I remember eating dinner in France and that the butter was sculpted like a little man (a soldier, I think) and feeling so grown up.  I remember one night for dinner, all I had was a Nestle ice cream bar (I was pretty sure I was the luckiest kid ever).  I remember the day we left, I found a coin on the floor of the hotel closet (I still have it; it's from England!).  

The memory that stands out the most, though, is a sadder one.  Particularly for my poor dad.  We had a one room suite, so my parents had the bedroom and I had the sofa bed in the living room area.  One night I woke up and had to pee so badly that I couldn't sleep anymore.  The only bathroom, though, was in the bedroom, and I didn't want to wake my parents up.  So instead, I sat at the edge of the bed and waited.  I'm not sure what I was waiting for.  Morning, maybe?  Anyway, at some point, my dad woke up and came to check on me, only to find me perched at the edge of that damn bed, trying not to cry because I was nearly in pain from holding out.  When he asked what I was doing, I explained, and to this day, he says that moment broke his heart.  I can't even imagine how he must have felt.

The vast majority of the memories from that trip are pretty great, though, so no worries.  

Year: 2001

Age: 16

With: My high school cheerleading team (and my mom)

This is the first trip to WDW with M.  She and I were damn near inseparable at that point in time, and among the other team members were my boyfriend (the longest relationship I've had aside from Hubby) and a few other good friends.  This is the only WDW trip that I have an actual scrapbook from, and the pictures make it look like the trip was a blast!

The only problem was that it wasn't a blast.  I have a hard time pulling up positive memories from that trip.  I think one of my favorites was when we were trying to get a group picture, and one of our teammates was out taking pictures of us instead of being in the picture!!  It was so funny when we realized what was going on.  Being in my first national competition was a real rush, too (even if we did suck and took last place).  Oh, and swimming in February is a novelty that I don't think I'll ever tire of.  :)  

What went wrong?  Where to begin?

First of all, there was a rule that whenever we were on Coach's time, there were no couples.  My boyfriend had his 18th birthday in Florida and the best I could do was sneak a quick kiss before we headed out for the day.  We couldn't hold hands, couldn't hug, could hardly talk to one another without fear of being caught.  As if that weren't enough, Coach decided that M and I were going on too many rides together and were told to separate.  So, I'm at Disney World with my boyfriend and my best friend, and I can't hang out with either of them?  Awesome.  Thanks.

I won't go into detail about all the other things that sucked, but I do have to mention the one that really bothered my mom (who was one of our chaperones).  At DHS (or, at the time, MGM), there's only one thing I absolutely must do when I'm there.  It's the Muppets 3D movie.  I loved it when I was 9, and it's one of the few experiences that I was dying to repeat.  Coach promised we'd get to it, so, I was psyched.  Lunch came around, and mom reminded Coach about the Muppets (I wasn't the only one who wanted to go, so it wasn't JUST for me), and again, she said we'd get to it.  In the meantime, Coach kept asking our captain and another select few teammates what we should do or see.  We did all sorts of stuff, but we never got to the Muppets 3D movie.  I tried not to act too disappointed, but my mom was less than pleased, to say the least.  Favoritism is one of my mom's few hot buttons, but there wasn't anything she could do.

Year: 2002

Age: 17

With: My high school cheerleading team

If 2001 was bad, 2002 was an absolute nightmare.  For one, M was no longer on the team.  Another good friend, T, had opted out because of a bum knee (in reality, it was because she didn't want to go, but she really did have a bad knee).  So I was down two good friends, my mom, and my boyfriend (since we weren't together anymore and he was out of high school anyway).  The trip was so bad that I honestly don't remember much at all.  If I think about the 2001 trip, I can pull up little bits and pieces of standing in lines, eating in the food court area, waiting for the buses, etc.  When I try to recall the 2002 trip, I can't even tell you who I shared a room with.  I've blocked most of it out. 

I do have one good memory from that trip.  We were done at one of the parks and were heading to another to wrap up the day (it might've been our last night, even; I don't recall).  We decided to take the monorail, and I remember standing there with my friend A.  We were both pretty un-enthused (to say the least) and were standing apart from the rest of the team (A and I have been friends since I was 3; if there was anyone there I could connect with, it was her).  The monorail pulled up, and we hung back, letting people get on, when the conductor yelled that she had 2 spots open in the front.  A and I ran.  The front car of the monorail is awesome.  The conductor was there, doing her thing, and there's LOTS of room to spread out.  Especially since it was only the two of us and a couple from Tennessee on their honeymoon.  We got to ask the conductor questions about what she does, and she answered them all without any attitude.  When we came up on Epcot, it was just glowing and it took my breath away.  I went to grab my camera and the conductor asked if I wanted a picture.  When I said yes, she slowed down the entire monorail just so I could take it.  If ever there were a magical moment, that was it.  (I'm actually tearing up just thinking about it!)

I'm looking forward to another trip with M (one where we don't get separated) and another trip with Hubby (though, it will be hard to top our honeymoon).  We're staying at the same resort that I stayed at in 2001 and 2002, so hopefully this trip will get rid of the bad taste in my mouth that I've come to associate with that resort.  

 

Christmastime is Here

Well, I have my Christmas cards sent out, about half of our presents wrapped, and I've been listening to Christmas music (on my own) for about a week now.  Christmas must be a-coming.  

The concept of Christmas itself is sort of conflicting for me.  As we know, I'm completely a-religious, so I don't go to church or get into the whole nativity thing.  In fact, our neighbors across the street have a fairly gaudy plastic nativity decoration out front that drives me crazy.  Not because of the churchiness, but because you could probably land a plane on our street when it's lit up.  Aye yi yi.

I don't have a problem with using the abbreviation X-mas.  I understand the "Keep Christ in Christmas" thing, but personally, I don't think the two are related.  Are people upset when others abbreviate TGIF because they don't actually write out "God"?  Somehow, I think not.  And that's all X-mas is.  It's an abbreviation, not blasphemy.

I think people should wish whatever the hell they want during the holiday season.  I don't care if they wish me a happy holiday, a merry Christmas or just a nice day; I just appreciate the sentiment.  If you're offended because someone mentioned a holiday that you don't celebrate, I can't imagine what else offends you...

That being said, I love Christmas.  Not as much as Halloween, but it's a close second in my book.  I love the smell of a pine tree in my house and I love buying presents for people I love.  The past few years, I've taken to making Christmas crafts, and though I tend to end up with more glue on me than I could've sworn I even had available, I enjoy it.  I love being with my family and eating all the cookies I can shove in my mouth before my stomach registers that it's too much.  Getting Christmas cards in the mail makes me downright giddy, and I look forward to my mom's Christmas Eve prime rib the other 364 days a year.  T'is a wonderful holiday, indeed.

My parents will tell you that I'm a tradition nazi.  Actually, most people who know me would tell you that.  I just happen to think traditions are a integral part of the holiday experience, though, I may take things a bit too far sometimes.  My mom once made little tenderloin medallions instead of prime rib for Christmas Eve and I sort of threw a fit (even though it was actually in my best interest, since I always had an issue with eating too much prime rib and getting horrendous tummy aches).  Another year, Mom decided that she wanted their tree upstairs in the window instead of downstairs where it has ALWAYS been, and I tried really, really hard to talk her out of it, even though it was something she had always wanted to try.  Thankfully, I've gotten past most of those issues, but I still have to have my mug of hot chocolate in order to open presents on Christmas Eve and I have to put certain ornaments on the tree myself or else things don't feel quite right.  

The one thing I'm missing right now is snow.  We've only had one snowfall that stuck, and it was only around for an afternoon.  No one dreams of a grey, rainy Christmas.  No one sings, "Let it sleet, let it sleet, let it sleet."  There's a reason for this.  It sucks.  In my opinion, snow is the only acceptable precipitation this time of year and, as my family's motto goes, it's Christmas, dammit!  

Anywhoozles, here's hoping that you all have a wonderful season, however you plan to enjoy it!  :) 

A Letter You'll Never Read

Dear Friend,

It's been awhile, I know.  I'm pretty sure the last conversation we had was just in passing.  Probably something like

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Good, you?"

"Pretty good!"

"Good, good."

The last "real" conversation we had was probably over 10 years ago.  Maybe even closer to 15.  I guess that at a certain point, living next door to someone doesn't necessarily keep a friendship going.  At some point, life gets in the way, what with hobbies and school activities and dates and...  You know.  All that stuff.

I remember being kids together, though.  

I remember spending hours running through the sprinkler and eating Popsicles at the yellow and orange plastic picnic table in my back yard (the same one we used as a platform to climb the tree, before we were tall enough to climb it on our own).  

I remember digging in our parents' gardens, looking for worms.  We'd put them in a bucket and at the end of the day, we'd put them back in the gardens.  We never had a purpose.  We never needed one!

I remember when I got chicken pox in Kindergarten.  You and your sister were younger than I was, and your mom wouldn't let you into my yard to play with me since I was probably contagious.  So instead you both blew bubbles from your yard into my yard so I could run around and try to pop them.

I remember putting two chairs together on my parents' porch, seat to seat, so we could lay down together.  We were playing house and we were married, and even though it was completely innocent (because we were too young for it to be anything else), my parents made us put the chairs back and promise not to do it again.

I remember coming over to your house to play with your sister, and then winding up in the basement playing video games with you for hours.  We were always closer in age anyway, I just think we figured at that age that boys went to play with boys and girls went to play with girls.  

I remember the time you made up a song about your "thing" and pulled down your pants.  Yep.  Bet you wish I forgot about that one, huh?  

I remember hours of SPUD in the street, playing until the street light came on.  But not the electric hum.  "The light's not on yet!" we'd always argue.  It was only minutes until the light flickered to life, but those extra minutes were precious.

I remember losing my first tooth at your house.  I was showing your sister how loose it was and it just plopped into my hand.  I'm not even sure you were there for that.

I remember when I realized you had gotten really cute, and that's probably about when we stopped hanging out.  I just didn't know how to act anymore, and I knew (thought, anyway) we were getting too old for worm hunting and blowing bubbles at each other.

I remember seeing you at school sometimes.  You were always younger, so we never ran in the same circles, but we at least had the good mind to smile and nod in acknowledgment.

I remember seeing you walking past our house, heading to the park to shoot hoops (because you couldn't use ours anymore; the smiles and nods had mostly stopped).  You'd dribble past the house - sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend - and my parents would wave to you.  You were always so polite about it, greeting them in return.  That was nice.

I remember when your dad died.  A car accident.  I remember being away at college when my parents called to tell me.  I came home for the weekend so I could at least go to the visitation.  Dad and I were never great at handling grief, and we quietly cracked morbid jokes to one another to ease the pain.  We'd never see him as Uncle Sam at the annual 4th of July bike parade again.  He'd never stop by to watch the Packers again.  The concept was unreal.

I'll admit that I haven't given you a whole lot of thought since then.  I heard you went to college, and I'm sure you did great.  You were always popular, so I'm sure you had friends and girlfriends galore.  Our parents still live next door to each other, but we may as well have been on different planets.

I would see you occasionally, out mowing the lawn or heading to the park with a basketball, but as adults, our polite salutations were just something we did.  You could've been any other adult in the neighborhood.  So could I.

Hey.  It happens.

And then yesterday, the memories came flooding back as clearly as if it all happened yesterday.  Funny how that happens, right?  You don't realize what you remember until it just hits you.

Last night, I called my parents to ask if they had heard.  My dad said, "I know we've always told you that life's not fair, but this is pushing it."  My mom and I agreed.  We didn't have adequate words, but we knew it didn't feel fair.

We can't imagine what your brother and sister are going through, but most of all, we cannot fathom what kind of Hell your mom is experiencing.  She already lost her husband to a car accident.  Now, she had lost her son the same way.  Dad said, "If she didn't have two other children, I might have done her a favor and brought her a handgun, because I don't know how you get up the next day, and the day after..."

Your mom is a strong woman.  I won't lie; sometimes, I wasn't a big fan of her.  I'm sure you felt that way about my mom sometimes, too.  It's just the way things go.  But I do know she's strong, because she's been through Hell.  But I can't imagine the strength it will take to get through this.  I hope you help her, because she's going to need it.  Your siblings can only do so much.  Watch out for her, OK?

Well, I just wanted you to know that I'll miss you.  It doesn't matter that we barely spoke anymore, or that it has been years since we were really friends.  I'll miss you anyway.  You gave me some great childhood memories that I will cherish as long as I can.  I hope you recall them as fondly as I do.

Lots of other people will miss you, too, so I'll let them have their turn to tell you.  Take care up there.

With love,

Erika

P.S. Tell your dad I said hi.