1 cornwallkids@gmail.com 0 2009-03-24T04:50:24-06:00 836 257 Some people would walk away if they found out that their spouse had a disease that will take over his life and that he will eventually die from it. I won't walk away. \r\n\r\nMy husband and I have been together for over 16 yrs. When he was diagnosed with Hepatitis C in 2005 we had no clue what it meant for us. Now with the knowledge that we cannot afford treatment and even if we could it's likely it won't work for him, we take everyday as a gift. We stay together to shore each other up. We stay together to raise our two young children. We stay together because that's what we promised to do. We stay together because we truly love each other, no matter what. \r\n\r\nTogetherness. No matter what. It's the right thing to do. Pass it on.\r\n 1 2009-09-12T00:00:16-06:00 1 davesurrealist@yahoo.com 0 2009-03-23T09:03:09-06:00 834 256 I would like to begin by saying that my life began in a very normal fashion. I grew up with two good parents and a very stable household. Unfortunately, my thirst for adventure and mischief was beginning to lead me down some dark corridors. As a freshman in high school, I was a very edgy, popular kid who had things very easy. \r\n\r\nSadly, I took advantage of this and started becoming someone that I didn't recognize. This is what led to my self destruction a few years later. I got involved with some bad people and wound up participating in some burglaries and the sale of stolen property. I was eventually arrested and wound up in jail for six months of my life. It was a difficult time and my entire life seemed to have spiraled out of control. At the time of my arrest, I had a new born baby girl and was in a very unstable relationship. I will never forget seeing my child for the first time through a piece of plexi-glass and not being able to kiss or hold her. I went from being one of the most likely to succeed to one who probably never would. \r\n\r\nThose six months of my life were probably the most crucial and important ones in my life. I had two choices. I could blame everyone else for where I was or I could systematically go through each step I had made and decide where I went wrong. I reverse engineered my life and realized that the only one to blame was me. I had a child that I could not be responsible for and I had hurt everyone I loved very badly. During those six months I developed a list. A list of things that would define the rest of my life, how I would live it and the type of people I would live it with. I was determined to be a good man, a good father and a good partner to whom ever I wound up with. \r\n\r\nUpon my release from jail, I was fortunate to have a few good, old friends that stuck by me through thick and thin. Even though I had ignored them, they let me back in and stood by me even though I was now a felon. A few days after my release, I was introduced to a beautiful young woman named Jennifer who was finishing college and was very excited to be a social worker. I remember talking with her and eventually asking her on a date. We went out with two friends and decided to go out again. At this point, my life was still not in order. My daughter was living in a very unstable situation with her mother and I had only been out of jail a few days. \r\n\r\nI was very upfront with Jennifer about my situation but she didn't blink an eye. She was interested in who I was upon meeting me, rather than who I was then. After a few weeks of dating, I knew she was the person I wanted to spend my life with. I had never been around anyone who was so loving, supportive and solid. A year and a half later we were married. I had gone back to finish college and we had sole custody of a three year old little girl that Jennifer treated as her own. \r\n\r\nThat was fifteen years ago and I'm happy to say that since we have raised a beautiful seventeen year old who will be in college in a year and Jennifer and I have both managed to finish grad school and gain our Master's degrees. I think the most important thing in this story is that I could never show enough gratitude to the beautiful woman who saw something in me that it seemed no one else could. Without her I could never have done what I've done and could have never have given my daughter the life and stability that we have. With that being said, I think I may be the luckiest man alive. Also, after trying for ten years, Jen and I now have a two year old of our own. He's keeping us young and very busy. I do have to say though that I owe it all to Jen. She is everything to me. Absolutely everything.\r\n 1 2009-09-12T00:00:16-06:00 1 itsapamperedworld@yahoo.com 0 2009-03-12T09:41:48-06:00 822 253 My mother was a model in the 70s. She had a model friend, Remy, who loved the good life. This woman dated much and partied as often as she could. Unfortunately, she met up with a man who was not what he claimed to be. She was diagnosed with HIV and later succumbed to AIDS in the mid-80s. \r\n\r\nThis is not a sad story, though. In the last few years of her life, Remy met a dashing Italian man. They spent the remaining years enjoying everything the world had to offer in the form of food, travel, family and friends. Remy's most favorite thing to do was go to the beach and take long walks. In the last year, she was no longer able to stand, she was so sick from chemotherapy. Tony would not allow her favorite pastime to disappear, however. He began to carry her along the beach once a week. We referred to him as the "Beach Walker." Her life was blessed because of him. \r\n\r\nThroughout my own life, I often looked for a "beach walker." I was fortunate enough to find one many years later, but more importantly, I, myself, learned to become one. So to all the beach walkers out there, keep carrying the love and wear lots of sunscreen!\r\n 1 2009-09-12T00:00:16-06:00 1 deonsprincess@yahoo.com 0 2009-02-09T13:45:43-07:00 788 243 My life got pretty crazy when I turned eleven. I broke my wrist and sprained my ankle playing basketball, my best friend turned out to be the guy I love, I had a ton of boy drama, lots of friend drama�pretty crazy. \r\n\r\nBut this isn�t about any of that, its about the one guy that changed my life forever.\r\n\r\nI'd known him since I was 5, and he was my best friend. In 7th grade (when I was 12) he told me exactly how he felt about me. He told me he loved me. And what did I tell him? That I felt exactly the same.\r\n\r\nWe started dating in 7th grade, and stayed together all the way through to 12th grade. Then he proposed to me. Of course I said yes, I loved him to death! \r\n\r\nI ended up playing basketball during my years in college, and since we went to the same college he was always my support. We married on the last day of college. After we were married he supported me in my dreams to become a WNBA player.\r\n\r\nThat dream has since come true�I know mostly because of his support. I am now a WNBA player, and we have been married for ten years!!\r\n 1 2009-09-12T00:00:16-06:00 1 thomasnee@rcn.com 0 2008-11-22T03:49:06-07:00 713 219 I was about 12 years old in the late seventies and being raised by my hard of hearing grandmother. We lived in a small twelve foot by thirty foot trailer. A few blocks from my home was a small pet store that was owned by an old widowed German woman. She had a very kind heart and loved animals. Most of the neighborhood kids would harass this poor soul on a daily basis due to her German accent. She would let me work a few hours a week in the store cleaning out the dirty cages and give me change at the end of the week to pay me. One day I noticed a new Sheltie puppy had arrived. The poor animal was the runt of the litter. It stayed in the corner of the cage shaking, it's two eyes were caked due to an eye infection and it's fur was matted with it's food. I asked the woman how much she wanted for the puppy. She looked at me and with her German accent told me that she'd pay me to take it. The next thing that I knew was that I was walking home with this little helpless critter under my winter coat to keep it from freezing to death. I walked into my trailer and asked my Grandmother if I could keep it. Needless to say, Grandma was not happy about this new addition. She asked how we could afford it and who would take care of it. She really didn't want to have anything to do with the poor thing. She told me that she would give me a week to see how it worked out. She assured me that it would be going back since she could not stand dogs and would have nothing to do with it. The first few days I�d run home from school since I couldn't wait to see the puppy. Grandma would complain about the puppy for the first half hour or so when I first came home about what he did wrong. She kept telling me how she could not stand the darn thing. This went on for weeks, always complaining about what the puppy did or didn't do. I noticed after a few weeks that the puppy was getting healthier every day. His eyes cleared up and he was gaining weight. He seemed happy and was always following Grandma around the trailer. She would yell at him and he would put his head down to the ground with his backside up in the air wanting to play and not paying much attention to her. He'd bark at her and she'd yell at him. I found it rather funny, but wouldn't let Grandma know that I was laughing at them. One day I came home from school early and Grandma was taking a nap with the puppy next to her in bed. After she woke up and saw me she started to complain at the dog jumping in bed with her. I knew that this was not possible because the puppy was not tall enough to even get up our front steps let alone a bed. Grandma was hard of hearing, so when I came into the trailer most of the time she couldn't hear. One day I walked in and saw Grandma rocking the puppy back and forth in her arms like a baby singing to it, "My Sheltie, My Sheltie." When Grandma noticed me she placed the dog right down on the floor shaking her finger at it telling it to leave her alone. I knew what was going and just shook my head. After ten years of Grandma telling me that she couldn't stand the dog, she finally admitted to me that she loved the dog the minute I brought it home. She told me that she fed and gave the dogs its medicine when it was younger. When I was about twenty two I came home one day late from work and saw Grandma still laying in bed with the dog next to her. The dog was whimpering, crying and licking my Grandma trying to wake her up. I knew that she was gone but I still heard her singing "My Sheltie, My Sheltie." 1 2009-09-12T00:00:16-06:00 1 0 2008-10-29T08:41:04-06:00 682 209 2 2009-09-12T00:00:16-06:00 Creed_Online.flv 1 0 2008-09-18T09:44:16-06:00 596 189 My grandmother and my grandfather were married for over 50 years. I can only imagine what brought my grandmother, a native Canadian, here to the U.S. in the first place. They didn't have much, and they both had to have jobs. They kept my mother, her sister, and her brother clothed and in private Catholic schools from elementary through high school. Their love never faltered. My grandfather had a stroke, and then developed some rare form of cancer. Through it all, my grandmother was there. In the end, when he was slowly dying, she was there. This thin, frail old woman dragged a rickety, uncomfortable cot into the living room every night, just to sleep by his side. In 50 years, they had rarely, if ever, slept apart. Within six months of his death, my grandmother followed. I couldn't be sad at her funeral; I know she's happier there with him than here without him.\r\n\r\nNow that's love.\r\n 1 2009-09-12T00:00:16-06:00 1 0 2008-09-13T19:36:46-06:00 587 186 I lived in Dallas, Texas nearly all my life with my mom, dad and older sister. We were raised to respect others, value education, and get all that we could out of life. "You can be anything you want to be," my parents always say. "Work hard and the world is yours," is often quoted in my house. My parents are never without a helpful word of advice or a bit of encouragement when life gets tough. \r\n \r\nI always knew that going to college was expected of me. After all, both of my parents are college graduates with multiple degrees. Even after I decided at 16 years old that I'd rather get married to a man who was so clearly wrong for me than go to college, they never stopped telling me that they loved me and that I could do anything I wanted to do. Thankfully, they talked some sense into me. I graduated from high school and currently attend The University of Oklahoma. I am Pre-Med with a minor in Spanish. I want make the world a better place. And I know that my parents are the reason for this.\r\n\r\nEvery time I call home to tell them about a grade I received in Chemistry Lab or Microeconomics or Zoology or whichever class it is that I'm working hardest for at the moment, they tell me how proud of me they are. I know there are college kids out there that have no one to call home to when they get an �A� on a project and I feel incredibly blessed to have my parents.\r\n\r\nDon't get me wrong: We've had our share of problems. I was the angry teenager and they were the awful parents that wouldn't let my boyfriend sleep over or let me stay out all night or let me get my tongue pierced...but somehow, we managed to work through those issues. They never stopped loving in me or believing in me.\r\n\r\nI owe everything I am to my parents. Without their constant love and encouragement, I wouldn't believe that I can change the world. My parents taught me never to settle and to always fight for what I believe in. And so I'm working toward something really great and can only hope that I continue to make them proud.\r\n 1 2009-09-12T00:00:16-06:00 1 0 2007-09-18T05:12:02-06:00 345 120 Every good story has a lesson, and any good lesson is really a gift. I often need to re-learn this lesson, and I can't always find the gift in it, but I can say that this is the story of how I received grace and learned how it is possible to carry that gift everywhere we go. I learned this from my late-husband, who is perhaps the most important person I'll ever know. His name was Ryan. He was 26 when he died.\r\n\r\nThere is a photograph of the two of us in our essence. We were photographed sitting on my sister's porch. My head is down, my nose nearly touching a notepad on which I was writing directions. Ryan is sitting with an open newspaper on his lap, one hand in the air, a grin on his face, clearly recounting his witty revision of the day's current events. The photograph was taken one year before we married, and two years before he was diagnosed with a brain tumor.\r\n\r\nRyan and I were different from one another in a way that worked. He was a born politician. I was a born organizer. He got energy from other people. I got comfort from knowing I could handle any situation. He could talk cats out of trees. I could wrangle them. \r\n\r\nHe was the sort of person that if I left him alone in a grocery store for five minutes, I would find him deep in conversation with a total stranger. In that short time, he would have learned their occupation, children's names and hobbies. Almost invariably, these people would throw themselves at me to shake hands, exclaiming, "You must be Ryan's wife. He's told me so much about you and how you've saved his life twice." I have no idea how he was able to exchange so much information so quickly. \r\n\r\nHis ability to meet people and see the best in them was something to admire, as was his sense of humor, and his faith that everything would turn out just fine. This last could be annoying as well, because it made him happy-go-lucky in the most impractical of ways. Even though he could quote any book he'd ever read and tell you what page he was quoting from, he couldn't cook. He could estimate percentages accurately in his head, but couldn't balance a checkbook. He could make best friends in two minutes, but couldn't keep a steady job. He could give a three minute impromptu speech and stop on the second, but he couldn't replace a door knob.\r\n\r\nI worked, paid the bills, fixed our plumbing, and changed the oil in the car; while Ryan finished college -- later attended law school – kept our social calendar full, and in general kept us happy. When I was too uptight or he was too carefree, the offending party would offer up "You married it" as a means of both defense and apology. \r\n\r\nIt was not quite a year after we married that Ryan had a grand mal seizure. After a CAT scan revealed a brain tumor, he spent his spring break having brain surgery and cracking jokes about growing a second brain. He spent his summer break cursing the loss of his hair to radiation and flirting with the female chemotherapy patients at the oncology clinic.\r\n\r\nLife went on. I got a better job. We moved. He graduated college. He started law school. His neurologist gave him a clean bill of health, though he muddled along with occasional seizures. \r\n\r\nDuring his second year of law school his seizures were increasingly a problem. Finally, one night a visit to the emergency room with a splitting headache resulted in the discovery that he had another brain tumor. The subsequent surgery gave us the news that it had returned in the most aggressive form, which kills 90% of patients within six months of diagnosis. Ryan was as good humored and optimistic about it as usual, but countless doctors, two more surgeries, one experimental treatment and four months later he couldn't see out of one eye nor walk in a straight line. \r\n\r\nIn the midst of all of this Ryan's step-father decided that we needed to buy a house, so he went and picked one that we could afford. It was barely a cottage -- in the middle of renovation when I first saw it -- but it was a very big deal to Ryan to own his home. The entire scheme was insane. I was out of my mind anyway, so I signed wherever I was told to sign until one day we had a mortgage and a house. \r\n\r\nIt was during the week that we closed on the house that Ryan took a turn for the worse. His balance was so poor that even a short walk across the apartment was becoming difficult. He didn't really want to get out of bed, because of a painful sensitivity to light. Neither of us could sleep at night, because his constant headache had him up and down all night long.\r\n\r\nThat week, some friends from church had volunteered to help me paint our new house, but I wasn't able to join them—the doctor wanted Ryan back in the hospital. \r\n\r\nOn Sunday, we were told that he might have a couple of weeks to live. My sister started making the arrangements for us to set up a hospice at the house, while my mother started coordinating with some ladies at my church to pack the apartment. Our lawyer drew up his will and do not resuscitate. I don't remember much about that week, except a few dramatic moments and a couple of Ryan's last jokes. \r\n\r\nWe set our moving date for the following Saturday so we could have hospice set up by the subsequent Monday. On Thursday, night they told us that Ryan had a few hours left. The tumor was crushing his brain and would soon be shutting down his respiratory function. \r\n\r\nOf course, the doctor was wrong and Ryan lived another day. Though he never opened his eyes, he managed a few silent jokes. The father of his best friend, spent that last night telling hilarious stories about Ryan and his friends' high-jinks, while Ryan's breathing became more labored and his lungs filled with fluid.\r\n\r\nI sat by his side telling him that everything would be fine. That I would be fine and that I knew he was going where he would be so full of joy and love and happiness. More importantly I believed this so fully that I finally knew how peaceful it is to feel the transcendence of grace. \r\n\r\nFinally, about 1:30 a.m. on Saturday morning, he gasped a few times for air that wouldn't come, and then he died. It was simultaneously the most terrible and most beautiful thing I have ever seen. \r\n\r\nIn the morning, I was like a zombie. My mother had me dress, and eat, and call our church, and took me to my apartment where everyone was supposed to gather for the move. It was 9:30 a.m. when I walked into an empty apartment. It was empty except for people. There were family, friends, and other friends of friends whom I had never seen before in my life. I hadn't packed so much as a shoebox myself, and everything had already been taken to the new house. They had all, together, done it for me.\r\n\r\nJust like I knew that Ryan would be fine, I knew that I would be fine, because love and peace aren't just in heaven, they are in every one of us. They were in the people who packed and painted. They were in the people who entertained Ryan in the hospital. They were in the people who reminded me to eat. They were in the people who had moved us. They were in the people who had arranged for hospice. I knew that just as I had needed Ryan to tell me a joke when I was down; I had needed those people, and they had wanted to be there for me.\r\n\r\nWe can find small graces in every act of kindness, every day. Ryan had the ability to look into the eyes of any stranger and find that spark that made them special -- that little something that made them a valuable part of the world. Somehow when he died, he gave that gift to me and taught me how much I needed others. \r\n\r\n\r\n 1 2009-09-12T00:00:16-06:00 1 0 2006-08-22T08:53:44-06:00 64 50 Gram Kelly was the model grandmother. She doted on her many grandchildren as though we were her sole purpose for rising in the morning. Gram made us feel so special!\r\n\r\nShe was preoccupied with leaving something behind, though. Gram worried about being able to pay for her funeral as well as leaving an inheritance for "the children" who had long since grown into adulthood! When Gram died, some of her grandchildren gathered to remember her. Armed with our memories, I had the honor of delivering the eulogy. I relayed our love for Gram's undivided attention, her special recipes, and the way she reveled in the simple pleasures of life.\r\n\r\nI think we all shed a few tears when we realized how great Gram's legacy truly is. When I spend time with the newest generation of Gram's family, I marvel at all she has left behind. A close family, devotion to God, and an appreciation for life's simplicities that are too often lost in our busy days. When our family gathers together, when I remember to appreciate the rain, when I think about the many gifts in my life, I thank Gram for making me aware that life's rewards are far greater than success and money. Gram worried about what she would leave us...I think the best legacy is that she hasn't left us at all. 1 2009-09-12T00:00:15-06:00 1 0 2006-08-22T08:47:37-06:00 61 47 My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more.\r\n\r\nThey dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal.\r\n\r\nThey smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring.\r\n\r\n"Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet.\r\n\r\nThere was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels.\r\n\r\nThe notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture.\r\n\r\nIt took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love, one that is pure and enduring.\r\n\r\nHowever, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection, which not everyone is lucky enough to experience.\r\n\r\nGrandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other. But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer.\r\n\r\nThe disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.\r\n\r\nNow the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore.\r\n\r\nFor a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone.\r\n\r\n"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her.\r\n\r\nThrough his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.\r\n\r\nS-h-m-i-l-y = See How Much I Love You. 1 2009-09-12T00:00:15-06:00 1 0 2006-08-22T08:32:50-06:00 57 43 Every time I look at myself and think on how much I've gone through, I still hardly believe that I have become the strong person that I am now. The biggest factor I'd like to consider is my relationship with my father. I learned to stand on my own, make decisions on my own because he let me do it. This started in my high school years when I'd always to ask permission to go out with friends. My mother and my eldest brother would usually prohibit me, which I found it very disappointing. But I found solution from my father. I would ask his permission and promise him to be back at a designated time, which I did exactly. And things went on between the two of us. I would confide things to him; my dreams and aspirations, where I want to go and what I want to do. Even my teenage crushes and love letters. He would always listen ready to give support. He never scolded me for things I’ve told him. I felt how much he appreciated my trust to him. This gave me so much confidence and encouragement to realize my dreams. I feel good to be free and independent because my father allowed me to be. Now I pass on the good attitude I got from my father. 1 2009-09-12T00:00:15-06:00