The Essay

 I had my fantastic English teacher review this so i don't make ridiculous errors. but tell me what you really think. what you reallyreallyreally think. not like you never do. but still. this is supposed to be giving a "flavor" of who i am, and if my voice isn't in this, or it doesn't reflect me, then i reallyreally need to know. much love everyone!

I can understand why someone would comment that we as a society are "owned by our objects". If we see a BMW and a Corvette parked in the driveway of a very large house downtown, we can generally guess what they make in a year and how many hours a week they put in. There are now entire thirty minute shows dedicated to sorting through a pack-rats collection of dust, laundry, and Elvis bobble-heads. However, I've come to learn, as I'm sure many before me have, that the smallest things mean the most. It's what seem the most insignificant that has the most meaning and the most moving stories.

I've always kept my birthday cards, ever since I was five. I would stick them into the corners of my mirror so I could see who remembered my birthday and the funny sayings. Recently, I've begun downsizing my room. I decided that my bulging drawers of clotehs and the pounds of paper and trinkets needed to be sorted through and given to people who could use them. In the process of cleaning out my bedside table, I found a birthday card. It was lavender and in a cursive script said "Happy Birthday Most Beautiful Granddaughter". I opened it up and saw that in the bottom left hand corner were the weak, barely legible signatures of my mom's parents. That was the last birthday card I received from my graundmother.

She died in March. He was in the hospital for her lungs, and she was going to be released in the next day or so. Granny was always in and out of hospitals for check-ups and a couple of procedures here and there. My family and I were never really worried that she would leave us in the near future. However, one morning my mom and dad got a call at about four in the morning, and so they rushed out of the house to Tuomey Hospital in Sumter south Carolina. A couple of hours alter, I received the call that she had passed.

It's been a strange experience, dealing with this kind of grief. As most people who have lost anyone who meanting something will tell you, it's not as simple as the five step cycle. when I started going through my things in July, I thought I had come to peace with it and moved on with my life. Granny wasn't mentioned as much, and wen she was, there was always a good story and a smile. Then I found the card in the very back of my bedside table. In the card it said "We love you, and we are so proud of what you have become, and what you are becoming." I cried.  I t was something Granny would say to me a lot. whenever I told her that I aced my math final, or that I was accepted into the Academy program, she would always tell me how proud she was.

My room is still in the process of being cleaned out. My drawers are a lot easier to pull out with far less shirts in them. My desk is neater and easier to dust every week than it has been for a long time. The fifty or so birthday card collection I had is in the recycling plant, except that card. That card is tacked above my desk, where I cansee it if I'm about to give up on studying for a test, editing a short story, or working on a research paper. "We love you, and we are so proud of what you have become, and what you are becoming."

It keeps me going.

Thoughts? I was typing this from my manuscript, so there may be some typos that aren't on the actual paper. the computer wouldn't let me copy without shutting down the internet. yes, it was annoying.

alrighty. well. happy friday everyone, and much love,
: - ) emilea