Have you ever had someone in your life that you know you just can't live without? It doesn't have to be Mother or anyone in particular. Just someone who brightens your day the second you see them, or hear their voice.
I'll tell you a little about my "someone." He is so sweet and cute, and does these things that he thinks are just run-of-the-mill, but which are really quite endearing. He thinks so little of himself, but I think so much of him. We might fight and we might fuss sometimes, but we both know it's not a reflection of how we really feel about one another. I hope he is reading this, and I hope it makes him feel better, because he's been having a rough go of it lately. :) Hopefully he will get the message-I love, love, LOVE him!!!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
The Underworld
The light was dim, as it always was. They heard a grinding, awful noise coming from above. The Dagdols ran. Parts of the Roof fell. They crumbled and landed in Mattie Dagdol's grey hair. She did not panic. Things like this had happened before, although not very often. Once, when she was a child, it had happened. She had panicked, as the others were now. The second time she saw something like this was when she was a bit older, newly married, and had just given birth to her first child. Even if she had wanted to panic then, she would have been much too tired.
Janina Dagdol cried, reaching for her grandmother. Mattie picked her up gently and rocked her, murmuring forgettable words of comfort all the while. The Roof continued to crumble. Children continued to cry. Most of the people in the Tunnel had never seen anything like this before. Mattie was of a rare group. She was the oldest in her Tunnel, but word had spread from other communities within the World that there was a man in Rogadoff that was twixt her age.
Jorga held her children close to her. They were very unnerved by the bizarre happenings around them. Her husband, Harve, had left to ask Mattie Dagdol, the Tunnel's oldest and wisest inhabitant, what was going on. Shortly, he returned, with a small grain of comfort for his wife and children.
"Mrs. Dagdol says that she has seen things of this kind two times past. She says that both those times, the Crumbling did not last as long as this, but that it was just as frightening. She said not to worry, as long as it stops shortly, but that if it keeps up doing this, then we should get a hold of the Overworlder Patrol immediately to find out what is happening Above." Harve was out of breath from his report. Jorga looked at him frightenedly.
"Harve, what exactly does the Overworlder Patrol do? No one ever speaks of it."
Harve gave it some thought. "I don't rightly know, love. Would you like me to go ask Miss Mattie?"
"No. We need to find something for the kids to do, though, to get their minds off of this for at least a while."
Jorga and Harve took their children inside, where they could hear the sounds of the Roof falling on the roof of their dwelling. Jorga prepared a meagre supper for Harve and the kids, while he entertained them with a story about a troll.
Mattie was still holding her orphaned granddaughter, sitting on the porch of her dwelling when a huge stone fell from the Roof. Janina whimpered.
"Shh... It'll be alright Janina. It will stop soon and everything will be okay."
Janina looked up at her and a tear escaped her eye; her look of sadness was quickly replaced with one of innocent inquisitiveness which seemingly only children, the extremely old, and the dumb can so perfectly display.
"Gramma, what did Mister Harve Griswell want? What did you mean when you were talking about the Overworld Patrol and the Crumbling and all?"
"Janina,please don't worry about all that now."
"Please just tell me. I won't ever ask you about adult matters again until five years hence."
Mattie chuckled softly. "Why five years hence?"
"That's when Wellie Griswell told me I would be a grown-up. He says that that is when his daddy was a grown-up."
"I'm sure his daddy was indeed a grown-up when he was only fifteen, but times have changed and now you, my dear, have about seven years before you are a grown-up. Wellie is a silly boy, now isn't he?"
"Yeah. He is.Once, at the gymnasium, he ate a worm. Then, he threw one into his sister Jellie's hair. Jellie is such a good name for her. She is fat and everyone calls her Jellie Belly." Janina laughed.
"That isn't very nice, now. I hope you weren't one of the kids that called her that. She can't help it that she is a bit heavy. She has a condition. She will hopefully lose the weight as she gets older."
"I know what you are trying to do. I am not a stupid child. You are trying to change the subject, so that I quit asking about the Overworld and the Crumbling. Please explain about that now, Gram. If you don't mind."
"Janina, I do mind. You needn't ask about things like that just yet. It is none of your concern." Mattie wished for a split second that her granddaughter wouldn't be so perceptive of adults' evasiveness and their ways.
Jorga lay awake. Harve was sleeping soundly next to her, and the kids were doing the same in their room. She wondered how they could sleep with something so strange going on just above their heads. Harve had tired himself out worrying, though, and the kids had all cried themselves to sleep, while Jorga ran round the room trying to give them all a bit of comfort, and succeeding minimally. She was half-tempted to wake Harve to talk to him. She needed to talk to someone. Or to just be held for a while, perhaps. She snuggled closer to him and tried to sleep.
Mattie awoke to knocking at her door. She rolled over and looked at the clock on her nightstand. Only 4:38. Who could be visiting at this hour? It must be an emergency, she thought, climbing out of bed and slipping into her robe and slippers.
Opening the door, she said, "Good morning, what is going on at this early hour?"
A hand, cold as ice, slipped around her arm, in a vise-like grip, jerking her outside onto the porch. Suddenly something was slipped over her face and she was pushed forward.
"Now what is this all about?" Mattie demanded, angrily, as her wrists were bound behind her. There was no answer, and all she could hear were the sounds of the Crumbling and Janina's loud snoring from her open bedroom window. She was forced into some kind of compartment.
"I need to see my granddaughter! I can't just leave her alone!"
A screaming whisper of a voice, not quite human, and not quite animal replied, "Would you like us to take her with you?"
"I would like for you to let me go, or at least tell me why this is happening."
"You do not need to know just yet. Now be quiet, or I shall make you quiet."
"Make me, then!!" Mattie hollered, and then she knew no more.
Jorga woke up, and saw that Harve was no longer at her side. She panicked. She went into the kitchen and called his name. No answer. She went into the children's room and saw that they were all still sound asleep. She went outside and called for Harve again. No answer. She walked all round the house and still saw no sign of him.
"Maybe he went back to Miss Mattie's," she said to herself, rather doubtfully. She hurriedly ran down the road and round the corner to Mattie's and saw Harve holding Janina Dagdol, who was crying.
"Miss Mattie is gone. Janina said that she woke up at about six this morning and there was no sign of Miss Mattie. She said that the front door was ajar and that there was just this laying on the porch steps," Harve said, holding up a strange emblem. Jorga examined it.
"OWP.... Overworld Patrol?" Jorga said.
"I assume so," Harve replied. "Janina, it will be fine. She will come back. Maybe the OWP just came to ask her a few questions and took her to their headquarters for more information. She'll be okay." He looked at Jorga, and she saw and immense mixture of doubt and dread in his eyes. Everyone knew that when the OWP took someone, they were rarely seen again.
"Janina, come on. You can come to our house and play with Jellie and Wellie for a while," Jorga said, taking Janina's small hand in her own. She smiled down at the sad child.
"Miss Jorga, what is the Overworld Patrol?" Janina inquired.
"I honestly don't know, honey. That is a good question to ask your grandma when she comes back."
"I already asked her and she said that it was none of my concern."
"Well, your grandma knows best. I do not even know about the Patrol. Maybe it is only the wisest of the village that can have knowledge of such things. Best not to worry yourself with it now."
Mattie still was blindfolded. She arrived at whatever destination the people had taken her to. Finally, one spoke, giving a reason for her being captured.
"We have heard that you have been disclosing information about us to a Mister Harve Griswell about our operations. This is unacceptable. Anyone who has too much knowledge of what we do must be properly disposed of." A chill ran down Mattie's spine. What was to become of Janina?
"Is there any way that I can contact my granddaughter? She was alone and asleep when we left."
"No. You will never be contacting anyone in your village again." She was then pulled from the compartment, which she now knew was a waggon, and a sharp, cold instrument was thrust into the crook of her elbow. She winced, and before she could speak, a darkness deeper than that caused by the blindfold descended upon her.
The Crumbling continued. Jorga, Harve, Jellie, Wellie, and Janina continued to worry about it. They all stayed inside, looking out the windows. Others came to their home to ask if they knew what was going on. They did not, so everyone just tried to comfort one another. They fell asleep after a while, some in chairs, some in the floor, and some even standing up.
Jorga woke up, surrounded by neighbours and friends. She woke Harve up and they went outside. The Crumbling had stopped. They looked up, and they saw stars. They saw the moon, and they saw trees. They did not know the names for these things at that time, but this did not take away from their amazement whatsoever. A face, a person, appeared at the edge of the crevice through which they could see these things.
"What are you doing down there?" The person looked down at them curiously. "Come on up here where you belong. Hang on and I'll give you a hand!"
Janina Dagdol cried, reaching for her grandmother. Mattie picked her up gently and rocked her, murmuring forgettable words of comfort all the while. The Roof continued to crumble. Children continued to cry. Most of the people in the Tunnel had never seen anything like this before. Mattie was of a rare group. She was the oldest in her Tunnel, but word had spread from other communities within the World that there was a man in Rogadoff that was twixt her age.
Jorga held her children close to her. They were very unnerved by the bizarre happenings around them. Her husband, Harve, had left to ask Mattie Dagdol, the Tunnel's oldest and wisest inhabitant, what was going on. Shortly, he returned, with a small grain of comfort for his wife and children.
"Mrs. Dagdol says that she has seen things of this kind two times past. She says that both those times, the Crumbling did not last as long as this, but that it was just as frightening. She said not to worry, as long as it stops shortly, but that if it keeps up doing this, then we should get a hold of the Overworlder Patrol immediately to find out what is happening Above." Harve was out of breath from his report. Jorga looked at him frightenedly.
"Harve, what exactly does the Overworlder Patrol do? No one ever speaks of it."
Harve gave it some thought. "I don't rightly know, love. Would you like me to go ask Miss Mattie?"
"No. We need to find something for the kids to do, though, to get their minds off of this for at least a while."
Jorga and Harve took their children inside, where they could hear the sounds of the Roof falling on the roof of their dwelling. Jorga prepared a meagre supper for Harve and the kids, while he entertained them with a story about a troll.
Mattie was still holding her orphaned granddaughter, sitting on the porch of her dwelling when a huge stone fell from the Roof. Janina whimpered.
"Shh... It'll be alright Janina. It will stop soon and everything will be okay."
Janina looked up at her and a tear escaped her eye; her look of sadness was quickly replaced with one of innocent inquisitiveness which seemingly only children, the extremely old, and the dumb can so perfectly display.
"Gramma, what did Mister Harve Griswell want? What did you mean when you were talking about the Overworld Patrol and the Crumbling and all?"
"Janina,please don't worry about all that now."
"Please just tell me. I won't ever ask you about adult matters again until five years hence."
Mattie chuckled softly. "Why five years hence?"
"That's when Wellie Griswell told me I would be a grown-up. He says that that is when his daddy was a grown-up."
"I'm sure his daddy was indeed a grown-up when he was only fifteen, but times have changed and now you, my dear, have about seven years before you are a grown-up. Wellie is a silly boy, now isn't he?"
"Yeah. He is.Once, at the gymnasium, he ate a worm. Then, he threw one into his sister Jellie's hair. Jellie is such a good name for her. She is fat and everyone calls her Jellie Belly." Janina laughed.
"That isn't very nice, now. I hope you weren't one of the kids that called her that. She can't help it that she is a bit heavy. She has a condition. She will hopefully lose the weight as she gets older."
"I know what you are trying to do. I am not a stupid child. You are trying to change the subject, so that I quit asking about the Overworld and the Crumbling. Please explain about that now, Gram. If you don't mind."
"Janina, I do mind. You needn't ask about things like that just yet. It is none of your concern." Mattie wished for a split second that her granddaughter wouldn't be so perceptive of adults' evasiveness and their ways.
Jorga lay awake. Harve was sleeping soundly next to her, and the kids were doing the same in their room. She wondered how they could sleep with something so strange going on just above their heads. Harve had tired himself out worrying, though, and the kids had all cried themselves to sleep, while Jorga ran round the room trying to give them all a bit of comfort, and succeeding minimally. She was half-tempted to wake Harve to talk to him. She needed to talk to someone. Or to just be held for a while, perhaps. She snuggled closer to him and tried to sleep.
Mattie awoke to knocking at her door. She rolled over and looked at the clock on her nightstand. Only 4:38. Who could be visiting at this hour? It must be an emergency, she thought, climbing out of bed and slipping into her robe and slippers.
Opening the door, she said, "Good morning, what is going on at this early hour?"
A hand, cold as ice, slipped around her arm, in a vise-like grip, jerking her outside onto the porch. Suddenly something was slipped over her face and she was pushed forward.
"Now what is this all about?" Mattie demanded, angrily, as her wrists were bound behind her. There was no answer, and all she could hear were the sounds of the Crumbling and Janina's loud snoring from her open bedroom window. She was forced into some kind of compartment.
"I need to see my granddaughter! I can't just leave her alone!"
A screaming whisper of a voice, not quite human, and not quite animal replied, "Would you like us to take her with you?"
"I would like for you to let me go, or at least tell me why this is happening."
"You do not need to know just yet. Now be quiet, or I shall make you quiet."
"Make me, then!!" Mattie hollered, and then she knew no more.
Jorga woke up, and saw that Harve was no longer at her side. She panicked. She went into the kitchen and called his name. No answer. She went into the children's room and saw that they were all still sound asleep. She went outside and called for Harve again. No answer. She walked all round the house and still saw no sign of him.
"Maybe he went back to Miss Mattie's," she said to herself, rather doubtfully. She hurriedly ran down the road and round the corner to Mattie's and saw Harve holding Janina Dagdol, who was crying.
"Miss Mattie is gone. Janina said that she woke up at about six this morning and there was no sign of Miss Mattie. She said that the front door was ajar and that there was just this laying on the porch steps," Harve said, holding up a strange emblem. Jorga examined it.
"OWP.... Overworld Patrol?" Jorga said.
"I assume so," Harve replied. "Janina, it will be fine. She will come back. Maybe the OWP just came to ask her a few questions and took her to their headquarters for more information. She'll be okay." He looked at Jorga, and she saw and immense mixture of doubt and dread in his eyes. Everyone knew that when the OWP took someone, they were rarely seen again.
"Janina, come on. You can come to our house and play with Jellie and Wellie for a while," Jorga said, taking Janina's small hand in her own. She smiled down at the sad child.
"Miss Jorga, what is the Overworld Patrol?" Janina inquired.
"I honestly don't know, honey. That is a good question to ask your grandma when she comes back."
"I already asked her and she said that it was none of my concern."
"Well, your grandma knows best. I do not even know about the Patrol. Maybe it is only the wisest of the village that can have knowledge of such things. Best not to worry yourself with it now."
Mattie still was blindfolded. She arrived at whatever destination the people had taken her to. Finally, one spoke, giving a reason for her being captured.
"We have heard that you have been disclosing information about us to a Mister Harve Griswell about our operations. This is unacceptable. Anyone who has too much knowledge of what we do must be properly disposed of." A chill ran down Mattie's spine. What was to become of Janina?
"Is there any way that I can contact my granddaughter? She was alone and asleep when we left."
"No. You will never be contacting anyone in your village again." She was then pulled from the compartment, which she now knew was a waggon, and a sharp, cold instrument was thrust into the crook of her elbow. She winced, and before she could speak, a darkness deeper than that caused by the blindfold descended upon her.
The Crumbling continued. Jorga, Harve, Jellie, Wellie, and Janina continued to worry about it. They all stayed inside, looking out the windows. Others came to their home to ask if they knew what was going on. They did not, so everyone just tried to comfort one another. They fell asleep after a while, some in chairs, some in the floor, and some even standing up.
Jorga woke up, surrounded by neighbours and friends. She woke Harve up and they went outside. The Crumbling had stopped. They looked up, and they saw stars. They saw the moon, and they saw trees. They did not know the names for these things at that time, but this did not take away from their amazement whatsoever. A face, a person, appeared at the edge of the crevice through which they could see these things.
"What are you doing down there?" The person looked down at them curiously. "Come on up here where you belong. Hang on and I'll give you a hand!"
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Just Great
It is so hard to try and be a good person whenever everything in your life just seems to get screwed up on a daily basis. I was doing really well, but when you are screwed up to begin with and then just little things can send your castle crashing down, well... it's just dandy. Wonderful. Then, all the cuss words you quit saying, all the meanness you quit showing and feeling, all the despair that was pushed away by optimism-it all comes out and it's really ugly.
It's hard to smell like a rose when you are standing in sewage.
It's hard to smell like a rose when you are standing in sewage.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Etc. II (I think)
Well, it has been a while. I have read a book that makes me mad and I am reading one that I actually like now. I'll tell you about the one that makes me mad. Everyone seems to find it more Intriguing and Interesting and Deliciously Scandalous! if you accentuate the negative and then give a very hodge-podge attempt to accentuate the positive afterward just so that you feel this much ----------- better about yourself, when in reality you have made yourself this much - better.
Now, about the book.
The Giver, by Lois Lowry.
Very aggravating to read. You want to seize the characters from their comfortable, little compressed and dried tree pulp and ink homes and SHAKE them. They are so stupidly satisfied with their pathetic lives which are supposed to be "perfect" that it is absolutely MADDENING. They kill babies. They kill old people. They kill people who break a few petty rules. They look the same. They dress the same. They eat the same food. The "couples" do not actually kiss or engage in any physically intimate relations whatsoever. They do not actually have their own kids. Their hormones are stifled out at an early age so that they become virtually asexual. There is more, but I am running short on time, so I can't write it. Not to say that it is a bad book, though. It has a good ending, at least. And that's what matters, right? If you have a good journey, only to end it by falling in a pit of fire with evil dragons and all that, then it just sucks. If you have a bad journey, then end it by meeting that special someone, winning a million dollars and all that, then good, very, very good. Awesome, even.
Well, that's about it. Yay. Have a nice day. :) Get all seventies on that, man. haha
*If you don't get that, then look up on Google the origin of the "Have a nice day [insert smiley face]" thing.
Now, about the book.
The Giver, by Lois Lowry.
Very aggravating to read. You want to seize the characters from their comfortable, little compressed and dried tree pulp and ink homes and SHAKE them. They are so stupidly satisfied with their pathetic lives which are supposed to be "perfect" that it is absolutely MADDENING. They kill babies. They kill old people. They kill people who break a few petty rules. They look the same. They dress the same. They eat the same food. The "couples" do not actually kiss or engage in any physically intimate relations whatsoever. They do not actually have their own kids. Their hormones are stifled out at an early age so that they become virtually asexual. There is more, but I am running short on time, so I can't write it. Not to say that it is a bad book, though. It has a good ending, at least. And that's what matters, right? If you have a good journey, only to end it by falling in a pit of fire with evil dragons and all that, then it just sucks. If you have a bad journey, then end it by meeting that special someone, winning a million dollars and all that, then good, very, very good. Awesome, even.
Well, that's about it. Yay. Have a nice day. :) Get all seventies on that, man. haha
*If you don't get that, then look up on Google the origin of the "Have a nice day [insert smiley face]" thing.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Well, Wonderful
Don't you just love the attitude some people have? They are angered by others' happiness and try to ruin it simply because they can. How great. I hate it when people are two-faced. There are people in my life who should have the guts to tell me what they think of me to my face instead of being nice and waiting until I am gone to say mean things about me.
As much as I try to be nice to people, you would think they could at least return the favour. But, of course, they can't. I hate it when they are so controlling. That is something that really makes me mad. Everyone has a life. Their very own life. It is theirs, not to be subject to harsh dogma from merely another person. Of course, the government is a controlling factor that is reasonable. They don't control every aspect of your life, though, at least, not in America.
Whenever a person, like your mom, spouse, friends, or siblings, etc. tries to dictate in a Hitler-like fashion every detail of your life, that gets to be a bit much. So, if you would like to have your children, spouse, family, friends and everyone else in your life hate you with a passion, then try to control them completely. It's the soap-bar reaction. The tighter the grip you have, the more it slips away, whereas, if you just gently hold it, it will stay right nice, there in the palm of your hand.
As much as I try to be nice to people, you would think they could at least return the favour. But, of course, they can't. I hate it when they are so controlling. That is something that really makes me mad. Everyone has a life. Their very own life. It is theirs, not to be subject to harsh dogma from merely another person. Of course, the government is a controlling factor that is reasonable. They don't control every aspect of your life, though, at least, not in America.
Whenever a person, like your mom, spouse, friends, or siblings, etc. tries to dictate in a Hitler-like fashion every detail of your life, that gets to be a bit much. So, if you would like to have your children, spouse, family, friends and everyone else in your life hate you with a passion, then try to control them completely. It's the soap-bar reaction. The tighter the grip you have, the more it slips away, whereas, if you just gently hold it, it will stay right nice, there in the palm of your hand.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Field of Daisies
(A Short Story)
NOTE: This is not the exact same as the way I originally wrote it, because I do not have the original copy with me. I am just going to paraphrase it, and stick to the original plot, but it may differ some from the original version, just for anyone who has read it and who reads this newer version. I hope you like it.
She was the sweetest girl in the world, Daisy, I mean. She could make you smile just with a "hello." I was lucky, quite blessed, to have her in my life, even for eleven short years. She stayed joyful, and strong, right up to the end, making even her much older brother (me) look like a baby. And here is the story I wish to tell as a tribute to her, and as a recollection of something that, in my opinion, was a miracle.
When she was diagnosed with leukemia, it was just three months before her eleventh birthday. She cried that day, after it was explained to her what "leukemia" meant. That was one of two times she cried during this struggle. Mom and I cried more. Mom said that maybe the reason she didn't get so upset was because she didn't understand, but I think it was just the opposite. Daisy knew that she could die. She accepted it and understood it fully. She was just braver than most. She knew that everyone had to die someday, and knew that if her time was nigh, then it was just the way that things were to play out. She knew God had a reason for it and she trusted in Him.
Whenever she cried the second time, it was in the hospital. The first chemotherapy treatment she had. She vomited and she was just really sick. She cried because she felt so bad.
When she lost her hair, I waited for a day when she was well enough to get out of the hospital for a while and I took her shopping. I know, a brother taking his little sister shopping. Spare me.
Anyway, she bought wigs. I spent nearly all of that week's pay check on wigs, but I didn't mind. She bought blue ones, green ones, blonde, brunette, red, pink, purple and even a multi-coloured one. And she actually wore them at the hospital. She entertained the nurses and her doctors during her entire stay.
On Halloween of that year, Daisy was extremely ill. She wanted to go trick-or-treating, though, so she dressed up as a scarecrow, saying "It's perfect, look how skinny I am now!" This statement amused her, but I hid my sadness. I pushed her around to all the nurses' stations and they gave her candy, which was often cough drops and such, considering it was a hospital. She had a lot of fun, though, and shared her treats with Mom and me.
On her birthday, we had a party and a few aunts, uncles, and cousins even showed up to celebrate with us. She had a cake and everything.
The day after her birthday, we got very grim news. She didn't seem to be getting any better. Her white count hadn't improved and the doctors estimated that she had six months to live. They said they would keep her in the hospital, to keep trying, unless we had any objections. We decided to keep trying.
One day, a few months after her birthday, I was at work, in the mechanic shop my cousin owned. The phone rang and somehow I knew it would be for me. I always expected this call while I was at work.
"David! It's for you!" Vinny, the cashier, yelled. I got out from under the car and slumped off into his "department." I picked up the phone.
"Hello? This is David."
A nurse was on the other end. "Umm....you need to come to the hospital. It's not good. Just hurry."
And I did hurry. I was just a few minutes too late, however. Mom was in hysterics, so the nurses sedated her. Daisy was still in the room. I bent and kissed her forehead. They came to take her out.
The next days were a blur. I had to make arrangements for the memorial service and the cremation. She wanted her ashes spread in the field behind the house.
At the memorial service, my aunt Linda read a poem she had written:
"Now that I am gone
From this world alone
Do not weep for me
For someday you shall see
Me again in a field of daisies."
Five years later.....
She hugs my leg as I brush my teeth. Then she yanks my shirt.
"Daddy, when are we going to go seen Granny?"
"In a few minutes, Gracelyn Daisy, just calm down," I laugh and swoop her up into my arms. "Off we go!" Leah, my wife, follows us to the car.
When we get to Mom's house, she pushes us away from the door, and toward the back of the house.
"You have to see it! You must see it!" Mom is ecstatic about something not yet apparent to me, Gracelyn, or Leah. When we get to the side of the house, Mom pushes us even faster toward the field, and she breaks into a run.
"Look David! Look Leah! Look Gracelyn! It's just like in Linda's poem!" I gasp. So do Leah and Gracelyn. There, in the field where Daisies ashes were spread, are the most beautiful, perfect daisies I had ever-and have yet-to see. A whole field of them.
AFTERNOTE: This is a work of fiction. The characters, plot, and even setting are not based upon anyone dead or living. This is an original work of fiction by the author, me, and if you copy it you will be in trouble with the law. So read and enjoy, but do not plagiarise or steal this story. Thank you.
NOTE: This is not the exact same as the way I originally wrote it, because I do not have the original copy with me. I am just going to paraphrase it, and stick to the original plot, but it may differ some from the original version, just for anyone who has read it and who reads this newer version. I hope you like it.
She was the sweetest girl in the world, Daisy, I mean. She could make you smile just with a "hello." I was lucky, quite blessed, to have her in my life, even for eleven short years. She stayed joyful, and strong, right up to the end, making even her much older brother (me) look like a baby. And here is the story I wish to tell as a tribute to her, and as a recollection of something that, in my opinion, was a miracle.
When she was diagnosed with leukemia, it was just three months before her eleventh birthday. She cried that day, after it was explained to her what "leukemia" meant. That was one of two times she cried during this struggle. Mom and I cried more. Mom said that maybe the reason she didn't get so upset was because she didn't understand, but I think it was just the opposite. Daisy knew that she could die. She accepted it and understood it fully. She was just braver than most. She knew that everyone had to die someday, and knew that if her time was nigh, then it was just the way that things were to play out. She knew God had a reason for it and she trusted in Him.
Whenever she cried the second time, it was in the hospital. The first chemotherapy treatment she had. She vomited and she was just really sick. She cried because she felt so bad.
When she lost her hair, I waited for a day when she was well enough to get out of the hospital for a while and I took her shopping. I know, a brother taking his little sister shopping. Spare me.
Anyway, she bought wigs. I spent nearly all of that week's pay check on wigs, but I didn't mind. She bought blue ones, green ones, blonde, brunette, red, pink, purple and even a multi-coloured one. And she actually wore them at the hospital. She entertained the nurses and her doctors during her entire stay.
On Halloween of that year, Daisy was extremely ill. She wanted to go trick-or-treating, though, so she dressed up as a scarecrow, saying "It's perfect, look how skinny I am now!" This statement amused her, but I hid my sadness. I pushed her around to all the nurses' stations and they gave her candy, which was often cough drops and such, considering it was a hospital. She had a lot of fun, though, and shared her treats with Mom and me.
On her birthday, we had a party and a few aunts, uncles, and cousins even showed up to celebrate with us. She had a cake and everything.
The day after her birthday, we got very grim news. She didn't seem to be getting any better. Her white count hadn't improved and the doctors estimated that she had six months to live. They said they would keep her in the hospital, to keep trying, unless we had any objections. We decided to keep trying.
One day, a few months after her birthday, I was at work, in the mechanic shop my cousin owned. The phone rang and somehow I knew it would be for me. I always expected this call while I was at work.
"David! It's for you!" Vinny, the cashier, yelled. I got out from under the car and slumped off into his "department." I picked up the phone.
"Hello? This is David."
A nurse was on the other end. "Umm....you need to come to the hospital. It's not good. Just hurry."
And I did hurry. I was just a few minutes too late, however. Mom was in hysterics, so the nurses sedated her. Daisy was still in the room. I bent and kissed her forehead. They came to take her out.
The next days were a blur. I had to make arrangements for the memorial service and the cremation. She wanted her ashes spread in the field behind the house.
At the memorial service, my aunt Linda read a poem she had written:
"Now that I am gone
From this world alone
Do not weep for me
For someday you shall see
Me again in a field of daisies."
Five years later.....
She hugs my leg as I brush my teeth. Then she yanks my shirt.
"Daddy, when are we going to go seen Granny?"
"In a few minutes, Gracelyn Daisy, just calm down," I laugh and swoop her up into my arms. "Off we go!" Leah, my wife, follows us to the car.
When we get to Mom's house, she pushes us away from the door, and toward the back of the house.
"You have to see it! You must see it!" Mom is ecstatic about something not yet apparent to me, Gracelyn, or Leah. When we get to the side of the house, Mom pushes us even faster toward the field, and she breaks into a run.
"Look David! Look Leah! Look Gracelyn! It's just like in Linda's poem!" I gasp. So do Leah and Gracelyn. There, in the field where Daisies ashes were spread, are the most beautiful, perfect daisies I had ever-and have yet-to see. A whole field of them.
AFTERNOTE: This is a work of fiction. The characters, plot, and even setting are not based upon anyone dead or living. This is an original work of fiction by the author, me, and if you copy it you will be in trouble with the law. So read and enjoy, but do not plagiarise or steal this story. Thank you.
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