Dreams of the Past

As I walked up the stairs of my childhood home, I felt a strong sense of longing for the past. I wanted to relive the perfect and imperfect moments.

I wanted to feel the comfort of my brother's presence in the next room and enjoy, once again, saying goodnight to him through the thin walls. Even having sleepy conversations about nothing at all.

I miss sitting by the rivers edge and not speaking for minutes on end as we just stared at our beautiful surroundings. The silence would be broken with complements of the Creators works.

I miss the "Hello's" with a simple smile. The giggles and roaring laughter from things that tickled us pink. Silly, immature, things that were so absurd, the only thing one could do was laugh.

I miss the simplicity of life then. It was never really all that simple, but life sure was more enjoyable with him around.

I want to replace every ill intended word with I LOVE YOU.

I could have been better.

Could have. Should have. Would have...

I'm not sure what good it would do to look at those details. Probably very little indeed.

We all have regrets though. What is left now, is to use what we have learned from past regrets and apply them to the now. To better our present selves for the benefit of others.

Speak kindly with an open heart. Put one's self in the other's shoes. Be a good listener. And love with your whole heart.

I love you Seth Thomas Bachtel.

Sagebrush and Juniper

The exit onto highway 20, there's only one way to go.

East.

There was a stop sign before the turn. A mountain to my right and the mountain range to my left, that I was about to travel through. There was only one building as far as the eye could see. A storage facility for road maintenance vehicles.

 It was still raining when I approached the first ascent. My visor fogged a little at every breath but was quickly evaporated as long as I kept moving. The water collected on the outside of my helmet and once the droplets were too large to hold on, the wind would whisk them away. 

Until this point in the journey, the noise of my motorcycle and the drone of the road were always present and tiring. But a stillness grew in the air and in me the further in I traveled. All around me was a quietness and coolness as the low clouds rolled through the valleys. The brush and trees stood in silence as I rode by.

Up hills and down I traveled and soon I made my way to an open stretch of road. The rain had dissipated into a mist to let me see further into the landscape that surrounded me. An open valley packed with sagebrush and juniper trees covered the ground. That is where the sweet scent of sage, juniper, and fresh rain on the earth first swept into my senses. I don't exactly know how to describe its full impact. I was refreshingly present for every mile of that connecting highway...absorbing the scenery, scents, and atmosphere. Peace, joy, contentment? I'm still not sure. All I know is that riding through there at that time with the rain, the smells, and the beauty...it was almost perfect.

ASS out of U and ME.

I know I stated in my very first post that I would try not to ever use profanity, however in these given circumstances I was forced to reassess this rule for very obvious and necessary reasons...just this once, in this blog.


Lately, (over the period of my entire life) I've noticed that I tend to heavily assume things that get me into trouble (mostly financially) and then cause me a great deal of grief. The below examples cover the last two years of school only...

One study as referenced from my life, gives an epic example of why one should not assume this or that about such big details.

Winter of 2011, I registered for a couple classes. Nothing wrong there. I was put on a waiting list for the classes I wanted. This is also fine, after all they let you know if you've been taken off the waiting list and added to the class...great. Time went on...I hadn't heard anything from anyone at the school. I worked, hiked and biked, and did my thing. Near the beginning of summer two thousand twelve, I received a letter in the mail from the school I had been planning to attend the term before. I began opening it, thinking it to be just some boring newsletter, read the first couple lines and stopped breathing while I read;


Dear Sarah Bachtel,

This is a notice that you have an outstanding bill of $XXX for the term of blah blah blah. If you do not pay us all the moneys by five-ish days past the receipt of this letter, chunky late fees will be added. Frown face, frown face, frown face. 

Sincerely,
I'm Just Doing My Job


So obviously that's not exactly what it said, but you get the idea. I was being charged for a class that I had originally signed up for, however had never attended. How could this have happened?

Through the grueling (to me) process of sending e-mails, making phone calls, and going into the school offices (over the period of five months) I learned how this had happened and what the process would be to potentially fix it.

...Lot's of explanation about hardship, misunderstanding of the system, and begging for mercy was smashed into a carefully written e-mail and then sent to the powers that be. Through many months of waiting and emailing, I eventually received "in store credit" as reimbursement for the class. What a headache.

So, how did this all go awry?

As stated above, I gave an explanation of hardship, misunderstanding, and begging. The word misunderstand actually masks the truth that I assumed all school details would be sent to my personal e-mail...when in reality, come to find out, all school messages are sent to my very own and very separate school email. I'm still pissed about this detail be honest with you.

But wait! There's more!

I had finally gotten all that crummy stuff ironed out and had even taken and completed a class in it's place when I went onto the school site to then find yet another issue. I was looking for my grade for the "in store credit" class. It was an "A". Sweet....buuuut, where'd that "F" come from?

Again, I had assumed, naturally, (I'll give myself credit for this one) that my foul grade would drop along with the fees as well. Well, my assumption was correct because that's what should have happened. However, it obviously hadn't happened.

Another process began. This however, didn't take nearly as long as the first portion. THANK GOD! The end result, letter grade "W" for Withdraw. More like, Whatever!

I'll admit my fault in not paying closer attention to details and assuming things rather than checking it's viability. And in so admitting, the ass was made out of me. However, that letter grade portion of defect I deem to be the schools fault...which also makes them an ass. Ha ha.

So, finally in the clear. It only took six months to get all that bleh worked out. I could do it again if I had to but please don't make me.


...Speaking of...


So, summer term of 2013 rolls around and I've signed up for two classes, a painting course and an Intro to Literature (Fiction) course. I'm feeling a lot more confident in how the stupid school system works now, based on my past learning experiences of course. Everything works smoothly. I get the required materials, have financial aid ready and I'm even eager to learn.

First week of painting is going great, it's going to be a good term. This blurb isn't about the painting class though, it's about the fiction course which I was also expecting to go well.

The first day, the professor went over the syllabus and what our reading materials would be. One, we would largely be reading from a textbook of short stories and two, we would later in the term read Frankenstein. In normal circumstances, when a plethora of tragedies and great losses hadn't occurred, I would generally be okay with reading Frankenstein and possibly questionable short stories. I was worried though, these were devastating times. I spoke with the prof about my concerns and reasoning behind my concerns and she assured me there were redeeming aspects to the book and that the short stories were really "neat".

I took her word for it for the first day and read the assigned homework which was "average" to "very little" on the scale of morbidness. The second day of class went well and the reading materials assigned were rather numerous. I held off reading them till the end of the week. When I did start reading them I found them to be excessively morbid and dark. I tried reading all the material but I kept feeling sick and horribly saddened by the grotesque scenes. I made it through three and a half of the short stories before realizing that I would not pass this class if I tried to continue.

So, on Sunday at the beginning of the second week I went online and canceled enrollment in the Fiction course. I felt so relieved.

On Monday, I went to speak with an adviser about signing up for a different class. While going over the options for a new class, it was discovered that I had not "dropped" the Fiction class but instead "withdrew" from it. I had missed the deadline by less than a day. And for those who don't know the difference between the two terms, "dropped" means you can get some or all of your money back from a class you wont be taking without any grade marks. A "withdraw" means you have to pay for the class in full and you have a "W" in your reports. I don't know if the "W" really means anything in the end however, having to fork out money for a class you aren't taking is a really tough pill to swallow.

So, I fought that pill. With my full arsenal. I had legitimate tears rolling down my devastated face. I wrote my eloquent explanation and again pleaded for mercy. I got advice from the Assistant Dean on what to say to powers that be (she was flippin helpful and encouraging by the way). Then I waited a response. The Assistant Dean called me with a response from the powers that be (not the Dean, some other area of control, can't remember what it's called). She informed me that my petition had been denied on the basis that leniency had already been given to me for nearly the same circumstances. Fairly true.

I did have a good excuse though and these were different circumstances and I was barely a day late damn it!

But alas, I was forced to submit to that damn pill and thence proceeded with giving them my fork full of all the moneys.


I was wrong in this situation too. However, I felt as though I had been wronged by the school based on my reasoning for withdraw from the class.

So, in this moment, and since I have the power of judgement, I'll again say we (the school and I) are both asses.

I don't really know what to do with that determination except share a quote from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. So here goes;

Dogberry to Master Leonato: "And Master, sir, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall assert, that I am an ass."


Enjoy your day friends. :)



Sincerely,
Sarah

I Wish I Knew

I'm sitting here contemplating my lethargic state of mind, body, and spirit. I have an opened bottle of wine next to me but no glass. Every once in a while I'll take a drink to see if it's still good. It is as it was five minutes ago.

The options of what discontent me shuffle through the assembly line of possible culprits. Maybe, I'm just depressed or it could be an allergy to milk. Maybe I just don't get enough exercise or I don't take the right supplements. Maybe it's all that sugar I tend to crave, always. Whatever it is, it looms constantly ever holding me back.

The problem lies in the looming aspect of this ever apathetic presence. That is all I can call it and all I know to describe it by. A cloud, of the negative sort, that keeps me from "life to the fullest".

This is not to say that I reside in my room locked away from my house mates and the world as much as I possibly can. On the contrary, I do my best to socialize with them and even more so I am eager to leave the house for adventures. I go on hikes and motorcycle rides with friends and attend random events that sometimes I don't even want to go to. But more often than not, I am glad I do those things. I am at the very least, contented with knowing that I do try.

Even after a successful excursion or a breath taking hike or even making new friends, I end up feeling...

...empty,

...just empty.

Discontented, unsatisfied, and rarely present.

I feel closer to the answer than I ever have before, but still I writhe in a constant struggle to make each day work for me.

I wish I knew the answer.


I would like to tell you that I put the cork back on the bottle however, I guess "they" were too cheap for corks...the cap now dons the nearly full bottle.



Sincerely,
Sarah

Keeping Up

I'm not good at keeping up with things in general. I don't keep up with the latest and greatest electronics, I don't even have a TV.  I don't keep up with my chores, there's always a "good" reason (like coming up with a different and "more important" project to do instead). I'm not one to go above and beyond to put a workout together either, more "good" excuses. I don't keep up with my art projects, unless I'm taking a class (even then I just do the bare minimum). But, don't get me wrong, I do finish things, it just takes me a really long time to get them started and then some more time to keep it going...I'm very creative with my methods of avoidance.

I make myself sick sometimes.

It frustrates me that I know my working habits but don't utilize them to the fullest. I don't like corporate anything, but I wish I would "Just Do It" like stupid corporate Nike says. I know I'm a procrastinator but I also know that I get things done (once they're started). There it is again, why can't I "Just Do It"? What is it inside me that keeps me from keeping up with things? Fear of failure? I should be used to failure by now. Lack of satisfaction with any and all tasks? I think we're getting somewhere now...though it doesn't comfort me.

The fact is, I'm typing out this blog right now in order to neglect a different project all together. I'm not really excited about finishing it. I will, but I don't want to, so I'm dragging my feet so to speak. I sat down to try and process my reasoning behind my lack of interest:

It just so happens that the project I'm "working" on is an oil painting for a class. I'm copying someone else's landscape scene that has a variety of cool colors and soft brush strokes. It was assigned in order for us to practice color matching, proportioning, and technique. It's a nice composition and pleasant to look at. That being said though, something about the project makes me want to hurl. Maybe it's because I feel I'm above the project (I struggle with a big head sometimes, just being honest for humility's sake) or it could be that I hate the idea of copying someone else's craft. It might also be that I've never worked with oils before and that the strategic process of color layout is too daunting so I just slap the appropriate colors down as I see fit and this method gets me into tight spots sometimes (and by "tight spots", I mean it looks bad, at least to my standards). It may also be that I'm completely unsatisfied with my lack of instruction in class (even if it is community college, I expect world class education dang it!)


Hmm. Well, now you and I know why I don't even want to look at that painting project let alone work on it. I'm not being taught well enough, I'm plagiarizing, I'm indifferent about oils, and also, somehow, I still feel above the project. What gives?! Am I stuck up or what?!

Well, I better start painting...or doing laundry or cleaning my room or making dinner. You know how it goes.

The Bloggernaut/To Blog or Not.

I choose to blog...Juggernaut style.
The Juggernaut (Marvel comics character created in the '60s.)

Special powers:
Superhuman strength, stamina, and durability
Regenerative healing factor
Force field generation
Virtually unstoppable momentum


So in this blog I power through and give you fine folks an update since my last blog. Which has been a long time. You will hopefully see within the update, my ability to regenerate a "healing factor" and also equip myself with a force field of protection before plowing through yet another wall. And, ...ah whatever, I don't even care about this analogy. I just thought "The Bloggernaut" sounded funny/cool/catchy.



This is where the real post begins:
Since my helmet post:

• I have completed my Basic Rider Training course. 
• Gotten my license/registration/insurance. 
• Looked at three bikes total.
• Bought the third looker and is it a looker or what!?!
• My sister had her baby and I'm officially an Auntie! ^_^
• Bought a battery tender (That was a long day of battery troubles and strandedness. Shout out to those who helped me, all you brothers at work) :)
• Bought a helmet that fits, protective jacket, and gloves.
• My awesome parent's came to town to be with their kids and new grand baby...also they came to help out at my sister's house. They went above and beyond! Massive kudos! 
• Got to take my mom for a spin on my "new to me" wheels. :)
• Got to watch some of The Masters with my dad. I liked that.
• I found out mid-way through my parents visit that the place I work at is closing up shop and I only have thirty more days from April 12th until I have no job. 
• I called to cancel my gym membership. In the process, the fellow on the other end asked me why I was canceling. I told him I'd been laid off. He sympathized with me and then asked me if I'd like four months membership free of charge. Um, yeah! That helps my moral! Thank you 24 Hour Fitness and guy I don't know! ...on top of four months free, the man gave me a motivational speech of sorts and encouraged me in my upcoming job searches. God bless that man! He's a friend of mine.
• I told a couple close friends about my job loss and their reactions both surprised me and made me laugh hysterically. One friend, who has been wanting me to find a day time job for a while because we don't ever hangout anymore, said "oh.....I'm sorry I'm not more bummed....that sucks, but, I miss you".  If that doesn't touch your heart, I don't know what will. ;) The other friend/family, who lives in AZ, I told by email and asked for their prayers. Her reply, "Yay! Now you can come and live with us! ....p.s. sorry to hear about that, we'll be praying." I laughed sooo hard! I'm glad they felt comfortable enough to say what first came to their minds and didn't try to be sensitive about the whole thing. In other words, I feel the love, very tangibly.
• My lovely, and more organized in thought than me, mother helped me make a list of questions and tasks that needed to be completed surrounding the topic of college. We went together to the campus office where we proceeded to take care of business that would help me get closer to the degree I want (BFA). It's been a messier process than most have to deal with and that's my own making, but I'm learning the ways of the campus rules and like I said, getting closer to the degree I want. Thank you mom for your help. Y'all can judge, but my mom is welcome on campus any day! You too Dad!
• I finally checked the expiration date of my discount standby tickets only to find that they expired just under a month ago. No nearly-free flights for me this summer like I had thought. Very bummed.
• My bike wouldn't idle today. I rode it about six miles and it was terribly sluggish for it's breed and it would die even in neutral at lights and during take off. My mechanic suspects foul spark plugs given all the problems I had had with starting it during my battery problems. I believe that to be a fine assessment. Plus it sounds cheaper than the other potential problems I looked up. Fixin' to fix tomorrow.
• And on a very small note of disappointment, I picked up two gloves from the sidewalk a week ago and just finished repairing the cuts in both of them. After completing the repairs I began trying them on only to find that they are both for the right hand. I don't want to just throw them out but I can't think of any other use for them. Any suggestions?

So that's a rather detailed update. I don't mind sharing it though because then you can see where I'm coming from in regard to my joys and frustrations.


Onward.

So.....my bike is pretty rad! Even with it's problems.

I knew it would be high maintenance when I got it. It's just that kind of bike, rather prissy for a Monster. I just couldn't say no to its cute face. It was like a puppy at the humane society that had my name all over it, the sweetest little thing. Except, it wasn't a puppy and it wasn't at a shelter and it wasn't little. It was a hefty thundering Monster, roaring in the deep echoing forest...of the inner city. It needed a tamer, a companion. It was lonely and silent without an accomplice. I took it under my wing (or rather, my bum) and brought it home to my lair where I made it comfortable in its cave, (It's in the garage). We have been best mates ever since (except for when its cold out, it doesn't charge, blows spark plugs, and stalls in the middle on an intersection...which seems to be almost every week so far. I forgive it, so long as it doesn't run me dry).

You probably want to know what it is now. I don't blame you. I guess I'll give you a picture too. You're welcome. The Black is a 1999 Ducati Monster Dark 748cc. It rumbles and growls and gets a lot of looks...even when it stalls. (probably mostly then actually....just keeping things in perspective, I'm proud but not unrealistic).

Flowers and leaves courtesy for my mechanic's eight year old daughter. Too bad they wont stay.



I don't regret my purchase at all. And I don't plan on selling it just because I lost my job. Especially not for that reason.

I really like my bike, I do. But at the same time, I don't get much pleasure out of looking at it or riding it. It is bitter-sweet to me. I reminds me of how I got it and who I lost. The association will always be there, and so will the emptiness I feel toward it.

I enjoy bragging about it to a degree, but I brag mostly because I know that's what people expect and even want. They want to know what all it's features are and how it sounds, ect.

The thing is, I have so many feelings (just about this purchase, not including the other aspects of life at the moment) that they begin to cancel each other out, in appearance. But in reality, I'm swimming in thoughts and emotions that contradict one another. I am excited about my bike and I really really like it...but at the same time I'm bitter about owning it and I'm indifferent toward it. <(This was to explain to you and to me, why I'm not a typical first bike owner. Why I'm not completely elated and fawning over my bike. Why I don't spend hours tinkering with it and cleaning it up. The bare minimum is all I can handle.)

I like my bike, but it's complicated.

I like my life, but it's complicated.

I like a lot of things, but I'll never be whole. Not till I'm home.





Most sincerely,
Sarah

Motorcycle Helmet

I sat down on the uncomfortable seat as the bus drove off again. My backpack sat next to me and my helmet rested on my lap. I was on my way to day one of course training.

The bus decelerated and stopped to pick up and drop off people. Then we would continue on again. And on and on this same process for about an hour.

I sat solemnly.
It's not as though I wasn't excited to take the class and to get one step closer to having my very own motorcycle, I was excited. But it's more complicated than that. It's always more complicated.

I didn't buy that helmet and I didn't pay for that class. And I won't be paying for my motorcycle or gear.

I brought along the helmet with the off chance that it might actually fit me. Though, I knew it was way to big from the start. I wanted it to fit me so badly then. I needed someone else to tell me though. I guess I just could let myself down.

Bump after bump and brake and accelerate. I sat with that helmet in my lap. It was protected by a felted sleeve and masked from the common eye. My anxiety was high as I held it close to me. I guarded it as though it were a hurt puppy or a sick baby, protectively. I realized then why I didn't want it to fit me. I couldn't possibly wear it without feeling that I might break it, and therefore break sweet memories.

I'd been giving it more life than it had. Feeling as though it were more animate. It represented Seth to me and I gave it that value. I finally admitted to myself that if I were to drop that helmet I wouldn't be hurting Seth and I wouldn't lose my memories. It's not him. And it doesn't matter if it fits my head or not. It's not him, it's just a helmet. Also, he would be happy if it fit me and he'd shrug it off if it didn't. No sweat.

I sat in class and during a pause I kept thinking about how excited I was to be there. I daydreamed about all the cool places I'd be able to go and all the beautiful things I'd see. But that excitement and daydreaming was constantly shadowed by my aching sadness. Not just the sadness of loss but the sadness of benefiting from loss. It just lingered there to remind me of how I was able to be there. But I CAN'T feel guilty! He wouldn't want me to.

I was so angry though. He should still be here. He should be taking that class with me (He probably wouldn't have though. He already knew it all.) We should be planning a road trip, all of us. We should be talking about the cabins we want to build someday. And the national parks we want to visit, or revisit. He shouldn't be gone!!!!



The bus stopped and I gathered my things and headed up to the range. I sat on the curb and waited for the first group to finish they're class. One of the instructors asked if I was there for the second class and if I had brought my own helmet or needed to borrow one. I said I was there for the next class and that I had brought a helmet but didn't know if it fit right. I slipped it over my head and he said it was much too big and that I'd need to go try some of the smaller ones on in the storage shed.

It was very strange how relieved I was that it didn't fit. I felt clear mined and detached from my previous unhealthy attachment to it. I was ready for class. I was ready to make Seth proud. And I know I did, I scored high in both the written and riding tests. I now hold a certificate of completion that will get me a discount at the DMV and on my motorcycle insurance. One step closer.





In a previous post "Bikes and Stuff", I stated that I would share a particular dirt bike story but another time. I feel this is an appropriate segue (ha ha, that's the first time I've ever spelled that word and I spelled it right! I'm easily impressed sometimes.) for this story. It involves a 1974 Yamaha Enduro 250. So, here goes.

Seth and I were at the barn where I board my horse and where he kept his bike. I believe we went out there for the sole purpose of him taking me for a ride on his dirt bike. I felt really honored that he offered to take me around the field and up and down the road a bit. Before he let me hop on though, he needed to "warm-up" the bike (it did need to be warmed up, it was pretty old). This consisted of a lot of idling and then some good ol' rev'ing of the engine to sound cool. Then...well, he just wanted to show off for his sister and took off through the field and rip roared up and down the strip closest to the driveway. He pulled some wheelies and kicked up a bunch of dirt as he sped up and down the field. After a few rounds of his fun looking stunts, he came by and picked me up. Then we rip roared (probably slower) up and down the field and along the street. I had a really nice time and enjoyed riding with him. We called it a day and headed to the gate. I hopped off and opened the gate and closed it after he was through. He stopped and waited for me to remount.

Side note: Something you should know about that bike. It was... from 1974, not the cleanest bike. It wasn't in mint condition and it's rear fender was torn/ripped leaving a rusty piece of jagged metal that extended only a fraction of the amount that it should have. Thus leaving the tire exposed except for a small handle and of course that lovely piece of metal. Also the following incident happened in a matter of seconds. Like maaybe 2 seconds. Ah, heck if I know. It was quick though.

 Continue...I jumped on and held on loosely to his waist and propped my feet on the pegs. He situated the weight, pulled the throttle a bit then slipped the clutch or let it out faster than a regular smooth release action. With that the bike flung forward. I was not ready for that. I clung to Seth's waist as my legs slipped off the rear end and began to drag on the moving tire and gravely driveway. I lost grip of his waist and for some reason grabbed for that little bar on the back and had it for a split second. Anyway I finally let go, which was about the time he was able to come to a complete stop. I was livid.
"What the heck, why did you do that?!!!" I said.
"I'm sorry, I was trying to do a burnout!" his brotherly response.

I came away with a small bloody puncture wound  on my right knee from pointy rock, some dirty scrapes, and a massive bruise on my inner thigh. Oh yeah, and a gnarly story to tell about my awesome brother who just wanted me to be proud of him. I was and am.

I was mad that day of course but we soon reconciled and even laughed about it as we retold it. We would occasionally bring up how we were both surprised and amazed that I didn't get shredded up by the literally torn off rear metal fender. I'm proud of the scars on my knees and I like to think of all that that day was to me. It was more than an accident. We were getting closer to a really good brother/sister relationship. He wanted to spend time with me and show off his bike and his riding skills. He wanted me to be proud of him.

I will not be ashamed of him in life or in death. He is BA "Best Ever"!!!!!! I love you Seth Thomas Bachtel.


Thank you,
Sarah

Two Ponderings to Make One

Body full

Mind is the fog
Tears are the rain

Lips are the silence
Ears are the words

Chest is the drum
Heart is the wound

Shoulders are the weight
Hands are the empty

Legs are the feeble
Feet are the wandering

I am not here
I am not there




"I'm neither here nor there. Where am I then?" I ask rhetorically.

"How should I know, I don't know where I am." I say with a snarky reply.

"Ha ha." I say as I close my eyes for a long pause.


...But I know I know the truth, I'm on the other side. I'm not in the world I once knew, everything is different here. Reality is no longer hidden from me (and by reality I mean, what really matters in life).

"Reality": 
Relationship with The Creator
Closeness with family
Wise choices in friendships
(This wasn't so much the news to me as the "Opposites" were, though I knew them in theory)

Opposite of "Reality" (so long as the above realities all are in place):
Money
Materials
Status

In that order.
However, once the first "Reality" is in place, all else will align accordingly.


Most sincerely,
Sar'

The Trolling Boat

Sorry it's been such a long time since my last posting. I've had many difficulties with internet connection. However, all's well in the computer department now.



I've recently been reading a book called Understanding Your Grief with intentions of learning to do just that. This post is in reference to the accompanying journal and what I've discovered from the very first statement within it. Nothing else within the journal has proven to be as profound for me.

The journal that accompanies follows each chapter with questions that are meant to help process through grief in a very personalized way. Which means, the questions are very vague and are meant to help pull out from within what one might not have necessarily known was there.

Before I began reading the associated questions of chapter one I noticed there was a pre-questions "question". It read:

"Before you begin your journey into this journal experience, please take a few minutes to reflect on where you see yourself right now at this moment in time..."

After reading it I thought to myself, "What a stupid and vague question. What does he mean "where"?" The statement made me frustrated so I moved on to the next page to see if it was any better. I stopped mid-sentence and looked back at the previous page with those seemingly useless words. I decided to reread it but this time with a more openness. Then after the three periods of pause following the word "time" I hesitantly closed my eyes and tried to visualize "where" I felt I was right then.

I was surprised to slowly see myself appear in the middle of this vast and deep lake. The waters were rocky and difficult to stay afloat in. The sky was gray and unfriendly with looming storm clouds. I couldn't see land or anything save for the sky and the immediate crashing waves.

I thought to myself, as I imagined where I was, "Why hasn't anyone come to rescue me yet? Doesn't anyone know I'm out here, that I need help? How am I supposed to make it? "

The above was my response to what was asked of me. I wrote it down and once I reached the end, I realized that there was more. So I closed my eyes again and let it all unfold.

I was alone in the water knowing no one was on their way to rescue me. Somehow I knew that people were aware that I was out in dangerous waters, but they would not come. As I fought to stay afloat they sat in their homes pondering how I was doing. From one, "Well, I hope she makes it alright." From another, "I wish I could help." "I'm glad that didn't happen to me."said someone else.

While they discussed their feelings and thoughts about the issue at hand, I had begun to swim. Wave after wave crashing and slowing me, but I kept fighting. As I labored against the waves by myself I imagined a motor boat trolling beside me, filled with my most favorite people in the whole world, some who have passed and some who are still alive. I could see their joyous faces smiling as they cheered me on. They yelled encouragements and chanted victory songs that pushed me and gave me strength to keep going. I could hear uproarious laughter in between their shouts. They were having the time of their lives because they knew I was going to be okay. But even more than that, they knew I was going to be exceedingly better than okay. I took their songs and cheers as encouragements for the present dilemma, because that's what they were. But really, all of it was praise to God for what's to come. They could see what was ahead and they knew it was good.

I began swimming faster with more encouragement than ever before in my life. And as I pressed forward faster and faster my thoughts slowly drifted back to the water. All of the sudden I was made aware that the water was calm, almost completely still and the skies were no longer bleak but a wide open country sky blue. I stopped and looked around full circle. I found that the once vast and insurmountable distance of lake was far smaller than previously perceived. I felt hopeful, optimistic, and not alone. I noticed that I was swimming to a new shore, one I had not been familiar with before. I was swimming away from all that I once new and enjoyed. It wasn't me anymore, it wasn't what I had hoped it would be.


I'll make it.
My family will make it.
But we're not just going to make it to the finish we're going to conquer and win!


Love,
Sar'

The Moon and the Cabbage

Last night I traveled to my sisters house some ten miles away. I took the MAX, a city train line that branches throughout Portland. While I sat there and looked out the window I couldn't help but notice the full moon reflecting the sun's radiant light into our night sky. That kind of moon lets me see my shadow when I walk down a usually pitch black street. I'll acknowledge my shadow but then steer my complete attention to that bright sphere that fills the dark sky with a glowing indigo hue. It always takes a few seconds to focus past the bright light and onto it's scared surface. It's worth the momentary blindness to catch a glimpse of the moon's past and present though.

Nothing much happened on the way over. I just kept stealing glances at the moon when I had the chance and went into deep thought about it.

I think of Seth every time I see it floating there, the way it has for millennia save for the occasional crater additions. I think about my sister brother-in-law and my arrival back to Indiana just a couple days after Seth's passing. We pulled into the driveway of our childhood home, my heart sank. I hadn't been home for over a year and a half. Those were the worst of terms for my return. My mom dad and older brother came out to greet us and we grouped together and sobbed. I cried and looked at the half moon as we all embraced. That memory leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and an ache in my side.

I had good thoughts too, though. When I looked at the moon last night my mind wandered and I imagined all the people in the world who look at the moon and think of their loved ones. The ones that have passed, the ones that are still here, and the ones that are yet to grace us with their existence. All the people of the world who look at it's surface and dream of one day touching it for themselves. The people that are reminded of God's presence and existence whether they love Him or not. Looking at the moon automatically stirs deep thought and wonder within. Or, at least it should. Many a poem and song have been doled out over the immeasurable years of human existence. We can all relate to the power of it interconnecting us from such distances. We can be on the other side of the planet in a totally different landscape with completely opposite cultures surrounding us but we still have the moon to share. We can relate that it's good to behold. Almost all of us can say we've looked at the moon and dreamed our best friend was doing the same on that cold winter night a few states away or our loving mother was at that very moment glancing up at it just as you were. In those moments the distance between you closes just a little bit and you take a deep breath as your imagination vividly hugs you with nearly the warmth of your most favorite person.

Some memories and some reminders can bring very bad feelings emotionally and even physically. But it doesn't always have to be that way. And as far as the moon goes, I still really like it. I will still feel sad when I see it but I choose to continue looking at it and admiring it's beauty. I choose to add new memories and to constantly reevaluate the way I see my surroundings. There's almost nothing worse than getting stuck in ones own stubborn way of seeing things, doing, and experiencing things. It's paralyzing.

On the note of reevaluation, I am continually learning new things about myself life and God. It seems, however, that the more I learn the less I really know. Or the more I learn the more I find out I don't know anything at all. I'd heard this said before but it had a whole new ring to it when I finally realized that lack of knowledge for myself. This is true in all walks of the knowledge search, but really what I'm most dumbfounded by is what I thought I knew about God. Who I thought He was and is and will be.

My world has been turned upside down and I'm digging for answers, truth, air, and the foundation of my belief in God. Seemingly, I do this in vain and bitterly alone. But the thing is, I know I am not alone in my turmoil. Because I know, for one, that there are so many people who are facing these same troubling water's and asking the same questions and feeling the same despair. Secondly and most importantly, we are not abandoned as children of God, even in our doubt, fear, anger, and mistrust of Him. God's still there carrying us when we think we're all alone. He's been there the whole time. And even though we don't understand His reasons or timing for all things we can rely on the truth of His steadfast presence, Love, and His ultimate plan being worth all our sacrifices.

This is relatable to cabbage and it's layers. Because just as a cabbage is layered, so too are the truths of God's goodness. Each passing layer reveals a brighter more clean and delicate view into its heart. Opening up and allowing yourself to draw nearer to God, to ask questions, and to search for truth and His tangible love is a process. A process of peeling away the thicker more uncertain layers of who you thought He was and is and eventually reaching the core, God's heart. You will see it's beating. You will see who it beats for and why. You will see that it pumps for us. This is something I desire to attain to and reach. To attain to that kind of perseverance and dedication and to close the gap between me and my creator. Though I may never experience and see Him in that kind of light during my lifetime, I am going to try nonetheless.


All this from a few glances at the moon.


With much kindness,
Sar'

The Train Station

Everywhere we turned, we saw him. We entered a cafe and there he sat at a table waiting for us to join him. We drove by the river walk and there he leaned against the railing looking at the water, waiting for us to join him. We drove by a park on the way to somewhere else and I saw him walking the path and reading the information posts as he waited for our arrival. I saw him smiling at me from the train station platform that I had last seen him, before I moved. He was waiting for us. We didn't stop to have coffee with him or stand by the water's edge next to him. We didn't go to the park and read what he had just read or walk the path he had just walked. And we didn't go to the train station where his smile was so bright and inviting. We left him there in memory unable to face the reality that he wasn't really there and would no longer grace us with his beauty, laughter, or kind words.

We are now three.

Number four was stolen from us, ripped from our hands, and taken from our existence.

I got on that train a year and a half ago. Headed west from Indiana on a mini trip with my grandparents to North Dakota and used the remaining travels as my move to Oregon. I expected that trip to be my last time with my grandparents, not knowing if I'd ever see them again. I had a nice time with them and we enjoyed each others company. I didn't know that the time spent at the train station before we left was going to be the last time on this planet that I would see my little brother. That idea was never formed.

Then this past November I saw my grandparents, all of them, at my little brother's funeral. It's not supposed to be that way. I don't want any of them to die but that's still not the order. Seth had hardly even begun his journey through life. A mere child at age 21.

Had I known that a year and a half ago was going to be the last time I saw him I would have stayed through all the hard times that were ahead or pleaded for him to come with me. I would have been with him every moment, even when he wasn't himself. He could say all the untrue things he wanted to and feel as though I was lying to him about everything I told him. But I would have at least been there and he would know deep in his heart, where he remained his true self, that I love him.

But the thing is, he knew I loved him then and knows it now. And I know he loved me then and still does. He also had the kind of dedication, support, and deep love from my older brother that I would have wanted to give. He had a strong and loving shoulder to lean on amidst such dark times, some comfort and peace in the shadows. My big brother wouldn't let him go. He was there for him, in every humanly possible way, to the very end. It comforts me a little to know Seth had such a good friend with him through the hard times. But I'm so sorry that we weren't able to make him better.  That we weren't able to clean out his mind from the torment and lies. I'm sorry we couldn't break those chains within him. We were there in every way we knew how and prayed in the times we didn't, which was most of the time. And we all had hopes for him. Strong willed faithful hopes for his return. For him to return to his former self. The Seth I grew up with and drew closer to in high school. The Seth that made everything funny, that always added adventure to a dull day. The Seth that was kind, compassionate, and full of hope for the future.

The sweet Seth I spent a good hour with at the train station. The old building that housed us there was a comforting sight and the cobble stone platform warmed our souls. We sat by under a big leafy tree on the top side of an underpass that was nearby and watched the freight trains sail wistfully to their destinations. We commented on all the graffiti. Made fun of most of it but we agreed on some really nice tags too. He and I reminisced a bit and chatted about old times as we walked to the Sweet Cream Soda Shop down the way. We got some specialty sodas and walked back to the station. We enjoyed talking about the architecture and structure of the refurbished building. It's a classy building. My train was running very late. He wanted to see us off but he needed to go so we said our goodbyes and hugged more than once. I cried and Seth smiled. He was happy for me and told me he'd miss me and couldn't wait for me to come back for visits.

I was planning on coming home for Christmas. He was happy to hear it. We didn't make it. Instead I came home during Thanksgiving week. I'm thankful for the beautiful life of my brother and our time with him.

Sincerely,
Sar'

Bikes and Stuff

Seth is all I think about these days. He's all I talk about, dream about, tell stories about. I wish I could say that he's my boyfriend and that all my thoughts are love driven and giddy. Well, they're love driven but with great sorrow and aching. He's my brother and he's not here anymore. I have to wait until I die to see him again.

I spend most of my daily energies thinking about him. Nothing else really matters. Most of my time with friends is spent thinking about Seth and talking about him when I can. It's not a warm and fuzzy topic even when I share funny stories about him. They just make me miss him more. Those stories make me remember what I'll be missing out on for the rest of my life.

I realized the other day that I would some day run out of memories. I wouldn't have a constant flow of "new" memories from the past. Sure, I know I wont have any from the future. I'm just talking about a reservoir of good times and bad times that are slowly running dry. One day it will spit out the last one. I'll have no choice but to start reusing and retelling the same stories in the fashion of an elderly woman who can't remember that she just told you that same story ten minutes ago.

To me, it's worth it. To remember, and cherish all those times and to share with others so they don't take for granted the beautiful family members they have. To remind them to hold on even tighter and to love them even deeper.



This spring I'm going to be taking a motorcycle riding course to freshen up on my riding skills. I've wanted a bike ever since my little brother showed me how to ride his dirt bike. That was a huge risk for him letting me ride his little 150cc Yamaha. That was his first bike and his baby at the time. Most rides went well. I had fun and so did he, for the most part. Although, I could tell he was nervous at the same time.

One time we trucked his bike over to my cousin's place so we could ride on a friend's property. They had a nice dirt track and some good hills to climb. There were several other people there, my cousins and some of their friends and my older brother and Seth. My uncle provided a helmet for us to share as me and Seth took turns racing around on his bike. I kind of complained about wearing a helmet but my uncle wouldn't let me ride without it. Way to go uncle! Really, I'm glad for that. Because, after Seth and I had switched off a couple of times and it came to be my turn again. I...

Well let me backtrack...While I watched Seth take off from a start I noticed that he liked to rev the bike and then let go of the clutch really fast. At which point he'd spin out a little and then speed off. I thought "I can do that!". I really liked that idea of just letting go of the clutch really fast because I had difficulty with smooth take offs. I'd either jolt forward then slowly be on my way or I wouldn't let the clutch out fast enough and it'd die. At which point I'd have to kick start it again and repeat the dreaded process.

Anyway, it was my turn and I thought I'd give the quick release a try. I had my helmet on. I hopped onto the bike. My uncle and older cousins and a couple of their friends were standing just off the path and so were my brothers. I revved the bike and let out the clutch and started speeding off...then lost control and swerved right into a crumby tree. Don't get me wrong I like tree's, a lot, but that one was in my way! It was probably only six or seven inches in diameter but somehow I hit it straight on. I flipped head over heals past the tree and flew like a rag doll through the air until I made contact with the ground. I hit my head on the tree, I presume, and scraped my arms and shins, and thoroughly had the wind knocked out of me. I heard exclamations of all kinds as I flew through the air and was shortly greeted by my uncle and cousins who checked on me to see if I was okay. I was. Seth however took to his bike. The front forks were bent because, well, I just hit a friggin' tree. He was pissed. He didn't even ask me if I was okay. Of course that made me really mad. He acted like that bike was real baby and that I had given it peircings and tattoos.

Well, they ended up fixing it that evening. Good as used! Seth and I made amends later. I don't remember how long it took but it wasn't that night or that week. I was sorry I wrecked his bike and he was sorry he was an ass about it. We even laughed about it later on. But boy oh boy did he have a cow that day or what!

Shortly after that incident he got a bigger better bike. He wouldn't let me ride that one though. I didn't blame him and I wouldn't have wanted to since he wasn't exactly the best teacher or maybe I wasn't the best pupil. I'll have to tell you about the story with that bike another time. Just know for now, that it wasn't my fault this time. However, I was still the one that got hurt.


All-in-all that is why I'm taking a professional class...so I can be a great defensive and responsible rider and not hit trees and such.


Also, I wanted to share that story because even though it isn't the prettiest and nicest of stories, it can serve as a reminder to make amends with your loved ones. Or as a reminder to focus on what is really important in life. Plus I just like it. It's real life. I could dish all kinds of nice stories about Seth and me together but you'd only get half a person out of the deal. Nobody is perfect.

I'll share more stories and try to keep 'em even.

Sincerely,
Sar'

In our Father's Tent

Today, I feel so vulnerable, like...an infant. I'm stuck in this body and the world is moving and functioning around me, yet all I'm capable of is seeing, watching, and waiting for time to pass. I'm waiting for someone to come pick me up, to notice that I've been wallowing in my own excrement. I'm waiting for someone to clean me up, dust me off, and make me feel all better. But even though this is how I feel, I won't find that kind of relief. I'm not a baby, I'm an adult. I'm not sitting in literal feces, I'm swimming in my sorrows. No human can lift me up, dust me off and make it all better, it's just not possible.

In the back of my mind though, I have realized that I pretend I can find that kind of salvation from someone on earth. I feel that if I search hard enough and long enough, I'll find the answers, the peace, the joy, and someone to fill all my voids. But these feelings stem from the raging anger in my belly. The disparaging doubts that fill my head, the doubts of God's goodness...His love.

How could this all be? We prayed our guts out for Seth, our hope and faith were so big for him. We believed he'd be okay and on the other side of his horrors, with us! Not okay and on the other side his horrors with Him. How could He let this happen? He kept telling us in our prayers that "I've got him." Comforting and sickening all at once. Because on one hand, that means there's is no doubt that Seth is safe in Heaven being well cared for. It gives me a little comfort to know he's in peace with a clear and calm mind more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. Yet, on the other hand, there was no comfort in that response from God because there was no guarantee of his being made new here. It even strongly hinted at the future that we are now in, the future without Seth in our lives.

God's ways are not our ways. He is Mystery, Wonder, and Unknown. I will keep asking my questions and keep tugging at his robe for answers. But this is one instance where I simply will not be able to understand fully until I see Him face to face. At that point, I will understand His love for Seth and for us. I will see why it was so necessary for Him to have allowed Seth to be stolen from us. And in the midst of my struggles and waiting I will give God the glory because He is still worthy. I will sing praises to my maker for He's blessed me even in the worst days of my life. Believe me, I merely speak from my heart what I know to be true and what I intend my future to look like. A future with God as my King, Savior, and Abba... and a future where I will someday be reunited with my beloved brother in Heaven, in that order.

We're going to be okay, but more than okay. I don't know how that could be but I believe it anyway.

This following dream was given to me a month or two before Seth's passing. I was so scared, because I knew in my heart what it meant as soon as I woke up. It made me sick to my stomach even though it meant Seth would be in safe hands and I wouldn't have to worry about where he went. I still struggle with it but I know that others have found it to be comforting. I hope it will be comforting for me one day too.

This is the dream I shared at Seth's funeral on the 23rd of November 2012.

Creator gave me this dream a couple months ago. I hope it will bring you some peace and comfort. 
In this dream, I was in a hilly desert hiking with Seth and God. The rocks were red and yellow and there were small plants and bushes strewn about. Seth and I were the size of children next to God but we were the same age as we were when I had the dream. We were carrying large backpacks for a long journey. God was in front, Seth in the middle, and I was in the back as we hiked along in the beautiful yellow orange and red desert. It was evening with a sunset fast approaching, we needed to get to our camp before it got dark. We didn't speak as we traveled and the mood was light but somber. As we traveled Seth became too tired to carry his backpack so we stopped and God took up Seth's backpack on top of His own and we began to walk again. Soon Seth became too weary to carry himself so we stopped and God took up Seth in His arms and carried him too as we traveled. The sunset gave off beautifully vibrant warm colors of red, yellow, orange, and clean white. When we reached the camp not for from the path, God pitched two tents. I had a tent all to myself with everything I needed and God and Seth had the other tent. I could see into God's tent from my screen window. I saw Seth in bed resting and I asked God why Seth couldn't be in my tent. God replied, "I need to take care of him". I felt sad, I wanted to be near my brother but I knew he was in good hands so I just said, "alright".

Seth isn't burdened anymore. He is being well cared for and is in good hands. I miss him every day until the day arrives when I see him again. In the mean time I will trust in Abba for all that I need.

I will see him again. I will. I'm thankful for that assurance, for that peace of mind.

Sincerely,
Sar'

Blubbering Manatee

I'm sitting here, in my friends studio, just killing time and wishing I had someone to hang out with. I've checked all my e-mails, finished catching up on Facebook stuff, and been putzing around the internet for way too long now. I work the night shift, so on my "days" off I'm up all night. I don't mind it really but there are a few problems: for instance, I have to have enough foresight to prepare or purchase food before I'm quarantined to my room so as not to wake up my roommates at all hours of the night. I can't just pick up the phone to chat with my friends or family at any ol' time, and I certainly can't go and visit with them or go hang out at a coffee shop. And then there's the planning of what I'm going to do all night. There isn't a whole lot to do. So it is mandatory, or at least that's what I thought, to be productive with all the things that I would normally put on the back burner for the sake of day time activities. However, it is not so, I've reached a new level of procrastination. I thought it impossible, yet here I sit typing out my struggles with procrastinating. I forgive myself, but I still have the underlying problem weighing on me like a blubbering manatee.

Firstly, when I got my night shift job I was, and still am, very grateful for the opportunity. Secondly, I thought about how productive I could be on my days off and dreamt of all the art work I'd get done, all the reading, and writing. At first I did do some art and I've even done some reading and writing. However, within a few short weeks I've reverted back to my old way of tackling the subliminal "to-do list". I start at the bottom, the non-necessary or least important things to do and then I slowly work to the top. However, midway up the list more things tack onto the bottom and my attention sways to those tasks instead and on it goes. At this point I might hear from others and even myself "Well, just do it, get it done". I couldn't agree more, and really, I'm probably the most responsible and reliable procrastinator you will ever know. Most things that affect others lives I do with ample time to spare and even add little flourishes. It's rare that I let others down by holding off on what needs to be done for them. However, when it comes to me and my own goals, needs, and desires...well I put myself last. So really I'm at the top of my subliminal list but I ignore myself till the very last moment. (That is brand new information to myself folks. I guess this blog venting is working)

So now that I've realized my fault, the fault of not doing a good job of taking care of myself, I need to figure out what all I have at the top of my list.

One thing I know for sure is that I really want to work on and finish, with all the perfection I've got in me, a painting I started at the beginning of December in honor of my younger brother. I have quite a lot done and yet I hesitate to start up again every time I look at it. It's going to be beautiful, really, it is. But when I think about working on it my insides sink and I worry that it won't be good enough, that it won't show my true love and admiration for my brother. And I have a strange fear that once I have finished it I'll feel even more empty than I already do. I will work on it...slowly. It won't fade away. But I know it's going to take a long time to finish for those above reasons and probably other reasons I'm not aware of. At the same time though, until I finish it, that blubbering manatee will constantly be looming overhead. I might just have to give myself that visual when I think about not working on it. After all, who would want to be crushed by a blubbering manatee?

However, I need more than a weird motivation from myself to get me going. After all, since when have I been my own motivator? I will try find my motivation in the "encouraging" and annoyingly simple words of my little brother. If he were here, I would probably be bickering and complaining about all the reasons I just can't get to it and go on and on about my problems. He would wait patiently for a while until I start to reiterate my reasoning, at which point he would butt in, semi-aggravated, and say something like, "Well, why don't you just do it then and get it done?" His way of thinking and doing things was kind of the polar opposite of my way. He wanted to do something, he did it, often right away if possible. There was no waiting and pondering all the foo foo surrounding what he was after and his heart was such gold that most of what he did was really good stuff. He was and still is the straight to the point, no bull crap, disciplined, kind, loving and generous kind of brother I'm proud to be related to. So now, in his passing, I've realized just how awesome he was and still is to me. And those traits? I want them. I want to add them to my traits. It's not going to be as easy as I'd like it to be, but once I master them I'm going to put them to good use beginning with my painting and then adding them to the rest of my life so I can make my brother proud and so I can be a good person in general.


Sincerely,
Sar'

Beginnings from an End

Very recently I lost my dear little brother to a bitter tragedy. I have found no long lasting comfort and the pit of lonesome emptiness will probably always follow me to some sad degree. But in the mean time I have realized that I need to get some thoughts out, feelings, and some stories too. They need to be put into someones ear or read, but really I just need to trick myself into believing that I have been "heard" so my brain can let go of all the things that I regurgitate to myself on a daily basis.

This blog is meant as a way for me to "talk" to someone. Here's what I mean by that; I've learned recently that I can't simply figure things (questions, problems, random situations) out in my mind and be okay with them. I tend to just spiral into more confusion within my own thoughts. I literally have to talk out loud to someone and "vent" my problems in order to find clarity. This means I have to do a lot of jabbering on to some unlucky person about my day to day and life struggles in order to find some peace and revelation. I say 'unlucky' because I don't want to be annoying, offensive, or the person who only talks about ones self. I struggle with thinking I'm inconveniencing those I speak to, be it my mom, my closest friends, or a strangers. I try to keep what I say short and concise in order to keep from stepping over those boundaries. But then of course I don't get out all that I really need to get out.

So, I'm hoping this blog will serve me in that fashion. As a way to process some of my thoughts and concerns of life without "inconveniencing" anyone. (Though I'm sure most would say that I'm not a burden, I find it hard not to feel that way). I also hope to find some freedom and order for the mess that I can create in my mind. I plan on venting some in a curse free way, hopefully. My grammar is less than perfect and I'm sure I'll misspell some things, just so you know not to expect perfection. I plan to share stories and adventures that I had in the past with my brother/family and maybe some stories of times to come. He wouldn't want me to stop living the life I have been just because he's not here anymore. So I'm going to live a good life when I'm up for it and talk about the good times back then, when I'm down.

As an end to this post, I'll tell you about some of the time I shared with Seth in high school:
2006 was Seth's Freshman year and my Junior. I was really excited to show him around, give him little tips on time management, and how to manage being there in general. I was honored that he actually wanted my help and looked up to me (he always felt like an older brother to me). We became much closer since we were in school together and since we'd matured a bit more. We rode the bus together every morning and when we arrived at school we would go to each other's lockers and wait for the other to gathered necessary books before heading off to the cafeteria or a hall that was a little more quiet than the rest. We'd sit against the wall and just hang out until our classes started. We'd say our goodbyes and often wouldn't see each other until I got back home around 6pm from swim practice. By that time he was already done with homework and relaxing. So jealous.
It was relieving to share the bus ride to school with Seth and I felt bad for him having to ride back by himself. The bus rides were always longer than they should have been and always sickeningly loud. Full of screaming kids with the radio blaring pop songs with lyrics that shouldn't be uttered. But none of that mattered when I had my brother there with me to complain about it all. None of the crappy things of life mattered when he was around.
After I graduated, he got a white Pontiac Grand Prix. I was really glad for him because I knew he wouldn't have to ride that stank bus anymore, plus he could get almost another hour of sleep before going to school. I felt good about that too.

Seth, you know I'm going to keep plugging away at life. You know I'm going to try and make you proud. But you also know that my mind is in Indiana, my stomach is in Oregon, and my feet aimlessly walk the bottom of the ocean. I don't really know if they will ever reassemble but I hope for it someday. I guess there's only one way to go about living now, just one step at a time one day one moment. That's how it's always been though, it's just more clear now, more of a mandatory way of living now.
You are my sparkle and always will be. Now you are a sparkle in the distance, like the stars I cannot reach. But you still give light, and hope and beauty. Even in passing you are still here...in my heart, in Jesse's,  Shoshies, Ma's, Pa's, Dad's, and everybody. Our love for you will never cease and every passing day you are and will be remembered. And as long as we live we will yearn for the glorious day we meet you again for a joyous reunion at heaven's gates. I love you Seth. I love you.

Sincerely,
Sar'