"Life will always work out for someone like you."

The day after my boyfriend and I broke up, I sobbed about it on the phone with my cousin, who was three months younger than I was. 

For hours we relived our childhood memories and the games we created together and holidays we spent together. We talked about how excited we were to see each other in three weeks, when she would have her new car and I would be done with my semester. 

She told me, "Life will always work out for someone like you." 

She turned my tears into laughter. 

She died an hour and a half later in a car accident. 

I like to think that God, if there is one, knew he was going to take her and gave me one last time to relive everything we did together and how much we loved each other. 

During that phone call, I told her for the first time, "I know you look up to me, but I want you to know that your big cousin looks up to you too." I felt the urge to say this, out of nowhere. 

I miss her every day, but that last conversation is what keeps me together. I'm so thankful for whatever in the universe gave me that solace to be able to say goodbye, even when I didn't know I would have to. 

I live by her words, that life will work out for someone like me. And she gets to look down from heaven and watch it happen.
 

Something To Live For

I was having an extremely hard day with my depression. I was walking down the street when my friend's mom called and told me that he had commit suicide. I broke down in tears while people walked around me, whispering things, staring. 

But one person - we'll call him Rick for the sake of anonymity - stopped, gave me a hug, and told me that everything I was going through would end okay, that the pain would pass. 

He walked me home. I asked him to come in for some coffee, as a way of thanking him, since I had really needed that hug. He came in, and asked me if I was willing to tell him what had happened. I told about our friendship, all we'd been through together, and what had happened. I broke down in tears and he held me until I stopped crying. He told me about his mom, how she had committed suicide after his little sister died from the accident she and his mother were in. I listened to him like he did to me, we shared stories, memories, and secrets. 

It's been 7 years now, and he's my best friend and my boyfriend. After I was told about my friend committing suicide, I had seriously considered it myself. But thanks to him, to that amazing man, I didn't. He showed me that there is still good in life, there's still hope, there's still something to live for.
 

"It's the end."

My mother was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer on Father's Day 2014.

Before and still shortly after her diagnosis, I didn't know how cancer worked. I wasn't sure what the stages mean't, I only knew that stage 4 mean't the cancer was really bad.

The months after her diagnosis my family heard, "I'm sorry" and "I've been praying for you" and the like.

My mom was only given 6-9 months to live, but my mom and the rest of my family had faith that she wouldn't "give up that easy." We were very positive after getting the diagnosis and everyone knew that.

But one day, out of the blue, about three months after the diagnosis, I was at work and a woman that I was actually pretty close to outside of work said, "You understand stage 4 means your mom's dead, like it's the end."

I remember those words so vividly. Even a year and a half later, they still bring tears to my eyes.

However, my mother is still fighting her fight and has been surprising her doctors on a regular basis. So no, her diagnosis wasn't the end.

Too young to remember

As we approach September 11th, it pains me sitting across from young co-workers who didn't experience this day the same way I did. To them, it's just a regular day. It doesn't occur to them that to me, being ten years older, this day and the days that follow are filled with memories and sadness.

Is anyone else here at work thinking about this already? Does anyone else annually dread the beginning of September?

These rhetorical questions are questions that I doubt anyone else is thinking about. And that's what makes me sad.

Wondering what this next generation will end up remembering - much like we aren't scarred by Watergate or JFK's assassination.

"YOU killed my grandson."

The first of many choice things your grandmother had to say to me after finding your note and your body.

We were together for three years and I loved you as much as my body and soul could. I poured every bit of who I am into out relationship because it was the best damn thing that I had. I had plans to spend my life with you.

You left me a note specifically for me and me alone. So you can only imagine what kind of things your family had to say about me.

We just recently moved past this, but I don't think your grandmother will ever understand how much that affected me.

Because for the longest time, I truly believed that it was my fault.