Personal Life

The Last Good Day.

“There’s no way of knowing that your last good day is Your Last Good Day. At the time, it is just another good day.”  That line in itself from TFiOS is something I’ve pondered on the past week since I’ve driven almost twenty-four hours in just a few days. I spent time with my best friends in Albuquerque, enjoyed the New Mexican atmosphere where I gave my last words to my grandmother in a chapel over the phone. I received the news that she passed away that next morning, then drove to Odessa where our family home is, drove onto many other locations for the burial, then my brothers home in Dallas, then onto my hometown. Its been a whirlwind of events, and family which led me thinking about this one quote.

My first night in Odessa consisted of taking down our family home, and dividing out little things before the lawyers come in to appraise the estate, or whatever. I just sat there, and didn’t know how my mom remained so calm (she had been living there since she was five) and this was merely a home we came to for the holidays and summers as grandchildren. Many exciting Christmas’s, Easters, dress up parties, historical story telling, and family gatherings happened in this home for me. We were always moving as kids, but this home remained the exact same since nineteen sixty-four. Now the green carpet will be torn up, the vintage furniture will be hauled out, and all the family pictures removed from the walls. I tried to think of the last time I spent with my grandma, but even then the house was in the process of being packed up, and there were home nurses invading privacy. But still while gathering her Christmas decor its like I could hear her rummaging through the house with us yelling at herself, and us. Its weird. You see, I can’t remember the last good day, or the good family event. Why? Cause at the time, it was just normal, it was like any other.

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I never thought about our family Christmas’s, or my brother moving to a different city until it stopped. Now its an act of hoarding any little time I get with my brother, who I now have to drop off at the airport a couple of days later; He used to live right across town. Christmas’s are complicated, and an act of making appearances on each side of the family. Getting everyone together for the holiday feels like trying to schedule a meeting for the United Nations Council. It’s not tradition always, its ever-changing life now.

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Christmas’s that were large, and together? They are merely memories on a videotape. My brother living in town? Now its just stories exchanged between he and I before he leaves. The last good day; the lasting memories. Why do you choose to live a miserable life? Why do you choose to make decisions that don’t empower you, but hold you back? What will you have to look back on and cherish when you are too old to barely remember? People wonder why I’ve developed such a chase for adventure, to want to DO things, and create things, because of this! You can’t just pause life and say, “Wait, I’m collecting memories here!” No. It’s your job to create them, making them wonderful, and remember them because of that simply and beautiful line. You never know when life ends, or the opportunity. Put your phone down, your barriers, and try to remember the good days before they become your last.

-haley.

Instagram@haleyann92

Song of the week is “Christmas Time is Here” from Vince Guaraldi. Enjoy.

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The Book.

As many of you (might) know, yes, I am working on my Novel. It is complete (I won NaNoWriMo 2013) but I am in the process of editing, and re-writing. “Because all writing is re-writing”, as John Green would say. Anyways, I warned y’all that you would be a part of this process since I want y’alls opinions! You have a chance to read passages (NOT Chapters – so you kind of wont actually know whats going on, these are simply small previews), and vote whether you you enjoyed it or not. Thank you for being such awesome readers, and I hope y’all enjoy and participate! It means a lot seeing as how these are very intense, and private emotions put to paper in hopes to be made public. If you steal my work, I have a lovely team that will find you. 🙂 Thank you! Dont re-post or quote anything without giving credit because stealing is mean.

“Have you been taking your pills?” he stood there starring at me. I existed in silence, with no words to say because I knew that Dad already had the answer, and was just seeking out my guilty confession to confirm. “Everly, this is not a joke. You need those pills.” He said firmly. “I know!” I replied, slighting raising my voice. “You will die without those pills. You are lucky that you even get to take them instead of receiving a transplant!” he yelled. A smile formed across my face, as I began to laugh. I crunched over continuously chuckling, having no idea how else to react to such ridiculousness. I stood up, catching my breath to see Dad frowning, and he replied, “I’m serious.” I knew my actions were hurting my dad, and yet I still ran right towards them, turning away all sane possibilities. I had a friend who decided to shoot himself in high school, and when in attendance at his funeral, I got to see everything that he didn’t plan for. I saw how utterly distraught his parents were yet held themselves together. I saw how his friends spread a line of gossip through schools, and shared his pictures claiming to “love him so incredibly much.” And I felt the deep sickness walking into the funeral with his senior picture displayed at the front, him smiling when for all we know was just a pose rather than reality for him. I was hurting my father because he saw my funeral, more clearly than I did, and I stood here laughing running straight into death as my dad suddenly realized he had no control. “I’m serious too.” I replied, turning around to walk back to my room. I hurt dad, but the continuation of the numbness that covered my body prevented me from caring. -Haley Ann

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