I don't have a title yet...
I sat by the dark colored salt water pool just so my feet can feel the coolness of the water, giving me an idea of the temperature while I, transfixed at the ocean waves washing in and out. Only this wasn't the ocean. It was the sea and my pupils in full focus dilated a little more staring at the island they never seen before. I took off my shirt, revealing a bathing suit underneath, and after deciding to go into the water threw it on the nearest rock behind me. It barely made it onto the rock. As soon as it fell to the ground, an Italian man picked it up and waked over to me. He spoke in Italian obviously but I didn't understand a word. It didn't matter. I smiled and decided to lay out on one of the lounge chairs instead. The sun beat down on my face- oh so hot yet rejuvenating- warming my body and any thought that could have disturbed the moment. But the sun couldn't even find anything wrong either.
The sky was a light shade of blue so pure and full of life, holding clouds with peculiar shapes. The air smells so fresh- of sunblock and life- far away from even the remembrance of a pollutant. Laughter all around me, child and adult a like. The converging of Italian forming a separate language of it's own- one so soothing and delightful. Water builds up in my already squinting eyes from staring at the sky for so long but I don't want my sunglasses changing this picture to a different shade. I soak in my aloneness a little more then stand up, gather my belongings and walk up the pathway towards the villas to great my boyfriend coming to find me.
The island at night was uninhabited- giving way to a time of solitide. We stuck off a lot at night. His parents advising him not to and my aunt and uncle telling me of his parents concern didn't make any difference to our decision making. One night a plan was determined. He told me to wait for him when we walked up the stairs that led to a walkway to his house late at night. He went inside to lay down for a while in his bed so he parents would think he was asleep. He told me he would sneek out. I sat on the walkway by myself, my eyes glaring at the door to open like a cat hearing every noise and abserving everything around me. I peered behind the bushes like a spy. My body, in pure anticipation turned to uptight edge when I didn't see the door open. I slowly turned back then sat on the steps closer to my villa still in the same direction as before but further away. A couple minutes more. That's it. I walked up to my own door, crept to my suitcase to get out my pajamas and went to bed.
His touch startled me and my eyes not yet adjusting to his presence saw a blurry image. "What are you doing here?" I asked him thinking it was several hours later. I followed him outside tiptoeing to the door which he opened slowly staring into the room where my Aunt and Uncle were sleeping adjacent to where we were. My heart started to race when I thought I heard a noise coming from their room but when we left the villa, my hand instantly grabbed his and my eyes returned back to nromal and my body feeling the welcomed anxiousness of the night before us.
The sky lit up in complete decoration to celebrate the night- giving way to a color so visible and luminescent all around us, although, my face was already lit up holding on to his hand. We sat by on one of the lounge chairs by the sea where I was just recently by myself- a different yet equal feeling. The sea hiding in the dark, only revealing itself by sound and once again the waves were heard pushing against the rocks careful not to disturb the night. I smell the air and let out a small sigh. I could even smell the sweet, saltiness of the sea. Its aroma filled the air. My body almost under a spell, wrapped up in its own mediation. A powerful serenity- enough to be absorbed, giving off an intense aurora to anyone sitting near me. Andrea motioned to me that he saw a metear stream across the sky. I then fixed my eues on the starry sky in wait. When another one revealed itself, I closed my eyes to make a wish and shifted my eyes toward Andrea wondering if he did the same. The night kept us there begging us to stay longer. We sat like magnets taking advantage of the idleness around us and giving a silent prayer of gratitude. When chills started to make my body aware of discomfort from the slight breeze, I looked to Andrea only as if he had a quite remedy. The sky seemed to appear a little lighter and my eyes roamed around a bit telling me I should return back but my mind, counting ahead of the time, didn't seem to worry yet about my trip back to America.
I felt the coolness of the balcony on my hands as I turned my body away from him. I stared at the scenes before me in a different view- eyes not fixed on the images around me but of the upcoming scenes in my head. I noticed a small array of goosebumps on my skin from a breeze in the air or perhaps imaginary. The sun, not as visible- hiding behind several clouds in the sky, setting up the dramatic scene for us. I stared at his eyes I always compared to the sea- now looking at them from a greater distance even though I was only two feet away. He stood before me, promising me he would never leave me. The silence around us from nature, overhearing our words was given to us in favor of us staying together but secretly knowing differently. The rest of the time there was pushed to fast forward.
The real end of the vacation took place in Rome- the last night to soak it all in. All the people walking past me, a familar scene like New York City but compariably different. Shops lined up on either side of the street; glamorous and sheek. I walked in expecting to find some last minute gifts for my family. I strutted around pretending they didn't have what I was looking for, gave a smile to the sales lady as if I were a usual italian customer, and walked out onto the crowded yet welcoming streets of Rome. I walked past a McDonalds and gave a small laugh. "You probably eat here a lot?" I asked Andrea. His response was a no and the conversation stopped shortly after. My stomach found new interests. He took me into an abandoned building and we, carefully, walked up several flights of stairs past pieces of wood and occasional shards of glass. When on the top, I stared at a painting before me and my eyes tried to capture it all at once. The sunset glistened over the top of every building around us giving it an orangey contrast. My eyes free to roam around yet my legs stood paralyzed at the view. The grundy, old building we past just moments ago on the train ride over, almost completely covered over by foreign graffiti perished as I then remembered where I was.
My first drink at a bar at age 17 and I wasn't even home. The name of it, sex on the beach, was the same. I told Andrea to order it for me. I sat and waited until the drink was put in front of me. Fruit filled the glass and I took the small straw on the inside and sipped. I rested my self against the chair, folded my legs and joined in to the conversation with laughter and light English. Then Andrea and his friends gave me more of a tour. We drove around the city as I, peering through the sunroof, camera in my hand and the wind greeting me in the face. My eyes yet again in full focus of the fast, moving images around me. I snap a couple pictures with my camera and put it back down next to my feet of the car and then I quickly rise up again.
The middle of the night held our return. Andrea slowly opened the door, and we both crept slowly to his room. Mostly in silence we sat on his bed and kissed. I layed with him for quite some time after and mistakenly drifted to sleep. The knots started forming in my stomach and I opened my eyes. I held him tightly in my arms and he watched as I went in the next room over to sleep for a while longer before my Uncle would wake me in the morning early to leave. I heard my name not long after and my eyes adjusting to the morning light and my body like impulse went to see Andrea. The morning was solemn. I walked to serve myself breakfast with the rest of my family in the kitchen. Slowly, I got my belongings together. The cars coud be heard outside, driving up and down the street, still conitnuing its usual everyday pattern of life. I left my lipglass on the couch for him to find after I left.
We walked to the elevator to take us to the 1st floor of his apartment building. I was the last to follow- stalling and dragging behind. The doors to the elevator separated two worlds- the one which would soon be the past and the one of the future. As the doors slowly closed, I managed to see a tear coming down from his face. Almost shut now, I could still see his penetrated eyes, so focused and lifeless. The door shut and the dagger went in to my chest. The tears began on cue and and I said my real goodbye to the world around me through teary eyes. I was home before I had a chance to leave.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Ideas/ Focus for Fourth essay
For my fourth essay, I think I'm going to go with my experience in Italy. I did a couple paragraphs about this in my last blog and I liked the description I made and found it easy to remember what I felt by remembering certain moments of the trip. I was 17 years old when I first visited Elba- an island off of tuscany and a couple family members helped pay for my trip because I I had a boyfriend who lived there. The experiences I had there were unbelievable and when I think of my ex-boyfriend, I remember how much I loved him but I also think back to Italy. So my focus that I been trying to utilize is a love that I felt that went beyond. It came in multiple forms. It was a complete journey for me and when I look back, I connect all these feelings and moments wrapped into one.
I started to do some free writing about this and I wrote down a couple incomplete paragraphs about my three week vacation there with my boyfriend. The scenes I wrote about were one of the last days there and how the view around me changed because of the heartbreak I was about to experience leaving him. And then I will write about leaving Italy (the real goodbye) and how it felt going home. Then there are a couple experiences I want to write about because they lead to my focus the most. I loved a time when I went off by myself for a little while. But at the same time, I still felt an incredible happiness when I was with my boyfriend. I will describe these two moments and what was felt. So far, I am planning on writing about four scenes. Two goodbye scenes and two other scenes about Italy in itself and Italy with a boy I was in love with. Hopefully it will come together more when I begin writing. I need to do some more free writing and developing.
I started to do some free writing about this and I wrote down a couple incomplete paragraphs about my three week vacation there with my boyfriend. The scenes I wrote about were one of the last days there and how the view around me changed because of the heartbreak I was about to experience leaving him. And then I will write about leaving Italy (the real goodbye) and how it felt going home. Then there are a couple experiences I want to write about because they lead to my focus the most. I loved a time when I went off by myself for a little while. But at the same time, I still felt an incredible happiness when I was with my boyfriend. I will describe these two moments and what was felt. So far, I am planning on writing about four scenes. Two goodbye scenes and two other scenes about Italy in itself and Italy with a boy I was in love with. Hopefully it will come together more when I begin writing. I need to do some more free writing and developing.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Blog # 18 - A small taste of paradise
I sat by the dark colored salt water pool just so my feet can feel the coolness of the water, giving me an idea of the temperature while I, transfixed at the ocean waves washing in and out. Only this wasn't the ocean. It was the sea and my pupils in full focus dilated a little more staring at the island they never seen before. I took off my shirt after deciding to go into the water and threw it on the nearest rock behind me. It barely made it onto the rock. As soon as it fell to the ground, an Italian man picked it up and waked over to me. He spoke in Italian obviously but I didn't understand a word. It didn't matter. I smiled and decided to lay out on one of the lounge chairs instead. The sun beat down on my face- oh so hot yet rejuvenating- warming my body and any thought that could have disturbed the moment. But the sun couldn't even find anything wrong either.
The sky, a light shade of blue pure and full of life holding clouds with peculiar shapes. The air smells so fresh- of sunblock and life- far away from even the remembrance of a pollutant. Laughter all around me, child and adult a like. The converging of Italian forming a separate language of it's own- one so soothing and delightful. Water builds up in my already squinting eyes from staring at the sky for so long but I don't want my sunglasses changing this picture to a different shade. I soak in my aloneness a little more then stand up, gather my belongings and walk up the pathway towards the villas to great my boyfriend coming to find me.
Twas Paradise.
The sky, a light shade of blue pure and full of life holding clouds with peculiar shapes. The air smells so fresh- of sunblock and life- far away from even the remembrance of a pollutant. Laughter all around me, child and adult a like. The converging of Italian forming a separate language of it's own- one so soothing and delightful. Water builds up in my already squinting eyes from staring at the sky for so long but I don't want my sunglasses changing this picture to a different shade. I soak in my aloneness a little more then stand up, gather my belongings and walk up the pathway towards the villas to great my boyfriend coming to find me.
Twas Paradise.
Blog # 17 Essay # 3 A Simple Piece of Paper
Lauren, I hope you will fill these pages with words that express everything you are and everything that you hope to be. Express yourself. Be yourself. Just be you. Have a great year and a great life. - Mr. D.
I didn't see Mr D. after that year but he understood what writing meant for me and he wasn't even my actual teacher. He was an older man who helped out in my S- Track English class in tenth grade. A class he knew I didn't want t be in because I actually wanted to learn. On my birthday when I walked into the class I saw a present on my desk and inside was a blue journal with flowers on it and a bag of swedish fish. Even though I loved swedish fish, I valued the journal more.
A notebook or journal holds together numerous freshly clean and uncluttered pages that are just so welcoming and inviting. I don't want to disappoint it with amateur writing. I want my work to stand out in pride. I am fully aware of the feeling of a new notebook in my hand and often bring it up to my nose and smell its enchanting scent. It reminds me of an old library with dozens of books that I know I'll never get a chance to read.
What is a piece of paper? A simple piece of paper enables us to pour the words that our mind has created and since our mind is constantly being flooded with new information- these thoughts often get misplaced upon another bookshelf in our mind corroded with dust. So a piece of paper gives us all the ability of memory and fast recollection. It also cages in our thoughts, experiences, and pondering so we can evaluate and make sense of them. One sheet of paper eventually forms 2, 3, 100 pages and before you know it, a story is produced. But is the piece of paper in itself significant or notebook or is it just out of convenience that we use them. If you think about it, you can write on almost anything- maybe it won't always be permanent such as writing on your hand (hopefully you wash your hands several times a day) but it is still possible.
A notebook, easy access in itself, not only holds many pages together but it is our own- a connecting piece to our soul. It is our friend, catching up on old tmes or revealing innermost secrets to. A child will often tell about a first kiss that they can't yet tell their parents. Or perhaps it becomes a way to deal with what we can't in real life. In this way, It becomes our safety net. A place to hold anxieties, worries and fears.
Inside my purse, there is so many receipts. Why don't I throw anything out? Thats another story. But all my purse's have old papers and receipts- those that are crinkled and torn and smell like chocolate probably from the restaurants that give out those after dinner mints. I'm sure there are many random ideas or the start of poems I simply forgot about over time. But I don't worry about it too much because I know more ideas will come. When I look at all my old notebooks and journals; the ones I bought and the ones that were given to me as a gift, I see that I start to write but then I eventually stop, a couple pages here and there and some possible half way through. I never finish a notebook. I just like to keep buying more. Way too often I gawk at my handwriting or word usage and then it hinders me from writing something else.
I recently searched around my room and found so many of them. When i was younger, I considered them to be diaries- writing about all my heart breaking moments sich as breakups, first experiences, the cruelty of friends, boys, and oh yea- one was devoted to a cat I once owned for a sort time. And then there was the time I pretended to be Harriet the spy and hide behind trees to write about people who passed by into a black, Mead notebook. On the book shelf in my living room there is an older one I bought with a lock at the dollar store in highschool with a picture of my idol Lucille Ball scotch- taped to the cover. After a while, I stopped writing on a day to day basis or even a weekly basis because it was exhausting to relive all the moments I already gone through. But when I really needed to get something out of me, I needed a brand new notebook and quick!
My other notebook is in my mind. I write in this one all the time. I don't usually bring a notebook around with me because I don't want to flood its perfect condition with a load of useless junk i call thoughts. But aren't our thoughts useful because they accumulate to something big, perhaps an important message or story that only our subconscious keeps inside? I always wanted to wait until the perfect idea would come along or award-winning thought. But really, we can't get there without the occasional cross out here and there. So what I would do is gather up all my thoughts into a collection bin and say to myself "I'll eventually write it down." But I get so upset with myself sometimes because I could of had some good creative writing going on but it is impossible when I can't retain the same initial thoughts in my head. We think all the time. Right now I'm thinking about how my pen is making a funny noise as I'm writing and oops, there goes another essential thought in my writing process.
Thoughts come when I drive or when I'm in a state of hypnosis that I create when my conscious mind is too bored to stay focused. And then there's the inspiration that can come at any moment. And I think, wow that's a good thought. Should I pull over or keep driving? Damn, why do good thoughts come at the worst times? Sometimes my mind can drive me crazy but if I had to thank it for at least one thing, it would be my writing. We think the things we think because of who we are and we should be proud of that.
I didn't see Mr D. after that year but he understood what writing meant for me and he wasn't even my actual teacher. He was an older man who helped out in my S- Track English class in tenth grade. A class he knew I didn't want t be in because I actually wanted to learn. On my birthday when I walked into the class I saw a present on my desk and inside was a blue journal with flowers on it and a bag of swedish fish. Even though I loved swedish fish, I valued the journal more.
A notebook or journal holds together numerous freshly clean and uncluttered pages that are just so welcoming and inviting. I don't want to disappoint it with amateur writing. I want my work to stand out in pride. I am fully aware of the feeling of a new notebook in my hand and often bring it up to my nose and smell its enchanting scent. It reminds me of an old library with dozens of books that I know I'll never get a chance to read.
What is a piece of paper? A simple piece of paper enables us to pour the words that our mind has created and since our mind is constantly being flooded with new information- these thoughts often get misplaced upon another bookshelf in our mind corroded with dust. So a piece of paper gives us all the ability of memory and fast recollection. It also cages in our thoughts, experiences, and pondering so we can evaluate and make sense of them. One sheet of paper eventually forms 2, 3, 100 pages and before you know it, a story is produced. But is the piece of paper in itself significant or notebook or is it just out of convenience that we use them. If you think about it, you can write on almost anything- maybe it won't always be permanent such as writing on your hand (hopefully you wash your hands several times a day) but it is still possible.
A notebook, easy access in itself, not only holds many pages together but it is our own- a connecting piece to our soul. It is our friend, catching up on old tmes or revealing innermost secrets to. A child will often tell about a first kiss that they can't yet tell their parents. Or perhaps it becomes a way to deal with what we can't in real life. In this way, It becomes our safety net. A place to hold anxieties, worries and fears.
Inside my purse, there is so many receipts. Why don't I throw anything out? Thats another story. But all my purse's have old papers and receipts- those that are crinkled and torn and smell like chocolate probably from the restaurants that give out those after dinner mints. I'm sure there are many random ideas or the start of poems I simply forgot about over time. But I don't worry about it too much because I know more ideas will come. When I look at all my old notebooks and journals; the ones I bought and the ones that were given to me as a gift, I see that I start to write but then I eventually stop, a couple pages here and there and some possible half way through. I never finish a notebook. I just like to keep buying more. Way too often I gawk at my handwriting or word usage and then it hinders me from writing something else.
I recently searched around my room and found so many of them. When i was younger, I considered them to be diaries- writing about all my heart breaking moments sich as breakups, first experiences, the cruelty of friends, boys, and oh yea- one was devoted to a cat I once owned for a sort time. And then there was the time I pretended to be Harriet the spy and hide behind trees to write about people who passed by into a black, Mead notebook. On the book shelf in my living room there is an older one I bought with a lock at the dollar store in highschool with a picture of my idol Lucille Ball scotch- taped to the cover. After a while, I stopped writing on a day to day basis or even a weekly basis because it was exhausting to relive all the moments I already gone through. But when I really needed to get something out of me, I needed a brand new notebook and quick!
My other notebook is in my mind. I write in this one all the time. I don't usually bring a notebook around with me because I don't want to flood its perfect condition with a load of useless junk i call thoughts. But aren't our thoughts useful because they accumulate to something big, perhaps an important message or story that only our subconscious keeps inside? I always wanted to wait until the perfect idea would come along or award-winning thought. But really, we can't get there without the occasional cross out here and there. So what I would do is gather up all my thoughts into a collection bin and say to myself "I'll eventually write it down." But I get so upset with myself sometimes because I could of had some good creative writing going on but it is impossible when I can't retain the same initial thoughts in my head. We think all the time. Right now I'm thinking about how my pen is making a funny noise as I'm writing and oops, there goes another essential thought in my writing process.
Thoughts come when I drive or when I'm in a state of hypnosis that I create when my conscious mind is too bored to stay focused. And then there's the inspiration that can come at any moment. And I think, wow that's a good thought. Should I pull over or keep driving? Damn, why do good thoughts come at the worst times? Sometimes my mind can drive me crazy but if I had to thank it for at least one thing, it would be my writing. We think the things we think because of who we are and we should be proud of that.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Blog # 16 My Final Draft- My Claddagh Story
My Claddagh Story
Before we left the hospital for the last time, I sat in one of the chairs by myself outside my grandmother’s room. I stared at my ring and rubbed the heart so roughly that the ring became wet from the sweat of my finger caused by severe pain surrounding my entire body. I clung on to it, pressing it against my skin, like a memory I didn't want to forget. At this time the heart was facing outward but when I was sitting there at the hospital, I didn't want to think of Sean as my finger caressed the ring. I took the ring off my finger and slid it back on with the black heart facing towards me. My only thoughts were of my grandmother and this ring was what she gave me- not the one I lost long ago, but the meaning, the power, the love that will remain with me forever.
This ring always intrigued me and I became captivated when I eventually learned of its meaning. When I got older and bought my first Claddagh ring, I followed the traditional custom. I would automatically start up a conversation when I saw others wearing it, becoming instantly drawn to its magnetic force. It wasn't until 2006 when I started using the ring's meaning in my own way that I truly saw its profound significance and importance in my life. Now it never leaves my finger. This beautiful Irish ring worn today by many people encompasses a great symbolic meaning and it seems that most everyone who wears one possesses their own story.
The center piece displays a heart of love surrounded by hands of friendship and on top rests a crown of loyalty. This ring, according to old custom, can be worn to represent if a person's heart is available or taken. If the ring is worn on the left hand with the heart facing inward, it means that you are married. If it is worn on the right hand with the heart facing inward, you're in a relationship with someone and your heart is therefore taken, but if the heart is looking the other way, then you’re still in search of love.
My first introduction occurred when I was a little girl and my grandmother took me to a jewelry store where rows of rings stood before me. My surroundings were hazy and unrecognizable looking back at that moment, but I now see it must have been important for her to buy me this ring. I watched as she picked up a small, silver Claddagh ring, finding the right one to fit my finger and I carelessly took care of it, in adoration of the object itself, like a child often is with a new toy. That highlighted time eventually formed a memory and a special link was created. From that day on, without so much realizing it then, this symbol became our own- a special bond we shared of her Irish background she passed down and from all the love she bestowed. She always wore a gold Claddagh ring on one of her fingers which in the future I would own. My eyes would gaze upon its worth with so much unspoken sentiment, knowing it represented a connection we had that could never compare to any replica I may find. I always owned silver but it was she who wore gold.
She was the only grandmother I ever had, even though my dad’s mom is still alive. But a three year separation period that they, the Sicilian side of the family started over a series of unnecessary tension gave me a new perspective. And now my dad is the only one who really talks to her. To me that’s not true family and I don’t regret not calling her. But my nana was the one that was there for me and my family, financially and emotionally. She would always sit, beaming in the audience at all our school events. She would often brag to various people in the family about all of our accomplishments, addressing how immensely proud she was of all her grandchildren. But most of all, she was always there.
I tried numerous times to find the ring my grandmother bought for me but it was impossible and I think it will forever remain lost. If I would've known how much that ring would mean to me in the future, I would have never taken it off, just like the one I own today. This one has a black heart. And I am conscious of it's presence on my finger in fear that this too shall slip off and veil itself from my sight.
My grandmother died November 17th 2006 due to a sudden aneurism in the brain. The phone rang in the morning as I was upstairs in the bathroom toying with my hair in preparation for school. I froze as my mother picked up the phone and began screaming. My grandfather told my mom a blood vessel burst in my grandmother's brain and she was being rushed to the hospital. But yet I held on to a sense of optimism that everything was going to be all right. It had to. My grandfather, her best friend in life, remained by her side, trying to talk to her until her last words turned to slurs as he watched her slip from his life.
On the way to my grandparent’s house to meet my uncle, my sister was driving as my mother and I began a solemn conversation about Thanksgiving. “We should cook for Nana this year,” Carrie said to us knowing that our grandmother would be too weak. When we arrived, our optimism turned into a reality we weren't ready to embrace as we saw my uncle standing beside his car in the driveway. "She's not going to make it," James said too fast. He looked as if all color vanished from his face as he prepared those words. My mother immediately fell to the ground in front of the strange, yet familiar house; her eyes rolled up towards the sky. As everyone tried to help her up, I began screaming "Nana! Nana!" My uncle grabbed me and I began to cry in his arms. He started breaking down. Realizing it, he stopped himself and said we had to go. It wasn't long after that I began to realize she already died on the way to the hospital. This we all knew, even though a machine was keeping her alive until we all decided it was time to let her go.
It was the year of death. Rich and Tony- their names still reappear in my mind never letting me forget. A car accident that started it all, quite like the big bang theory. One was my best friend's ex-boyfriend and the other, a friend of my boyfriend. Bad things could happen and they will. This was the main thought that dwelled inside me; found a place to live and stayed dormant for a long time. My relationship with my boyfriend Sean at the time began to falter, a complete turnaround from the ideal relationship I thought we once had- a relationship that focused on perfection- change was incomprehensible. Now I see it as inevitable. The third death was my grandmother. The next instance of death after my grandmother, my boyfriend just gave the only response he could. I felt the coldness of his words rise goose bumps on my skin. "Everybody’s dying," he said to me without glancing at my face. This time we were walking figures- so distant, not able to save each other. Death became the norm and support for one another couldn't be found.
I sat in the waiting room not far from where my grandmother's body was. There were several Amish people there and I remembered the Amish shootings that occurred that same year. I felt connected to them. Someone was there talking to one of them about the situation. "Do you think there is hope she will make it?" I asked one of them, trusting they would give me some type of spiritual response. The woman looked at me and said it was possible. A small amount of optimism came back and I prayed that maybe this time God can let my family have a miracle.
I had to keep leaving the room. I wasn’t able to stay. I listened as more commotion filled the room- on and off crying, and decisions about letting go of my grandmother after the doctor informed us several times of what I refused to understand. Why can’t we just have more time? What about a miracle? I remembered the Claddagh. My eyes shifted around the room and stopped when I reached her belongings. Her ring was somewhere in here and I wanted it. It needed to be with me.
Before we left, I stood inside the room staring at who was once my Grandmother- noises from the machines could be heard. It was quiet this time. I kissed my grandmother’s forehead whispering "I love you Nana," - my unreturned goodbye. My grandfather sat lifeless in the chair, refusing to believe what was surrounding him. Focusing on his own strength he said to me, "I'm sorry kiddo."
It was my 16th birthday when I first received a significant part of my grandmother- wrapped up in a white box. She told my mom beforehand that she couldn’t wait to give me this present. Inside rested an aquamarine necklace much bigger than the one she got for me a few Christmases before. Its smooth, shimmering surface collected different colors of light all around me. I could almost see my reflection. My grandmother told her it was a ring that belonged to her mother. Now it was given to me as a necklace. My treasure of aquamarine jewelry eventually grew to a collection I received from my grandmother’s will. She talked with my mom often about what she would leave to me and my sister. But really, she left more than just jewelry. She left a piece of herself.
The last day she was alive, I was fighting with Sean which was habitual at the time. My mind, half-absorbed over a merry-go-round of a problem which I usually started, focused on whether I would get a call from him soon. We all sat in the dining room talking, just my grandparents, my mom and I. I remember staring at her gold Claddagh ring, but this time I told her how much this ring always meant to me. I lifted up my hand to show her mine. They both looked so happy. My grandfather showed us his new wedding band that my grandmother recently bought for him after he lost the previous one. Jokingly, she said that this was going to be his last one. After a while into the conversation, I decided to walk downstairs to our rec room to watch TV in complete thought of my boyfriend, while feeling slightly guilty. I didn’t listen to my intuition that day. I looked upstairs and saw my grandmother looking back at me. I had to quickly turn my head back to the TV because I felt that I was doing something appallingly wrong. Later on when they were both getting ready to go, they whispered to each other about the old beat up couch I was sitting on. I knew they were planning on getting us a new one for Christmas. I followed them back upstairs to give a quick goodbye which I now wish was longer. But it was enough to give me some kind of an imprint- the scent of her perfume and the feel of her brown jacket with the furry hood brushing up against my face when my arms were wrapped around her. That day I didn't wave out the window until their white, Grand Marquis drove out of sight.
It will be three years next month since her death and the season's return drags in extra memories. My grandfather doesn't wear his wedding band anymore and even though I don't fully understand, but now I realize that this was something he had to do. I broke up with my boyfriend the first summer after, realizing it was something I had to do. Even though I think about being in a relationship, I can't imagine myself taking that chance again just yet. My grandfather lives alone. He takes a woman out for breakfast on Sundays. My mom says it is just for companionship, but I wish that woman was my nana. I picture her sometimes at the house, walking in her slippers, revitalizing it with her presence and returning that feeling of contentment as soon as you walk through the door. Holidays were the greatest. It was an escape from home- a treat we all looked forward to. When I was younger I looked forward to the huge, extravagant presents my grandparents would buy for all of us. They would ask us to make up a list in October. But it was the conversation I eventually started to look forward to- the laughter and of course my grandmother running into the kitchen in the middle of dinner forgetting to take the rolls out of the oven. I especially loved when we would all rest our bellies from all the holiday eating. Midway between unconsciousness and watching TV, I would glance over at my grandmother still puttering around in the kitchen where I can still picture her. That feeling was unforgettable. She gave us all more life than we already had- especially for my grandfather. Those two were a match that was meant to be even before the beginning of time. “Sidekicks,” my grandfather says sometimes.
I bought a silver ring that served the purpose of a wedding band for my boyfriend on our one year anniversary. I already owned a ring he gave to me, and I felt that this would represent our love and what I once thought was endless. But now when I look back, I see that sometimes change has to occur in life even though it isn’t always easy to face. A year later, he lost this ring in the river at the cabins which held most of our memories and was what we both considered the foundation of our two year romance. Now, this piece of jewelry I once gave him with the inscription “My love always” is probably still there, swimming among the rocks and other lost belongings in the river, where it belongs. I recently went to that area with his cousin (one of my best friends) and I told her I wanted to see the cabins again- to just quickly glance at what was such an immense part of my past. It took me not even one minute before I told her to turn around. That place was completely different to me now and I think I’ll leave it that way.
My mind always drifts when I'm driving and I often search to find a good song on the radio or one to match the mood I'm in. I pause when "How to save a life" by The Fray comes on- a depressing song that I used to not be able to listen to and my mind almost immediately starts replaying the same, familiar scenes. That long drive to Philadelphia, knowing what we were about to do. It was our second day there and the last. My brother was driving so I was able to stare out of the passenger side window in complete orbit trying to form her face in the passing clouds. I felt the pain more when this song came on. Now I turn the song up, almost in full blast so it can penetrate throughout my body erasing everything else that could disturb this time. More memories start pouring in and I can almost hear her speaking to me. "I need you Nana" I begin to say out loud as several tears sometimes build up in my eyes. In the same instance, a big smile emerges across my face and I glance up at the sky and back down at the world around me where, I’m fully conscious of the present again and of the Claddagh I can feel wrapped around my index finger. My grandmother was gone but she wasn't permanently out from my life and I know she will always be with me. This is our hidden secret that rests upon my finger, connected to my soul. And that I can never lose.
(Names were changed for privacy reasons)
Oh, Aquamarine
The finest of blues
Born with the color flowing throughout my blood
dripping from a claddagh of memory
so permanently attached upon my finger
A magnet to my grandmother
The link connected to a blue heart
coloring my world as a constant reminder
The blanketed sky where she watches
like a river reflecting the sky in soft ripples
not to disturb their unity transforming to one
A desire to swim with the water splashing over me
A continuous rejuvenation of memory
An understanding of a fish’s dependence on water
Our shared Piscean souls
The color resting beside diamonds, rubies and pearls
Value more often to catch the light
A gift left for me
and the Golden treasure dressed in blue
that walks beside me always
Before we left the hospital for the last time, I sat in one of the chairs by myself outside my grandmother’s room. I stared at my ring and rubbed the heart so roughly that the ring became wet from the sweat of my finger caused by severe pain surrounding my entire body. I clung on to it, pressing it against my skin, like a memory I didn't want to forget. At this time the heart was facing outward but when I was sitting there at the hospital, I didn't want to think of Sean as my finger caressed the ring. I took the ring off my finger and slid it back on with the black heart facing towards me. My only thoughts were of my grandmother and this ring was what she gave me- not the one I lost long ago, but the meaning, the power, the love that will remain with me forever.
This ring always intrigued me and I became captivated when I eventually learned of its meaning. When I got older and bought my first Claddagh ring, I followed the traditional custom. I would automatically start up a conversation when I saw others wearing it, becoming instantly drawn to its magnetic force. It wasn't until 2006 when I started using the ring's meaning in my own way that I truly saw its profound significance and importance in my life. Now it never leaves my finger. This beautiful Irish ring worn today by many people encompasses a great symbolic meaning and it seems that most everyone who wears one possesses their own story.
The center piece displays a heart of love surrounded by hands of friendship and on top rests a crown of loyalty. This ring, according to old custom, can be worn to represent if a person's heart is available or taken. If the ring is worn on the left hand with the heart facing inward, it means that you are married. If it is worn on the right hand with the heart facing inward, you're in a relationship with someone and your heart is therefore taken, but if the heart is looking the other way, then you’re still in search of love.
My first introduction occurred when I was a little girl and my grandmother took me to a jewelry store where rows of rings stood before me. My surroundings were hazy and unrecognizable looking back at that moment, but I now see it must have been important for her to buy me this ring. I watched as she picked up a small, silver Claddagh ring, finding the right one to fit my finger and I carelessly took care of it, in adoration of the object itself, like a child often is with a new toy. That highlighted time eventually formed a memory and a special link was created. From that day on, without so much realizing it then, this symbol became our own- a special bond we shared of her Irish background she passed down and from all the love she bestowed. She always wore a gold Claddagh ring on one of her fingers which in the future I would own. My eyes would gaze upon its worth with so much unspoken sentiment, knowing it represented a connection we had that could never compare to any replica I may find. I always owned silver but it was she who wore gold.
She was the only grandmother I ever had, even though my dad’s mom is still alive. But a three year separation period that they, the Sicilian side of the family started over a series of unnecessary tension gave me a new perspective. And now my dad is the only one who really talks to her. To me that’s not true family and I don’t regret not calling her. But my nana was the one that was there for me and my family, financially and emotionally. She would always sit, beaming in the audience at all our school events. She would often brag to various people in the family about all of our accomplishments, addressing how immensely proud she was of all her grandchildren. But most of all, she was always there.
I tried numerous times to find the ring my grandmother bought for me but it was impossible and I think it will forever remain lost. If I would've known how much that ring would mean to me in the future, I would have never taken it off, just like the one I own today. This one has a black heart. And I am conscious of it's presence on my finger in fear that this too shall slip off and veil itself from my sight.
My grandmother died November 17th 2006 due to a sudden aneurism in the brain. The phone rang in the morning as I was upstairs in the bathroom toying with my hair in preparation for school. I froze as my mother picked up the phone and began screaming. My grandfather told my mom a blood vessel burst in my grandmother's brain and she was being rushed to the hospital. But yet I held on to a sense of optimism that everything was going to be all right. It had to. My grandfather, her best friend in life, remained by her side, trying to talk to her until her last words turned to slurs as he watched her slip from his life.
On the way to my grandparent’s house to meet my uncle, my sister was driving as my mother and I began a solemn conversation about Thanksgiving. “We should cook for Nana this year,” Carrie said to us knowing that our grandmother would be too weak. When we arrived, our optimism turned into a reality we weren't ready to embrace as we saw my uncle standing beside his car in the driveway. "She's not going to make it," James said too fast. He looked as if all color vanished from his face as he prepared those words. My mother immediately fell to the ground in front of the strange, yet familiar house; her eyes rolled up towards the sky. As everyone tried to help her up, I began screaming "Nana! Nana!" My uncle grabbed me and I began to cry in his arms. He started breaking down. Realizing it, he stopped himself and said we had to go. It wasn't long after that I began to realize she already died on the way to the hospital. This we all knew, even though a machine was keeping her alive until we all decided it was time to let her go.
It was the year of death. Rich and Tony- their names still reappear in my mind never letting me forget. A car accident that started it all, quite like the big bang theory. One was my best friend's ex-boyfriend and the other, a friend of my boyfriend. Bad things could happen and they will. This was the main thought that dwelled inside me; found a place to live and stayed dormant for a long time. My relationship with my boyfriend Sean at the time began to falter, a complete turnaround from the ideal relationship I thought we once had- a relationship that focused on perfection- change was incomprehensible. Now I see it as inevitable. The third death was my grandmother. The next instance of death after my grandmother, my boyfriend just gave the only response he could. I felt the coldness of his words rise goose bumps on my skin. "Everybody’s dying," he said to me without glancing at my face. This time we were walking figures- so distant, not able to save each other. Death became the norm and support for one another couldn't be found.
I sat in the waiting room not far from where my grandmother's body was. There were several Amish people there and I remembered the Amish shootings that occurred that same year. I felt connected to them. Someone was there talking to one of them about the situation. "Do you think there is hope she will make it?" I asked one of them, trusting they would give me some type of spiritual response. The woman looked at me and said it was possible. A small amount of optimism came back and I prayed that maybe this time God can let my family have a miracle.
I had to keep leaving the room. I wasn’t able to stay. I listened as more commotion filled the room- on and off crying, and decisions about letting go of my grandmother after the doctor informed us several times of what I refused to understand. Why can’t we just have more time? What about a miracle? I remembered the Claddagh. My eyes shifted around the room and stopped when I reached her belongings. Her ring was somewhere in here and I wanted it. It needed to be with me.
Before we left, I stood inside the room staring at who was once my Grandmother- noises from the machines could be heard. It was quiet this time. I kissed my grandmother’s forehead whispering "I love you Nana," - my unreturned goodbye. My grandfather sat lifeless in the chair, refusing to believe what was surrounding him. Focusing on his own strength he said to me, "I'm sorry kiddo."
It was my 16th birthday when I first received a significant part of my grandmother- wrapped up in a white box. She told my mom beforehand that she couldn’t wait to give me this present. Inside rested an aquamarine necklace much bigger than the one she got for me a few Christmases before. Its smooth, shimmering surface collected different colors of light all around me. I could almost see my reflection. My grandmother told her it was a ring that belonged to her mother. Now it was given to me as a necklace. My treasure of aquamarine jewelry eventually grew to a collection I received from my grandmother’s will. She talked with my mom often about what she would leave to me and my sister. But really, she left more than just jewelry. She left a piece of herself.
The last day she was alive, I was fighting with Sean which was habitual at the time. My mind, half-absorbed over a merry-go-round of a problem which I usually started, focused on whether I would get a call from him soon. We all sat in the dining room talking, just my grandparents, my mom and I. I remember staring at her gold Claddagh ring, but this time I told her how much this ring always meant to me. I lifted up my hand to show her mine. They both looked so happy. My grandfather showed us his new wedding band that my grandmother recently bought for him after he lost the previous one. Jokingly, she said that this was going to be his last one. After a while into the conversation, I decided to walk downstairs to our rec room to watch TV in complete thought of my boyfriend, while feeling slightly guilty. I didn’t listen to my intuition that day. I looked upstairs and saw my grandmother looking back at me. I had to quickly turn my head back to the TV because I felt that I was doing something appallingly wrong. Later on when they were both getting ready to go, they whispered to each other about the old beat up couch I was sitting on. I knew they were planning on getting us a new one for Christmas. I followed them back upstairs to give a quick goodbye which I now wish was longer. But it was enough to give me some kind of an imprint- the scent of her perfume and the feel of her brown jacket with the furry hood brushing up against my face when my arms were wrapped around her. That day I didn't wave out the window until their white, Grand Marquis drove out of sight.
It will be three years next month since her death and the season's return drags in extra memories. My grandfather doesn't wear his wedding band anymore and even though I don't fully understand, but now I realize that this was something he had to do. I broke up with my boyfriend the first summer after, realizing it was something I had to do. Even though I think about being in a relationship, I can't imagine myself taking that chance again just yet. My grandfather lives alone. He takes a woman out for breakfast on Sundays. My mom says it is just for companionship, but I wish that woman was my nana. I picture her sometimes at the house, walking in her slippers, revitalizing it with her presence and returning that feeling of contentment as soon as you walk through the door. Holidays were the greatest. It was an escape from home- a treat we all looked forward to. When I was younger I looked forward to the huge, extravagant presents my grandparents would buy for all of us. They would ask us to make up a list in October. But it was the conversation I eventually started to look forward to- the laughter and of course my grandmother running into the kitchen in the middle of dinner forgetting to take the rolls out of the oven. I especially loved when we would all rest our bellies from all the holiday eating. Midway between unconsciousness and watching TV, I would glance over at my grandmother still puttering around in the kitchen where I can still picture her. That feeling was unforgettable. She gave us all more life than we already had- especially for my grandfather. Those two were a match that was meant to be even before the beginning of time. “Sidekicks,” my grandfather says sometimes.
I bought a silver ring that served the purpose of a wedding band for my boyfriend on our one year anniversary. I already owned a ring he gave to me, and I felt that this would represent our love and what I once thought was endless. But now when I look back, I see that sometimes change has to occur in life even though it isn’t always easy to face. A year later, he lost this ring in the river at the cabins which held most of our memories and was what we both considered the foundation of our two year romance. Now, this piece of jewelry I once gave him with the inscription “My love always” is probably still there, swimming among the rocks and other lost belongings in the river, where it belongs. I recently went to that area with his cousin (one of my best friends) and I told her I wanted to see the cabins again- to just quickly glance at what was such an immense part of my past. It took me not even one minute before I told her to turn around. That place was completely different to me now and I think I’ll leave it that way.
My mind always drifts when I'm driving and I often search to find a good song on the radio or one to match the mood I'm in. I pause when "How to save a life" by The Fray comes on- a depressing song that I used to not be able to listen to and my mind almost immediately starts replaying the same, familiar scenes. That long drive to Philadelphia, knowing what we were about to do. It was our second day there and the last. My brother was driving so I was able to stare out of the passenger side window in complete orbit trying to form her face in the passing clouds. I felt the pain more when this song came on. Now I turn the song up, almost in full blast so it can penetrate throughout my body erasing everything else that could disturb this time. More memories start pouring in and I can almost hear her speaking to me. "I need you Nana" I begin to say out loud as several tears sometimes build up in my eyes. In the same instance, a big smile emerges across my face and I glance up at the sky and back down at the world around me where, I’m fully conscious of the present again and of the Claddagh I can feel wrapped around my index finger. My grandmother was gone but she wasn't permanently out from my life and I know she will always be with me. This is our hidden secret that rests upon my finger, connected to my soul. And that I can never lose.
(Names were changed for privacy reasons)
Oh, Aquamarine
The finest of blues
Born with the color flowing throughout my blood
dripping from a claddagh of memory
so permanently attached upon my finger
A magnet to my grandmother
The link connected to a blue heart
coloring my world as a constant reminder
The blanketed sky where she watches
like a river reflecting the sky in soft ripples
not to disturb their unity transforming to one
A desire to swim with the water splashing over me
A continuous rejuvenation of memory
An understanding of a fish’s dependence on water
Our shared Piscean souls
The color resting beside diamonds, rubies and pearls
Value more often to catch the light
A gift left for me
and the Golden treasure dressed in blue
that walks beside me always
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