Decisions.

When they asked me if any corrections needed to be made,

You where one of them.

You aren’t my emergency contact anymore,

I wont be calling you anymore.

You are not the person that they would call if I was ever broken,

because lets me honest you did all the breaking yourself.

You aren’t my emergency contact anymore,

you don’t get the pleasure of knowing when I’m lost,

mostly because I’ve spent so much time being lost in you,

lost in your thoughts,

lost in your life,

You aren’t my emergency contact anymore.

You don’t get to hold my hand if I were at the end,

because you never walked with me through the small moments,

the day I got my license,

the day I went to college,

the day I fell in love,

the day I turned 18.

You aren’t my emergency contact anymore,

you don’t get to know when I am hurt,

you made sure to hurt me yourself.

You don’t get to know when I’m feeling alone,

you made me feel that all by yourself.

You aren’t my emergency contact anymore.

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Hope on the Move

One million U.S. adults are living with a blood cancer. Every 4 minutes someone in the U.S. is diagnosed with a blood cancer. Every 10 minutes someone in the U.S. dies from a blood cancer. Unfortunately these facts are real. But, Organizations like The Leukemia and Lymphoma society help these number drop dramatically. We need your help, I need your help. My team, Hope on the Move, is walking for the end of blood cancers on October 12th. My family is living proof that this society helps saves lives by funding research programs, like the one my mother chose to participate in, that has saved her life. This group not only saves lives of cancer patients, it saves families from having to deal with an incredible loss. These are the facts in our modern world, but we have the power and the tools to change them if only we work together. Anything will help. Just click on the link below and click on my name, Ashley to donate under me. Isn’t using the old, faded one dollar bill you have in the back of your wallet to help end the fight of cancer more of a use than letting it lay around? 

The Final days

Aside

I remember when they took you there, when they knew it was getting close and you really didn’t have a choice. I remember how the air was a little tighter and the obvious a little more obvious there. When you walked in you could no longer deny what was the next step in the plan of life. That’s how it is on the inside of nursing homes or hospital facilitates, they have a way of making me feel like death is crawling up inside my chest and, out of fear of what would happen if I sit there for too long, I go outside because that is the only place that I can find relief. It’s the only way that I can feel the relief of spitting death out of my chest, by clumsily walking to the outside garden provided (there is always an over done garden usually with some sort of stone looking fountain so maybe I’m not alone in all this) and taking tremendously deep breathes and looking up at the sky as if to remind my body “you are alive, you are alive”, or, maybe its for my soul.

After hours and hours of sitting in a calm colored room filled with deep reds and sun shining on dirt brown, I knew I needed a break. I needed a break from sitting in a room trying to act like the thing that was happening wasn’t really happening. Maybe it was because I couldn’t look in your eyes anymore, or maybe it was because I had to pee, who knows. All I know is I left the room for a stroll around slow death valley, or as people tend to call it, the hospice center. After one too many turns in the maze of halls I somehow got lost. Then the world began to spin, in my frantic search for your room. I got lost in the indoor prison of beige colored walls and, after turning corner and corner and corner they felt like they were closing in. All I could smell were burnt potatoes wafting from everyone’s rooms and families talking softly about what to do and people in their bed dying and going over every little day of their lives wishing they had more but they don’t. And I begin to run because I know that’s you, I know that’s what you are doing and I don’t want to miss a second of you. I don’t want to miss a second of your warmth or the smell of your weathered skin. I don’t want to miss another millisecond of your rough over worked hand holding mine. Running faster and faster I still can’t reach your room and the beige colored walls swallow me up and my lings feel like they are about to rip out of my chest. I can’t miss another minute of your beautifully, cut short life. I run and run along these creme colored walls, along the windowless plaster prison walls in a place that takes no survivors.  I run and run and run, how big could this place be? Finally I hear the all too familiar voice of my mom, I smell the tartness of my grandmas perfume and I see you. I haven’t missed it, that greedy disease hasn’t stolen you away from me just yet. And, before I slip quickly back into that room so I can hold your hand I say a very quiet prayer thanking god for those extra five minutes.