This Is Life

On September 11th, 2009, my childhood friend Shelley Nance was found dead in her apartment. She turned 20 in April. She was a graduate from Italy High, class of 2007, and went on to attend the Art Institute in Dallas. She was an award winning artist, winning a scholorship to AI while still in high school. She was a brilliant artist, visually expressing all of her emotions, good and bad. She had a wonderful imagination, creating several stories that she intended to write out in novel form as well as illistrate and turn into video games eventually. She loved animals, turtles and butterflies being amongst her favorites, and was all around a peaceful person. She wouldn't harm a fly...literally. If there was a bug in the house, she would pick it up and carry it outside. She also loved pickles, sweet tea, and gummy bears.

I hate the fact that people tend to remember two things about Shelley: the fact that she was a quiet and introspective person, and the fact that she was murdered. Yes, she was murdered; stabbed to death in her apartment. But that isn't what was the most important part about her. She was an amazing person, a beautiful person. A rare find. An old soul. A rose in a garden of thorns.

Shelley was different and instead of letting that keep her down, she let that be her fuel. She used her uniqueness to CREATE. She was a true artist in that sense. And she was a loving person. She may have seemed shy at first glance, but once you got her talking, you'd never get her to stop. She was an amazing story teller and she found a silver lining in every storm cloud. I honestly just don't think that girl had a mean bone in her body.

Shelley,
I miss you. My heart aches every day from missing you. I am so thankful for the 13 years I shared with you and I am only sorry that your time here was so brief. You didn't deserve for this to happen to you. It shouldn't have ended this way. But I don't believe in accidents or coinsidences. I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason and that everyone has their time. I think the question "Could I have saved her?" has run through all of our minds, and I know what you'd tell us all. No, you couldn't have. I know and accept that it was your time to go be with the Lord. Do I like it? Not one bit. Do I wish things were different? Damn skippy. I would have taken your place in a heart beat. I would have gladly lain down my life so that you could live, and I can think of a hundred other people who would say the same thing. But I accept the fact that WE don't make the plans. God does. We just do as we told. I told everyone I knew you would fight for your life, and you did. I know you fought whoever did this. I know you wanted to live, Shell Bell. I know you did. I'm so sorry that no one was there. I'm so sorry you died alone. I am so so so sorry for the time I wasted...I thought we had TIME, but we didn't. I wont make the same mistake with other people. I promise. I love you, and I'll love you and cherish you forever...I feel safer knowing you're watching over me.

Alison

In life, it's rare that we get opportunities to make a brand new start, so I decided to take advantedge of the fact that the posts of the past don't have to haunt me. So yes, I've deleted my previous posts from a few years ago because I had a long stretch that I did not use this account. I plan on using this to blog about different things, but mostly just about my every day life. I'll write about school, friends, and family, and all the things that I learn daily just from living. I'll also add some of my blogs that I have posted on my myspace account because I've found them very ensightful and helpful, so I'll be adding them on here as I see fit, starting with this one, called My November.


"My November"
One day I was riding bikes with my childhood friend Kelsey, just riding around town, no particular destination in mind. Just two ten year old kids having fun. I took my hands off the handlebars as I glided down the road. I remember throwing my arms open wide and laughing, pretending to fly. I'm sure you remember doing that as a kid many times. Do you remember the sun on your skin and the joy you felt as the wind whipped through your hair? I don't know about you, but I remember. I also remember the joy being short lived on this particular day. I hit a patch of gravel that had been scattered over the smooth pavement, probably thrown there by some other younger child just having fun tossing rocks in the road. I was thrown from my bike and I hit the ground hard on my right knee. I remember not being able to walk right for a while afterward. I was close to cracking my knee cap.



I remember the day my doctor told me I would have pain my both of my knees for the rest of my life. Sports hadn't exactly been my entire life; I knew I had other talents I wanted to pursue as well, but I'd loved playing basketball and softball so much. I was good at it. It made me feel accomplished to score a basket or a run. When the weather changes, my knees ache unbearably. Sometimes I'll wake up from a dead sleep because they hurt so badly. So, up until this point, I thought I knew physical pain.



When I was twelve I moved into the house I live in now. I'd never had central air or heat before we moved here. We had the gas heaters and window units before, so the vent thing was new to me. I had no idea you could hear whole conversations through them. One day, a day that had started out innocent, I was in my bathroom peeing when I heard my parents talking fairly clearly. The word "cancer" froze me. I stood up on the toilet lid to finish listening to the conversation. I found out through the vent of my house that my Granny, a woman who I loved more then anything, had cancer. I ran into the den, tears streaming down my face, and my parents immediately knew that I had heard. I was angry with them for a very long time for the way I had to find out. For about two years or so I watched the strength that I'd admired so much leave my Granny. I watched the fire be smothered from her beautiful sky blue eyes.



The last memory I have of her was in the hospital. She was so disoriented from the pain that she didn't know who anyone was. The cancer had started eating at her sciatic nerve, so she was in so much pain that the morphine couldn't even help her at that point. When we left everyone said their goodbyes to her and she looked at them with such a lost expression on her face. It hurt everyone so much to know she didn't have a clue who they were or why they were there. I saved my goodbyes for last because I knew that would be the last time I ever saw my Granny alive. I walked over to the bed and squeezed her hand and told her I loved her. And you know what happened? She looked at me and recognition filled her eyes. She squeezed my hand the best she could---at that point, she wasn't very strong anymore---and she said in a very clear voice, "I love you too, Ali." No matter what kind of torment her own body was putting her through, and even though she didn't even remember one of her own sons, my Granny remembered me. For some reason still unknown to me to this day, even though the cancer ravaged her of her strength, mobility, and most of her memories, it didn't rob her of me. The one thing that no one will ever be able to take away from me is the last memory I have of my Granny on this earth. So often, now almost six years later, I feel so looked over and ignored more often then I care to reflect on, but my Granny knew me. She remembered me.



The day my Mom came home and told me she was gone, something broke inside me. I wouldn't let anyone touch me for a while. I just fell to the floor and started to cry uncontrollably. My Aunt Dee and my Aunt Punk---Granny's sisters---were there. I remember thinking that that was the first time I'd ever seen them truly saddened. I think Bonnie was the first person I let touch me. Those days are a little hazy, to be quite truthful. I barely remember the funeral. I remember Cassie sat next to me and she cried as much as I did. And I remember that for the rest of that summer, Cassie never left me. Cassie had been my best friend for a few years at that point and she'd spent a lot of time with Granny as well. So Cassie can tell you how dramatically different I was after Granny was gone. So you see, I thought I knew emotional pain as well as physical.



I remember being sixteen and getting my first taste of true betrayal and disappointment. I had someone who I counted amongst my closest and dearest friends. I could easily say, looking back, he'd become my best friend. His name was Eli. He lived almost 1000 miles away from me, so we didn't become so close by hanging out, but by talking. I remember doing more talking in those eight months then ever in my entire life and anyone who knows me knows that must be a lot of talking. He called me every day, often times more than once. I'd spend countless nights chatting away with him until the sun came up. I remember being exhausted my entire sophomore year but remember thinking that nothing was more worth it. ....



Over the course of time, as is the natural way of things, we developed some sort of feelings for one another. I loved him with what I thought was love in my sixteen year old unscathed heart, and things went on accordingly. Eli and Ali. Makes sense, right? Eli came down to visit for a week in May, and no matter what happened later, I still smile at the memory and at knowing that he chose to spend a great deal of that time with me. The first time we kissed was magic, pure and simple. I’ve had many first kisses, but only a few really still resonate with me, and that was one of them. We were in my front yard and looking at the stars. I told him to make a wish, and when he did I asked him what he wished for. He said he wished for courage, and when I asked him what he wished for courage for, he turned toward me, whispered the word, “This,” and his lips found mine. It was definitely a moment to remember.....



As things so often go when you’re so young, things ended abruptly and in much permanence. He broke up with me, the only explanation being that something just didn’t feel right. I was crushed. Our friendship survived by the hair on his chin, but it didn’t last. A year later he introduced me to a beautiful woman he’d fallen in love with, and after that the rumors flew. I was told he’d been unfaithful to me with her. He told me he wasn’t but at that point it didn’t matter whether he did or didn’t. The suspicion of the thought was enough to devastate me. The last time I ever heard Eli’s voice was on my eighteenth birthday. Since then he got married to that same beautiful woman, and I couldn’t be happier for him. I messaged him, telling him congratulations, but I never got a reply. That was fine by me. I did the right thing; I didn’t need a reply. So you see, I thought I knew heart break as well.



I'm twenty years old now and I’ve done a lot of growing up since I was that ten year old, arms open wide to the world on her bike. Since the day the doctor told me I’d never be able to play basketball competitively again, I discovered my love for writing. I decided that was what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, and I’ve never looked back. Since my Granny died, I lost many more people. July of 2007, almost four years to the day after Granny, my Uncle Dove (Aunt Punk’s husband) lost his battle with cancer. November of that same year a man that I loved like a Grandfather passed on, and my Aunt Dee passed away a year ago this month, her husband following shortly after. And Eli…well, Eli was four years and two disappointments ago.....



I know what physical pain is. I should, considering what a clumsy mess I am. I know emotional pain. I’ve lost family to death, friends to failure, and boyfriends to circumstance. But I’ve only been truly heart broken once, and it wasn’t Eli. I thought heart break and I knew one another well, considering, but we weren’t quite acquainted as of yet. Disappointment and I were on a first name bases, but I was forced to know heart break only as of late because Love and I were only recently introduced.....



Something else that I’ve learned as I’ve grown, though, is to have faith. I know I’m not done hurting in any way shape or form, but I also know from experience that the pain won’t kill me. I’m not sure it has necessarily made me stronger, but I’m definitely still alive and kicking. At one point I thought that this gnawing pain must be what dying feels like, but I realize now that’s not the case. Life is the thing that is painful, but it’s also the thing that is beautiful. ....



I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere. You may overlook me and forget me for a little while, but then you’ll remember. You’ll remember the image of a younger me, arms outstretched and flying like the free being that I am. You’ll remember the pain you helped me overcome. You’ll happen upon a moment burned into your mind, a moment worth remembering. You’ll think about the way my voice sounds when I’m singing and laughing. You’ll think about the curve of my face when I smile so wide that it reaches my eyes. You’ll think about all the things I’ve told you or the words you’ve read written from my hands. You will remember before all is said and done, and so will I. And in the moment that everything flashes in front of you, you will see me for the first time through an open heart, and you’ll glance over at the keys sitting on your desk. You’ll surprise me, like you did on my birthday. And I’ll still be here, waiting for you to remember.
As I anxiously await November,
Ali