Showing posts with label Tragedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tragedy. Show all posts

Monday, September 8, 2014

It's Alive!

Sometimes we all do things that we later regret in life, only we try and convince ourselves that we don't regret those things at all, but instead call them "learning experiences."

Today I was trying to give my cousin some material that I've written, as he does the same.  I had nothing, but I did remember this blog as his mother mentioned it the other night at dinner.  I Googled it, found it and I read as much as I could from my 25 year old self (Hi, I'm 30).  I laughed aloud and reminisced about the craziness that once ensued.  Surely I couldn't let this just sit here unattended forever, but does anyone blog anymore?  Doesn't matter, a journal is a journal is a blog is mottled mess. 
This evening when I got home I decided to log into this old friend and see if anything magically came out of my fingertips as I haven't had the desire to write in ages.  Through multiple failed login attempts I finally realized that the email associated with this account is an old account that I deleted 2 and a half years ago when I met my [now] ex-boyfriend.  

There are two points to this story.

  1. DO NOT ERASE YOUR PAST.  You are who you are due to all of your past experiences: Wins, fails, all of it.  I have nothing to regret, but I was so afraid that he wouldn't have approved that I erased the hardly used email account (OKAY!  I used it mostly for online purchase receipts).  This is a regret which in turn dominoes into a learning experience.  If someone doesn't accept all of your old battle wounds and mistakes then they're not worth the time.
  2. THERE IS ALWAYS HOPE FOR RECOVERY.  I spent 15 minutes trying to figure out how I could reset my password, but everything led to that sad, deleted email account.  I went to Yahoo! to try and pretend like I had never deleted it only to get the message, "Account not yet taken."  Apparently, with most accounts, if it's deleted for longer than 3-6 months it's fair game.  Dare I try it?  You bet!  I claimed the old email account, went back to the main Blogger page, once again clicked the "Forgot my password" tab and received the link to reset my password.
Hello again!

We may fall, get bruised or broken, but there's always recovery.  A small piece of us may drift away that we never get back, maybe a sparkle or two inside is lost, but within time we grow stronger and brighter than we ever were before.  I've missed me.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Ryan Buell Breaks My Heart

This is a blogging emergency.  Ryan Buell, my own personal prince for over 3 years when his stupid show debuted on A&E, has revealed in his new book that he's bisexual.  My mother insists he looks like Isaac from "Children of the Corn" (1984 edition), ergo he must be something of the devil, and this is her confirmation.

Disclaimer: We're not very religious people, and she does not really think that gays/lesbians are of the devil. Thank you.

Now, I know being bisexual he still likes girls, but what I'm afraid of is, a) he was missing something from women/men that he went looking for in the opposite. I say "women/men" because who knows if he was attracted to women before men or vice versa, b) if he's only saying "bisexual" to make it more socially accepted, when really he's gay.  Also that would make me a really sad panda, and c) if in the future he'll choose to be with men. 

Granted, I shouldn't really care regardless because we'll never be together (thank you, cruel universe), but I seriously didn't see this coming at all and so, let us mourn. 

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

"Captured: America in Color from 1939-1943"

Please check out this link.  These are pictures taken after the Depression in COLOR. Normally, when I look at black and white pictures of the past, it seems like a different world - almost easy and amazing! I find myself often saying, "I wish I lived during that time period." After looking at these, although different, it seems almost relatable - doesn't seem that different in color. Makes ya think.

Captured: America in Color from 1939-1943

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Old-en Cartoons-enberg

I have this friend who's going to be shipped off to boot camp come August for the U.S. Navy. I don't know how/why he found these, but I can't stop watching them. He posted a link to a very old Donald Duck WWII propaganda cartoon called "The Spirit of 43." It was barely 6 minutes long, but I can only imagine how many children ran to mother and father upon its ending credits saying, "save for taxes!" 

Then of course, there's link after link after link of more. I watched the Three Little Pigs next.

And of course, you can't forget Donald Duck as a Nazi. 

Can't... stop... watching.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Heaven is Convenient

I liked Brittany Murphy. A lot. Since I first saw her. I'm absolutely heart-broken that she left us so tragically at such a young age. It's in these moments that I wish I believed in God because I hate picturing someone's life just blatantly ending with nothing afterwards. I guess this is where my trouble lies.

Hopefully her energy is somewhere peaceful.



Monday, November 16, 2009

Be Kind, Don't Rewind

Is it wrong to compare going back in life to going back in a book? Flipping the pages back and thinking the words may have changed, or watching a movie over and over expecting a different ending? I used to go back - stop the DVD at a certain part and replay it, but of course, the ending was always the same. Sure, there are certain films that contain alternate endings, but those are few and far in between and most people hate the alternate endings, anyway.

I've decided I'm not going back. The endings are the way they are for a reason. The past isn't the present for a reason. "What if's" are called just that for a reason. They're fun to think about, but that's where it should be left. I'm comfortable with that idea for the first time in a long time.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Wake Up, You're Dead

This blog, I fear, has been brewing for a long time and although I'm not yet sure of how I'm going to write it, I'm sure once I get into my groove I'll be almost impossible to stop.

While discovering that tragic events have caused me to want to be closer to those I care about, I'm now finding that I'm losing even more faith in people than I already have. When did people become so evil and vile and inconsiderate? I know I'm too young to walk around lecturing, "back in my day..." but at the same time, when I was growing up I was able to play outside by myself in the neighborhood, ride my bike to elementary school, or play in the street without fear of speeding cars or disgusting kidnappers. Not to say bad things didn't happen, but it's not like today. I wouldn't let my child out of my sight this day in age.

How can people be so horrible?

I've been interested in the Jaycee Dugard case ever since she was found alive 18 years after her kidnapping. I'm interested in how her captors brainwashed her into living in their backyard in tents without trying to escape, I'm interested in what pleasure her captors got out of snatching her and keeping her as their pet. When I got home from work yesterday, the October 26, 2009 issue of People Magazine was on the dining room table with her face on it. The pictures were taken October 11, 2009. Jaycee's smiling at age 29.

( via )

Jaycee and her two daughters, fathered by her captor, are now adjusting to a new life and as curious as I may be, I hope they get to do it in privacy. And I can't stress this enough: This needs to be a movie.

As I kept turning the pages of the magazine it only got more disturbing. A 16 year old girl, her 18 year old best friend and both of her parents were killed by her 20 year old boyfriend (whom she met online) when he got a little jealous over a text message. The article focuses mainly on how the teens were into this horrorcore lifestyle and that was probably partially to blame. He bludgeoned them to death and then remained living in the house with the corpses on the floor for 3 days. The article I read was in People Magazine, but you can read up on her story here.

That article kind of reminded me of another disturbing incident which happened in Europe in 2003 that I read about in the waiting room of a doctors office. A sick boy in England pretended to be a whole slew of different people in an internet chatroom to plot his own murder with an innocent chatter. It's very intricate, complicated, confusing and nothing less than interesting, and it can be read here. Again, a movie, please!

Anyway, I'm losing faith in people in general. There are some really disturbed people out there and it only gets worse with time. It kind of makes me want to lock myself in my house because lord knows when a friend will get upset because I forgot to put them on my top friends list on Myspace and they stab me to death.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

"Quick! What's the Number For 9-1-1?!"

A fair warning: It took me about an hour to type this out as I remember it. I didn't proof read it as I really don't want to think about it anymore, so if there are silly errors, I apologize!


They say that those who are in the emergency profession (EMT's, paramedics, firefighters, police officers) become emotionally numb from the experiences that they encounter throughout their careers and in most cases it's even expected and accepted. Their loved ones support them and understand when they get in their "moods" and they even have psychiatrists on-hand in case of a traumatic event. Even through my 3+ years on and off with my officer I learned to improvise, adapt and overcome (Semper Fi!) the detachment and lack of connection, but now, I'm not so sure I understand.

After work this evening I was driving home my usual way, a straight shot down Stirling Road, the same cars every day. This is ridiculous, we should car pool. There was nothing out of the ordinary, the usual bad drivers and my radio blaring my recent kick: Billy Currington's "Heal Me," Jason Aldean's "Big Green Tractor" and Dierks Bentley's "Come A Little Closer," all of which I play... over and over. 

By the time I got to 90th Ave it was time to restart "Heal Me" so I could try and duet with Billy one more time before arriving home. I know by now to hit "back" on my iPod three times after Dierks to get to my song, which is what I was working on when I hit the aqueduct bridge. Once I made it over the bridge, it was at that time that my overall outlook had changed.

Not to sound tragically poetic, but there he lay. Once I comprehended that there was a young man laying face down in the middle of the road because he had been hit, I immediately pulled over. It had obviously just happened as there was no one else on scene except the driver who hit him, and the man in front of me who saw the accident. I grabbed my phone, shut off my engine and how I managed to even think of locking my door because I was leaving my purse in the car, I'll never understand. I couldn't even figure out how to wake my phone up from sleep mode to dial, what's that number again? 9-1-what? My hands were shaking and I couldn't think. The witness of the accident was on the phone already and all I could hear was the driver in a panic 20 feet away from where the boy lay.

I looked across the street and the victim's friend was pacing and dialing his phone, too. I looked back at the victim and he was starting to bleed pretty badly from his head and face, and the road rash on his dark skin left a layer that was fresh and light pink. It was at that time he started to come to and he lifted his head in what appeared to be an attempt to get up. I quickly ran over and pleaded with him to stay down. Another neighbor who lived on the street apparently heard the collision and ran over with some towels and he was also talking to 911 via his blue tooth headset. He carefully placed the towel under the boy's face so he wasn't directly on the concrete and it quickly started soaking up the blood. 

Onlookers started to pile around, but not too close. Some were directing traffic around us as to not cause any more harm to anyone, including the victim. The boy's young, scared friend ran over to ask us, phone in hand, "is he alive?" Even though his friend was alive, my heart sank. One minute they're skateboarding on the street, the next minute things are so hectic that he didn't even know if his buddy was breathing. I think it was about that time that I heard him tell the operater that they're both 15 years old. It was apparent that the victim had no idea what was going on, we didn't expect anything else, but he began convulsing and contorting his body. "He's going into shock!" a bystander shouted. Not too long after, a young girl who was a paramedic ran onto the scene and began talking to him and putting pressure on his head. Luckily we managed to keep him down until the paramedics arrived. 

At one point, I don't even know when in between all of the madness, I looked over at the driver who was standing alone with her arms crossed and an obvious look of sorrow on her face. She was young, late 20's so I could only imagine what she was feeling. I made my way over to her and asked her if she was okay to which she quickly replied, "no!" and began crying. I gave her a hug and I played with her hair as she was voluntarily sobbing her story on what happened. "I mean, his head imprint is in my car!" she cried out as she pointed to her windshield. Sure enough, on the passenger side of her windshield was a huge hole, glass cracked and the passenger side mirror behind us on the ground. 

Within what seemed like hours but was probably only a matter of minutes, every Cooper City sheriff and an ambulance and fire truck were on scene to take over. The boys clothes were cut off, and he was eventually carefully loaded onto a stretcher and sped away to the hospital. Apparently the witness had the boy's panic-stricken friend call the mother to tell her that he was conscious, but he had been hit and to be ready to meet him at the hospital. She made it to the scene in time to meet the ambulance before he was loaded and gone. 

We stood around and had our conversations with the investigating officers while the firemedics cleaned the blood and clothing off of the street. The kind neighbor with the towels had disappeared and so did the heroic paramedic girl. Then we finally had enough time to catch our breath and wipe the sweat off of our faces to actually have a conversation with each other.

It was funny - we all spoke of the boy, how it happened, why it happened, why it shouldn't have happened and how we're not going to let it happen to our own children. We talked about how close we all live to each other and how long we've been here in the neighborhood. I never heard a "great job" or a "thank you." It wasn't left out in a rude way, but more of a "we did what we had to do and what we wanted to do" fashion. It was already known. 

The lead investigator finished his reports and granted us permission to leave while the other officers kept the road closed until we could safely pull our vehicles off from the side and back in the direction we were originally heading - home. After the witness pulled away, I drove the 20 feet to where the shaken driver was. I shouted to her to take care and I turned onto my street which was another 10 feet away.

I don't know any of their names.

How can our first responders be so numb? Instead of wanting to pull away from those who care about me, all this experience made me want to do is be closer to those people. Maybe I'm just naive, though. Afterall, this was one accident I pulled over for, our heroes do it every day.