Episode 6: On Death and Dying

So I'm taking this class for nursing, called Death and Dying. We're reading a book by Kubler-Ross called "Death, the Final Stage of Growing." We had to write a journal this week and answer some questions. One of them was "Discuss your thoughts on why it is so hard to die... Or is it?"

While answering the question I pretty much just went on this rant about my views and beliefs and it's pretty raw and morbid so don't read it if you're easily disturbed. I shouldn't even say that because the point of this class is to make us more comfortable with death and honestly, everyone needs to be.

Anyhow, here's my answer to the question:

            I think it’s hard to die because we form such attachments to life.  We are attached to our friends and family, to material things, to habits or hobbies or whatever else. Even if we’re not concerned for ourselves in dying, sometimes we are concerned for everyone else's feelings. Sometime’s we’re selfish.

            Another reason it’s hard to die or to think about our loved ones dying is because death is so unknown. Again we’re a little selfish, wanting them here with us instead. I personally don’t believe in an afterlife or any sort of reincarnation. Sometimes I think that it must be harder for me to think about death than others because I don’t think of people going to some frilly place in the clouds. I don’t believe there are reasons for dying other than that it just happened. It was “supposed” to, but not because some god wanted it to be so. It was supposed to because that’s what happens when your heart stops beating, or your car is struck by oncoming traffic and your neck snaps from the impact.

            That sounds really harsh but isn’t that why we’re taking this class? Not that I’m not sympathetic, I’ll be the first to feel my heart crumble and my eyes well up over the death of someone else's loved on, or the first to rush to the aid of a family in need when they’ve lost someone. I guess it’s just my views about the actuality of death that seem harsh. I guess I’ve always been like that, though. It started when I’d hear about a particularly horrible death, and I’d imagine what it must have been like. I’d think about gruesome details, maybe because I was morbid. Or maybe because I was curious. I’d never seen a dead body or had someone close to me die at that time. But that’s ridiculous, of course I had. I’d been to a million funerals growing up. I hadn’t seen a freshly dead body, though, probably because of the magic vanishing act that Kubler-Ross mentions.

            I would see a car accident and wonder what it must be like to be right there afterwards. Somebody’s loved one thrown from their vehicle to lie in the rain next to the highway. I didn’t wonder what it was like as a seasoned paramedic, rushing up to yet another victim of the road. I wondered what it was like as a bystander who did or didn’t know the person and wasn’t in the habit of seeing the aftermath of a recent accident. When my friend Gloria died it was in a car accident and it was pouring down rain. The car was smashed to hell and her tiny little body was in perfect condition, no blood or bruises. She died on impact, having snapped her neck. I wondered what it must be like to come upon this beautiful young woman in the rain, just sitting in her car, black and teal-dyed hair arranged perfectly around her small face.

            Even then, I pictured her with eyes closed, arms down to her sides and head bowed to her chest. I really don’t want to know if her eyes were open, if she was arrayed at odd angles or sprawled in her car. That’s my Gloria and it hurts to think of her in any way other than peaceful. But what music was playing, if any? Were her belongings thrown into the road? Did anyone stop? Do I even really want to know these details, and why?

            For a long time when I was younger I didn’t fully believe in what I was taught in church. I just didn’t have some great feeling like it was right or true.  The freest I’ve ever felt was the day I finally realized that I was an atheist trying to shove my spiritless mind into the body and supposed soul of a pretend Catholic. Why did I feel free? Because I was tired of fearing death. I was tired of fearing that I wouldn’t walk the line straight enough and that God would stamp his foot on my face and knock me down a big red slide into Hell, like Santa did to Ralpie in A Christmas Story.

            I can’t say that I fear death anymore. To me it’s not unknown. It’s just nothingness. You can’t feel or see when you’re dead. I don’t feel that there is energy in my body that leaves and goes elsewhere. I feel that my “spirit” or my “self” is just my brain, which to me is like a computer made of flesh. It is amazing and awe-inspiring, the way it works, and not nearly as simple as a computer, but that’s just how I think of it. All this is not to say that I wouldn’t be devastated if I found out tomorrow that I only had a week to live. (And I still fear car accidents and stabbings… Because I’m afraid that if I lived I’d be in tons of pain.) I’m sure then I’d be scared, but I can’t help thinking… If I don’t get to do everything I wanted to before I die, so what? When I’m dead I won’t know that I didn’t get to do it. I still plan to live life to the fullest, for sure, but in my mind I won’t be up in “heaven” saying “Damn it, I ALMOST got to Ireland before that plane crashed.” But hey, maybe I’m wrong and I’ll be sweating it out with Satan when I meet my end.

            What I WOULD be upset about, however, is dying before I got to leave a lasting impression on people. In class we talked about how we felt about having a gravestone or how we’d want our mark left upon earth. Honestly, look how many gravestones are filling up graveyards, like landfills. You walk around and see them but how many people stop at every one and wonder about the life of the person who lies decaying beneath it? I want my family to do whatever makes them feel happiest and helps them move on, but what I’D like is to donate my body to science. Let it be useful. The more vain part of me (and I’m pretty vain) wants to be cremated and my ashes spread somewhere awesome, even though I’ll be dead and won’t know it.

            But back to what I was saying. I’d rather leave a lasting impression on PEOPLE. Maybe big enough for them to pass on stories for a few generations but I don’t even care about that. As long as memories of me are with the people I cared about most, until they die, that’s fine with me. And I don’t mean like “Remember that time Kelsay got wasted and punched that girl in the face??” I mean like, “Remember how Kelsay used to make everyone feel better when they were down?” or “Kelsay was such an awesome person. She was pretty bossy and in your face, and she had all those goofy tattoos, but man she’d always help you out.”

            I’ll tell you why I want it to be that way. Exactly one year and six days ago I lost a really good friend. I hadn’t seen her in a year, had barely even talked to her, but it hit me extremely hard. We had done lots together in school, not as best friends but almost like cousins. Her life was abruptly ended at 22. She hadn’t even finished college and I could fill twenty pages trying to make you understand the WEIGHT of this loss, but instead I’ll tell you something else.

            Gloria was 22. Almost 23. She hadn’t even finished college and made a mark in her field or anything like that. She hadn’t met the man of her dreams or had kids to leave behind to feel the loss of losing a mother or provider. But let me just tell you I waited in line for 45 minutes to look upon her beautiful little body and that was several hours into the showing. I have NEVER seen so many people at a funeral. And you know what? Some of them had met Gloria only once. Some of them had NEVER met her. But she made such an impact on peoples’ lives that they came from all over to mourn her family’s loss. And every single one would tell you how bright she was, how much personality was packed into that tiny body, how she’d go out of her way to say “hi” and ask how you were, no matter how long it had been since she’d last seen you. My boyfriend, after being around me and my family, and Gloria’s family and friends, told me that he wishes he’d had the opportunity to meet Gloria, because she sounded like such an amazing person. He’s certainly not the first person who’s told me that.

            Just think about that, though. 22 years old and has left such an impression on our lives. We still celebrate her birthday and this year we had a memorial to celebrate the colorful life she led. Why? Not because we’re crazy and can’t accept our loss. Trust me, we know the facts. We do this because she’s left such an impression on our lives. It is absolutely insane, the number of people who knew her and met her and had naught but good to say of her. THAT’S what I want to leave behind. Not because I want to be awesome, but because I want to touch peoples’ lives. And I want to touch peoples’ lives because I don’t want them to be sad when I die. I want them to feel good that they had me in their lives, and I want THEM to feel good because I know how good it feels to have known someone like Gloria. I think it would be easier to die if I knew that this is what I had left behind and done with my life.

-Z

Episode 5: The Atheist and the Burning Church

I don’t know if you’ve ever witnessed the immediate aftermath of a church fire, but it’s a lot like attending a funeral. It’s probably more like performing post-mortem care on a patient, but I have yet to experience that.  The biggest difference I’ve noticed is that you feel a lot more comfortable staring at the fine details of a building’s death than you do a person’s.

            I don’t believe in God and I haven’t been to church to praise Him in years. The last time I attended Mass was last month for Easter, at the behest of my mother. All these Capital Letters and Proper Nouns. I really, really didn’t want to go. I feel sacrilegious entering a church and partaking of its services. I don’t feel this way because I’m a God-hater or devil-worshiper, but because I feel that it isn’t fair to the people who put time and effort into their religion.  I feel like an imposter; a faker.  But it made my mom happy and actually, I really enjoy being in my little church.

            Lafferty is a small town with a decently tight community.  Though I no longer regularly attend church services, I did really enjoy them when I went and I liked the community projects and catechisms on Sundays.  I love the people who go there and even though I don’t always remember their names, I recognize them in public and “the people who live in my town/go to my church.” They’re good people.  They’re nice and caring and though some of the ladies gossip, I’m sure, they’re not uber-Christian holy rollers. I like them a lot.

            Even though I’ve been a non-believer (free, as I like to call it) for some years now, I was still very comfortable in my church.  I’ve been to some other Catholic services since I stopped believing and though they are all almost exactly the same, I was just the most comfortable in my small little church.  I knew all the words to all the prayers, knew in which order they were spoken, knew the melodies to all the hymns, and knew the “peace-be-with-you” ceremony wouldn’t be awkward or strange because I knew everyone there.

            I walked to the church from my house and listened to my Harry Potter audio book on the way. When I got to Jordan Street, however, I turned it off.  I didn’t want my first sight of this beloved old church to have a Harry Potter soundtrack.  It was so beautiful outside. Walking up the hill was strange because I couldn’t see the bell tower peaking over the houses. I glanced at the sign that pointed newcomers on towards St. Mary’s church and realized sadly that it would have to be taken down. There wouldn’t be a church at the end of it’s arrow anymore.

            It really was like a funeral. I was curious to see the church but I really didn’t want to go.  I knew it would be sad and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it.  I really hate change no matter how much I want to move around the furniture in my room or cut my hair, and I really didn’t want to think about not seeing it from the hills on the other side of town and not hearing it’s bell tower from my house during church services. 

            I knew I wouldn’t get to have my Last Moments in private because so many other people would be driving and walking by to see. It was so, so sad when I walked up.  Although outwardly more of the church remained than was burned, the entire roof and bell tower were now missing, with only thin, dead toothpicks left of the corner supports.  The top of it reminded me of a tiny burnt forest.  It seemed quiet and lifeless instead of happy and shining, as it had seemed to me previously.  The recently re-finished exterior was almost unmarred.  All of the doors were open, the beautiful stained glass windows blown out. All but one, towards the front.  I felt bad that I couldn’t remember which it had been. Parts of the plaster were melted and hanging over the top.  Through some of the windows you could see the sky where the roof had gone.  Through others you could see only the roof where it had burned away and parts of it had folded down into the church.  I realized then that I had forgotten there was the little upstairs area with the organ and extra pews where the choir would sing.  The organ wonld have burned up too, of course.

            I don’t know a whole lot about fires and their aftermath and I’d never seen a big one put out.  I walked around the front of the church where someone had placed a small white statue of Jesus amongst the soggy dirt and rubble spilled along the front stairs.  I stupidly wondered why there was debris so far away from the church when I realized that I already knew the answer.  Once my neighbor’s roof had been on fire and I told my mom immediately, who called 911.  I was terrified.  The fire department came and put it out in minutes.  I remember them talking later about the damage that the water had done and how they’d had to have it cleaned up.  Obviously the large amount of water used to put out the flames would have flowed through the church.  The door were probably opened so that it could all flow into the street.  So many other undamaged things would have been ruined, then.  I thought about the water flowing down the stairs in the room off the altar, down into the basement area where there was a full kitchen and seating areas where I used to have church lock-ins with my friends.

            I could smell the burned wood from the street.  I walked up closer to the yellow tape that completely surrounded the church.  I heard one woman say that the police said that the church would probably fall by morning.  Another agreed and said that it was creaking badly.  I walked around taking pictures of all angles of the church and eventually came upon some burned paper lying dry on the grass.  It was a St. Mary’s Church bulletin that had floated out of the burning building.  I briefly considered taking it home with me but decided to leave it there on the ground.  It was odd and somehow perfect.

            I walked up further to where there was a bit of a cement patio surrounding the back door of the church, closest to the altar.  Here I was hit with an overwhelming urge to cry.  It was like getting your turn at the casket during a funeral.  I really wanted to see the burned altar but at the same time it seemed the hardest part.  That was the heart of the church.  The Bible, the tabernacle, the lacquered cross bearing Jesus, the hand-painted fresco on the back of the altar, the beautiful statue of the Madonna holding an infant Jesus.  All would be gone. 

            As I drew nearer I could smell it. Church incense.  Of course the lot of it would have burned up.  All my life I wondered what they had used in the incensor because I loved the smell.  I once saw that it looked like little pebbles.  The kind that go on the bottom of fish tanks.  I wanted to pocket a handful of them and try to burn them in the back yard but that was stealing. 

            I tried to peer in the door but all I could see was roofing.  From every angle into the church all that could be seen was the roof and upper walls, as if they had folded in to cover the doors and windows and prevent anyone from seeing anything too unpleasant.  Here too there was a lot of soot and debris that had washed right out of the open door.

            I continued around the back of the church which looked almost untouched.  On the opposite side was the door at the top of the outside stairs that led up to the room off of the right of the altar.  I had never been up those stairs.  At the bottom of them was the side door that led into the basement area where after church activities were held.  I stood there for a minute before I heard the sound of running water, like a waterfall.  I was immediately reminded of my neighbor’s house, and the water within.  The basement would have been untouched by the flames.  The damage here was from the torrent of water that would have rushed down the stairs behind the altar and from the ceiling.  I looked in to see those old tables and chairs all set up with their neat white tablecloths, rain pouring down on them.  I could see water sloshing around on the floor and remembered when we slept on that floor during our sleepovers.  It really upset me.

            Back around the front I looked in the front door of the basement, where I could see the white tablecloths and objects floating around in the water.  I remembered that there was a little step down to get into the basement and that it would hold three or four inches of water.  I heard a muffled banging noise and realized that it must be the loose bathroom door being manipulated by the water. 

            On this corner of the church there was a lot of heavier debris.  I saw some childrens’ toys that must have washed out of the basement, as well as calking guns and tools that the roofers must have been using right before the roof caught fire.  On the patio between the priest’s quarters and the church there was a bench on which someone had placed a pack of Pall Malls and a lighter.

            Once I got all the way back to the front of the church I just stood there for a while.  My heart broke for tall the people that went there every week, sometimes several nights a week.  My heart broke for my grandmother, who was there every chance she got.  I felt so bad for all the times I wasn’t around to move my car so she could get out and go to church.  I knew she’d have to find another church to attend and wondered if there were any close enough to which she could even drive.  I thought about all the times I’d been in that church and how sad it was that I was only there now to see it burned.  I thought about my mom’s friend’s daughter who was supposed to get married there, and about my catechism teacher who had been the fifth generation of her family to attend, and her son the 6^th.  I thought about the little old ladies who sang in the choir and how I had been thinking for months that I should start going so I could sing.  I remembered the one time I did sing the responsorial psalm and how I had to go in and practice, and how nervous I was. 

            The thing that really, really blows about this whole thing is that several years ago there were rumors that the diocese planned to shut down our little church.  Father Pabin, the priest at the time, was running around to two or three different churches to hold services because there just weren’t enough priests, or money to pay them, to attend to the needs of all the small town churches in the area.  Whatever happened our small community church managed to remain open for several more years, even though the diocese constantly threatened to shut it down.  I always thought of what a waste it would be since the church was so small and beautiful, and almost a century old.  I wondered, too, how the fuck The Church could collect so much of your fucking money and still not have enough to pay priests so that churches in small, close communities like Lafferty could stay open.

            In any case it’s just all sad and ironic that the church managed to remain open all these years, only to be burned down.  I think it was a cigarette from one of the guys working on the roof but I have a sneaking suspicion that God, in his Mysterious Way, said, “Well, if you want to keep threatening to close this church, I’ll do it for you.”

-Z

Episode 4: Dogs and Other Things That Shit and Breathe

It has come to my attention over the last several years that I may quite possibly have the worst luck of anyone I know. From 6 flat tires and over a dozen blown out light bulbs in just one year to missing appointments and getting screwed out of 20 grand, I’ve experienced a wide range of rather “shitty” things. It has also come to my attention that most of these experiences are results of my own abundance of inattention, stress and inpatients.

Now, I’m not some crazy drug-addicted low-life who lives in a hovel and barely makes it from pay to pay. I’m actually a quite fortunate girl who comes from a good family, who was brought up well. I’m going to school for nursing, I’m in the Army National Guard, I make good grades and I have a really good job at Sam’s Club. I also teach dance at a studio and do floor sets for American Eagle Outfitters. My problems, however, get me into terrible situations and include but are not limited to spending, being impatient, not paying attention, having too much on my mind, and forgetfulness and PROCRASTINATION. Oh and my priorities sometimes suck. I live with my grandmother who can’t work anymore so instead she keeps the house clean and does laundry. She treats this like a job, so I usually either don’t do a good enough job to suit her, or I just don’t have time to do things like laundry right away and so she does it instead. I pretty much have it made.

So. Let me tell you about this past week.

But first,

You need to know about a few months ago.

Basically when school started in August of last year, I hadn’t yet done my FAFSA. I procrastinated, missed every deadline, kept forgetting to get my parents’ tax information and just generally sucking at life. So this went on for a full semester and at the end of it, once it was too late to do much, the FAFSA people told me that I could just do it all for next semester and get all of the money. This was all fine and dandy since I’d made it through a whole semester without my usual 3 grand, but I owed my parents and grandparents money for books and car parts.

So

Here we are at my current situation last week. NO money. NO gas. (Well, enough to get to school, but not enough to get all the way home without cashing that check.) No cat food, and my car REALLY needed fixed, which I’ll get to in a second.

Monday, Dec. 9th - It was Christmas break from school and my grandmother had decided to go to Cleveland to visit her other granddaughter for two weeks. My boyfriend and I took her up there and came back to my house, where we’d be for about two weeks.

Wednesday, Dec. 11th - A few weeks before I had noticed that my back right tire was getting low. I borrowed my grandparents’ (my dad’s parents, who live down the street from my mom’s mom, with whom I live) air compressor and kept airing it up. After about four or five days it would get low again and I’d air it up. After a couple of weeks of this I went to my dad’s friend’s tire shop and had it looked at. The rim was slightly bent so he slapped some extra sealant on it, reattached the tire and sent me on my way.

On my way home from work that night I was driving 35 in a 45 and hit a huge pothole that I never even saw. I had an “oh fuck” moment but made it the last 2 minutes home before checking my tire. Nothing seemed amiss and I could hear no air leaking so I went inside and went to bed.

Thursday, Dec. 12th – I go out to my car around 4:00 pm, trying to leave for work, and realize that my right FRONT tire is completely flat. At this point I didn’t have time to try and air it up before work and it was parked behind my grandmother’s car, so I couldn’t even use hers for work. I called down the street to my other grandmother and borrowed my pap’s car for work.

Friday, Dec. 13th – My boyfriend comes over and is getting ready for work. He tells me he’ll back out my disabled Cobalt since the rim was all bent up anyhow. That way, I could drive my grandma’s car to work. While in the bathroom getting ready I heard a loud noise but thought nothing of it. A few minutes later my poor boyfriend comes in to tell me that he’d back right into my mailbox and smashed out the right taillight in his fairly new Ford Escape. I felt terrible and very much like it was my fault since it only happened since he was trying to be nice and back out my car for me. He’s a good driver and would/had never backed into anything, plus his Escape has a sensor that beeps when he’s getting close to something, so I have no idea how this happened and neither does he.

Sunday, Dec. 15th – I spent most of the day at my mom’s, helping her cook food for a card-making party that she was to have later in the evening. I ended up staying there way too long and not getting grandma’s house cleaned as I had planned. Upon returning to grandma’s, I realized that I had locked myself out of the house. I had been using her car, and she had taken her house key off of her car key ring in order to take it to Cleveland with her, so when I left I didn’t bring my own house key because I thought hers was still on her key ring. I had to call my dad and have him break the knob on the basement door with channel locks so that I could get inside.

Monday, Dec. 16th – On this night I realized that I really needed to get the house clean for grandma’s return on Saturday because I was starting school and work again on Tuesday and would never have time during the week to clean up all of the house, and besides that I wanted to leave Thursday evening for Columbus to visit my best friend. I ended up not having time to do it because I had to run errands and I had dinner with my mom at her house, so I went home and went to bed. I didn’t want for school to start up again but I knew I’d have a nice fat refund check waiting for me. That night I planned out my next day and what I could go buy after work, making list upon list in order to prioritize what I needed to get with the money and what I needed to put back for vacation and such. I had to be up at six A.M. and didn’t end up falling asleep until around 12:30 A.M. At five my dog woke me up for the second time that morning, so that he could go to the bathroom. After I let him out to go he came in and drank two giant bowls of water, which I thought was really strange, but I wanted to sleep so I didn’t think much about it.

Tuesday, Dec. 17th – Finally! It was here, the day I’d kind of been waiting for. Class would suck but I could get my refund check and buy shit!!!! I got up a little late but left an hour early so that I could get to the school at eight A.M. so that I could be among the first in line for a refund check. After waiting a half hour it was my turn to go into the business office. I got really nervous and went inside, only to find out that they hadn’t yet processed my account and my check wouldn’t be in until Friday. It also would only be five of the eight grand.

Fuck.

I didn’t know how I was going to get home because I didn’t have gas. Everything online said that all my money was at the school. If I had just called in and asked about it, maybe it would have been done on time. Three days isn’t a lot of time to wait unless you’re completely broke and your cats need food. I texted my good friend Jesse, who happened to be on campus, and borrowed $20 for gas. Class went by quickly and I coasted down off of the hill to a gas station. I bought a soda and some gas and started to make my way towards the dance studio where I would have class in a few hours. I figured I’d relax and read and work on some dances for our recital before class started.

Wrong. Way wrong.

I squeezed my soda too hard when I reached to throw away a cup that I had meant to remove from my cup holder the night before. The soda spilled right onto my crotch, soaking my only pair of pants and also my grandma’s nice, clean car seat. I quickly hopped out of the car, dabbed up the soda, and got on of her floor rugs from the back to sit on. I had to drive all the way home to change before the dance class, so I headed that way.

Once I got there I changed and cleaned up, cleaned out the car and decided to play the Sims. I let out my dog, Pavlov, for about fifteen minutes. You see, he has a 15 foot lead that we have tied to a post on the porch so I just clip him to it and open the door and he goes out. I always have to watch him go to the bathroom to make sure he goes before I let him in. I WATCHED him shit in the yard, then made myself a cup of coffee. He was out there for around 20 minutes before I let him in. It wasn’t raining but it had been so it was very wet outside. I wiped off his feet, washed my hands, and sat down at the computer to play.

About five minutes later someone unlocked the door and came inside. I heard my brother’s voice yelling at Pavlov to “get down.” I thought this was strange since my brother was always super nice to Pavlov. I yelled out to him to say hi, and he yelled back that Pavlov had shit on the carpet.

“Are you fucking serious? HE WAS JUST OUTSIDE!!!

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s everywhere.”

So I walked out to the kitchen and sure enough, he had shit ALL OVER the carpet.

Half was solid waste and the rest was diarrhea. As you can tell from the pic, it looked as if he had been running in a circle while shitting. I stared in disbelief, panic rising in my voice.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?!? I seriously just had him the fuck outside!!! I WATCHED HIM TAKE A SHIT IN THE YARD FIVE MINUTES AGO.”

So Steven helped me clean up the bulk of the mess and I called up to Cleveland to find out where grandma kept the carpet scrubber. The floor was seriously a fucking mess and would need some incredible scrubbing. I called only to find out that the scrubber was all the way in Barnesville, 25 minutes away, because my aunt’s dog had shit all over her carpet as well. What the fuck are the odds?

My brother offered to go get the scrubber while I did what I could for the carpet. While he was gone I also looked up the price of linoleum because I sure as fuck wasn’t going to keep cleaning up carpet in a kitchen that shouldn’t have it anyhow. Steven had let Pavlov out when he came in, and the dog was running around eating random shit (well, stuff) out of the neighbors’ fire pits. Go figure, it had started POURING down rain so he was soaked and muddy.

I had to call and tell my student’s mom that I couldn’t do her class today because I had to catch and clean my dog and floor, and she was very understanding.

Today has pretty much fucking sucked and it’s all because I procrastinated on my FAFSA. Had I completed that on time I wouldn’t have had to wait for my check, Pavlov would have remained in his cage, either reducing or avoiding the mess altogether.

And I sure as fuck wouldn’t have been playing the Sim’s, because Jes and I would have been out shopping.

Goddamnit,

-ZS

Episode 3: She was...

Beauty, even in Death.

Have you ever "Googled" yourself? C'mon, sure you have. If not, maybe you've thought about it, or maybe now you are thinking about it or even trying it. If you haven't, maybe someone else has. A late night creeper episode from the boy down the lane, someone trying to see if you're actually famous. You probably get results like

So-And-So l Facebook, or So-And-So on Twitter (@soandso), or So-And-So insert-random-stupid-highscool-MySpace-name-here. Maybe some YouTube videos if they have them, maybe some random stuff for people with the same name, maybe a work-related website or a people search. Well, if you search

Gloria Dawes, it's a little different.

Gloria Dawes - News, Sports, Jobs - The Intelligencer... "Sep 6, 2011 – DAWES, Gloria M., 22, of Adena, Ohio, loving daughter and cherished granddaughter, was killed in an auto accident Sunday, September 4, ..."

Gloria Dawes, The Post

OHIO: Compass - University mourns loss of student. Gloria M. Dawes, 22, who died in an auto accident on Sunday, Sept. 4.

gloria dawes - WOUB - Counseling Available For Those Who Knew Gloria Dawes.

Dawes was killed in car crash over the weekend.

Oh, and here's one for Facebook: A permanent tribute to Gloria Dawes: This page was created to showcase the tattoos G's family, friends, and fans have gotten in memory of her.

You know, Gloria had been in the paper a few times. I've been in the paper a few times. My friends have been in the paper a few times. Mentions, pictures, articles, whatever. You never imagine that at 22 it's going to be your friend's obituary that you have to read. And you know, I still have trouble thinking that it's hers.

"Crash Claims Adena Woman."

No, that's not Gloria. They're talking about someone else. Woman? Gloria was my friend from high school, still a girl like me.

Except

We're not just girls anymore. One day I'll even be old. But not poor G.

You know it's hard even to write this, because I can't stop crying. Sometimes I feel like a fool because, honestly, Gloria and I weren't' that close. At least, not in the past couple of years. We'd say Hi on Facebook, I'd text her for advice on piercings and tattoos now and then, but the last time I saw her? That's been over a year ago, now. I babysat Rufio for her before she went to the beach. With her family. Always her family.

I'll never forget the way she looked. Beautiful, as always. So tiny and cute, with perfect cat-eye makeup and a smile with those beautiful teeth. Her hair was done up nice, as usual as well, and she wore skinny jeans and sandals and I noticed she now had tattoos on her feet. I hugged her small frame and thought about how much I needed to lose weight.

I hadn't seen her in a WHILE but it didn't matter, she asked about nursing, I asked about dancing, we talked for a bit and I got Rufio's things and put them in my messy car. I remember she had her personalized license plates and a Macbook box in her back seat. Stupid little things you remember.

The next time I saw her was about a week later when I met them in the parking lot at Oglebay before work and returned her kitten to her. Another hug, "I got you something at the beach!" "You shouldn't have!" I never knew that I'd never see her again and I never knew that I'd never get that gift in person.

I still can barely even TALK about Gloria. I can't imagine the pain of her best friends and family when I can't even deal with thinking about her.

But man, back in high school. I really looked up to Gloria. There were times when I was uptight about things that she was doing but I ended up doing them anyhow, with different people, so what did it matter? I got to experience so much with G and her family. God I'll NEVER forget summers at Grandma and Pap-pap's lake house at Seneca. We got our boating licenses together, and I rode jet skis for the first and last time ever, and I left my license in one of them. It didn't matter, though, because I didn't get to drive boats and jet skis with anyone else. I remember Gloria and Becca fighting and I had to laugh because Steven and I always fought too. Neither of those girls seemed like they would fight with each other but they did.

Gloria and I danced together, at Oglebay, which was a wonderful experience that I never would have had without her and her family, once again. I feel bad now because I remember Shelley taking us to some of our Mini-Nut performances and me listening to headphones. It was rude. I should have been talking to them and being appreciative of the ride. I was just awkward back then.

I'll NEVER forget my high school hormones and being upset over stupid boys, but even more than that I'll never forget Gloria saying to me as we got on the interstate one day, in her mom's car, that I was beautiful and that I could easily have any guy I wanted. Dear God, Gloria, you were an amazing person.

We did OVAC dance line together and our first year or two, it was just us. We were really good and we roomed together. I remember we were ALWAYS on completely opposite ends of the dance line, on the very ends, because we were both the shortest girls there. I remember having so much fun laughing together about some of the mean girls' makeup and stupid attitudes, and I'll never forget when Lindsey Mendleson told this one girl, whose name shall not be mentioned here, that she needed to wear darker lipstick because she looked ridiculous and very much like she had no lips. We almost died laughing. That girl shouldn't have been nasty to us!

We cheered together, often laughing about everything and nothing. Best friends? No, but damn we did spend a lot of time together. I'll never forget our senior year of high school and OVAC cheer camp for the All-star game. We'd both made the big decision not to do the dance line this year, and we both were nominated for cheerleading. Almost every school there just had one girl sent forth, but ours had two: Me and G. I'll never forget going there and thinking, "Oh god, these girls are going to be a lot different from us, and I'll be awkward and Gloria is always friends with everyone." Well G was thinking too after our first practice that this was going to be hell. We didn't really like anyone. Honestly now I feel REALLY bad about that and I remember one night (we roomed together during camp, too) talking about it together. We both decided that we'd been silly because these girls were AWESOME and so much fun, too. We decided that probably everyone had come in with the same mindset as us, because none of us really talked or got along much during the first few practices, but after that you'd have thought we were all best friends.

I remember once sitting in Wendy's in the Ohio Valley Mall with one of Gloria's boyfriends who was total dick-head and thinking to myself, "Why is Gloria with this dude? He's good looking and all but he's kind of an ass and G is way better than him." He kept loudly making fun of and criticizing this indian couple who were in there. I thought of how opposite he and G were. I mean, don't get me wrong, all of us girls would laugh about things that probably weren't very nice, but I'm sorry, so do most other people. We weren't asses about it though.

I remember G was always beautiful and cute, like I said earlier, but she always liked crazy new weird things, and did her own thing a lot of the time. Sometimes I looked at her like "Dude, really?" But everything she did just fit her so well and you'd end up being like, "That Gloria." And smile and shake your head. I still wear my sweatpants inside out all the time, as do a lot of people, but I'll never forget that Gloria was the first person I saw do that. My mom, our cheerleading coach said, "Gloria, why do you have your pants on inside out?" "Because they were dirty." I think she had in a side ponytail that day.

I think a lot of the time I was a little jealous of Gloria, but not in a vengeful, mean sort of way. It was a way that made me want to be better. I wanted to be healthy and take care of myself, yeah, duh, but I wanted to be nice like Gloria and have that many friends and be that true to people. She'd be in the mall and see you and come up to you and honestly want to know how you were doing. Not because it was polite and nice, but because she cared. Jeeze, half the time I see someone from high school and go the other way. Not because I don't like them, but because I'm so busy that I don't take the time to see everyone and how they're doing. Which reminds me that I'm supposed to have a 5 year reunion ready for spring and figure out some sort of memorial for Gloria and some of our other students. I need to stop being so lazy. Gloria probably would have had all of this done by now!

Oh, I remember one time she had on this makeup and I told her that it really made her eyes look even more awesome than normal, and she's the one who told me about this makeup that complimented the color of your eyes. I went right out and bought some. Kind of like when I saw her awesome cell phone. I called her and asked if she minded if I got the same one as her, because hers made me want one just like it! Of course Gloria laughed and said "I don't care, Kelsay!"

The very last memories I have of G, unfortunately, are of her lying still in her casket. Her casket. That sounds so wrong. Gloria at rest sounds wrong. She was so damn full of life, so vibrant and caring, understanding and loving, and so many other adjectives. Not that anyone should die, but of all people I know... Her? It seemed so impossible. Of anyone's family for this to happen, why hers? It was so backward.

Somehow now I feel closer to her than I did before. I'm so, so very angry with myself for never solidifying those plans to get together, for not texting or calling her more. When was the last time I called her? On my way home from Columbus, AFTER I'd found out that she'd passed away. I had to tell her that I loved her, because I realized that I really had. I felt guilty for a while after her death because I was so very upset and wanted to be around for everything because I couldn't believe that I hadn't seen her family for so long. I also thought, however, that it shouldn't be me with them so much, but Gloria's closest friends. During and after the funeral, however, I realized that we had been pretty close, and that she's a HUGE part of what I am today, and that we had many, many memories together.

And you know, I'll say it for probably the third or fourth time, that Gloria truly was beautiful. It wasn't right to see her lying there, but I have to admit, that even in death, Gloria Michelle Dawes was beautiful.

Z

Episode 2: Ghost

Episode 2: Ghost

"And when her spirit left her body,

How it split the sun.

I know that she will live forever,

All goes on and on and on."

- From "Ghost" by Neutral Milk Hotel

At the first night of the showing of the body of Gloria Michelle Dawes, these lyrics clawed their way right into my mind. They really were fitting. I don't believe in God or heaven or Satan or whatever, but I thought that surely when someone so great dies, someone so full of life, it must jar the world. I was still having trouble believing that Gloria was gone, though she was right in front of me, cold and beautiful.

Lots of people were putting things into her casket, so I wrote her a letter and put a big G on the front, for her nickname, and put some designs on it. It was a small, unobtrusive thing, a piece of lilac legal paper folded into a small rectangle. On the back I wrote the lyrics to the song.

I'll never forget

Not being able to make myself leave the second day, knowing that the last time I would see Gloria was at her funeral the next day. There weren't many of us left and so I helped Shelley remove things from the casket that wouldn't need to be in there at the funeral. When she got to my letter she asked if that was supposed to stay, and I nodded. It was for her, and she'd never get to read it, but I just wanted it in there with her.

The next day Shelley asked me about the lyrics I had written on the back, and whether or not they were of my own creation. I told her that no, they were from a song that I thought of that night. The funeral was over and the letter went to be burned up with Gloria's precious little body.

Now, more than three months later, I sit here and cry like it's fresh, as I write this out. No one reads this but I feel like this story needs to be somewhere.

My mom called a few hours ago to ask what I'd written in Gloria's letter. She said that Shelley wanted to know if I could remember it to write it down again. It was a long letter and it wasn't something great and poetic so I was confused. Then mom said, "You wrote something about splitting the sky."

"Oh," I said. "Those were lyrics from a song."

Well Shelley wanted them, because

They own this business and this guy walked in and got to talking to Brian, Gloria's dad. They talked about Gloria and then this guy was telling Brian about how this one day he was looking at the sky and saw that it looked really awesome, the way the clouds were pulling apart. Like the sky was opening. So he showed Brian the picture. Well where did that happen? On 77, near Seneca.

That's where Gloria died.

Another time, after that I believe, Brian was talking to the gentleman that hit Gloria. To sum it up, this is what happened.

Gloria was coming down 77, headed for her family's lake house to spend Labor Day with them. It had been storming terribly. Somehow she crossed the median, I guess by hydroplaning, and went into oncoming traffic, hitting this guy head-on. Gloria was killed instantly, as much of a "blessing" as anyone could ask for when one they love is no longer with them. Her passenger, a good friend, survived and was rushed to the hospital. Gloria was taken to a funeral home to later be identified by her parents. There wasn't a mark on her body.

She had been 10 minutes from home.

The gentleman who hit her was telling Brian that on that day, he was driving and noticed that the sky looked funny. He kept looking at it and saw that the clouds were opening, like the sky was splitting open. He had never seen anything like it and was in awe. When he looked back at the road, Gloria's car was in front of him.

I don't believe in God, I don't like religion. I am not sure if I think that all things happen for a reason. But I know that every time someone close to me passes, I become closer with the people involved, and I start to see things more clearly. I learn from it all.

I don't think there was a reason that Gloria died but several people saw the sky open up on highway 77 that day, and it seems to me that it was opening up for Gloria.

Z

Episode 1: Credit

Episode 1: Credit

Capital One relentlessly sends me credit card applications. Monthly. This time they stated that I'm "working hard to get back on track - paying bills on time and monitoring my finances." I laughed at this because it's true and the probably actually do know this and my credit score probably actually has gone up in the past year. Buuuuuut I don't want their credit card and so I wrote them a letter about it.

Dear Capital One,

No doubt you have been waiting with bated breath for my response to the recent credit card special you have so kindly sent me. Though you have noticed that I have been working hard to get back on track by paying my bills on time and monitoring my finances, you haven't seemed to notice that I have only ever replied to ONE of your numerous credit card offers in the last three years. After being turned down after the hopeful "pre-approval," I gave up in irritation.

Stop sending me shit. I don't want your credit card with it's 22.9% variable APR. My current credit card is 19% and it's maxed out, as is my other shitty credit card.

Tempting though your offers of MasterCard service may be - I haven't had much luck with Visa - I really must decline. If I get your card, I'll just max it out and get myself deeper into debt, eventually filing bankruptcy when the credit card bills and student loan payments get to be too much, or I'll run away to Europe and leave you looking very sad indeed. Save your paper, save a tree, forever in my heart you'll be.

Sincerely,

- Z. S****