Dancing with a pirate
Under a silver moon
And still, no one has told me
Why he had to leave so soon
I thought he was mine to keep
To dance with forever
My love ran that deep
Dancing with a pirate
Under a silver moon
A love that never got past
The first dance
This pirate broke my heart
When he left me
To dance all alone
My soul torn to pieces
All I've got left is the memory
Of my pirate's deep brown eyes
He was supposed to watch over me
I wouldn't have had to worry about
Being cut down to size by him
My beloved pirate
They only one I ever danced with
Under a silver moon
The way he looked at me that night
I felt a flame of doom
Ignite in my belly
My pirate has been gone
For some time now
Lately I can't seem
To get him off of my mind
There have been other pirates
That have come and gone
I could never dance
With one for too long
There is only one
Who holds the map
Where X marks that spot
The place in my heart
Where I needed him most
Even though he said
I could not keep his
Ship from sinking
I was not capable of keeping
The water from rising
Above his head
The music still plays on
I've been sitting out the dance
For way too long
Why did my beloved pirate leave me?
Was he just a figment of my imagination
Or was it really just never meant to be?
My heart aches
It's been so long
My soul misses his embrace
To dance with my pirate
Under a silver moon
Only he can lift this blackest gloom
Blacker than the hair on his head
Darker than those soulful eyes
That has descended on my heart
And made me realize
I should have unfolded myself
From the start
Only if he hadn't left
Me to dance alone
Throughtout this life
He could have protected me
And spared me all this strife
Warned me of those
That would come and go
Dancing with a pirate
Under a silver moon
Mine goes by three names
He's still sailing out there
And I pray he's stayed the same
Flashback - August 4, 2001
I get tired; I am heartbroken; it's become a routine because I care way too much about you; you walk away; you shut down because you're scared; scared because you know I can give you everything you want and need; now it's my turn to walk away holding up my middle fingers towards you; I'm leaving baby; I'm going away; I hope ten years down the road you'll think of me; maybe even see me around; but this time I won't let you back in; to turn my world upside down; I'm walking away from you; my middle fingers up in the air aimed at you; every bitch you come across or on after me; will not even come close; and you'll know it; you already do; you'll realize eventually that you broke a heart that cared more for you; than anyone ever will; there won't be any second chances baby; you're a scared little boy; I'm outta here baby; I've left your house for the last time; giving you both of my middle fingers
At seventeen, he was...my everything.
At seventeen, he was...my everything.
Burn Baby Burn
See the frightened and lonely girl sitting in the corner?
Do you see her?
She's got long dark hair hiding half of her face
Only one of her almond shaped eyes is visible
She is curled up in the fetal position,
scared and alone
She knows not which way to turn
On her own for the first time in years
That's when The Demon swoops in without warning
He takes her hands and chains her wrists
to his wings of darkness
It happens so quickly that there is no time for protest
She knows nothing of his intentions
But the girl would have gone willingly
no matter the circumstances
She holds on tight to him throughout their journey
From the deepest gorges of Hell
Those nights she though would never end
To every splendor of the Heavens
The nights she wished had no ending
He shows her the face of Satan
And he shows her the face of God
He poisons her and she swallows every drop
Yet her eyes have been opened
He taps into every part of her soul
That she kept hidden for so long
The wounds are split open
He pours in the salt with a manical laugh
It brings pain yet ecstacy
For this she grows to love him
And to hate him
Even as he grips the knife that slices through
The knots that bind her to him
He will not set her free
He knows the little girl in the corner
Does not exist anymore
He knows that he's created a monster
A Goddess that will leave a trail of tears,
Blood and destruction in her wake
On the night she bears his son, his legacy,
She cuts out his heart with her sharpened stiletto
And throws it at his feet
She lights the flame that is to burn
Him at the stake
She watches as he writhes and squirms
While the flames are licking up toward his loins
Yet not a sound escapes his lips
Because he KNOWS
He knows it is all in exchange
For binding her heart in leather straps
For tweaking her mind with cold steel clamps
For keeping her coming back for more
See the fire in her eyes?
It's the reflection of his wings
As they are torched
It is the reflection of skin on skin
Fingernails to flesh and pleasure from the pain
The night she forces him to succumb to the flames
Is the night she herself succumbs to death.
Do you see her?
She's got long dark hair hiding half of her face
Only one of her almond shaped eyes is visible
She is curled up in the fetal position,
scared and alone
She knows not which way to turn
On her own for the first time in years
That's when The Demon swoops in without warning
He takes her hands and chains her wrists
to his wings of darkness
It happens so quickly that there is no time for protest
She knows nothing of his intentions
But the girl would have gone willingly
no matter the circumstances
She holds on tight to him throughout their journey
From the deepest gorges of Hell
Those nights she though would never end
To every splendor of the Heavens
The nights she wished had no ending
He shows her the face of Satan
And he shows her the face of God
He poisons her and she swallows every drop
Yet her eyes have been opened
He taps into every part of her soul
That she kept hidden for so long
The wounds are split open
He pours in the salt with a manical laugh
It brings pain yet ecstacy
For this she grows to love him
And to hate him
Even as he grips the knife that slices through
The knots that bind her to him
He will not set her free
He knows the little girl in the corner
Does not exist anymore
He knows that he's created a monster
A Goddess that will leave a trail of tears,
Blood and destruction in her wake
On the night she bears his son, his legacy,
She cuts out his heart with her sharpened stiletto
And throws it at his feet
She lights the flame that is to burn
Him at the stake
She watches as he writhes and squirms
While the flames are licking up toward his loins
Yet not a sound escapes his lips
Because he KNOWS
He knows it is all in exchange
For binding her heart in leather straps
For tweaking her mind with cold steel clamps
For keeping her coming back for more
See the fire in her eyes?
It's the reflection of his wings
As they are torched
It is the reflection of skin on skin
Fingernails to flesh and pleasure from the pain
The night she forces him to succumb to the flames
Is the night she herself succumbs to death.
Why Do They All Have Aliases?
Ever since my Ex and I split up, it seems that the majority of men I become involved with go by some sort of nickname. And they all start with the letter 'B.' For the most part. First there was Buzzard. Then came Bird. Crash. Bling. Tank. Buddah. And various ones whose real first names start with the letter B, but I'm leaving them out to protect the guilty parties.
Just a weird observation of mine.
Just a weird observation of mine.
My Brother: The Man, The Myth, The Legend
His name is Hamilton. Known as Ham to his friends, and Hammie to me. He is exactly 22 months younger than me. He weighed 10 pounds, 4 ounces when he was born. He's the love of my life, and God to my mother. All the trouble he caused growing up is irrelevant compared to the upstanding man he has become. He'll always be my "lil brother" even though he's about 6 inches taller than me and built like a fucking bull. He carries all of the traits of a Papili man - short legs, long torso, giant paws for hands, a perfectly straight hairline with a gorgeous, thick, dark, full head of hair. He's got a shoulder span of about 54 inches and his waist might be 38 or 40 inches at the most.
Hammie as an infant and me hanging with him in my beach chair.
I was potty trained by the time Hammie was baptised, which happened to be on my 2nd birthday. The boy could beat the shit out of me by the time he was 3 years old. One Christmas, as my dad had the video camera rolling, Hammie shoved me and I fell back into all of our new toys and right on my ass. I immediately starting wailing and you can hear my mom in the background telling him to apologize. "Sah-ry." Yeah, we had all of our toys taken away from us before 8 am on Christmas Day that year. And the family still laughs about it. Him and I fought like cats and dogs. And that is an understatement. My PopPop called us Poison and Ivy because not only did we argue but we would hit, punch, and kick each other too. We had that special brother-sister bond.
He was so damn chunky as a baby that he learned to roll instead of crawl. Everyone fell in love with him the instant they laid eyes on him. As he grew up no one could figure out which member of the family he looked like, which was weird for us because my cousin looked exactly like both of her parents and I am a carbon copy of my mother. But he's Hamilton, and no one else. Damn, was he ornery when he little. He gave the women in my family a run for their money. Everyone had a part in trying to discipline him, because that's how our family rolls. My parents had a wooden paddle they kept hidden from us, that only came out when we were really bad. It never came out for me! It finally broke one day from being used so much on Hamilton, but did that end it's (or my brother's) reign of terror? No, my parents duct taped it. One day he told one of our aunts to Shut Up. That's a mortal sin, especially when you're four years old. He never did that again. I remember Mom chasing him around the house because of him running his mouth, and chasing him pissed her off even more. Once he surpassed my dad in height and weight, Pop kind of backed off a little. But my mother was never scared of him.
Yes, this adorable little boy had a mouth on him that was ALWAYS getting him into trouble!
He went through the awkward stage just like I did, but not to the same extreme. He had a mullet and was as round as he was tall for about 2 years! Him and I joke with our mom that there was a time when it wasn't looking too pretty for either of us, but we paid our dues and "Look at us now bitches!"
One thing I love about my relationship with my brother is the affinity we both share for music. He started playing guitar when he was 11, following in our father's footsteps. I constantly gush over his talent, but he is so humble about it. A favorite childhood memory of mine is the Saturday mornings he and I would spend playing my parents' albums on our old record player, which inevitably would wake up our parents, and they were always none too pleased. How many kids rock out to their mom's Meatloaf: Bat Out Of Hell album? We knew all the words to Paradise By The Dashboard Light before we were old enough to even understand what the song was about. Our usual rotation consisted of all the Beatles albums, Michael Jackson's Thriller, Boston, Styx and Meatloaf. And a little WHAM! thrown in for guilty pleasure. Hamilton managed to turn me on to John Mayer despite the fact that I boycotted him for so long. He dragged me to a concert a couple of years ago, and once I got past all the screaming teenyboppers, I was in awe.
We celebrate our birthdays every summer (he's June 3rd, I'm August 3rd) by going to see 311 because when the summer tour stops in Philadelphia, the date is always between the two. He's a good guy to have with me in a big crowd. He'll put me on one shoulder - just one, because the other one has the tendons in it bolted to his collarbone - to snap pictures. When it's time for 311 to take the stage we always turn to each other and scream like little schoolgirls. He's the only person I will let take me up front at a concert. "You ready?" He puts one arm around me and I put both of my arms around him and just hold on for dear life because it's kind of like being behind a giant snowplow. He somehow manages to get us right up to the barricade every time, and if anyone near us gets out of line and starts say, elbowing me in the chest, he steps in and basically scares the living shit out of the guy who decided to act like an asshole. If a crowdsurfer comes our way he yells "Incoming!" and I know to duck and cover while he passes them off to security over the barricade. I also appreciate the fact that no matter how drenched in sweat he is, he keeps his shirt on. Nothing grosses me out more than big, shirtless, sweaty guys that I don't know smashing up against me at shows. But I will most certainly cling to Hamilton and endure the fact that he's soaking wet because number one, I don't want to get squashed like a bug, and number two, he's my brother.
Hammie and I in the crowd at the 311 show in June of 2009
When we were younger I was the one with the book smarts and he was the athlete with a little more common sense. I excelled at school, he excelled at any sport he tried. Baseball, football, soccer, swimming, and wrestling, he wasn't afraid to try anything. But with his rough & tumble attitude came several broken bones, stitches, and even dislocated shoulder tendons his senior year as captain of the wrestling team. He gave my mom a lot of gray hair during his high school years. He never really came off as a typical jock, one of those tools you see walking around with their heads up their ass; he was a much more complex creature. I will never forget a conversation we had one day and he told me, "I don't want my life to end up being a mark just taking up space."
He met his future wife when he was a junior, and looking a hot mess due to losing almost 30 pounds in less than a month for wrestling. When he and Ashley started dating, he was slowly becoming a changed boy. (He wasn't quite a man yet...) They were perfect for each other at the time. I don't remember why, but they decided to split up when he was a freshman in college. His whole demeanor had changed. He became bitter, nearly impossible to talk to, and volatile. He was living away from home at the time, which was for the best because we probably would have killed each other. There were a few instances where I thought he and my boyfriend were going to kill each other. All I remember was one time I threw a bowl of cereal at him for some stupid reason and the next thing I know he slammed me up against the back door with his hands around my throat. (I was 21, he was 19.) My boyfriend walked in through the garage door and saw what was happening...needless to say my poor mother had to get in between them to prevent them from beating the shit out of each other. It was a dark time for all of us because MomMom had just been diagnosed with cancer and we were all on edge. Whether Hamilton knew it or not, being apart from Ashley was eating away at him on the inside as well.
He went through a tough time in his late teens and early twenties. He was trying so hard to be a good person but the rage he felt inside sometimes kept him from achieving that. His rage stemmed from the demise of our parents' marriage, losing our MomMom, and not having the woman he loved by his side. He and I definitely were holding each other up during those storms. After our MomMom's funeral in November of 2004, several people came up to us and pointed out that some time during the service, I had laid my head on Hamilton's shoulder and he put his arm around me; if there had been any dry eyes in the church up until that simple act of love and support, there weren't anymore. That's another memory that will always stick with me. In January of 2005, when he was 20, our next door neighbor had a heart attack in his garage as he was getting ready to snowplow his driveway. His wife had called 911, then the phone rang at our house. Karen was screaming and crying so much that my mother couldn't figure out what was going on, but Hamilton knew without even picking up on the phone that it was Karen and something was horribly wrong. I was at my boyfriend's apartment when we recieved the phone call and rushed back to my house. Kenny and Karen's two little girls were there. Hammie had immediately dragged them over in the snow so they wouldn't be exposed to the chaos that ensued as their daddy was lying unresponsive on the garage floor. My brother did everything he could. He gave Kenny CPR until the ambulance arrived, but the doctors said that he was most likely gone before he hit the floor. I will never forget the night of his viewing. After my family had gotten home, Hammie disappeared into the dining room, where he sat sobbing uncontrollably. He did not want to believe that Kenny was gone. He kept saying, "But I gave him the breath of life! Why couldn't I save him?" All my parents and I could do was hold him. Such powerful words coming from a young man, and an experience I would not wish on anyone. He was a wreck for a long time.
Soon after that, he started to go over Charles and Trina's house once a week for dinner. They were an older couple that used to go to our church, and they embody every that is good and spiritual. Plus they watched Hammie and I grow up. It was the time spent with them that helped Hammie get his emotions in check, and they were people he could talk to about what was going with him. It took time, but he did a 180 and the change was utterly evident. He and Ashley started dating again, and he matured considerably. A year after they got back together, he asked Ashley to marry him. He had just turned 22. We were all a little surprised when he told us his plan to ask for her hand in marriage, being that he was still so young. But we all knew Ashley was the one for him. We love her dearly and she is an awesome young woman.
Now even though my brother is such a great person, and any father would be lucky to have him as a son-in-law, he was SCARED TO DEATH to ask Ashley's father permission to marry her. Hamilton is very old-school that way. It was so cute to listen to him talk about how nervous he was to talk to Ashley's father. Needless to say, it went well, because they've been married for a year and half now. When he went ring shopping, our mom and one of aunts went with him, and of course my aunt took pictures. The beads of sweat standing out on his forehead as he signed the papers are definitely noticable when we look back at those pictures! It was a Sunday afternoon in September when he asked Ashley to marry him, exactly one year after they got back together. The Eagles were playing, and he could not stop pacing. He had my mom take Ashley shopping because he was too nervous having her around, and he planned to ask her when the game was over. All of our family and friends knew about the surprise and they were all poised, waiting for the phone call, so they could come over and celebrate with us. He took Ashley into our sunroom and presented her with a gift - a plaque for her desk at school (she's a teacher) that says "Mrs. Evans." In typical Ashley fashion, she didn't get it. Then he got down on one knee and proposed. At first she thought he was joking. Oh no, he was for real. Literally five minutes after he proposed, our house was FILLED with people. My family, Ashley's family, and tons of friends. Out came enough food to feed an army and champagne. It happened so fast that to this day it still amazes me.
Ashley was so overwhelmed, but God love her she took it all in stride. Everyone knew from day one when Hamilton had decided to ask her to marry him, and we all had to keep it from Ashley for a few months, which was torture! He did an excellent job though, because Ashley had absolutely no idea. 
The whole family was buzzed with excitement from that day on until the wedding, which, I have to say, was the most elegant, perfect, and rockin' wedding I have ever been a part of. Of course it was, because it was the celebration of two people I love with all my heart joining together in marriage.
During the years since that day in September of 2006, I have watched Hamilton morph into a young man that our grandfathers and great-grandfathers would be so very proud of. He manages to keep a somewhat normal relationship with our father, even after all the grief and turmoil he has caused this family, he holds our mother on the highest pedestal imaginable, as well as Ashley, and he looks out for me and does everything in his power to protect me from shitheads that he knows are no good for me. He of course is still a typical boy that will try to gross you out with his farts and come out of the bathroom saying "Whew! You shoulda seen the size of THAT one!" He does a damn good job of being the life of the party as well, whether it's ordering up shots of Sambuca for everyone or busting out The Worm on the dance floor at weddings, which is so fucking hilarious you'd have to see it with your own eyes, this giant moose pulling off a move that not many people can do.
The family can sit by the pool and watch him go off the diving board for hours, never failing to be amazed at the grace with which the bull does flips, backflips, swan dives, and anything else he can think of into the pool. But always beware if you're standing by the pool fully clothed, because chances are he will sneak up behind you, pick you up as if you weigh nothing, and toss your ass right in. I know this because I speak from years of experience.
When Hammie became an apprentice in the Plumbing & Pipefitting local, our mom gave him the Carhart vest that was our PopPop's, which has "Pip" embroidered on the chest. There's men in the local who were apprentices when our PopPop was a mechanic, and when word got around that Hamilton is Pip's grandson, he was instantly famous. The day before the rehearsal dinner for his wedding, Hamilton got a call from his foreman to get into the work trailer. Thinking he was in trouble, he walked in, and standing there were a few guys, all of whom had known PopPop. The foreman pulled a bottle of Sambuca out of the freezer and said to Hamilton, "If your grandfather were still with us, he would be doing this," and poured shots for everyone. Later he told me that it took everything in him not to cry, and when he told me the story, I did cry.
And now Hammie has just entered the next stage of his life. On October 27th, at 2:22 PM, he became the daddy of a precious little angel whom he and Ashley named Nicholas Serafino. It's crazy to think of Hammie as a father still, but he will ease into the role, just as he did when he became a husband. I know he will be a wonderful father to my nephew.
It has really been amazing watching Hammie grow up, from an adorable, fat little baby to an awkward, fat little middle schooler to a devastingly handsome young man. What amazes me the most is the changes on the inside of him that I witnessed through the years. We still bicker and argue like little kids, but the bottom line is that I would do anything for that boy. And I know he would do anything for me. He is an old soul in a young man's body. Whenever I talk about him, I always say that he is the last of his kind. I can also say with absolute confidence that there is nothing in this world that can break the bond we share. We've been through hell and back, the whole time standing side by side. He is and always will be the only man in my life that I know will never let me down.
Hammie as an infant and me hanging with him in my beach chair. I was potty trained by the time Hammie was baptised, which happened to be on my 2nd birthday. The boy could beat the shit out of me by the time he was 3 years old. One Christmas, as my dad had the video camera rolling, Hammie shoved me and I fell back into all of our new toys and right on my ass. I immediately starting wailing and you can hear my mom in the background telling him to apologize. "Sah-ry." Yeah, we had all of our toys taken away from us before 8 am on Christmas Day that year. And the family still laughs about it. Him and I fought like cats and dogs. And that is an understatement. My PopPop called us Poison and Ivy because not only did we argue but we would hit, punch, and kick each other too. We had that special brother-sister bond.
He was so damn chunky as a baby that he learned to roll instead of crawl. Everyone fell in love with him the instant they laid eyes on him. As he grew up no one could figure out which member of the family he looked like, which was weird for us because my cousin looked exactly like both of her parents and I am a carbon copy of my mother. But he's Hamilton, and no one else. Damn, was he ornery when he little. He gave the women in my family a run for their money. Everyone had a part in trying to discipline him, because that's how our family rolls. My parents had a wooden paddle they kept hidden from us, that only came out when we were really bad. It never came out for me! It finally broke one day from being used so much on Hamilton, but did that end it's (or my brother's) reign of terror? No, my parents duct taped it. One day he told one of our aunts to Shut Up. That's a mortal sin, especially when you're four years old. He never did that again. I remember Mom chasing him around the house because of him running his mouth, and chasing him pissed her off even more. Once he surpassed my dad in height and weight, Pop kind of backed off a little. But my mother was never scared of him.
Yes, this adorable little boy had a mouth on him that was ALWAYS getting him into trouble!
He went through the awkward stage just like I did, but not to the same extreme. He had a mullet and was as round as he was tall for about 2 years! Him and I joke with our mom that there was a time when it wasn't looking too pretty for either of us, but we paid our dues and "Look at us now bitches!"
One thing I love about my relationship with my brother is the affinity we both share for music. He started playing guitar when he was 11, following in our father's footsteps. I constantly gush over his talent, but he is so humble about it. A favorite childhood memory of mine is the Saturday mornings he and I would spend playing my parents' albums on our old record player, which inevitably would wake up our parents, and they were always none too pleased. How many kids rock out to their mom's Meatloaf: Bat Out Of Hell album? We knew all the words to Paradise By The Dashboard Light before we were old enough to even understand what the song was about. Our usual rotation consisted of all the Beatles albums, Michael Jackson's Thriller, Boston, Styx and Meatloaf. And a little WHAM! thrown in for guilty pleasure. Hamilton managed to turn me on to John Mayer despite the fact that I boycotted him for so long. He dragged me to a concert a couple of years ago, and once I got past all the screaming teenyboppers, I was in awe. 
We celebrate our birthdays every summer (he's June 3rd, I'm August 3rd) by going to see 311 because when the summer tour stops in Philadelphia, the date is always between the two. He's a good guy to have with me in a big crowd. He'll put me on one shoulder - just one, because the other one has the tendons in it bolted to his collarbone - to snap pictures. When it's time for 311 to take the stage we always turn to each other and scream like little schoolgirls. He's the only person I will let take me up front at a concert. "You ready?" He puts one arm around me and I put both of my arms around him and just hold on for dear life because it's kind of like being behind a giant snowplow. He somehow manages to get us right up to the barricade every time, and if anyone near us gets out of line and starts say, elbowing me in the chest, he steps in and basically scares the living shit out of the guy who decided to act like an asshole. If a crowdsurfer comes our way he yells "Incoming!" and I know to duck and cover while he passes them off to security over the barricade. I also appreciate the fact that no matter how drenched in sweat he is, he keeps his shirt on. Nothing grosses me out more than big, shirtless, sweaty guys that I don't know smashing up against me at shows. But I will most certainly cling to Hamilton and endure the fact that he's soaking wet because number one, I don't want to get squashed like a bug, and number two, he's my brother.
Hammie and I in the crowd at the 311 show in June of 2009When we were younger I was the one with the book smarts and he was the athlete with a little more common sense. I excelled at school, he excelled at any sport he tried. Baseball, football, soccer, swimming, and wrestling, he wasn't afraid to try anything. But with his rough & tumble attitude came several broken bones, stitches, and even dislocated shoulder tendons his senior year as captain of the wrestling team. He gave my mom a lot of gray hair during his high school years. He never really came off as a typical jock, one of those tools you see walking around with their heads up their ass; he was a much more complex creature. I will never forget a conversation we had one day and he told me, "I don't want my life to end up being a mark just taking up space."
He met his future wife when he was a junior, and looking a hot mess due to losing almost 30 pounds in less than a month for wrestling. When he and Ashley started dating, he was slowly becoming a changed boy. (He wasn't quite a man yet...) They were perfect for each other at the time. I don't remember why, but they decided to split up when he was a freshman in college. His whole demeanor had changed. He became bitter, nearly impossible to talk to, and volatile. He was living away from home at the time, which was for the best because we probably would have killed each other. There were a few instances where I thought he and my boyfriend were going to kill each other. All I remember was one time I threw a bowl of cereal at him for some stupid reason and the next thing I know he slammed me up against the back door with his hands around my throat. (I was 21, he was 19.) My boyfriend walked in through the garage door and saw what was happening...needless to say my poor mother had to get in between them to prevent them from beating the shit out of each other. It was a dark time for all of us because MomMom had just been diagnosed with cancer and we were all on edge. Whether Hamilton knew it or not, being apart from Ashley was eating away at him on the inside as well.
He went through a tough time in his late teens and early twenties. He was trying so hard to be a good person but the rage he felt inside sometimes kept him from achieving that. His rage stemmed from the demise of our parents' marriage, losing our MomMom, and not having the woman he loved by his side. He and I definitely were holding each other up during those storms. After our MomMom's funeral in November of 2004, several people came up to us and pointed out that some time during the service, I had laid my head on Hamilton's shoulder and he put his arm around me; if there had been any dry eyes in the church up until that simple act of love and support, there weren't anymore. That's another memory that will always stick with me. In January of 2005, when he was 20, our next door neighbor had a heart attack in his garage as he was getting ready to snowplow his driveway. His wife had called 911, then the phone rang at our house. Karen was screaming and crying so much that my mother couldn't figure out what was going on, but Hamilton knew without even picking up on the phone that it was Karen and something was horribly wrong. I was at my boyfriend's apartment when we recieved the phone call and rushed back to my house. Kenny and Karen's two little girls were there. Hammie had immediately dragged them over in the snow so they wouldn't be exposed to the chaos that ensued as their daddy was lying unresponsive on the garage floor. My brother did everything he could. He gave Kenny CPR until the ambulance arrived, but the doctors said that he was most likely gone before he hit the floor. I will never forget the night of his viewing. After my family had gotten home, Hammie disappeared into the dining room, where he sat sobbing uncontrollably. He did not want to believe that Kenny was gone. He kept saying, "But I gave him the breath of life! Why couldn't I save him?" All my parents and I could do was hold him. Such powerful words coming from a young man, and an experience I would not wish on anyone. He was a wreck for a long time.
Soon after that, he started to go over Charles and Trina's house once a week for dinner. They were an older couple that used to go to our church, and they embody every that is good and spiritual. Plus they watched Hammie and I grow up. It was the time spent with them that helped Hammie get his emotions in check, and they were people he could talk to about what was going with him. It took time, but he did a 180 and the change was utterly evident. He and Ashley started dating again, and he matured considerably. A year after they got back together, he asked Ashley to marry him. He had just turned 22. We were all a little surprised when he told us his plan to ask for her hand in marriage, being that he was still so young. But we all knew Ashley was the one for him. We love her dearly and she is an awesome young woman.Now even though my brother is such a great person, and any father would be lucky to have him as a son-in-law, he was SCARED TO DEATH to ask Ashley's father permission to marry her. Hamilton is very old-school that way. It was so cute to listen to him talk about how nervous he was to talk to Ashley's father. Needless to say, it went well, because they've been married for a year and half now. When he went ring shopping, our mom and one of aunts went with him, and of course my aunt took pictures. The beads of sweat standing out on his forehead as he signed the papers are definitely noticable when we look back at those pictures! It was a Sunday afternoon in September when he asked Ashley to marry him, exactly one year after they got back together. The Eagles were playing, and he could not stop pacing. He had my mom take Ashley shopping because he was too nervous having her around, and he planned to ask her when the game was over. All of our family and friends knew about the surprise and they were all poised, waiting for the phone call, so they could come over and celebrate with us. He took Ashley into our sunroom and presented her with a gift - a plaque for her desk at school (she's a teacher) that says "Mrs. Evans." In typical Ashley fashion, she didn't get it. Then he got down on one knee and proposed. At first she thought he was joking. Oh no, he was for real. Literally five minutes after he proposed, our house was FILLED with people. My family, Ashley's family, and tons of friends. Out came enough food to feed an army and champagne. It happened so fast that to this day it still amazes me.
Ashley was so overwhelmed, but God love her she took it all in stride. Everyone knew from day one when Hamilton had decided to ask her to marry him, and we all had to keep it from Ashley for a few months, which was torture! He did an excellent job though, because Ashley had absolutely no idea. 
The whole family was buzzed with excitement from that day on until the wedding, which, I have to say, was the most elegant, perfect, and rockin' wedding I have ever been a part of. Of course it was, because it was the celebration of two people I love with all my heart joining together in marriage.During the years since that day in September of 2006, I have watched Hamilton morph into a young man that our grandfathers and great-grandfathers would be so very proud of. He manages to keep a somewhat normal relationship with our father, even after all the grief and turmoil he has caused this family, he holds our mother on the highest pedestal imaginable, as well as Ashley, and he looks out for me and does everything in his power to protect me from shitheads that he knows are no good for me. He of course is still a typical boy that will try to gross you out with his farts and come out of the bathroom saying "Whew! You shoulda seen the size of THAT one!" He does a damn good job of being the life of the party as well, whether it's ordering up shots of Sambuca for everyone or busting out The Worm on the dance floor at weddings, which is so fucking hilarious you'd have to see it with your own eyes, this giant moose pulling off a move that not many people can do.
The family can sit by the pool and watch him go off the diving board for hours, never failing to be amazed at the grace with which the bull does flips, backflips, swan dives, and anything else he can think of into the pool. But always beware if you're standing by the pool fully clothed, because chances are he will sneak up behind you, pick you up as if you weigh nothing, and toss your ass right in. I know this because I speak from years of experience.When Hammie became an apprentice in the Plumbing & Pipefitting local, our mom gave him the Carhart vest that was our PopPop's, which has "Pip" embroidered on the chest. There's men in the local who were apprentices when our PopPop was a mechanic, and when word got around that Hamilton is Pip's grandson, he was instantly famous. The day before the rehearsal dinner for his wedding, Hamilton got a call from his foreman to get into the work trailer. Thinking he was in trouble, he walked in, and standing there were a few guys, all of whom had known PopPop. The foreman pulled a bottle of Sambuca out of the freezer and said to Hamilton, "If your grandfather were still with us, he would be doing this," and poured shots for everyone. Later he told me that it took everything in him not to cry, and when he told me the story, I did cry.
And now Hammie has just entered the next stage of his life. On October 27th, at 2:22 PM, he became the daddy of a precious little angel whom he and Ashley named Nicholas Serafino. It's crazy to think of Hammie as a father still, but he will ease into the role, just as he did when he became a husband. I know he will be a wonderful father to my nephew.
It has really been amazing watching Hammie grow up, from an adorable, fat little baby to an awkward, fat little middle schooler to a devastingly handsome young man. What amazes me the most is the changes on the inside of him that I witnessed through the years. We still bicker and argue like little kids, but the bottom line is that I would do anything for that boy. And I know he would do anything for me. He is an old soul in a young man's body. Whenever I talk about him, I always say that he is the last of his kind. I can also say with absolute confidence that there is nothing in this world that can break the bond we share. We've been through hell and back, the whole time standing side by side. He is and always will be the only man in my life that I know will never let me down.
The Ugly Duckling
Growing up, I was pretty much just a mess. I was shy, a bookworm, unpopular. I epitomized "the awkward years," which for me lasted from age 9 to about 16. Chubby, frizzy hair, glasses, braces, oh it was awful. I can look back and laugh about it all now; all the nicknames, all the teasing I endured because I was a late bloomer, but those years were definitely hell.
I had a hard time even with elementary school. I hated it, period. When it came time for school to start, my anxiety went through the roof. I had major separation anxiety when it came to leaving my mom. I wouldn't go as far to say that I was anti-social, I just didn't feel comfortable starting a new school year and not knowing what lay ahead. I will never forget the day I had a breakdown right out front of Marbrook elementary school. I was seven years old. My mom was dropping me off and I did NOT want her to leave. I started crying uncontrollably and I was literally hanging onto the car as she tried to pull away. Now that I think about it, she was probably as upset as I was seeing her in child in that state. The principal brought me to her office to try and calm me down. I remember her getting down on her knees in front of me as I sat in the chair gulping in air and trying to stop the tears. She explained to me that if we didn't know what was wrong in there (pointing to my middle), then we couldn't fix it. The problem was that I didn't KNOW what was wrong. Again looking back, anxiety was the problem. But back then, children didn't "have" anxiety. Or ADD or ADHD or behavior problems that were "diagnosed" by the family doctor. So I just had to deal with it.
Fourth and fifth grades were somewhat tough as well. My separation anxiety had diminished considerably, but that was when the cruelty of other children started to come out into the open. When I was nine there was this boy who liked me. And I could never understand why he did the things he did. One time he pinched my ass and I nearly had a heart attack. While walking to our buses one day, he snuck in a kiss on my cheek as he was turning to jump onto his bus. Another heart attack! I can't remember if we ever declared ourselves "boyfriend and girlfriend" but I do remember when he turned mean when we were in fifth grade. He would make fun of me so bad, and not the kind of teasing that boys do when they like girls. He actually had the nerve to tell me I needed to shave my legs and my mustache on the playground during recess. I WAS TEN! I went home that day and announced to my mother that it was time for me to start shaving my legs. Even my so-called best friend at the time would feel the need to be mean to me and I never understood why. (Needless to say we drifted apart, but by the time we hit high school we had put everything behind and we are still friends to this day.) One day sitting in class, a girl got in my face and kept telling me that everybody hated me. "No one likes you. Everyone hates you." And she just kept repeating it. She was doing it quietly but menacingly. Here I was, this shy little nerd, with a girl telling me this bullshit. She can kiss my ass now, right?
Middle school was especially challenging. My school picture from the sixth grade came back to haunt me at my high school graduation, thanks to my aunt who enlarged it, put it on a huge, brightly colored posterboard with the words "Diva Dana" painted above it. I still have it. That was the year of The Haircut too. I let the same aunt chop off all of my hair in a cut that was supposed to be styled after Demi Moore in Ghost. Not so much. I looked a boy, plain and simple. I was made fun of all the time, mostly because I didn't really care to keep up-to-date on all the latest trends and what all the cool kids were wearing or doing. I had no chest either, and sixth grade boys are just plain heartless when it comes to that shit, especially when your best friend had already starting blossoming, gotten her period, and wore a B cup. I wore baggy clothes because I so self-concious of my body, but when I look back, that just made it worse.
By the time I started seventh grade, my hair was starting to grow out, but I still had the glasses and the braces. And the chubby cheeks. That was when the grunge phase was big. My "new" best friend (who still holds that title to this day) and I lived in flannel tee shirts and ripped jeans, thought Kurt Cobain was a god, wore combat boots and spent most of our time in her basement listening to Silverchair, Live, Soul Asylum, Soundgarden, The Lemonheads, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice In Chains. We would crush on boys that were also grungy, had long hair and attempted to be "rockstars," which was a joke anyway because, well, we were only 12! Never was the feeling mutual. I got my period in January of that year, three months after my best friend, and it was hell. It added even more self-conciousness to this already awkward adolescent girl trying to find a way to break out of her shell.
During the summer before eighth grade, things started to get a little better. I learned that I could wear shirts that showed off my figure a little bit, but I was still all about the ripped jeans and flannels. I refused to wear makeup because I thought it was a waste of time. I got my braces off right before school started, and started wearing contacts around Chrismastime. The swan was starting to shine through the tiniest bit. One of the boys I had been crushing on for about two years started to become more than a friend. My musical taste had begun expanding, as did my wardrobe and turns out it wasn't so bad being a bookworm. My smarts earned me a place in the National Junior Honor Society. I got myself a boyfriend during the winter of that year, and he was a pretty good catch if I do say so myself. At the middle school I went to, the Eighth Grade was somewhat well-rounded. It wasn't so much a popularity contest; most of the established cliques were open to just about anyone. Discrimination had lessened considerably.
Amy and I before the Eighth Grade formal
It was possible to be friends with the The Rich Girls, The Skater Boys, The Nerds, and the Preps all at the same time. I knew I had "made it" when I was invited to my first cotillion. That showed some serious status. I had my first real kiss that year, albeit during a game of spin the bottle and it was with one of my close guy friends. It was awful! I was totally unaware that tongue was supposed to be involved! When I look back at photographs from that period in my life, they all show good times with good friends.
To summarize high school, it wasn't too bad for me. My tight-knit group of friends managed to stay close, even though a few of us went to different schools. We would have parties and try to get away with as much as we could during freshman year. And high school is a whole different beast. We survived freshman year for the most part, and had alot of fun. We were the ones under the bleachers during the homecoming game acting like idiots. I joined the swim team, and even though I sucked, I stuck with it for three years. I started experimenting with makeup and my sexuality had started to develop bigtime. I discovered masturbating (!) but learning that it was completely normal was still a long way off. I remember one guy who I dated on and off for about two years that I would have given it up to in a hot second. But I was still excruciatingly shy. In retrospect, so was he. Sophomore year was tough, probably the toughest one of high school. My group of friends had started drifting apart, but a few of us still remained close. I remember when our group discovered that one of us, who we thought was one of our dear friends, had turned out to be nothing but a stuck up bitch, and that was hard to take. Petty drama seemed to be all the rage. I didn't have lunch with anyone I even wanted to sit with in the cafeteria that year, and for an awkward sophomore, that was hell. But by that time I was settled into high school life, and had acquired several new friends, so our little group just continued expanding. And we continued to be non-discriminatory.
Sam, me, and Andrea before Sophomore Homecoming
Come senior year, I was just about "there." I had finally grown some tits, got on birth control so that my period would stop giving me hell once a month, and learning how to flirt and be good at it. I was still a chubby little dork inside, but I taught myself a valuable lesson. Confidence is percepted only when it is emanated. So I built up my self-confidence little by litte, even if I had to fake it sometimes. Because the longer I faked it, the more it became real. I lost my virginity that year, I had started fooling around with my future Ex, who graduated two years before me and was the object of just about every other girl's affection, I was active in the school choir, making my way up to the Highlander Chorale, a prestigous group of singers that was only open to juniors and seniors, made the Delaware All State Choir my sophomore year, was in various productions the drama club put on, and even had the guts to sing a rendition of "My Blue Heaven" during the jazz concert my junior year. I made the National Honor Society, and in the 2001 Thomas McKean High School yearbook, the sections devoted to prom and graduation were devoted to, well, me.
I was never voted Homecoming or Prom Queen; nor did I recieve any nominations for the senior superlatives. I didn't care. I realized by then that being popular in school didn't mean shit. Andrea, Samantha, Amy, Steve, Shaun, Karyn, Karla, Heather, Dara, Jaime and I all had each other and that was all that mattered.
By the time I graduated high school, the ugly duckling had finally blossomed into a beautiful swan. What my grandmother had been telling me all those years I could finally look into the mirror and see for myself - that I really was beautiful, that I was a special girl, and all my little flaws and quirks only added to my character.
I had a hard time even with elementary school. I hated it, period. When it came time for school to start, my anxiety went through the roof. I had major separation anxiety when it came to leaving my mom. I wouldn't go as far to say that I was anti-social, I just didn't feel comfortable starting a new school year and not knowing what lay ahead. I will never forget the day I had a breakdown right out front of Marbrook elementary school. I was seven years old. My mom was dropping me off and I did NOT want her to leave. I started crying uncontrollably and I was literally hanging onto the car as she tried to pull away. Now that I think about it, she was probably as upset as I was seeing her in child in that state. The principal brought me to her office to try and calm me down. I remember her getting down on her knees in front of me as I sat in the chair gulping in air and trying to stop the tears. She explained to me that if we didn't know what was wrong in there (pointing to my middle), then we couldn't fix it. The problem was that I didn't KNOW what was wrong. Again looking back, anxiety was the problem. But back then, children didn't "have" anxiety. Or ADD or ADHD or behavior problems that were "diagnosed" by the family doctor. So I just had to deal with it.
Fourth and fifth grades were somewhat tough as well. My separation anxiety had diminished considerably, but that was when the cruelty of other children started to come out into the open. When I was nine there was this boy who liked me. And I could never understand why he did the things he did. One time he pinched my ass and I nearly had a heart attack. While walking to our buses one day, he snuck in a kiss on my cheek as he was turning to jump onto his bus. Another heart attack! I can't remember if we ever declared ourselves "boyfriend and girlfriend" but I do remember when he turned mean when we were in fifth grade. He would make fun of me so bad, and not the kind of teasing that boys do when they like girls. He actually had the nerve to tell me I needed to shave my legs and my mustache on the playground during recess. I WAS TEN! I went home that day and announced to my mother that it was time for me to start shaving my legs. Even my so-called best friend at the time would feel the need to be mean to me and I never understood why. (Needless to say we drifted apart, but by the time we hit high school we had put everything behind and we are still friends to this day.) One day sitting in class, a girl got in my face and kept telling me that everybody hated me. "No one likes you. Everyone hates you." And she just kept repeating it. She was doing it quietly but menacingly. Here I was, this shy little nerd, with a girl telling me this bullshit. She can kiss my ass now, right?
Middle school was especially challenging. My school picture from the sixth grade came back to haunt me at my high school graduation, thanks to my aunt who enlarged it, put it on a huge, brightly colored posterboard with the words "Diva Dana" painted above it. I still have it. That was the year of The Haircut too. I let the same aunt chop off all of my hair in a cut that was supposed to be styled after Demi Moore in Ghost. Not so much. I looked a boy, plain and simple. I was made fun of all the time, mostly because I didn't really care to keep up-to-date on all the latest trends and what all the cool kids were wearing or doing. I had no chest either, and sixth grade boys are just plain heartless when it comes to that shit, especially when your best friend had already starting blossoming, gotten her period, and wore a B cup. I wore baggy clothes because I so self-concious of my body, but when I look back, that just made it worse.
By the time I started seventh grade, my hair was starting to grow out, but I still had the glasses and the braces. And the chubby cheeks. That was when the grunge phase was big. My "new" best friend (who still holds that title to this day) and I lived in flannel tee shirts and ripped jeans, thought Kurt Cobain was a god, wore combat boots and spent most of our time in her basement listening to Silverchair, Live, Soul Asylum, Soundgarden, The Lemonheads, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice In Chains. We would crush on boys that were also grungy, had long hair and attempted to be "rockstars," which was a joke anyway because, well, we were only 12! Never was the feeling mutual. I got my period in January of that year, three months after my best friend, and it was hell. It added even more self-conciousness to this already awkward adolescent girl trying to find a way to break out of her shell.
During the summer before eighth grade, things started to get a little better. I learned that I could wear shirts that showed off my figure a little bit, but I was still all about the ripped jeans and flannels. I refused to wear makeup because I thought it was a waste of time. I got my braces off right before school started, and started wearing contacts around Chrismastime. The swan was starting to shine through the tiniest bit. One of the boys I had been crushing on for about two years started to become more than a friend. My musical taste had begun expanding, as did my wardrobe and turns out it wasn't so bad being a bookworm. My smarts earned me a place in the National Junior Honor Society. I got myself a boyfriend during the winter of that year, and he was a pretty good catch if I do say so myself. At the middle school I went to, the Eighth Grade was somewhat well-rounded. It wasn't so much a popularity contest; most of the established cliques were open to just about anyone. Discrimination had lessened considerably.
Amy and I before the Eighth Grade formal
It was possible to be friends with the The Rich Girls, The Skater Boys, The Nerds, and the Preps all at the same time. I knew I had "made it" when I was invited to my first cotillion. That showed some serious status. I had my first real kiss that year, albeit during a game of spin the bottle and it was with one of my close guy friends. It was awful! I was totally unaware that tongue was supposed to be involved! When I look back at photographs from that period in my life, they all show good times with good friends.
To summarize high school, it wasn't too bad for me. My tight-knit group of friends managed to stay close, even though a few of us went to different schools. We would have parties and try to get away with as much as we could during freshman year. And high school is a whole different beast. We survived freshman year for the most part, and had alot of fun. We were the ones under the bleachers during the homecoming game acting like idiots. I joined the swim team, and even though I sucked, I stuck with it for three years. I started experimenting with makeup and my sexuality had started to develop bigtime. I discovered masturbating (!) but learning that it was completely normal was still a long way off. I remember one guy who I dated on and off for about two years that I would have given it up to in a hot second. But I was still excruciatingly shy. In retrospect, so was he. Sophomore year was tough, probably the toughest one of high school. My group of friends had started drifting apart, but a few of us still remained close. I remember when our group discovered that one of us, who we thought was one of our dear friends, had turned out to be nothing but a stuck up bitch, and that was hard to take. Petty drama seemed to be all the rage. I didn't have lunch with anyone I even wanted to sit with in the cafeteria that year, and for an awkward sophomore, that was hell. But by that time I was settled into high school life, and had acquired several new friends, so our little group just continued expanding. And we continued to be non-discriminatory.
Sam, me, and Andrea before Sophomore HomecomingCome senior year, I was just about "there." I had finally grown some tits, got on birth control so that my period would stop giving me hell once a month, and learning how to flirt and be good at it. I was still a chubby little dork inside, but I taught myself a valuable lesson. Confidence is percepted only when it is emanated. So I built up my self-confidence little by litte, even if I had to fake it sometimes. Because the longer I faked it, the more it became real. I lost my virginity that year, I had started fooling around with my future Ex, who graduated two years before me and was the object of just about every other girl's affection, I was active in the school choir, making my way up to the Highlander Chorale, a prestigous group of singers that was only open to juniors and seniors, made the Delaware All State Choir my sophomore year, was in various productions the drama club put on, and even had the guts to sing a rendition of "My Blue Heaven" during the jazz concert my junior year. I made the National Honor Society, and in the 2001 Thomas McKean High School yearbook, the sections devoted to prom and graduation were devoted to, well, me.
I was never voted Homecoming or Prom Queen; nor did I recieve any nominations for the senior superlatives. I didn't care. I realized by then that being popular in school didn't mean shit. Andrea, Samantha, Amy, Steve, Shaun, Karyn, Karla, Heather, Dara, Jaime and I all had each other and that was all that mattered.
By the time I graduated high school, the ugly duckling had finally blossomed into a beautiful swan. What my grandmother had been telling me all those years I could finally look into the mirror and see for myself - that I really was beautiful, that I was a special girl, and all my little flaws and quirks only added to my character.
Small Tribute To My MomMom
From left: Aunt Tina, Aunt Rose, and my MomMom, circa 1973November 18, 2004
There are some points in my life when I can't believe what a wonderful family I am blessed with. But then I can believe it. We are the way we are because of MomMom and PopPop. They have passed on their family values to their children, and their children are passing them on to us, the grandchildren. One day we will pass them on to our own children. Their legacies will live on in stories, photos, movies, mannerisms, resemblances, dishes of lasagna, the smell of a cigar or a whiff of White Musk perfume.
I spent a good part of my childhood with MomMom and PopPop. Every time Mom was in the hospital, they would snatch me up and take me down to PotNets. Mom would have to fight MomMom to get me back, even if school was starting the next day.
I always dreaded having to help MomMom clean every weekend, wondering why I had to drag around a vaccum cleaner that was almost the size of me. But my own mother taught me to take pride in a clean house (or a clean room, haha!). MomMom would always have the polka station or Dean Martin playing on the stereo as we did housework. She brought me everywhere with her and PopPop, and I think to myself now, "How many other kids got to spend that much time with their grandparents? How many were that lucky?"
MomMom Rita was the one of the most beautiful women I ever knew. And it was what was on the inside that made the outside even more radiant. We have nothing but wonderful memories of her, and funny ones too.
When my family and Tina's family went to Disney World a couple of years ago, I sat next to MomMom on Splash Mountain and I never had laughed so hard in my life. She would squeal "Eeee! Eeee!" every time we went down a hill and I don't know if it was from the thrill of the ride or the thought of getting her hair wet!
She always had a crazy sense of humor. If it was smacking me for burping outloud, which she would do up until the day she died if I let one slip anywhere near her, giggling at the word "fart," which we would say over and over just to make her laugh, or offering to help my boyfriend put on his bathing suit to go to the beach, she didn't have a hard time making us laugh.We shared alot of milestones with MomMom; she was usually the first person we called, like the time I learned how to dive into the pool without holding my nose. She was involved in her grandchildrens' lives like that; every little thing that was important to us was important to her. Every time Lauren, Hamilton, and I had a prom, homecoming, or cotillion, she was there for pictures and to see us off. If we had a school concert, she was there to see us perform. She got to see the three of us get our diplomas, and when Lauren and I received our college degrees, she was there to share in the celebration. When I had a barbeque after my first year of college I had MomMom come to the house, not so she could meet all of my friends, but so all of my friends could meet HER. While Lauren and I were in college, occasionally we would find little surprises in our piles of mail. They always came from MomMom and they were always pairs of underwear in every size, shape, and color! I got red for Christmas and a note reminding me that Santa was watching, hearts for Valentine's Day (and we're talking thongs here!), and one time a pair with frogs on them that she said she hoped wouldn't bite!
I remember when I was in the emergency room after my car accident, she had Aunt Pat and Uncle Mike drive her to the hospital to see me. I was as happy to see her as I had been to see my mother. The relief I felt when I saw her peek her head around the curtain was so strong that I can still feel it to this day. Her sister, my Aunt Rose, and Uncle Lou even came to the hospital, and people probably thought we were having a party because we are NOT the quietest family. (Henced being dubbed "The Loud Family" by outsiders.)
When you have a MomMom like ours, everything from little events like losing your first tooth, which I did at her house, to major ones like graduating college were made that much more special because MomMom was there to share it with. She had a special bond with each of us. One that none of us will ever forget.Side note: I read this at the reception that followed MomMom's funeral, because I felt it appropriate that everyone knew how special she was to us grandchildren. I stood on a chair in the middle of the restaurant, giggling and fighting my way through tears as I read my own little eulogy.
Next month it will be five years since my grandmother passed away from pancreatic cancer. She held it together all the way up until her final hour, which was spent with her family by her side, holding her hands as she made her way to the other side to reunite with my grandfather.
I have seven first cousins on my mother's side. I am the 2nd oldest of nine grandchildren, and all of us had the chance to have MomMom in our lives. My brother, my older cousin and I were even more lucky to spend 20+ years with her. There is a seven year gap between my brother and the next grandchild, but that made no difference to MomMom, or PopPop, who passed away from lukemia when I was 13.When she died, it was as if our world had ended. Never did we think she wouldn't be around to see any of us get married, never did we think she would never get the chance to hold our babies. But all we can do, as part of the legacy she left behind, is pass on what she taught us, and keep her alive in our hearts.
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