I was here . . I mattered . . .

Written by my sister on the importance of remembering those who were here and writing them into our stories…

I'm a walking miracle, I'm made of stardust, I've been created by the creator, I want to be seen and I want to be heard. All of the songs have been sung before but never in my voice. Add my voice to the chorus and it produces a different sound, a richer sound, a more beautiful sound...

My broken parts don't wield jagged weapons. They're little bits of  sea glass, tossed and worn by living this lumpy, bumpy life and an ocean of sad and happy tears, formed into a mosaic of beautiful colored jewels that I will gather and carry with me.

I walk through this life barefoot, feeling the sting of barbs and stones on the soles of my feet through the soft, cool tender blades of grass the same as through the soul of my body.

See me, hear me, remember me. Write me into the scene right alongside you in the crowd, standing in the gloaming, unable to catch our breath in the fog as we gather up all our insecurities of this life we've all shared. Our fears of bumps in the night, of tender touches, laughter, our dying loved ones, of new lives born, our fear of growing older and all the craziness of the whirlwind in between. As the fog lifts, we can glance up into the star filled sky knowing that we have just been shown a life more enchanting than scary. We are suddenly aware that all our broken pieces, all the sad stories cut into our bones, all the tears of joy that shine through us like light in our eyes have made us realize that time is neither kind or unkind, that we have experienced and stored every emotion imaginable inside this rib cage of ours and now we stand in wonder where it goes, where it all ends and our silly problems begin to dissipate with the fog.

I was here, here I am...I want to be known, I want to be seen..I mattered...remember…remember to write me into your scene.