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Gina Hopkins. Died May 1, 2008 of Melanoma at the age of 44.

Wonderful, Beautiful

The vast, blue sky
The wind in your hair
These are the things
You hope to find there

Find your joy
Find your sorrow
Mind the now
Mind the morrow

Be swift of foot
And stout of heart
There friends will find you,
But soon they will part.

This journey called life
Has just now begun
For you, it’s a battle
That I have already won.

I will smile at you always
From my place here above
Wonderful, beautiful child
My one, my only, love.

Will I be able to face the cold, inevitable truth?

My mother is going to die.

You don't need the doctor's diagnosis to know that. You only have to sit with her and look at her. She is so frail. She looks twenty years older than she really is. She can barely speak.

******** this! I'm 19 years old. My mom isn't supposed to go yet. I'm supposed to get married and have her nag me about giving her grandchildren. She's supposed to cry in her seat up in front at my wedding and make tasteless jokes about all the young men around. She's supposed to come to my college graduation and tell me how proud of me she is.

All the problems she's always had- being bipolar and stubborn, going off her medicine and causing us all hell for days- all of that never made me not love her. None of it ever made me resent her in the slightest. I knew she was harder on herself than anyone. She has lead a brokenhearted life without hope.

For her to just die like that, without tasting a tenth of the happiness in life than she ought to have...it's not fair!

She even told me not to tell the nurse she was in pain.

I said, "Why?"

She wouldn't answer.

"Don't think that you deserve it, because you don't." I said. I knew that that was exactly what she was thinking.

"No...you don't deserve it....you don't deserve any of this." she said.

I just sat there, completely stunned.

"Don't worry about me." I said.

I know exactly what's going through her mind and I hate it. She's been more open toward me than most mothers and daughters. It's as if we're peers. She never held back her thoughts for my sake...never established a difference between adult and child. And yeah, I know that most people would say she's an irresponsible parent because of that. You're only supposed to be your child's friend to a certain point.

But to me she was perfect.

So I knew exactly what she was thinking. She was thinking that she was being a burden to me, worrying me, hurting me, and she didn't want to. She doesn't feel worthy of my attention and care.

She's always felt that way. Like she never actually deserved my love, and every bit of it she got made her feel guilty.

I've tried so hard for years to make her see her worth...to see that my love for her isn't just because of an obligation. That I love her for her- for who she is- flaws and all.

I've failed.

I wanted to grow up and include her in every milestone I had...I wanted to share more of the simple pleasures that we used to share. Like singing in the car or buying cappucinos at the gas station or sitting on the porch listening to the thunder.

I remember the time I was 16 and I curled up in her lap and cried like a toddler because she'd been gone for so long. She would be put up in the hospital for weeks at a time for going off her medicine.

I remember that one Easter she was so out of it that she gave me bottlecaps as a present. I remember crying at that part in Order of the Phoenix where Neville gets gum wrappers from his mother and keeps them.

I'd kept those bottlecaps.

Yes. Our relationship has caused me a lot of pain in my life.

But I wouldn't trade it for anything. Do you know how much I would have hated it if I'd gotten a normal mom?

Some people are so neglected by the world, so overlooked. She is one of these.

She wrote this one time when she was put in the hospital.

Missing You Blues

Sitting here thinking of you
I get the blues

I'm blue because I miss you so
and want to be with you

You make me smile
and make my life worthwhile

I'd be lost without you
You know I would

I need you now
I'll need you always

When you're not with me
I carry you in my heart
until our eyes meet again.

The waiting really tears me up
I hope it will be soon...

Your presence warms my soul
and makes me feel so loved and special
every time you're here.


::May 11, 2008. Mother's Day::

Ten days.

Ten days ago. That's when my mother died.

Just ten days.

Why does it feel like a lifetime ago?

She was just here. She was just here!! I talked to her and held her hand. I watched her grow weak. I watched her life slipping away and reached out so desperately to save her somehow, by sheer force of will! It was futile. I remember the last time she said she loved me. I remember the last time she kissed my cheek. I remember the last time she looked at me with recognition behind her eyes.

I remember when she looked at me and stuttered out, "You don't deserve this."

The last time I saw her was at the hospice. I sat down beside her and laid my head on the pillow next to hers. When everyone else stepped out, I cried. I told her that I had tried my best not to let her see me cry, because it would be as if I was admitting that she was going to die.

Every single day, I have random memories popping into my head. It's triggered by the smallest thing, and I remember something about her or something we did together. It's like I have to relive every single memory, one last time. I wonder how long will it take before a single day goes by without this happening?

There are times when I can think about her in that place, laying there withered and dying, and not get overwhelmed by it. Not feel about it. It only becomes too much when I link that sight to the person I knew. To realize over and over again; that was my mom. That was my mom. Not a stranger or some person on TV. That's when I lose it.

On Mother's Day I had a tradition of giving her a drawing of mine, sometimes with a cute little poem on it. That's cause I never really had the money to buy her anything, but she really loved it all the same. There was one I gave her that she kept on the fridge till this day.

I don't know what I would have done if this hadn't happened. I would have probably taken her out for lunch at the café and gotten her a card. I would have wanted to treat her since I finally have money of my own. Plus we went to eat there one time before. I probably would have bought her a bag of coffee to take home with her too, since I got her a bag for Christmas and she'd really liked it. She actually barred anyone else from using it, haha. ^_^

It always hurt me to know that she felt like she was a terribly unworthy person. I always thought to myself, "Someday I'm going to be able to make her see that she's not worthless. I'm going to show her that I love her for who she is, and that I never would have wanted someone else as a mother." I was going to become successful somehow, and buy her a house like she's always wanted, with land enough for outside dogs to be able to roam around.

That's been a fantasy of mine since I was little, probably because she talked about it so much. As unrealistic as it is, if I had ever actually became that successful, I would have done it.

She was always this constant presence, you know? You get so comfortable in the idea of someone being there, even when you can't see them. Just regular, ordinary relationships like you and your parents. They are there, and though you may resent them at times or even all the time for whatever reason, the idea that they are still there, alive, even if they aren't with you, that is something you get so used to without even knowing it. And then if your relationship is a close one? Even after we knew she had cancer, I never thought for a second that she wouldn't make it. Not for a second. Not even enough to consciously say "You're going to make it" because it was just obvious.

This experience has created a knot of despair and darkness deep inside me, and I can't touch it without losing my composure. It just has to fade, and dissolve, over time. It's a huge gaping wound that bleeds of its own free will.

I believe that it is necessary to relive, and remember. This is far too large for me to put it on a shelf in the back of my mind and ignore it. When I am alone, and there is nothing distracting me, it rises up…and that too is necessary. This is my pain, my weight to bear. I know that no one likes the thought of me being upset on my own, but the fact is that I do have to cope with this and let myself be upset. I feel okay around my friends most of the time, the only exception being when a memory pops up…and then I am sad for a moment.

I want so badly to do something to make sure she isn't forgotten; dedicate myself to something. Not in a material sense, I mean…she was wronged many times in her life, and she had a unique voice and attitude. By standing up for what she would have stood up for, I believe that that is the best that I can do. She had a lot more courage than me- and I'm not just saying that to glorify her because she's dead. It's the truth. She was very fiercely protective of me and my brother, and she would have done anything for our sake. She was outspoken almost to the point of shamelessness. She would talk about anything and everything, even with complete strangers.

I wish that I could see her smile again, and go over the same old jokes. Whenever I stayed over at her house, she would watch me write until I noticed her.

Me: "Why are you looking at me?"
Her: "Cause you're cute."
Me: "o.o;;"
Her: "I think you need a whuppin' for being too cute."
Me: "GAH!! NOO!"

And she would get up and walk over, and the dog would go beserk, and Jud would say, "Now, Gina…." And she would hit my leg just to aggravate the dog more, and then both of us would turn on Jud and tickle him.

And then, so suddenly. She tries to raise her hand to touch my face but she is too weak, so she just lays it back down with the most frustrated expression. Tears collect at the corners of her eyes and I'm barely able to say that it's okay, that she doesn't have to try so hard. She looks at me and tries to speak, but can't.

That's what I see every single day. I see something, and it makes me remember something happy. Then that happy memory is violently cut short. It's a daydream that grabs me and I can't resist.

It only becomes too much when I link that sight to the person I knew. To realize over and over again; that was my mom. That was my mom.

Over and over again.

Every day.

Ten days.

-----------------------------

The funeral was today. I got mad because the preacher spent more time talking about Jesus than my mom. Practically using her to plug the religion. Like saying that in the end she was able to give it up to God and that it had pleased Him; and that we, the audience, could please Him too by accepting Him into our hearts, blah blah blahdy blah. A cheap infomercial for eternity. It pissed me off a little, but it's not like I expected anything different. My great-grandma's funeral was a great exception in that it wasn't the same way. This was my fourth funeral, and all of them except hers was like this.

No, I am not religious. Perhaps that's why I feel this way. But think about it. Using the grief of a family and playing on their desires in order to recruit more people by basically saying that we can see her again if we do this, but if we don't, we can't. Isn't that horrible when you think about it?

That's why I've always said that, even if God was real, and real in the way that us humans portray, I would never follow Him. I would rebel. Of course, that's a sort of irrelevant point, because if there is a higher power, I severely doubt that it is anything like what humans portray. Humans have their own agendas. No one actually knows...because the very nature of such a thing would be beyond our reach.

Anyway, I just really wish that someone that knew her could have spoken instead. The way it felt was, "Uh...we're here, so uh...we gotta think of something to say..." This is what happens when the black sheep dies.


------------------------

::When You Reach The Bottom...::

The only way you can go is up.

Yeah, my mom is dead. But I'm still here. I'm still alive. I still have all the things that we always get so upset over because we realize that someone that has died can't have it anymore.

I can still laugh and see the people that I love and care for. I can still look into the fathomless dark sky and trace the familiar pattern of stars with my eyes.

It's odd when what you want more than anything in the world is the ability to see someone smile with a whole heart. The disease of sadness and darkness plagues everyone around you like ink in water.

No, I'm not going to apologize for being sad. And I'm not going to say that I feel like it's my fault that everyone's depressed. That's exactly what I would have done or said before I knew what real pain felt like.

It's hard to explain, but...I went to Target earlier wearing my black tanktop and Tripp pants. Normally I'd feel very uncomfortable wearing that without any of my friends because the look is so goth and because I generally feel insecure wearing clingy tops. Like how white I am and the flabbiness of my arms.

At any rate, I didn't care. I wouldn't have been sad or angry if someone had laughed. I would have liked to see someone laugh, even if it was at my expense. Just to hear laughter. Just to know that laughter still exists.

Why can't I- why shouldn't I live without chains? How could I possibly consider myself wronged by the world? It would be a hollow victory if I went around spreading the darkness that has accumulated on my heart and actually managed to affect someone with it. Would it not be a much better thing to be the object of another's wit? What good will it do to add hate to hate?

We are still alive; thus, we always have the potential to laugh. We still have the chance to see beauty, appreciate it, and maybe even add to it.

I am just one girl. One girl, in all the world. Something within is burning, withering and dropping away into the ashes that surround my feet. Underneath is new, tender, and incomprehensible.

The world is going on all around us, do you know that? It doesn't care about any of this. The collective cloud over the world only darkens a little bit.

I always fear because I don't want to lose what I have. Things that don't have a name or a clear form. Why am I so afraid? I think that now I realize....I realize that I am not quite as fragile as I thought. If I can withstand this...how does every other petty fear compare? What lies beneath the unknown isn't necessarily bad. There may even be rewards and happiness there.