past.

Adult Simba: I know what I have to do. But going back will mean facing my past. I've been running from it for so long.
[Rafiki hits Simba on the head with his stick]
Adult Simba: Ow! Jeez, what was that for?
Rafiki: It doesn't matter. It's in the past.
Adult Simba: Yeah, but it still hurts.
Rafiki: Oh yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or... learn from it.

I've never seen myself as a person who outwardly dwells on the past or wishes they could back and change things. I don't regret, but inside I always think what if. What if I loved a little more or decided to choose that path or not wasted moments? Being a senior in high school it is very easy to reminisce on my life, it's expected. But there's things in my past that I've pushed away and tried to forgot. Yes, I am quite open on this, probably too open, but I actually do keep a lot private.

For some reason, instead of writing my lovely philosophy paper, I am in the mood to just spill. I truly hope this helps one of my readers grow and know they're not alone.

It was September 2006. Homecoming, Badminton, and Fall Break on my mind. I never dealt with anything truly dramatic in my life. I never expected to see my mom in tears walk into practice that afternoon. She talked to my coach and they hugged. I got in the car and mom dropped a bomb: Nonna (my grandma) had cancer or what they believed to be cancer. My Nonna had severe Alzheimer's at this point, speaking only in her first language, Italian, not remembering me from my mom or my brother. My Nonno (grandpa) cared for her so diligently with such love and devotion that I could not comprehend. I saw her that night, unprepared for the sight of her in bed with nurses surrounding her. The doctors couldn't figure out what it was because it wasn't cancer taking her so quickly. I dropped my life knowing hers was ending. We slept at their house every night, praying she would still breathing the next morning. The neighbors in their cul de sac were always popping in and out, bringing us food and comfort. The Hospice nurses brought breathing machines and they said it would be her time soon. September 29th, the night of the homecoming game, it was 10 pm and I was trying to go to sleep, closing my eyes and listening to worried voices: my mom, aunt, and Nonno. They didn't know how to cope, they didn't know how to plan a funeral or pick a casket. I heard the front door open over a hundred times, hurried footsteps. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and sat up on the couch. This was it. We stood around the bed as she took her last breath. Tears rolled down my face. I tried to remember my Nonna before this, before she was sick and in pain, I remembered sipping espresso and eating biscotti in the mornings after mom and dad went to work when I was 2 and older, I remembered helping her make breaded chicken by dipping the chicken cutlets in the egg and then rolling them in the breadcrumbs, I remembered her braiding my hair and telling me when I didn't match or my skirt was too short at age 6. I couldn't kiss her cold body that night, nor on the night of the wake, or touch her square where her body lies behind in the mausoleum. I've been accused of being apathetic and heartless by my brother after our Sunday trips to the cemetery. I found my mourning through Casey. He didn't know it, but he understood me, gave me support and music that saved me.

I have come to terms with her death. I miss her, but I have no doubts that I loved her just as much as anybody and I am standing still and not running from her death and the pain that I've harbored. I never imagined her not being at my wedding, so I definitely didn't imagine her not at my graduation or my sweet 16. But I felt her. I feel her everyday.