Presence and The Little Things

Have you ever picked up a novel and merely glanced at the first and last pages inoffensively thinking you would understand the entirety of the story? Yeah, me too. As a kid at the grocery store, I was in the book aisle rummaging through novels and magazines trying to consume as much information as I could. Like you, I thought that the beginning and the end were the only finite details I needed. Did she end up with the guy? Did the Box Car Children make it to the train? Would he get her letter before it was too late? I would succumb to the answers in either the happy or sometimes, not-so-happy, conclusion.

That being said, I was always doing it wrong. I constantly hunted for an end point thinking it would create realization and achievement and meaning even. The ironic thing is that as I came to those realizations, they faded just as easily as they came. The answers became irrelevant over time. I never remembered if the girl ended up with the guy or if the children made it to the train. I needed to feel the story and to become consumed by it. Like so, life so frequently becomes constrained by what we did in the past and what we are planning on for the future. Consequently, we lose touch with what the actual word, “life”, means. At a simple level, life is the existing presence of a human being through time.

Presence. All too often nonexistent in our rushed and muddled world today. We grow into creatures of fixation as we mature. Whether it’s through upbringing, education, maybe even both, we are trained to find the answers. First, we establish our problems. To solve the issue of money, we get the perfect job. Loneliness? Marriage. Health? Strict diet and exercise. The list goes on and is so often communally similar, we just never say it. Now, fast forward. You’re old and gray, over the big hill. You look back on your life collection. You got the education, the job, the perfect family, and all the success you strived for. In those final moments of reflection, you might realize that you got answers but that they were not the answers you wanted. Maybe we thought we needed them, sure. But, they weren’t the answers that made us happy. And you see that had you been present always, you might have defied conformity sooner. And in doing so, maybe you would have lived life the way you wanted to, not the way you thought you had to.

Recently, my BC years came to a close. I got the degree and the vital answer was received. For a while, I looked back and said, how did I end up here? There it was. Wrong approach. There is no crossing line. No end point. I made the best of friends—truly the most sincere and thoughtful people I have come to know thus far. There were highs, lows, and almost everything in between. I changed directions, got comfortable, and then changed again. It was a series of choices, people, and me. And those three are always renewing and adapting. Is there fulfillment? Absolutely, but fulfillment should not be confused with an ending. It encourages us to maintain it, hell, even make room for more of it. There is always room for a little more.

So, where do you and I go from here? I’m not really sure. We just have to go. But, I think I’m going to enjoy that unknown. No expectations, no fixations, no answers. Just you. Just me. And, a promise. We carry with us the fulfillment of past experiences but ensure that we are present to more opportunities and people that can become a part of us. We leave room for the old verities and truths of the heart. We will carry with us our own personal truths and the universal ones lacking which any story is ephemeral and fated. William Faulkner, one of my favorite writers, never believed in the end of man. He believed that we don’t merely endure but that we will prevail. That transcendence of man exists when we lead with our hearts. Living that way will liberate us. Then, the answers will find us and if we’re truly living, we won’t even notice them when they do come. They will just come and we will go. Everlasting. Way better than any ending I ever heard of. 

Here's to a better tomorrow.

-M

Harmony and The Little Things

We are all defined by our differences--the qualities and experiences that individualize us from everyone else. Sometimes we think our differences separate us from each other. It's like when you're going through something and the last thing you want to hear is, "I know how you feel." We dread that. We dread it primarily because we often think we deserve to rightfully feel whatever our emotions are on our own and not have to share them with someone else. It is a form of difference that we don't want infiltrated by someone else's common understanding. Yet, as of late, I have found myself challenged by that.

I was fortunate enough to be cast in the BC Theatre production of Red by John Logan and directed by my friend, Joe Meade. Was I intimidated at first? Without a doubt. Was I still intimidated as it went on? Without a doubt. Yet, something shifted along the way of this creative process between a small, intimate group of friends that has allowed me to recognize something great on a larger scale. The majority of the play, Rothko and I (Ken), cannot maintain a fluidity with one another, constantly questioning and striking down the beliefs we have set for ourselves. The core of the play is a struggle of difference. It left me wondering, why do our differences have to distance us from each other? I think that as the play comes to a close and both Rothko and I truly see each other, we too recognize that differences are not absolute. Differences are not meant to be agents for arguments or qualities that glorify one person over another. What I learned as Ken is that through our differences as human beings we are able to discover the harmonious respect we innately have for one another. Weirdly enough, this has been a thematic topic in academics, conversation, and now my creative outlets. I guess that there is an evident validity to the idea.


In the play, there is a moment where Rothko says as humans we are in a state of perpetual dissonance. Rothko was right--to an extent Ken and I would argue. Our past is stained with wars, violence, and disagreement but that does not mean we are constrained by them. I like to think we can prevail as one. We have the ability to see that there can be unity between two people--among all of us if we choose to believe in it and be proud of our differences. Silence is indeed so accurate. The moments that need no speech can say the most. So, when your friend says, "I know how you feel," don't get mad or frustrated. That person perhaps might sit next to you, grab your hand and truly see you. Give them that opportunity, you might surprise yourself. I think Rothko and Ken's story can testify to that. We can be different and still the same--we can avoid and still give in--we can disagree and still, we can respect. There's a beauty to that.

Red was much more than just a play--it changed me and I cannot express how grateful I am to have been taken on its journey. In the time I spent with it, I found that life can be easily succumbed to sadness and adversity. But, if all of us find those times of silent solidarity and harmony, we may stumble upon understanding and smile at it. In the end, we will find each other and be happy. Be proud that you are you but equally proud that you are never alone and can always learn from those in your life. A little thing--a little play--a happy ending. Here's to a better tomorrow.

-M

Endings and The Little Things

A lot can happen in just a few short months. You could move to another country, travel the world, share all new experiences, and realize that there is so much more you still have not done. A part of my life is ending and at first I could not understand how it is that we move on from one stage in life to the next. How do we take the step that makes the present something of the past? How do we approach the end? We all ponder that dark ominous cloud. Leaving home for the airport to go to Spain I asked myself, will I be lost forever? A young daughter about to walk down the aisle turns to her father anxiously with tears stewing and asks, will I always be your daughter? When newlyweds are preparing the final days before their first-born comes, each wonders, will we still love each other? And an old widowed man on the cusp of death looks at an old picture of his wife on his farm porch and asks her, will I see you again?

I was lucky enough to travel to Paris, Rome with the Irish Queen (Karen O'Chief),  London, Vienna, and even squeezed in a spontaneous trip to Bratislava, Slovakia. How did that happen? In summation, I have travelled a lot during my abroad experience, I have witnessed a lot, I have done and eaten a lot (both good and regrettable), and I have changed a little. Change, you gotta love it, even though when first encountering it the majority of us are intimidated by it. Change is the perfect theme to encompass this entire experience. I have changed the way I look at life, people, and even slightly myself. I felt that change along the way and I learned to take it in stride. Day by day and little by little, inevitable new ways of thinking overcame me and new people came into my life. I like to think I learned how to nibble on change instead of swallowing the force of it whole. That is how we learn to live in the present, to enjoy the little moments as they come, and to reflect without letting those little moments of change pass us by without even feeling them.

It is the constant dilemma we all face, at all ages, at different stages of our lives. We cannot help but struggle to figure out a way to live in the present. It becomes so bad sometimes that we end up missing whatever it is we did have. Our life can simply become a fragment of the past. Our feet never really touch the ground. We are either so obsessed with how things could have gone differently in the past or we are so obsessed with predicting how are lives will change in the future. Eventually everything becomes something of the past and we were too clouded to enwrap ourselves in those moments while they were happening. Rather, we were too numb to even feel the change while it was happening. Case and point. Our feet never touch the ground. We should strive not to be those unfortunate few who near their final bows before death look back and regret how little they actually lived. That would be the ultimate failure of life itself.

I know I am not the only one who wonders what will happen when something ends. I understand the scared kid I was when I walked up the airport, I empathize with the young bride grabbing her father's arm, I feel that fear those soon-to-be-parents feel as they look at each other, and I ask the same question the old man does every time I lose someone I love. Each one of them--each one of us unquestionably looks at what is to come after the next thing--after the change. What is to come when one chapter ends? Well I think the problem is in one word itself: end. We look at everything that nears its' expiration date as a finite end, a concrete termination stamp, or even the point of no return. That is where we are wrong and it is that word that causes us the most destruction.

Yes, indeed I could look at my abroad experience and say, "Wow, now what is going to happen once this all ends in a couple of days?" But realistically, there does not have to be an end. The choice is ours to make. I look at the closing of my time here in Spain as a beginning to a new challenge back in the United States. A new journey begins as I learn to take what I learned here and approach my life back at home differently. I will make comparisons in the education systems, talk spanish to my old friends, laugh more at the stupid tourist mistakes I made when I eat dinner with my family. I will live in the present. The present never has to end. Rather, it can always be beginning and always be unfolding.

To my anxious self walking up to the airport gate, I would smack him across the face. Tell him to snap out of it. Home will always be there, trust me I have learned that now. However, college won't always be so kill it while you can. There was no ending when I went abroad, only a new beginning in the present. To the young girl grabbing her father's hand, I would first give her a tissue to stop the black tears from running down her face. She is not ending her time as a daughter, she will always be one, especially to her over-protective Dad. Now, she will get to play both a wife and a daughter. There was no ending, only a new beginning in the present. To the young soon-to-be-parents I would squeeze in the middle of them and then put both of their hands on the wife's stomach. They would feel a kick. Not only do they love each other now and always but they love each other so much so that they created a human life to share in that love as well. There was no ending to their love, only a new beginning of love in the present. And to the old man staring at his wife's picture, I would sit next to him, maybe light a cigar for the two of us and look out at the horizon. I would tell him that I do not know if he will ever see his wife again. The end of life is truly the end of the present, but that's only if he believes so. I would hope and encourage him to believe in something beyond this life after death. Maybe in a whisper of the wind him and his wife will be together or they will grow side-by-side as two sunflowers out in their farm's fields. It is the belief that the present never ends that allows us to live in it and to ignore the things beyond our tangible control. If he believes in the everlasting life of the present, then there is no ending in his death either, rather, just a new beginning with his wife in the afterlife.

The little moments I have experienced are endless and the questions about when something ends can be endless too. But, it is whether we choose to believe that everything has to expire with change that will allow us to overcome the fear of it or not. I am starting to understand that now. My abroad experience, my happiness, my life never has an end, as long as I believe that. We are infinite creatures of an infinite present. So, avoid the questions and do not believe in "the ending". Instead, open yourself to change, carry older details of yourself with you and embrace the present--a present full of constant beginnings. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M

The World and The Little Things

The World is a big place, we all certainly get that. What I and others may not seem to get is how small it actually can be. I have been living in Spain for two months (it feels weird to casually roll that off the tongue) and there have absolutely been plenty of times where I have have felt out of place, even unwanted I would say. Besides exploring Madrid, I have now been to Barcelona, Toledo, Mallorca, Córdoba, and Granada. Even then, there is still so much more to see of Spain. In Madrid for example, the majority of my classes are in Spanish and though I liked to think that I was going to be able to manage the language barrier there have been a plethora of moments where the language controls me. Our relationship can be hot or cold depending on the day and plus the native speakers that take my classes only make the frustration boil even more. What are you going to do though? I just nod my head and act like I am understanding I guess (picture a bobble-head), eventually I end up slightly getting it after some efforts.

I swam in the Mediterranean Sea after seeing La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona but then got charged 8 euros for bread and butter to my dismay and when I fumbled a little trying to argue with the waitress I was yet again, defeated. I went to Toledo with the rest of my BC friends and I got lost with my friend's host mother who just repeatedly kept saying, "Oh mi corazón," and grabbed my hands. In Mallorca I rented a car and hiked up a mountain where I nearly fell off into the bluffs more times than I could count. Córdoba was charming but not charming enough to satisfy my cravings with the thick tomato gazpacho soup we were served. And in Granada, I got lost again with friends after seeing La Alhambra and went deep underground to see where King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel were buried as the line smushed me up against the glass so much so that I saw my own breath.

I have talked about venturing outside the comfortable and I am sure a lot of people hear it enough too. Dad always told me that his best stories came from some of his most uncomfortable instances in life. That's what makes him and his childhood friends so close. They remember the dumb crap they got themselves into the majority of the time and thank those times for the lasting friendships and brotherhoods it left behind. As uncomfortable as this big, grand world has been on my adventure abroad I find myself stopping at times to think--to look back--to re-evaluate.

Again, I am taking the majority of my classes in Spanish and even more so, I am still taking them. I am surviving and I am improving. Because of it, I have made new Spanish friends and learned more than I ever have about the language itself. Sure, the majority of my new Spanish friends only started talking to me because I was incorrectly speaking and they wanted to correct me but still, it brought conversations and laughs to the table. I saw La Sagrada Familia and swam in the Mediterranean Sea in Barcelona with my college friends. Wow. When will I ever be able to say that again? I had someone else's host mother call me her "heart" and hold my hand while we wandered the streets of Toledo. I had barely met her. It was enough to bring a tear even from the most unbelieving in care and compassion. I drove up a cliff and survived the ride in Mallorca. I mean really, I dodged countless bikers and saw my life flash before my eyes in a few occasions but what is that compared to the fact that I drove up to the top of a mountain. And the view was what really took your breath away. Though the soup plopped a pit in my stomach and forced me to change my order, I got to sit in a one-of-a-kind vintage winery restaurant that had some of Spain's most famous and prestigious dine within its walls. And Granada let me peak at the remains of two of the world's most famous monarchs. I mean Christopher Columbus asked for this woman's permission to discover America. How is that for some history? Plus, La Alhambra was not too shabby itself.

Trust me, I know, the world is a big place especially when you take yourself out of the familiar--away from your friends--away from the place you call home. After reflecting on my travels and adventures so far I find myself easily basking in the things that went wrong. It is the ultimate trap, for that matter, the easiest trap to fall in. For some odd reason, we find it easier to point out all of the moments that went against our favor. It can come out like rapid-fire, especially if you are frustrated enough. It is okay though, I think it is human nature.

But more importantly, happiness is not human nature. Happiness is a choice, one that only you can make for yourself, one that only I can make for myself. I think of my Dad in times when things go wrong, when I fall flat on my ass in front of a crowd or end up spending more money than I wanted to without even realizing it. He chooses to look at an experience as a whole; all the memories of his adolescence, his marriage to my Mom, and his career. It is all one humbling novel of life to him. There were numerous moments of weakness, embarrassment, and failure but they are what shaped his experiences equally as much as the good times did. Our biggest laughs can come out of moments when we should be crying or we find ourselves smiling more than frowning upon the poor decisions we made in our past. The good and the bad make an experience, both will inevitably surface one way or another. It is whether we choose to be happy about it that we are left to control. The choice is yours. The choice is mine. That big bad world we like to talk about is not as big as we think it is. It is small enough to give us our own time and our own choices. The world is not our enemy, it is our friend--one that gives chance for life, adventure, and love. Do not choose to dwell on the bad moments but instead, look at the puzzle in its' entirety and stay grounded and collected. Embrace the good, the bad, and the ugly. And choose to be happy that you got to experience it all. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M 

Wandering and The Little Things

You know that really corny quote that says, "Sometimes it takes being lost to know exactly where you are"? Or something like that. It was on one of those education posters in your 3rd grade teacher's room or it occasionally appears under the new profile picture of a girl you graduated from high school with. And I know, half the time we say to ourselves, "Oh my god, how many times am I going to see that stupid quote? It isn't true". Well, I would like to say that if there was ever a time I was lost, it was these past two weeks in total.

There is a park in Madrid here called, El Parque Retiro, and might I say it probably was the most beautiful and cleanest one I had ever been to. I decided to work out for the day there in the park; I would run for a while and then stop and do some exercises. It was a simple and good idea in thought that is until one path led to another and another after that and then I was simply lost. And no, it wasn't the lost where you could just waltz up to a map and know exactly where to go after that because doing so didn't help either, trust me I tried. I was hot, thirsty, and had sweat covering so much of my clothes that the shade of color changed darker. And so I thought to myself, what do I do now? Why whatever any normal person would do when they are lost; wander.

So I did just that, I walked through the park until I could eventually find myself a way out. The funny thing about all of it was that I found being lost to somehow be a prime opportunity to maybe see things I never had before. To my surprise, I stumbled into a rose garden, watched couples row haphazardly through the lake, and I walked down the alley of Spanish stone statues. Now, though these new sites and visions of Spanish history were all new, somehow I found a lot of them speaking personally to me. Ruby red roses--a favorite of my late grandmother's, gushy romance in the park lake--something my sisters and I would quietly laugh at, and historic stone statues--pieces of Spain's past that my grandfather Burt would find unbelievable while my eyes fell out of their sockets.

Maybe what I thought about in my last post is slowly making itself present. Pieces of my life, trinkets of those I care about or visions of old memories are somehow quietly, and without me really noticing, trickling down into little details of my day-to-day experiences. I think it all seemed to come full circle during my weekend trip with friends to Barcelona. Well now, the change in language dialects and the occasional nudity on the beach was fairly different from America but it seemed that getting lost through the gothic streets of Barcelona opened up the opportunity to see commonality between the Spaniards and I.   
 

At one point, a group of us just decided to wander, hoping we would find the place we had been in search of. Along the way, I saw friends chat at local cafes while sipping on their cappuccinos, soon-to-be mothers and fathers picking out clothes for their child in Las Ramblas, and then there were little ones going to church with grandma and grandpa at the famous Barcelona Cathedral. You cannot help but think of yourself in those very situations--how simple life used to be and how simple it can be if you choose to look at it in a good way. My Dad told me once about how he used to hold clothes over my mother's stomach when she was pregnant with us. "I think it will fit," he used to say and then she would laugh at his cheesy words and comment, "Jesus, Skip. Sometimes I wonder." There were plenty of those interactions around me with young couples, both frustrated at the others' attitudes yet still so in love. It was refreshing to see ironically. I imagined my friends and I grabbing coffees at Starbucks or buying all the junk food we could before curling up to watch a movie. And then I saw a little bit of myself in the kid who was whining about having to go to church with his grandparents. I was just like him at that age and I am sure he will be seeing himself at my age now looking back and regretting all the trouble he used to cause, whether he meant it or not. 

I guess there is an answer to the riddle. What to do when you're lost? Simple; listen, observe, learn, and move on. Of course, I cannot observe so much so that I can change my past but I can learn about who I was and who I should be moving forward from all of this. I suppose I would like to change that quote from earlier, "Sometimes it takes getting lost to know exactly where you are and to know exactly where you need to go." When those trinkets and memories come flooding back in those moments when you are admiring your surroundings and people passing by, do not regret or wish you could have them back. Rather, resolve the problem with new directions--new paths to take so as to move forward toward a place where new memories are made, whether they are with those here or with the spirits of those who have left us. So the motto of the story: always carry a cellphone, a map, and an open sincerity toward yourself and others. Doing so will only make being lost that much more rewarding and humbling as we follow new, unknown paths in life. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M 

Goodbyes and The Little Things

Think about the last time you said goodbye to someone or something. Do you remember? How easy was it? How hard was it? For the longest time I have been told of and experienced the harsh brutality that comes with having to say a goodbye. It's weird I suppose, the majority of the time we expect them to be hard in the moments leading up to it but it still never seems to make the moment any less harder or emotional. I think a lot of us can find truth in that statement.

A few days ago, I visited a place I said goodbye to a while ago, Brookfield High School. I was running and decided to take an old but still familiar path around the fields. I crashed the football team's practice and was welcomed back on the old field with open arms and lots of catching up. It was a short pit-stop to my final check point at the old equipment shed, still splashed with old graffiti of young high schoolers and still heavy with a lot of character--character that brought back many memories. I did a few exercises up and down the hill and when I turned to walk around the front of the shed, a familiar shade of blue caught the corner of my eye.

It was a blue Brookfield football practice jersey simply coating the top of the fence as the gate doors brushed up against it. I could not help but remember the days I wore the Brookfield blue before I said goodbye to it. But, it was not until I looked closer at the jersey did I notice something even closer to my heart. Written on the jersey was the number, 51. It was almost as if the jersey was sitting there and watching, waiting for me to waltz by it. And for some inexplicable reason, I found it and it found me. For those who may not know, the number 51 has been a symbol to the Consalvo family for generations. It started as a number on an address and evolved into a football jersey number that has now become our common lucky number in the family. Some of us like to look at it like a guardian in one sense or another.

Once I saw the 51 on the jersey it was almost as if a picture-perfect moment transpired. I smiled at the site of it and the meaning it still has, just as I did so, the sun faded down onto my face. I turned to glimpse back at the football team then once more at the jersey. And as I stepped to walk away, the drum-line instantly picked up to cap off a wondrous little moment I shared with myself.

When we say goodbye to someone or something, depending on the circumstance, we think it is a definite one--a permanent one. But to our dismay and surprise, good people and good things never really seem to stay gone. I thought I said goodbye to BHS, to Brookfield, to Pop, and to 51. But the high school's hallowed halls still feel dense with countless memories, Pop's cologne can infuse the air once in a while, and the number 51 will appear when I least expect it but I most need it. Maybe it's a sort of phenomenon or disillusion, but it keeps me balanced and sane so maybe something is working.

So there is a beauty to be found in saying goodbye I suppose, as hard as I take it though sometimes. There tend to be little pieces, visions, trinkets of those that we say goodbye to that find their way back into our lives at sometimes the most surprising but most necessary moments. I said goodbye to my family before leaving for Spain, as hard as it was. Watching Mom get choked up and Dad roll his eyes obviously made me immediately miss them. But I guess it is like I said, maybe there will be little pieces or trinkets of life I see along the way around the world that brings those special people and things right back to me. It is the kind of thing that makes you smile humbly walking down a sidewalk or around a street corner. It may be a mother gently waving her fingers over her sleeping son's arms or a father teaching his son how to smoke a cigar blind to the fact that the kid is actually choking. In any facet, I find comfort in the belief that all I love and care about is with me in every step I take in life. Sometimes the thought is the only thing to keep us happy and grateful. So really, I guess I don't believe in goodbyes, rather, I anticipate the, "Hello, again." Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M

Heroes and The Little Things

Many people have said it and many people have heard it; “heroes are the ordinary people who make themselves extraordinary.” It is simple, yes, but also so completely true that it is hard to find a fault in such a belief. I have grown up under the guidance of people I still view as heroes simply because I think they are extraordinary. For a lot of us, our parents are our heroes. Students are so inspired by their teachers and professors that they too become educators in adulthood. Meanwhile, our youthful innocence is congested with hopeless dreams of flying like Superman or saving civilians like Batman. No matter your age, heroes are unquestionably a part of our lives.

I have worked as a camp counselor for quite some time over my summer vacations and the stories I can recollect are infinite. But, this summer was different. Though on the surface I probably appeared to be as goofy as I usually was or exhausted from the constant beatings campers inflict on my body, I was secretly admiring one camper in particular. John C. is a rising 2^nd grader about to experience life in a new school and feels just as much anxiety and excitement that comes with a change in environment as any other normal kid. He is passionate about math and loves the color green. John is also autistic and so, is very special. With his condition come obsessive behaviors over ideas, beliefs, or things. Interestingly, he loves toilets and all things related to plumbing and also Abraham Lincoln and anything associated with his name.

During all of my weeks at camp I was lucky to meet many new, young faces full of vivacious spirits but John was so memorable for too many great reasons. Though autistic, he is brilliant and extremely bright. Even if he tended to abruptly interrupt your conversations or reading time, he was at least always doing so with a contagious happy attitude. It was never easy to be strict or upset with him as biased as that may make me sound. During our weekly trip to the beach in Week 4 I was instructing the campers to be quiet as we listened to the rules. Initially, it was hard to get John to stop interrupting that is until I learned to compromise.

As I said earlier, John loves toilets and all things associated with them. Therefore, he is infatuated with drains. As he started to get overly excited and disruptive while listening to the beach rules, I calmly sat next to him and placed my hands over his frantic arms that he incessantly swings when energized and said, “I will make you a promise.” He quickly asked, “WHAT?” to which I said, “I will allow you to show me a drain near the beach if you promise me that you will stay quiet.” His smile warmly spread from ear-to-ear and he graciously looked up at me and whispered, “You know Matthew, you are good. You are great.” He then gently patted his arm over my shoulder and we turned to listen.

Okay sure, maybe a hero is someone who is not ordinary but extraordinary. But, are the qualities or actions that make those heroes extraordinary distinct? Do you have to save someone’s life? Does a hero have to be widely recognized? I like to think not to all the above. A hero can be someone who compromises when situations can be difficult and rewards a child with something he so dearly loves. Then again, a hero can be someone who smiles as much as they can at their mentors and is always willing to be a friend to anyone.

When John smiled and put his arm up around me, for the first time I think I saw my cousin, Anne. Most importantly, I think I understood her relationship with Dylan. I saw care and generosity in the purest of forms. She was a hero to him and he was a hero to her in both life and death. What Anne did was heroic that day but I think the both of them were each other’s idols long before that. A hero could emerge through a smile, a laugh, or even a bedtime story. You have your heroes who you admire but I want you to recognize that you may be a hero too. John, you taught me so much and I will never forget that heroic smile. Nor can I forget our trips to the drains and bathrooms in which you heroically taught me how to fix clogs. So, never forget to pass along a smile for it is the little things and the little moments that create our heroes. Here is to a better tomorrow.

-M