I published my entry for the Writer's Conference in a previous post. This post, I am excited to publish (with their permission of course) the 1st and 3rd place winners! The authors of these moving memoirs have been featured once or twice in my Creative Writing prompts. Both these girls are so talented in their writing. Every piece they share with our "short story" group-chat leaves me breathless. The messages in what they wrote are so powerful; the imagery and feeling portrayed in these short memoirs are absolutely amazing and just a small sample of how much talent lies in these girls.
1st Place! Goes to my friend Amy. Here is her piece titled By Name.
“Look!” My mom gasped, pointing upwards to the starry sky.
I whipped my head up, groaning dramatically. “Oh, come on! I missed it again!”
“You should at least see one,” she assured. “There’s supposed to be twenty shooting stars an hour.” Discouraged, I gently leaned my camp chair backwards into the cold, rock-solid edge of the picnic table, hoping to cure the kink in my neck. To my dismay, the sharp edge twanged at various muscles and ligaments I didn’t know existed before that moment. Remembering I had an extra blanket with me, I wedged it between my neck and the slab. It still wasn’t the same as my warm, comfortable bed, but it was better than my previous position.
My thoughts drifted like a pearl lost in the vastness of the sea. The fire crackled before me, providing little warmth to my arms drenched in goosebumps. Its scorching ashes danced through the air, gracefully floating skywards in hope to fit themselves among the stars. Little did I know that such beauty could be so cruel, for I winced as a spark selectively chose my arm to sear. Wrinkling my nose to push my glasses up, I strained through the glow to see the sky more clearly. Shivering, I pulled up my slick, but also padded blanket to my chin. Blankets should never be slick, I concluded irritably. The ones at home never are.
“I love this view of the trees,” my sister interrupted my thoughts. I listened nonetheless. “I’ve wanted to take an awesome photo of them, but I could never seem to get all the trees in a picture. Wait—is that—” A rush of thrill flooded through me.
“Nope, never mind. Just another satellite,” she sighed. I slunk back into the rough, worn chair. Great. My internal sarcasm bit more harshly than the cold. I’m not going to see one anyways. Might as well just give up.
In the silence, I listened to the sounds that surrounded me. Mice scurried below the barren bushes and rustled through the parched pine needles. One minute their voices chattered, the next, fell silent. The crickets sang in a miniature, scattered choir, along with the majestic orchestra of the thunderous river. As I leaned back, I began to count the stars. Fifteen...sixteen…wait, did I already count that one? Ugh. Okay, I guess I’ll start over.
I soon gave up. The millions of small lights—and the many others that the eye could not contemplate—were all too much for my minuscule brain to wrap around. If counting stars was unachievable, I couldn’t imagine naming them. How God could name each and every one of them still astounded me. I breathed deeply, inhaling the bitter taste of smoke.
Suddenly, a glint of light dashed through my vision. I shot up from my uncomfortable position, and though slightly delayed, my reaction caught up.
“There’s another one!” The call came from my dad this time.
“That was so cool!” My hoarse voice exclaimed. “I thought the stars were amazing, but that made it even better!”
I looked towards the heavens, breathless before my Father’s masterpiece. If the sight of heaven could be seen on earth, it would have been the sheer beauty of the moment I witnessed. A sudden joy entranced me, and the corners of my lips could not fight back a smile, nor did they wish to. He’s looking over at me, I realized.
My weary eyes could no longer withhold their cumbersome weight. I stumbled from the camp chair, scuffing my feet into the dusty, crowded ground as I did so. The floppy tent walls crinkled as I droopily dragged through the veiling opening. I crawled into my sleeping bag, and before I slipped through the portal of sleep, I realized something that had never come to my mind before. I’m wanted. I could scarcely grasp it. Though the stars were glorious, they lacked what God yearned for most: a heart to love Him and a soul to live for Him. The God of the heavens wanted to know me far beyond what my name itself could unveil. He loved me—a simple, plain girl—more than the firmament, for I was created in His image. In awe, I realized the stars were not the only creation he called by name. My eyelids closed, and I wandered into the world of dreams, counting the stars I rested between.
3rd Place! Goes to Katie. Here is her piece titled Finally Home.
“Ok, I’ll ask,” I replied to my sleepy cousin. I still couldn’t believe it. They were actually here! As I looked at each of my little cousins’ faces, I was reminded of how much I’d missed them. It was their first visit, but I was convinced they would love Wyoming. The morning after they arrived, I slipped down the hallway, clad in my favorite pair of fleece pajamas. The September sun streamed through our enormous windows, and the snow-capped mountains towered in the distant plains. A luminous turquoise, unfurled sky complemented the golden, crispy grass mottling the prairie ground.
I tiptoed into the kitchen, looking for mom. I paused when I saw her. Her face was puffy and flushed with a coral hue, her eyes bloodshot and misty. This confused my nine-year-old self. Mom never cried, unless she was watching a “sad” movie or discovering something terrible had happened. Tilting my head, I remembered why I had come out of my room in the first place.
“Uh, Mom? Could we maybe...watch Littlest Pet Shop? Jozy and Izzy really want to watch it,” I requested, cringing in advance. She’d probably just say no. Ugh. Why did I even ask?
“Hm? Oh, sure. Go ahead,” my mom shrugged. Wow. Did she just agree? That never happens! Still shocked, I skipped over to the couch, closely followed by my younger three cousins and my sister. Plop. Plop. Plop. Each of us landed on the beige faux hide couch and sunk into the plush pillows.
All five of us snuggled into the cushions, and I seized the remotes off the ebony coffee table lined with sepia-colored wood and clicked the various buttons to turn the first episode on. As I sat transfixed at the ever-shifting animated figures dancing across the screen, I heard a sharp knock on our front door. Who could that be? It was still early in the morning; the UPS guy usually didn’t come until dark. My mom stumbled over to the door and opened it to Ken, the worship leader of our church.
“Hey. How’re you doing?”
Then, my mom hugged him, sobbing and shoulders trembling. Ken’s face was taut with worry. It was then and there I knew something was very wrong. My heart plummeted to my stomach, and my mind spiraled with alarm. What’s wrong? Wait--is dad okay?! Did something happen to him?! In the midst of my panic, my attention was wrenched away from the TV.
“Where’s Michael?” Ken asked.
“At work,” my mom brushed a tear from the corner of her eye.
“How is he?”
“Getting through it,” my mom sighed, suppressing another deluge of tears.
After a few minutes of secretive whispers, Ken left, leaving me drowning in my own thoughts. What’s going on? What are they not telling us? Panic surged through my veins, and my heart pounded furiously until my ears were immersed in their beats. Shivers shot down my spine as sweat dripped from my palms simultaneously. Fears squirmed in my mind, and I tried to ignore their haunting presence.
While the second episode was on and the rest of the family woke up, my mom gestured for my sister and me to come into my parent’s bedroom. The room itself was dimmed by filtered light seeping through the blinds, and sooty shadows shifted restlessly on the carpet. We sat down silently on the bed.
“What’s wrong, mom?” I demanded.
Tears began flowing down her already tear-stained cheeks.
Her voice palpitated. ”Remember Grandpa Joe was sick?”
We both nodded in unison.
“Well...He--he died last night.”
Time froze. Nothing stirred, no sound was made. The earth might as well have ceased spinning. My heart was suddenly stabbed by an invisible force, and my expression crumpled like a sheet of paper crunched into a misshapen ball. Tears were acquitted from their forgotten prison, and I was embraced by my mom while she held my crying sister in the other arm. We remained there for what might’ve been seconds, minutes, or hours.
My entire body was numb, like I was floating through outer space. No one’s hugs or sympathies could penetrate my stunned heart. I curled up on the couch, hot tears still thickening in my puffy eyes. When dad came home early from work, it took everything I had to not let another tear emerge. I couldn’t cry. I had to be strong.
Later that day, Ken returned, along with others from our church. I sneaked out of the playroom and peeked around the corner, observing the solemn adults. They all sat in the living room, praying, hands folded and eyes tightly shut.
But they can’t pray Grandpa back, I reminisced, sitting silently among the toys as the other girls played with the items strewn across the coarse, wrinkled carpet. He’s gone. Trying to somehow make it all disappear, I joined them, seeking relief from the harsh pain I felt deep inside my chest. Faster than the blink of an eye, my whole world changed.
Pain from loss never fully disappears, no matter how much time goes by. Grandpa missed so many things that I wish he could be here for. He would never witness what I grew to become, what I would do, or what his great-grandchildren would look like. He would never watch me graduate college or see me walk down the aisle. I would never again receive his bear hugs, his playful grins, nor his evident love.
Whenever I think of him, I try to remember the good things. Though there’s no way to make a loved one’s passing any easier, there is a God who does. God promises us hope--a hope that someday, if we are His own, we will find rest in a place where grief and pain no longer exist, a home that isn’t temporary or broken. And I believe that one day, I will see my Grandpa in heaven with Jesus, finally where we belong.