Awkward Closure.

Today, someone, somewhere, lost a father. Someone lost a husband, an uncle, a brother. Today, someone lost a son. It doesn't matter what he's done in his life, these people loved him. They may (or may not) have hated the things he's done, but they loved him. Your heart doesn't let your head choose who you love.

Today people, possibly millions - if not more, rejoiced and celebrated in the death of this same man.

I don't deny this man deserved anything less then death, but I refuse to rejoice over it. How can we still find a way to call ourselves human when we can rejoice and celebrate over something we'd typically curl up and practically die ourselves over? I'm not saying we need to mourn. I'm not saying to swallow that sigh of relief, or to hold back that salute to a passing soldier. We needed this. The world needed it. But are we really willing to lower ourselves to Osama Bin Laden's status and rejoice over the man's death? How does that make us any different than him?

I will forever tip my hat to any soldier for making my world a safer place. I will forever raise the American flag with pride. With joy. I will not, however, raise my glass to a man's death. No matter how vile that man was. No matter how grimy, nasty, or dirty. People like Bin Laden disgust the crap out of me, but I can't help it that my heart grieves for them. I can't help that I feel upset, disappointed, that they left this world without even knowing in their own minds that all they have done was wrong. It saddens me that they, he, probably died without realizing how warped his way of thinking was. That he passed, without even being able to come to that realization and even in the slightest way attempt to make it right. It breaks my heart that he probably never knew of it any other way. That he probably never knew what real love was, or that he never knew how it felt to do something good for someone, something that would bring life into their lives instead of death and torment.

I really don't know how else I could ever describe how this whole situation makes me feel. It's awkward. I'm happy for the people, the families, who were able to find some sort of closure for the actions that were taken against those they love by the hand of this man. I'm glad the world doesn't have to live with wondering were Osama could be, or where he'll strike next. I'm overjoyed that our soldiers have claimed a victory, that our country can be at peace with certain things. But... if this one man could make so many people feel so much hate and know so much loss, then he could of changed the world in a positive way, with a positive influence. He could of really lived his life, with love and true hope. He didn't. For that simple reason, my heart breaks that this man missed his chance to be something great. My heart breaks that his family has to live with that.

Most Missed Memories.

"I wish I could put all my best words into my most missed memories.
To cleverly write what plays through my mind most.
Words are nothing but a tool in which I've forgotten how to use.
What I want to write about most, seems to refuse to leap from my heart onto the page;
About how beautiful you were, and how much you really are missed.
I can't come up with anything. ...Nothing at all.
Nothing happy, nothing sad.


Determination just seems to only weaken thoughts of potentially written brilliance.
Nothing seems good. Not anymore.
The thing that seemed to always help keep me together through the difficulty seems the most farthest from my reach.


Am I keeping this from me?
What can I do to bring it back? To bring back the ability to beautifully write out your life as we all once knew it?


To capture simply you.
To capture you with words."

I wrote this two years after my sisters death and I have yet to capture her soul within words. To capture her beauty with the tip of my pen. Now, nearly five years later, I'm still left dumbfounded on my ability to live without her smile, her laughter. I find that every time I remember her, I'm reminded of how much of her is fading with the years.

I still wait for her to walk through the door. I don't think that will ever go away. Sometimes I still feel like her accident was all a dream. Sometimes, when I find a moment to myself I drive down a very long back road, with the music all the way up and I cry. I cry and pretend it's just me and her. My sister and I, taking a long joy ride like we use to. I pretend we're laughing at the little nothings in life and I tell her how much I miss her. ...I tell her about my kids, about her son. I tell her how he has her smile and how smart he is. She'd be so proud of how he stands up for what he believes in, the way she did. And how he eats chocolate the way she did, I know that sounds crazy... but he does. I know if she was really there, she'd be beaming. When my mind begins to get weary and I can no longer forcefully repeat the memories over and over again, her face fades from the passenger seat and I'm left alone once again. Left alone to cry and image things differently. ...Only to realize without the tragedy of her loss, I possibly wouldn't of gained the happiness I have found. Is that possible? I struggle with knowing that it could be, because I miss her more than I could ever learn to say.

In merely six days it'll have been five years and I still have yet to capture her soul with words. I know one day I'll get it. One day, the beauty of who she was will find a way to cleverly leave my heart and leak it's way onto pages, maybe even books.

Until then, I have the open road and her smile imprinted on her legacy's face.

Monique J. Pelletier

sister, daughter, mother, niece, cousin,

lover, friend, best friend, new friend, old friend,

role model, instructor, student, teacher, warrior...

we lost more then just one person when we lost you.

R.I.P. little sister. You're more then missed, and will forever be loved.

11/1/89 - 4/19/06

Death Is Harder For The Living.

It's hard. …When you lose someone who was more than close to you.

There are no words that could ever be said to make it okay.

It never leaves us, the sorrow of losing a loved one. Years later, you'll find yourself in bed, just slightly about to fully awake, when you realize what day it is. That dreadful day. 

Death has a way of crippling us AND waking us up.

It is such an awkward thing. …It makes you, personally, want to curl up and die.

…But at the same time, it makes you want to grasp onto the remaining people in your life and live with them in the most liveliest way possible.

Before death, you probably never would of guessed that it was possible to cry so hard that you'd puke. 

Or that you'd find yourself, years later, looking for someone who you know wont be walking threw the doorway.

Death brings sorrow and grief because the person whom you've loved so dearly is now gone, but it also brings gratefulness and joy. You find yourself grateful and blessed for the mere fact that you were able to know them while they walked amongst us. You find yourself filled with joy, and happy that you've aloud them to impact and change you. You're a better person for knowing them.

You lose yourself when you lose someone who made your world go round. I'm not sure if there is or will ever be a way of getting that part of you back, but in your attempts to process a loss so great… you find other parts of yourself you never knew were there.

It's the hardest thing to ever have to go through, losing someone so close, but its almost just as hard watching someone you love go through it and know that there isn't anything you can say or do to make it better. To know how their feeling inside, and all that you can say is that you're sorry they have to feel this way.

All you can do is be there. ...All we can do is to take one day at a time. Some days will be good, some days you wont feel like moving. ...And even sometimes it just helps to pretend that they're still there... still in the room... sometimes it just helps to pretend that they can hear you when you whisper their name, or that they're going to answer you when you ask a question. Sometimes it helps to pretend to know what it is they're going to say. Sometimes... if you sit real still, and you close your eyes tightly and just relive your favorite moments over and over in your mind, it helps... sometimes.

The greatest challenge for us, isn't to learn to love... it's to learn to grieve and to keep living with the memory of those we love.

<3. Ed, Alice, Jose, Monique, Moe, Roy, and Shiela.  <3.
*EDIT* Miguel, Lorraine, and Katie. <3.

Art is not for the weary.

Everything can become art.
It's not a hobby, it's a lifestyle.


I appreciate someone who can perfectly mesh the precise melody of words to form a statement of beauty so real that it impacts the reader in such a way they want to relive that feeling over and over again. In the right persons mind, words are no longer just words but merely tools to create fine art.

I appreciate when someone can capture life so cleverly with a still shot, that it leaves you in wonder as to why you have yet learned to look at life the way the person behind the lens has learnt to do so.

I appreciate that if put in the right hands, a pencil and paper can become a whole new world filled with wonder and awe.

I appreciate people who will take whatever is at their fingertips and turn it into a piece of something we can all learn to admire and enjoy.

God is the original artist, we merely try to walk in His footsteps and capture His best pieces in our own ways. It's sad that the human race has turned a lot of His unappreciated "pieces" into ashes of almost nothing, however, art gives me hope that with the gifts He has given us we can make Ashes Of Beauty.




I hope to become one of the people I've learnt to appreciate.