Below is a picture of me and my Grandpa Larry. This is the grandpa I wrote about in my last post. I love him and miss him dearly.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Why I Chose To Write Love On Her Arms
When I first saw To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA), I was very intrigued. It seemed like a great charity and it got even better when I looked into it. What always catching my eye on their site is their mission statement.
To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.
Every time I read this, I tear up. Especially the line saying "presenting hope and finding help." They are doing a great thing and I am very happy to know about their mission.
In 2008, I was working on my homework when I received a call from my mom saying that my grandfather was in the hospital. It is funny how my family works because even though my parents are divorced I am so incredibly blessed that they have remained great friends. They don't know how much this has meant to me over the years. Anyways, whenever something happens in my dad's family, he calls my mom. And I don't know if they worked this system this way or if my mom just does it, but she always calls to give me a warning that my dad will be calling to give me bad news. I appreciate the heads up, but this time it wasn't quite what I expected.
My grandfather had been sick for awhile so it didn't seem odd to me that he was in the hospital, but I asked my mom why. Her response "He was shot." Well another background story, my grandfather was a Harley rider with a ponytail that was usually longer than mine and a beard just as long. He had sleeves of tattoos that apparently included naked women. I say apparently because when I was born my dad asked his own father to cover up his tattoos. So every time I saw my grandpa, he had long sleeves on. He was in a motorcycle riding gang called the Los Barachos - The Drunks. He was a bartender. He rode a trike because he had been in a few motorcycle accidents and one leg was shorter than the other due to injuries sustained from those accidents. I loved his motorcycle boots because one had a platform and the other one was normal to help him walk steadier. Even though we never talked much or saw each other very often, I loved him and enjoyed the person he was. So when my mother said he was shot, I can't say that I wasn't shocked, but I thought maybe he had gotten into a bar fight.
Then my next question was "Who Shot Him?" And the line went silent. That is how I found out my grandfather had committed suicide. I was stunned and literally didn't know what to do. My roommate wasn't home, but I was so confused, angry, upset and crying that I just was stunned.
Who knows why he did it. He was going bankrupt and taking care of 4 grandchildren that were his second wife's daughter's kids. He was depressed. The autopsy showed he had cancer and maybe it was the pain that caused this. I have no idea.
Of course, we will never know his reasons for why he did this, but it is a thought that often crossed my mind. If any of you have ever known someone that has committed suicide, you will know the tricks your mind plays on you. To commit suicide, you have to be in a dark dark place filled with nothing. You have no hope at all. Your mind can kind of take you there, but I know there is hope and I know that I have an amazing family that loves me that I am able to snap out of it and forget it.
Am I angry at my grandpa? I was. Am I over what he did? No. Am I learning to cope with it? Yes. I use my grandfather's death as a reminder to always have hope and to never give up. My "hope" tattoo was partly homage to him for all of his tattoos, but it was also a reminder to have hope.
The World Health Organization estimates that each year, 1 million people die from suicide. Which equals out to one death every 40 seconds. In the last 40 years, suicide rates have gone up 60%. 55% of all suicides are in people ages 15-44. HOLY COW.
Those statistics scare me. I never thought my family would have someone that committed suicide, but it happened. I never understood why Ernest Hemingway committed suicide at such an old age because (according to me) you should have your life settled by then and should be happy. My grandfather was 63 (I believe). The statistic that scares me more is the amount of suicides in younger people and the alarming increase in the past 40 years.
I chose TWLOHA for my February donation because I believe that they are doing the right thing. They are bringing light to depression issues around the world and they are encouraging people to get help. I truly believe that they completely understand and embody what it means to have Strength In Hope.
To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.
Every time I read this, I tear up. Especially the line saying "presenting hope and finding help." They are doing a great thing and I am very happy to know about their mission.
In 2008, I was working on my homework when I received a call from my mom saying that my grandfather was in the hospital. It is funny how my family works because even though my parents are divorced I am so incredibly blessed that they have remained great friends. They don't know how much this has meant to me over the years. Anyways, whenever something happens in my dad's family, he calls my mom. And I don't know if they worked this system this way or if my mom just does it, but she always calls to give me a warning that my dad will be calling to give me bad news. I appreciate the heads up, but this time it wasn't quite what I expected.
My grandfather had been sick for awhile so it didn't seem odd to me that he was in the hospital, but I asked my mom why. Her response "He was shot." Well another background story, my grandfather was a Harley rider with a ponytail that was usually longer than mine and a beard just as long. He had sleeves of tattoos that apparently included naked women. I say apparently because when I was born my dad asked his own father to cover up his tattoos. So every time I saw my grandpa, he had long sleeves on. He was in a motorcycle riding gang called the Los Barachos - The Drunks. He was a bartender. He rode a trike because he had been in a few motorcycle accidents and one leg was shorter than the other due to injuries sustained from those accidents. I loved his motorcycle boots because one had a platform and the other one was normal to help him walk steadier. Even though we never talked much or saw each other very often, I loved him and enjoyed the person he was. So when my mother said he was shot, I can't say that I wasn't shocked, but I thought maybe he had gotten into a bar fight.
Then my next question was "Who Shot Him?" And the line went silent. That is how I found out my grandfather had committed suicide. I was stunned and literally didn't know what to do. My roommate wasn't home, but I was so confused, angry, upset and crying that I just was stunned.
Who knows why he did it. He was going bankrupt and taking care of 4 grandchildren that were his second wife's daughter's kids. He was depressed. The autopsy showed he had cancer and maybe it was the pain that caused this. I have no idea.
Of course, we will never know his reasons for why he did this, but it is a thought that often crossed my mind. If any of you have ever known someone that has committed suicide, you will know the tricks your mind plays on you. To commit suicide, you have to be in a dark dark place filled with nothing. You have no hope at all. Your mind can kind of take you there, but I know there is hope and I know that I have an amazing family that loves me that I am able to snap out of it and forget it.
Am I angry at my grandpa? I was. Am I over what he did? No. Am I learning to cope with it? Yes. I use my grandfather's death as a reminder to always have hope and to never give up. My "hope" tattoo was partly homage to him for all of his tattoos, but it was also a reminder to have hope.
The World Health Organization estimates that each year, 1 million people die from suicide. Which equals out to one death every 40 seconds. In the last 40 years, suicide rates have gone up 60%. 55% of all suicides are in people ages 15-44. HOLY COW.
Those statistics scare me. I never thought my family would have someone that committed suicide, but it happened. I never understood why Ernest Hemingway committed suicide at such an old age because (according to me) you should have your life settled by then and should be happy. My grandfather was 63 (I believe). The statistic that scares me more is the amount of suicides in younger people and the alarming increase in the past 40 years.
I chose TWLOHA for my February donation because I believe that they are doing the right thing. They are bringing light to depression issues around the world and they are encouraging people to get help. I truly believe that they completely understand and embody what it means to have Strength In Hope.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Charity of Choice - February
I can't believe that February is almost over. The first went by so fast and I kept forgetting to make my February donation for this month. I need to remember to focus on this project and remember the strength that comes from hope.
My charity of choice for February is To Write Love on Her Arms. Later this week, I will write a longer post explaining why this I chose to donate to this charity.
My charity of choice for February is To Write Love on Her Arms. Later this week, I will write a longer post explaining why this I chose to donate to this charity.
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