Dear Sara,
It's hard for me to believe that it's been almost a month since the accident. In some ways it seems like it was just yesterday and in others it seems like it was ages ago. Time plays funny, or not so funny, tricks on the mind during difficult days like these.
Yesterday was a bad day...at least it started out as a bad day. I think Stevie and I were both missing you more than we had in recent days. He wandered around the house crying out for you all day long. I mostly sat on the couch and just cried. Things got a little better as the day progressed. I had dinner with my mom and dad and then met Aaron and Sarah in town for some shopping at Best Buy. It was back to crying when I got home though. It probably didn't help that I was looking at pictures of you and Miranda when I should have been trying to go to sleep.
Today was different. I woke up and actually caught myself smiling, for no apparent reason. Instantly it made me feel sad, but not like yesterday, more along the line of how can I be happy at a time like this. Stevie has had a better day today, too. Much less vocal "noise" on his part. Speaking of Stevie, I think you'd be proud of him. He's getting used to having people other than us in the house. Aaron came over tonight and Stevie didn't seem to hardly notice that he was here. That's a long way from the days when he'd sprint down to the basement as soon as an unfamiliar face showed up. I was so worried about how he'd react to the baby and having people over to see the baby...apparently he would have handled it just fine.
I love you. I miss you. Give Miranda a kiss from daddy.
Love,
Chad
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
How long...
Dear Sara,
Last night I was thinking about the last time we spent this much time apart. It was over 12 years ago. We'd been married a little over two years and you had to take your Cross Cultural class at college. I dropped you off at the airport on January 1, 1999, just as a huge snow storm was moving in. If your flight had been 30 minutes later, you wouldn't have been able to leave for at least a couple of days. You were gone for almost four weeks. We didn't have cell phones, so you took a calling card with you and we talked on the phone every night. Not for long. Just enough to catch up on the day and say "I love you." At the time, I didn't know how I was going to make it through until you got home. I missed you each and every day. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew you'd be home and that made each day apart something I could handle.
You're not coming home from this cross cultural trip. I know that, but there's still a part of me that can't accept it. I wait for you at the door sometimes, just like Stevie does, hoping you'll walk in at any minute, but you won't...not this time.
While I was at the hospital, holding vigil at Miranda's bedside, the sister of one of our neighbors tied a beautiful pink ribbon on the tree out in front of our house. It's been a daily reminder for me that even though you're not here, you're still with me, that it's our home I live in. I untied it from the tree today, both to keep it from being ruined by the elements and to ward off uncomfortable questions. On Saturday night, we ordered some subs to nosh on while we watched our movie. The lady who delivered them was very cheerful and asked if we'd had a baby. I didn't know how to answer. I felt dumb, like there was no answer...at least not one that I could give her that would make sense. I mumbled back "no, not so much" even though it wasn't the truth, or at least the whole truth. The pink ribbon is drying out today. I'll keep it indoors...to remind me of you both.
Remember how I told you that the whole pregnancy thing was flying by for me? It always seemed like there just wasn't enough time to get ready. The days don't move so fast now. Part of me wishes they would and part of me is thankful they don't. Grief hurts, I don't know anyone that would want to feel this way; but, I don't want to get over you either. Writing to you helps, mostly to sort out my own confusion, but it doesn't help fill the emptiness.
I love you. I miss you. Give Miranda a kiss from daddy.
Love,
Chad
Last night I was thinking about the last time we spent this much time apart. It was over 12 years ago. We'd been married a little over two years and you had to take your Cross Cultural class at college. I dropped you off at the airport on January 1, 1999, just as a huge snow storm was moving in. If your flight had been 30 minutes later, you wouldn't have been able to leave for at least a couple of days. You were gone for almost four weeks. We didn't have cell phones, so you took a calling card with you and we talked on the phone every night. Not for long. Just enough to catch up on the day and say "I love you." At the time, I didn't know how I was going to make it through until you got home. I missed you each and every day. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew you'd be home and that made each day apart something I could handle.
You're not coming home from this cross cultural trip. I know that, but there's still a part of me that can't accept it. I wait for you at the door sometimes, just like Stevie does, hoping you'll walk in at any minute, but you won't...not this time.
While I was at the hospital, holding vigil at Miranda's bedside, the sister of one of our neighbors tied a beautiful pink ribbon on the tree out in front of our house. It's been a daily reminder for me that even though you're not here, you're still with me, that it's our home I live in. I untied it from the tree today, both to keep it from being ruined by the elements and to ward off uncomfortable questions. On Saturday night, we ordered some subs to nosh on while we watched our movie. The lady who delivered them was very cheerful and asked if we'd had a baby. I didn't know how to answer. I felt dumb, like there was no answer...at least not one that I could give her that would make sense. I mumbled back "no, not so much" even though it wasn't the truth, or at least the whole truth. The pink ribbon is drying out today. I'll keep it indoors...to remind me of you both.
Remember how I told you that the whole pregnancy thing was flying by for me? It always seemed like there just wasn't enough time to get ready. The days don't move so fast now. Part of me wishes they would and part of me is thankful they don't. Grief hurts, I don't know anyone that would want to feel this way; but, I don't want to get over you either. Writing to you helps, mostly to sort out my own confusion, but it doesn't help fill the emptiness.
I love you. I miss you. Give Miranda a kiss from daddy.
Love,
Chad
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Family movie night...
...just isn't the same without you sitting by my side.
Aaron, Sarah, mom and dad came over and we watched a movie tonight. You would have liked it. I'd have liked it better if you'd been here.
They've all gone home now and I am listening to music and watching pictures from our photo library scroll across the TV. You have such a beautiful smile...and I miss it so much. The tears sting and my throat hurts. No matter how much I beg I can't go back to that horrible day and change anything. All I want to do is go back and listen to that little voice in my head that kept saying we shouldn't bother traveling in that unexpected snow storm.
You're not supposed to be in Heaven right now. You're supposed to be right here, sitting on the couch next to me, holding our newborn daughter and marveling over how beautiful she is. The flowers on the bookshelf are supposed to be congratulatory not consolatory. This broken world, enslaved by death, stole you both from me. The fallen nature of man stepped in and interrupted God's perfect plan for us. The Hope of the Resurrection seems so far away right now. What will be a blink in the scope of eternity feels like it will last a thousand lifetimes.
I can't change history, I can only watch it float across my TV screen and hope that someday all those memories will fill me with fond remembrance instead of sadness.
I love you, I miss you. Give Miranda a kiss from daddy.
Love,
Chad
Aaron, Sarah, mom and dad came over and we watched a movie tonight. You would have liked it. I'd have liked it better if you'd been here.
They've all gone home now and I am listening to music and watching pictures from our photo library scroll across the TV. You have such a beautiful smile...and I miss it so much. The tears sting and my throat hurts. No matter how much I beg I can't go back to that horrible day and change anything. All I want to do is go back and listen to that little voice in my head that kept saying we shouldn't bother traveling in that unexpected snow storm.
You're not supposed to be in Heaven right now. You're supposed to be right here, sitting on the couch next to me, holding our newborn daughter and marveling over how beautiful she is. The flowers on the bookshelf are supposed to be congratulatory not consolatory. This broken world, enslaved by death, stole you both from me. The fallen nature of man stepped in and interrupted God's perfect plan for us. The Hope of the Resurrection seems so far away right now. What will be a blink in the scope of eternity feels like it will last a thousand lifetimes.
I can't change history, I can only watch it float across my TV screen and hope that someday all those memories will fill me with fond remembrance instead of sadness.
I love you, I miss you. Give Miranda a kiss from daddy.
Love,
Chad
Friday, February 25, 2011
The things they don't tell you...
Dear Sara,
Fourteen and a half years ago we promised we'd love and cherish each other "until death do us part." I'm finding that even though plenty has been written about grief, grieving, and the processes we go through, no one seems to have come up with a manual, or a set of rules, for the real day-to-day stuff that one has to deal with when the parting happens far too soon. I'm working on my list of things that I'm sure I'll need to do at some point, but it doesn't feel right to think about doing them now. It doesn't feel like it will ever feel right to do them.
Will it ever feel OK to delete your phone number out of my contact list? I canceled your cell phone. It didn't seem to make much sense to keep paying for it; but, I don't feel like I can delete your number out of my phone. What if I dial it on accident some day and someone answers?
How long should I keep your FaceBook account active? People are still sending you friend requests. Should I accept them? Should I ignore them? Will I ever find a day when I don't want to post on your wall and tell you how much I miss you? Will it be obvious to me when I should change my status from Married to Single? Do they have an option for Widower?
What about your email? I unsubscribed to most of the daily "junk mail" type emails you were getting. What if something legitimate comes through? I don't send you emails, but what if I want to? Do they have email in heaven?
Is there a rule about how long I should wear my wedding ring? At some point will it make other people feel uncomfortable when they see it on my finger? It feels right and good right where it is. When they took it off at the hospital to clean my hand and bandage my injuries it felt so wrong, so final. It's comfortable and comforting...does it stay that way?
What would you like me to do with the kitchen? You worked so hard stripping the cabinets and painting them. I know you ultimately wanted to do a whole kitchen remodel, even replacing the cabinets. It hurts to think about taking them out now, ruining all your hard work. What about the bathroom? I know you wanted to completely remodel it, too (and it really needs it.) But you're not here to repaint the walls back to the way they look now. If I have it done will it feel like I'm losing the part of you that's still here?
I guess that's all I have for now. I'm sure I'll think of more as time passes.
I know I don't need to say it, but I miss you. I miss Miranda.
Hugs and kisses,
Chad
Fourteen and a half years ago we promised we'd love and cherish each other "until death do us part." I'm finding that even though plenty has been written about grief, grieving, and the processes we go through, no one seems to have come up with a manual, or a set of rules, for the real day-to-day stuff that one has to deal with when the parting happens far too soon. I'm working on my list of things that I'm sure I'll need to do at some point, but it doesn't feel right to think about doing them now. It doesn't feel like it will ever feel right to do them.
Will it ever feel OK to delete your phone number out of my contact list? I canceled your cell phone. It didn't seem to make much sense to keep paying for it; but, I don't feel like I can delete your number out of my phone. What if I dial it on accident some day and someone answers?
How long should I keep your FaceBook account active? People are still sending you friend requests. Should I accept them? Should I ignore them? Will I ever find a day when I don't want to post on your wall and tell you how much I miss you? Will it be obvious to me when I should change my status from Married to Single? Do they have an option for Widower?
What about your email? I unsubscribed to most of the daily "junk mail" type emails you were getting. What if something legitimate comes through? I don't send you emails, but what if I want to? Do they have email in heaven?
Is there a rule about how long I should wear my wedding ring? At some point will it make other people feel uncomfortable when they see it on my finger? It feels right and good right where it is. When they took it off at the hospital to clean my hand and bandage my injuries it felt so wrong, so final. It's comfortable and comforting...does it stay that way?
What would you like me to do with the kitchen? You worked so hard stripping the cabinets and painting them. I know you ultimately wanted to do a whole kitchen remodel, even replacing the cabinets. It hurts to think about taking them out now, ruining all your hard work. What about the bathroom? I know you wanted to completely remodel it, too (and it really needs it.) But you're not here to repaint the walls back to the way they look now. If I have it done will it feel like I'm losing the part of you that's still here?
I guess that's all I have for now. I'm sure I'll think of more as time passes.
I know I don't need to say it, but I miss you. I miss Miranda.
Hugs and kisses,
Chad
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Due...
Dear Sara,
Today was our official due date. I know how much you didn't want to focus on a specific day, which is why we always just told people "the last week of February." Of course, if Miranda was anything like you, she probably wouldn't have arrived for another week :)
I went back to work yesterday, just for a few hours in the evening. It feels a little strange, but comforting at the same time. At the end of the day, I still have to come home though, to our home, the home which I wish you were still here to be with me in. I'll go back tonight, and tomorrow night, and the night after. It will eventually feel normal...I hope.
Sometimes I feel bad that I don't cry all day long every day. But when I do it hurts so bad I can understand why my mind and body won't let it happen more than it does.
The rational part of my mind says there must be some logical reason this happened. Some reason that God allowed this to happen. What was coming that would have been worse than this? That's the only thing that makes sense to me, that somehow God allowed this to spare me, us, from an even greater tragedy farther down the road. It doesn't provide any comfort for my heart though.
I love you. I love Miranda. I miss you both so much, especially today.
Kisses,
Chad
Today was our official due date. I know how much you didn't want to focus on a specific day, which is why we always just told people "the last week of February." Of course, if Miranda was anything like you, she probably wouldn't have arrived for another week :)
I went back to work yesterday, just for a few hours in the evening. It feels a little strange, but comforting at the same time. At the end of the day, I still have to come home though, to our home, the home which I wish you were still here to be with me in. I'll go back tonight, and tomorrow night, and the night after. It will eventually feel normal...I hope.
Sometimes I feel bad that I don't cry all day long every day. But when I do it hurts so bad I can understand why my mind and body won't let it happen more than it does.
The rational part of my mind says there must be some logical reason this happened. Some reason that God allowed this to happen. What was coming that would have been worse than this? That's the only thing that makes sense to me, that somehow God allowed this to spare me, us, from an even greater tragedy farther down the road. It doesn't provide any comfort for my heart though.
I love you. I love Miranda. I miss you both so much, especially today.
Kisses,
Chad
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Miranda, my beautiful angel...
I wanted to share some pictures of my sweet angel, Miranda, with you. Your prayers and kind words have meant so much to me.
The consensus is that she got her mama's hands and fingernails. Pretty little girl didn't need daddy's sausage fingers and horrible nails.
This was a ring that Sara bought on our vacation up to northern Michigan in October. Her wedding and engagement rings weren't fitting her and she wanted something sparkly to wear.
Miranda is on the quilt Sara made for her. Sara and Grandma Ware did the quilt stitching in November.
Wishing I could hold you again, my sweet angel.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Dear Sara...
Dear Sara,
Today was a good, but hard, day. I went grocery shopping. It took me a while to actually get out of the car after I got to the store. It just didn't feel right. I know we very rarely shopped together, but shopping for one just seems wrong.
Your family came over and we spent a lot of time looking through all of your sewing materials. So many projects unfinished. So many more just ideas in your head. The world is a less lovely place without you and your projects.
We finished the night watching a slideshow of all your pictures from my iPhoto library. I cried. Your smile is so beautiful. Your eyes sparkle. I just want to reach out and touch your cheek and kiss those beautiful lips again.
They say there are fives stages of grief. I'm pretty sure I'm still in denial. I can't stop using words like "we" and "us" when I'm speaking in the present tense. There's a voice in the back of my head trying to convince me that you'll be home any minute.
By the way, I don't know if I've mentioned it before or not, but our daughter is beautiful. Of course, I'm sure you know that. You've been able to spend more time with her than I was allowed. I'm more than a little jealous and heart broken over that.
It's been two weeks since you left. I've been so busy it feels like it's been longer. You know how quiet and dull our life was? It's been a rush of appointments, meals, friends and family since then. I haven't had a day go by that I didn't go somewhere, meet up with someone, or have dinner with someone.
My injuries from the accident are healing OK...my heart's not doing as well. It really hurts most of the time. I want to think about the positive side of you being in Heaven, but most of the time I just feel sad that you're gone.
I found a new home for Katu. I feel bad about giving her away, but she and Stevie still hate each other; and, without you here to keep the peace, things were starting to get a little hairy. Stevie's not sure what to think of the gate being down. He's been making tentative forays into the other half of the house, but goes scurrying back to the basement door when he sees me over there. I think the gate being down does help him understand that you're not just on the other side of it ignoring his cries. He's been very quiet since I let him out of the basement this morning. I bought him some wheat grass to nibble on, I figured you might like that.
None of this makes sense to me. I don't understand why God let you get hurt so bad. I still can't find it in my heart to be angry at Him, but that doesn't help me feel any better.
I love you, and I miss you. I'd do anything to hold you in my arms again and it hurts knowing that I won't ever be able to do that on this Earth. Give Miranda a kiss from daddy. Tell her that I love her, too, and wish she was still here.
Love,
Chad
P.S. I hope you don't mind the way I jump from topic to topic. My brain just feels really random right now, like there's not a whole lot of order to anything.
Today was a good, but hard, day. I went grocery shopping. It took me a while to actually get out of the car after I got to the store. It just didn't feel right. I know we very rarely shopped together, but shopping for one just seems wrong.
Your family came over and we spent a lot of time looking through all of your sewing materials. So many projects unfinished. So many more just ideas in your head. The world is a less lovely place without you and your projects.
We finished the night watching a slideshow of all your pictures from my iPhoto library. I cried. Your smile is so beautiful. Your eyes sparkle. I just want to reach out and touch your cheek and kiss those beautiful lips again.
They say there are fives stages of grief. I'm pretty sure I'm still in denial. I can't stop using words like "we" and "us" when I'm speaking in the present tense. There's a voice in the back of my head trying to convince me that you'll be home any minute.
By the way, I don't know if I've mentioned it before or not, but our daughter is beautiful. Of course, I'm sure you know that. You've been able to spend more time with her than I was allowed. I'm more than a little jealous and heart broken over that.
It's been two weeks since you left. I've been so busy it feels like it's been longer. You know how quiet and dull our life was? It's been a rush of appointments, meals, friends and family since then. I haven't had a day go by that I didn't go somewhere, meet up with someone, or have dinner with someone.
My injuries from the accident are healing OK...my heart's not doing as well. It really hurts most of the time. I want to think about the positive side of you being in Heaven, but most of the time I just feel sad that you're gone.
I found a new home for Katu. I feel bad about giving her away, but she and Stevie still hate each other; and, without you here to keep the peace, things were starting to get a little hairy. Stevie's not sure what to think of the gate being down. He's been making tentative forays into the other half of the house, but goes scurrying back to the basement door when he sees me over there. I think the gate being down does help him understand that you're not just on the other side of it ignoring his cries. He's been very quiet since I let him out of the basement this morning. I bought him some wheat grass to nibble on, I figured you might like that.
None of this makes sense to me. I don't understand why God let you get hurt so bad. I still can't find it in my heart to be angry at Him, but that doesn't help me feel any better.
I love you, and I miss you. I'd do anything to hold you in my arms again and it hurts knowing that I won't ever be able to do that on this Earth. Give Miranda a kiss from daddy. Tell her that I love her, too, and wish she was still here.
Love,
Chad
P.S. I hope you don't mind the way I jump from topic to topic. My brain just feels really random right now, like there's not a whole lot of order to anything.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Down the road...
It's going to get worse, before it gets better, isn't it?
I've been able to focus my energies for the past 10 days on areas other than grief. There have been moments when ignoring it just wasn't possible, but I now find myself standing face to face with that which I've been trying to avoid.
My head tells me that logically, this will pass. It will take time, but it will pass. My heart tells me otherwise. My heart tells me this will last forever.
As people's prayers and support continue to pour in, I often find myself feeling conflicted. I have received many messages telling me about the great things God has been doing in the lives of others as a result of this tragedy and the things I have written here. My spirit is uplifted by this, and yet, I find myself wishing that God had chosen a different way to move in these people's lives. My humanity can't help but wish for the selfish, even in the light of seeing Him Glorified.
We live in a broken world. A world where God's plan is all to often interrupted by that which does not make sense. None of what happened on February 5 makes sense in terms of God's plan, or God's will. I'm too tired to be angry at God. I'm too weary to ask "why?" Those things may come in time. Today all I have is a growing sadness. A sadness that stems from the brokenness of this world and all that keeps us from truly fulfilling God's plan for our lives.
I thank you all for your continued prayers.
Sincerely,
Chad
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy Valentine's day...
...only not so much.
Sara actually disliked Valentine's Day. Not so much because of what it stood for, but because of what it meant as a floral designer. Long hours, demanding customers, etc. She started working at the flower shop during the Valentine's rush, it's hard to believe she stayed for 12 years after that initial baptism by fire :)
Of course, this made my Valentine's Day pretty easy. I never had to worry about buying flowers. I never had to worry about buying a gift, or trying to reserve seats for a hot dinner date. All I had to do was rub her feet while we watched some TV. I'd give anything to rub those weary feet tonight...
The busyness following the accident still continues. Doctor's appointments, paperwork, etc. The reality of life is still sinking in a little bit at a time. I've felt a little bit like I was the center of the universe for a few days (an uncomfortable center), and it's actually comforting to feel like I'm getting back into my own orbit around the Son.
Sara actually disliked Valentine's Day. Not so much because of what it stood for, but because of what it meant as a floral designer. Long hours, demanding customers, etc. She started working at the flower shop during the Valentine's rush, it's hard to believe she stayed for 12 years after that initial baptism by fire :)
Of course, this made my Valentine's Day pretty easy. I never had to worry about buying flowers. I never had to worry about buying a gift, or trying to reserve seats for a hot dinner date. All I had to do was rub her feet while we watched some TV. I'd give anything to rub those weary feet tonight...
The busyness following the accident still continues. Doctor's appointments, paperwork, etc. The reality of life is still sinking in a little bit at a time. I've felt a little bit like I was the center of the universe for a few days (an uncomfortable center), and it's actually comforting to feel like I'm getting back into my own orbit around the Son.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Be kind...
Many of you did not know my wife (I realize, of course, many of you do not know me either.) Below is the text from the memorial I read at her and Miranda's service this morning. I fear that my words do not do her justice, that the context of my pain can not be adequately expressed within the boundaries of these words. Despite my best attempts, this is a pale reflection of the woman she was.
The life of Sara Jean Cole, as expressed by Chad Cole on February 12, 2011:
Sara Jean was a Princess, born on a cold, snowy January day in 1976. She did not enter this world quickly; instead, she gave us a preview of her life. Sara arrived after 44 hours of labor, letting us know that doing things right would always be more important than doing them quickly. Sara proved that time and patience produced spectacular results.
Sara was constructive child, in the literal sense of the word. Sara’s early life was lived out while her parents built their home, in Clarksville, Michigan. The course of Sara’s life was shaped by this early hands-on experience. Sara developed a life long passion for projects, for working with her hands, and lived with the philosophy that you don’t need to buy something if you can make it yourself. That old crusty couch…no problem. Just strip it down to the frame and rebuild it. That ancient chair, it just needs a new cover. We need a bookcase…where’s the saw and that old piece of plywood.
Sara was well traveled. After spending her early childhood in Clarksville, Sara’s family began moving around the country, often traveling in a small Toyota station wagon, which was packed to the point of bursting with kids, pets, clothes, and all of life’s other necessities. While Sara was a shy child, no matter where she went, she made a few steadfast friends and lived her life to the fullest.
As many were able to see at her visitation, Sara was a gifted artist. Sara could find beauty in just about anything. She also loved to teach others, sharing her knowledge and experience, ultimately making the world a more beautiful place one relationship at a time.
Sara was all I’ve just described and more. She was a loving daughter. She was a wonderful sister. She was a gardener. She was a master seamstress. She was a treasure collector who saw value in things most of would cast of without a second glance. She had a great sense of humor, and loved to laugh. She had a compassionate heart and cried often at the sadness she saw around her. She was everyone’s friend. She was my best friend, a devoted companion, who filled my life with love and joy, and she was the mother of my beautiful daughter, Miranda Evangelene.
In Miranda’s short life, she never said a word. She never cooed, or gaa-gaaed. She never crawled or took a step. And yet, because of Miranda, a chord has been struck in the heavenly realms and its reverberations will be felt for eternity. Thousands have joined together in prayer, setting aside spiritual and philosophical differences to lift up one small girl, her mother, her father, and their families.
Because of this I want to tell you who Sara really was. She described herself the best back in 1983, at the age of 7, when she wrote a short, but poignant letter to Jesus. “Lord, I pray that you will make my heart loving and kind…”
God answered that prayer, tenfold. Love dripped from Sara’s pores. Kindness was at the heart of everything she did. As an adult, an unkind word from Sara was such a rarity that it was shocking. And it was usually followed by something positive just to make up for it. Sara’s gift was living her life with the spiritual purity of a child. She didn’t make the mistake of trying to make her Christianity into something that was too complex. For Sara the rules, set by her parents at a young age were simple: Be kind. Don’t do things to other people you don’t want to have done to you. That is who Sara really was. Sara was love. She lived love. If you want to do something to remember my wife, the greatest memorial would be to live life like she did. Be kind to one another, and don’t do things to other people that you wouldn’t want to have done to you.
As I mentioned earlier, Sara was a collector of treasures. I was cleaning her purse on Monday when I found a small slip of paper, folded and tucked away into a safe corner. On it were the lyrics to the hymn All Creatures of our God and King. It touched my heart, and I wept, because Sara spent her entire life loving all of God’s creatures… especially me.
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