Friday, October 18, 2013

H.N.M. + H.N.M. Birthday Shout out!

Lets talk sisters.

You know...

The ones who have known you the longest..

Share Initials with you:

Holly Marie Magill
Heidi Michelle Magill
Heather Noelle Magill
Haylee Nicole Magill

That's mom did that..

those who have shared bedrooms with you...

worn matching outfits with you, and suffered embarrassments with you that only they would understand..

But there is always that one...

Who copycats you all the time...

Or you her....

That one who knows all your dirty secrets..but loves you anyway...

She knows how to make you laugh again, and again...

And again...

The one you have the most random childhood pictures with..

So you keep the tradition going..into adulthood..

The one you go on adventures with...

Celebrate Holidays with..

The one who's beauty surpasses all other females in your eyes..

Even when she isn't trying...

And even when she's trying too hard...

The one who shares friends with you...

And you share friends with her...

Has the same favorite person as you...

Those kind of sisters are rare, and should be celebrated. 

Especially on her Birthday.

So Here is my SHOUT OUT!

Happy Birthday Haylee! You are the best sister and best friend in the entire world. Anyone who shares a birthday with Zac Efron, and Jean Claude Van Dam is destined to be special. You are honest, kind, loyal, hilarious, and the BEST pretend lesbian I have ever known. I hope we have awkward photos like the small collection above when we are old ladies.

I love you!

Tuesday, October 8, 2013


I began writing this post while I was in some random mountains in Brazil. once I had heard about my friends father's passing, I couldn't keep writing it. Today I finished it.

August 26th, 2013

There are moments, in my life, where I feel as if I have been blessed with sporadic moments of spiritual enlightenment. Moments where I'm so overwhelmed and so consumed by the spirit or spirits around me, that its hard to breath. Thankfully my spiritual healthiness or religious peace has no affect on these moments, other than of course the clarity and desire to receive whatever message, feeling, or lesson, is a far greater experience when I am in tune with myself and the Lord. Sometimes while enduring severe emotions of sadness, loneliness, fear, despair, or sorrow, I can often immediately feel the emotion leave my body, as if my burden has been scooped from my overfilled heart, like sand to a bucket. 

Tonight was one of those moments.

I am one of those individuals that was privileged with the opportunity to meet and know all four of my grandparents in my lifetime. Considering the fact that my parent's are in their sixties, that's a pretty uncommon thing. Although three of them passed while I was young, my brief personal experiences with each of them over several visits during my childhood, has instilled this solid carbon copy of them that pierces my soul, as if those memories were meant to remain vivid.

My first grandparent memory was with my mom's dad, Grandpa Herb. He gave me my first sensory experience of cigarette smoke, and coffee. My first memory of a dog came from grandpa Herbs side kick, boat, fishing, and travel companion named Killer. His name made him seem to be quite the ferocious beast, but he was smaller than most cats and his ferociousness only extended to the smell of his farts and marlboro body odor. One morning, while in town for a visit, grandpa Herb took us to The Burger King on Center Street in Orem which at the time was a Hardee's drive-thru. I was probably about five or six. Off we went on our journey, which I'm sure was a disguised breakfast outing, but really grandpa needed his delicious Hardee's coffee fix, so why not make it an adventure for sausage and egg biscuits as well. 

Although my conversations with him were basic, considering my age, I remember his smile, and his eyes most of all. I remember how gentle he was with me and my sisters, and how much he yearned to know us. Flash forward to my last experience with him in the hospital a year or two later, and even in his hardest moments of lung cancer, he would help us up onto his hospital bed, ask us about our toys we brought with us, and show us all his tubes and IV's. From my perspective, he was a simple man. One who was set in his ways and liked to stick with routine. His bad habits were his downfall, and that lesson is something that has always stuck with me. After he died, my mom put this picture of him in our living room, where his eyes could smile over us as we grew, and I looked at it often, just to remember those smells, smiles, breakfast adventures, and leathery skin.

My mothers mother, Grandma Helen/G-ma (or whatever nickname I am currently calling her), is still alive and kicking.

 She is my last living grandparent. Her crossword puzzle wisdom and repetitive senility may be growing by the hour, but her spirit is bold, and her ages of teaching seminary have taught her how to approach the youth in a straightforward stick it to your brain sort of way. My sisters and I all have our suspicions that she prefers boys, and have often had visits from her in the past where she wouldn't interact with us at all, and snuggle all of my brothers instead. But there are those moments, when she will sit beside me in the living room, breathing her 80+ year old breath just over my proximity limit, lean over with her sideways glare, and say something outstandingly complimentary, or fill me in on a piece of her personal testimony that just clicks in my brain. I then add another piece of the puzzle to her history, and adventurous past. But then perhaps her regards will be about fact that she can speak spanish --which she really can't. You never know what your gunna get with that old box of morning breath chocolate.

I received a blog comment awhile back, from a cousin that said that she wished I knew my Dad's parents more. She said that they would be really proud of me. I wish I knew them more too. 

Grandma and Grandpa Magill,

 raised their children and lived in Roswell, New Mexico, which my family visited only about 4 times throughout my childhood. I only remember my grandmother from tidbits of her laughter, and cooking in the kitchen of their small, retro family home. 

She was sassy and bubbly. She had everyone running around, doing things for her and ruling the roost so to speak. She had a higher voice, and wore lots of blush on her high strong cheekbones.

 Most of my knowledge of her comes from my dad and his seven siblings that talk about her non stop. The words they speak are of respect, and of her loving, and amazingly strong nature. She was a firm believer in the gospel and did not hesitate to instill strong values into all of her children. Several of my cousins have said that there are tidbits of her in each of her many grandchildren and great grandchildren. You can pinpoint her strong personality traits, almond eyes, and striking features in almost every one of us. The second time I went to New Mexico, was for her funeral.

 I still don't really know how she died, but I remember that the occasion brought the entire Magill clan, and though the celebration of her life was loud and vibrant, there was a somber aura around everyone. The knowledge that a rare soul had left this world was weighing them down, and even as a small girl, I remember feeling like I was missing out on something great, and I felt cheated. The sifting of belongings that were divvied out among family members after her funeral was a grand experience, and glimpse into her life and personality. I would sift through random belongings in the bathroom and wonder what it would have been like to see her with those things. Perfume, jewelry, hair accessories, floral dresses with shoulder pads, that were probably a part of her wardrobe for more than twenty years, or more. But then it was time to go. Time to leave for Utah, and keep on wondering what she was truly like. I took the stories with me, I took the borrowed memories and stories from cousins, aunts and uncles, and the remaining remnants of  her perfume on my wrists, and went home. I didn't think about her again for quite some time.

Several years later I had the opportunity to head on down to Roswell with a cousin, who at the time was living in Utah for school? I think. She spent a few months getting reacquainted with her not so often visited cousins, and her good old Uncle Mike, and aunt Nancy. She was planning a visit and knew that Haylee and I hadn't seen our grandpa Magill since grandma's funeral. Since we were barely teenagers, it seemed like it would be a perfect time to takes us with her, and my dad agreed. I also feel like my dad and Aunt Sandra had a feeling like my grandpa was getting on in life and he wanted his youngest girls, who barely knew him, to get the opportunity to spend some quality time with him before it was too late.

Off we went in her two door car, on a journey to visit long lost relatives.

My grandparents lived in Roswell for most of their married life, and a few of their children stayed in Roswell and had their own homes where they raised their children. After grandma Magill died, my Grandpa moved in with my Uncle Sid, who happened to live across the street from his brother, my uncle Pat. Their combined houses sprawled out to what seemed like ages of land, with the feeling of a country farm house and simple living. 

As we visited my family in my uncles house that I had seen briefly at a younger age, I somehow felt as if I had grown up in those rooms, and played in that field. The familiarity and welcoming peace was overwhelming. We spent the day catching up with long lost great aunts, uncles, and cousins, and chatted about how much we were like our parents, and other relatives. I remember one point in the day my grandpa was taking a nap. The door to his room was open and you could see him laying on his bed, peacefully sleeping so similar to the way my dad did. They both have this haunting way of making you feel like checking their pulse if they weren't snoring loudly.

Grandpa Magill was a jokester,  and a constantly smiling man, who's love radiated from him, so even if his words were simple, you knew they meant so much more than just what he was saying. I enjoyed that day of catch up more than any other family day I had ever had, or have had since then. We rode horses, four wheelers, and played in the field all day long with the cousins, and at the end of the day, we sat outside on the porch and one of my aunts made sure that we went back there and gave Grandpa a big hug before we left. There we were saying our goodbyes and I love you's for the  last time, but we didn't know it.

The next day, we returned for more fun and adventure, but Grandpa was nowhere to be found. He had taken the four wheeler out before we got there, to check on some water pipes, or the creek or something back on the far end of the property, but he rolled his four wheeler in the process and didn't make it. Everyone had said how he wanted to either go out on his horse or his four wheeler, so I guess he got his wish. But I wish he would have waited. I wish I would have gotten one more day. The remainder of that vacation was sad, wild, fun, chaotic, argumentative and crazy, but I will never forget that day that I hugged my grandpa and said I love you for the last time, while he hugged me so strong for someone that old. I could feel this connection with him, as if he knew that would be the last time he saw me on this earth, so he was making sure that I knew what his love felt like. 

Continued, Oct 8th, 2013:

Since I have moved out here on my own, without the company of a familiar face, or family member in sight, I have felt what it is like to truly feel lonely. My job takes me on journeys and adventures in other countries that are filled with fun family time, but it is not my family. I will always have a love for my family over anything else that I do, but while I am here on this journey of mine, I tend to feel alone without them. My ward is here, my few friends are here and there that I can see movies with and explore restaurants with, but there really isn't anything like my time that I spend with my family. 

On this one particular night, while laying in a foreign bedroom with memories of a foreign family on the walls, and feeling completely disconnected from the world, especially without any internet or phone access, I had this sort of panic attack. I suddenly had all these feelings and worries about traveling without them, or getting in a car crash and never seeing them again, or missing out on something important because they aren't able to call me, and I feared that once I was finally connected with them again I would have missed so much. I couldn't breath, I felt cold, I felt sad, and all I could do was panic. But then, there it was. This familiar, warmth that I knew so well, even though I had only experienced it that one time. It was my grandpa, I'm sure of it. Radiating his love for me in that unknown place, all alone, in a different country, telling me that everything was going to be okay. I was immediately calm, and filled with such warmth, peace, and indescribable love.

For me, family means putting your arms around them and just being there, on heaven or earth. I often feel this longing to know those who have passed on in my family and I have a hard time dealing with the fact that I feel their presence, but I can't see them and I can't talk to them or ask them about their life, or ask for advice. But then, I feel as if I know my grandparents so well, from the obvious love, peace, comfort and heavenly guidance that they send me so often. I feel their arms around me and I am so comforted to have to knowledge of eternal families. I look forward to catching up with them all.

To Rachel,and Fam:

I cannot really think about doing anything risky with my dad in attendance. I won't go on any treacherous hikes, or journeys with him in constant fear of what might happen if he slipped and fell, or got hurt. 

He eats dirt while riding his bike to work all the time, breaking elbows, and giving himself black eyes, and every time I have to look at my battle worn dad I can't keep it together. I want to sit in a corner and cry, hoping that his pain will not last long. I want to wrap him up in bubble wrap, feeding him squash and sauerkraut in front of a football game all his life. Just hoping that he stays his happy go lucky self forever.  It's this kind of love and adoration for someone that has done nothing but cherish, inspire, motivate, and protect me my entire life. He is the one true person that has never said anything to demean my character, insult me, look down on me, or do anything but support and love me even when I was the worst child. My adoration for him has only gotten stronger over the years as I have gotten older.

When I heard about Ricker, I couldn't keep it together, as I know that the love you have for him parallels the love I have for my own dad.

I'm sure you already know that those of us who cry when hearing words of Rickers greatness, and your sorrow for the emptiness in your life, the heartfelt wishes you receive and kind words of uplifting motivation, and sympathies come from those of us who are not just sympathizing for you, but mourning right along with you, even from us measly friends who only knew him by name, or from a few late night parties, and softball games. Ricker was the kind of man who on departure from this earth, his souls exit left an after shockwave that could be felt farther than anyone actually knew, until it was already done, and the veil was closed. I know for sure, that he is with you, radiating his love for you and I know he used sweet RJ (Ricker Jr.) to bring his love with him through the veil. Rachel, you are an inspiring mom, great friend, and a true example of someone who loves their family unconditionally. I know that Ricker is celebrating his birthday with a big smile on his face.