tabbatha's Xanga

Thank you, Dad

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 19:03:18 GMT

Thank you, Dad.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009

My status earlier today...."TABBATHA-RENEA 's goal today: run another three miles. If I do 4...I give myself an extra big hug. ha"

I suppose I owe myself quite the squeeze then. Cause I ran ~over 5 miles today. When I started feeling like giving up and slowing down, I just thought of my dad's voice telling me to keep running. I thought of how proud he would be of the effort I've been making and the changes I've implemented in my life as a whole. I know my dad would want me to live a long happy life, and my taking care of myself would//does make him so proud.

So in those moments that I KNOW my body is capable but my mind wants to give up, I've got to remember that even bigger than buying a new pair of (smaller) running pants (which I had to do yesterday)...that every step i take forward, both on the treadmill and in my personal life, is an opportunity to honor and love my father even though i can't share in this newfound happiness with him. I love you dad. Thanks for keeping me going

Monday, October 12, 2009

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 12:33:52 GMT

When you're walking in the winter I want to be the one who warms your freezing hands like a perfect fitting glove. When you run quickly inside, seeking shelter from the snow, I want to be your sanctuary when frigid winds begin to blow. When temperatures begin to drop, if your heart begins to freeze, I'll melt you like hot chocolate, to ninety-eight point six degrees. So hold me like a coffee mug, we'll walk in step and sideways hug. I'll wrap you like a winter coat, with warming words and poems I wrote. For at least in this blizzardy winter, no need, my dear, to shake and shiver. Just take my hand, this winter will be better. We'll melt like hot chocolate with each other.

i want to be a tree.

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 15:34:04 GMT

it can be a good thing to die. a refreshing new start. I attempt to turn a new page as i rearrange the wires leading to my heart. like this changing season, a little colder still today. i look up and the sky is three distinct shades of bluish grey. trees sacrifice their leaves, turning them first orange and yellow and red. how can their be so much beauty in something so nearly dead? i want to be like these unselfish trees. allowing parts of me to die of slowly so that others can experience life. these trees are always changing from summer to fall, to spring from winter. they never curse God or question the bitterness of december wind. instead they bend with the wind, slightly waving and lightly dancing with the natural course that God set. When the frost starts to appear every morning the trees never shiver or cry or be so afraid like I always get. So humble, to let their branches show, naked, stripped to the bone. So wise, autumn tree, truly you are. Because you know that following this season, a warmer one is never far. So I'll let my leaves turn to red and orange and gold. I'll let my iniquities fall to the ground. I'll let the winter wind break me down. And in my suffering I will not mourn. Because like these trees, a new season will come. I'll be reborn.

A letter to my dad.

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 19:37:06 GMT

I thought I would share this with all of you in hopes that maybe someone, anyone, might take any part of it to heart. My dad and I had, at times, a rather tumultuous realtionship. But there is something so much deeper than all of the trials that any relationship undergoes. The love between a parent and child, the love between a father and daughter, should trump every arguement, every disagreement, every piece of bitterness. I beg each and every one of you reading this- put down any bit of pride you may be holding on to and make an ardent effort to live in peace with your parents. Make an ardent effort to love them more than you ever thought you could. Make an ardent effort to be the son or daughter that I wish I could still be to my dad.

I wrote this letter this morning. I thought it would help me feel better. I don't think it did.

Dad,

Sometimes I have to fight the urge to be angry with you. For leaving me here. Behind. When I turned sixteen I couldn't even imagine that I was beginning the last year Id ever spend with you. Eleven months between your diagnoses and your death. Eleven months was not enough notice. I know we all have to die at some point, but seventeen years with you was just not enough. Sometimes I feel angry at other people, those who got more time with you. I sometimes get so, so angry with my friends who talk so hatefully about their fathers. I want to literally smack them, to snap them out of it, to wake them up to reality. I want to scream at them "He may have faults, and those faults may hurt you. But damn it! He's your Father, now love him! Love him while you can!"
I've not seen you in 4 1/2 years. When you're only 21, that's a big chunk of life. When you first died I had dreams about you every night. Haunting dreams that were so real, they would terrify me. (I miss those terrifying dreams now that I don't have them) I don't think I slept in my own bed for a month. I had to sleep in mom's living room with the tv buzzing obliviously all night. To distract me from my own thoughts. To distract me from the complete loneliness that I felt from the moment we put you into the ground. I have no where to call home. I have no place I am fully a part of. I want to watch football with you on Sundays after church. I hate football and haven't been to church hardly since you died. I want to do it anyway. I want to listen to your stupid talk radio when I'm driving, just because you did. I want to laugh really loud at movies and I want my hair to always look perfect and I want everyone me to just fall in love with me. I remember when I was a little girl, maybe eight, and it was winter in Michigan. It was so cold; I don't remember where we were exactly, but I do remember the icy whipping wind stinging my face. We were walking through a parking lot and as we crossed you reached down to hold my hand. I quickly pulled my hand away and was embaressed because, as i told you, I was just too old to be holding my daddy's hand. And now, right now, the one and only thing I want in my entire life is to walk with you over a slippery snow covered parking lot, unashamedly holding your hand.

-Your little girl

Sunday, June 07, 2009

Sun, 07 Jun 2009 03:19:00 GMT

"Ask Me About It Again Tomorrow"

Forget you - I've tried
But try as I may
The effort I make
Begins new each day

Forget you - I will
They say in due time
Perhaps I should not
Write but one more rhyme

Forget you - I must
And yes, I will
Remove your photo
From my window sill

Forget you, forget you
Oh, maybe tomorrow
I'll take one more day
To remember my sorrow

"Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight"

Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight
Where ever it is that you are
But if my guess it right
You can't be very far
Hello, hello, I'm here
I'm barely out of site
The wooden path is cleared
Well lit by my porch light
Come in, quickly, come in
Tonight it will be cold
If ever you need a friend
Someone to give you hope
I sleep, I sleep, I sleep
Always the far left side
For you the right I keep
If you need a place to lie
Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight
That's all I wished to say
Until the morning comes, of course
Then I'll say good day

Friday, May 29, 2009

Fri, 29 May 2009 18:30:27 GMT

Sure why not. I've been writing a lot more lately. But for some reason, this old thing I found in my notebook from ages ago has revisited me.

Forget me if you must
But each day, always, forget me
If you ever wish you could remember
I'll guide you the way swiftly
Erase me if you will, but I'll continue to scribble
Your name in the margins of the pages
Because only the five letters properly fill the spaces
Never again let my name leave your lips
If that is what you need
But those long nights when you are lonely
Let me briefly visit you in dreams
Box me up like old summer clothes
You've grown too tall to wear
Besides, the sun is much too bright, the air too warm
And my skin too fair
Forget me if you must
But each day, always, forget me

but more recently......

Summer skin

You look good
(Too good for me, I'd say)
You thought I was pretty
(You'd said that, anyway)
That short pink summer dress
(You said you really liked)
I should wear for you again
(To test your boyish eyes)
You skin is looking rather nice
(Summer has made you tan)
I hate that when you smell so good
(I lose the ability to stand)
Damn you for ever thinking I was beautiful
(Damn me for still thinking you are}

Blankets & Pillows

Your body is my blanket
These nights are never cold
Your rising/falling chest, my pillow
Pull me closer, tightly hold
Hold me til I drift to dreams
Kiss me once more, arms around me
I may be all but sound asleep
But your arms are all that warm me

Beautiful things shouldn't be shouldn't be thrown away

When a beautiful photo is town in two
Can we put it together with tape and glue
Will all the jagged edges show?
Can they not be patched or re-sewn?
Will it ever look quite the same?
This beautiful photo in this broken frame
Is the damage we've done beyond repair
This photo was treasured and regarded as rare
Now I have learned, and now I have sworn
Never again will my photos be torn

New Freckles

Lying on this thin torn sheet, on my front lawn
Blades of grass and tiny ants slowly making their way to my stomach
The early summer sun wraps it's warm rays around my body
Enveloping every inch of my skin
If I close my eyes hard enough
Lose track of time long enough
It almost feels like your hands
Blanketing me into a subtle sleep
Placing new freckles on my nose and cheek

Phoh-toes!

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 02:38:16 GMT

baby sister is getting grown. Sam is 16 now. crazy. She came and modeled for my portrait class.

Some i shot of Tom for the same class

and some cute stuff for everyone to drool all over, or puke, or whichever.

always super serious

and on an ending note, one more of Sam, in Tom's hoodie

The Run Down.

Thu, 05 Mar 2009 22:55:50 GMT

So, after a million messages and comments via facebook, I guess it is 2009, so here's an electronic update of my life.

Yes, I am officially dating Tom. He is, yes, my boyfriend. I work with him at Hollywood Video. No, I don't care that I'm dating someone at work. It actually makes work kind of nice. He has an eclectic music collection and facial hair, so of course I am pretty into him :P . We hold hands while we drive places, and the smile on my face right now would probably annoy the hell out of anyone who can't handle my level of girlish smitteness.

Think that settles most of it.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

Thu, 05 Mar 2009 03:55:17 GMT

I am the happiest I've been in a very long time.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 21:01:46 GMT

A little more fiction than fact, perhaps. These issues were resolved as quickly as they came.

Promises made at night can never quite be kept. The words we spoke still hide beneath this bed where we have slept. Hide the evidence, hide the marks, hurry now rewind the clocks. No souvenirs or chains to keep, reminding me of where I sleep. Vows and oaths I make at night, can never quite be kept. Lift this rug again, my friend, where all my hopes are swept.