My pink and white bike. My mom's yellow sweater. My brothers rosy cheeks. My baby sisters dark hair. She's in a pink onesie. My dads silver glasses. I think he has a white shirt on. Definitely wearing light blue Levi's. The street in the winter sunset looks blue and hazy. My fingertips are slightly purple. The white tire on my pink and white bike still spinning eerily. The brown gate to our house scratches my arm. Our once tan house looks grey in the blue haze. Mikelle's blonde hair flying through the wind. I can see her dirty blonde hair. I can see her teeth and her big smile. I can see her blue jeans being a tad too short for her long legs. They are flared jeans. Flashes of gray and blue haunt me. Pictures flood my mind like an old movie reel. Bits and pieces are fuzzy but the colors are vivid, they are shouting memories at me. The dog leash is red. But what color was the dog? I close my eyes and picture my pink and white bike gliding across the street. The dog is golden brown. Their faces turning to me when their door opens. I see a dark yellow table cloth on a brown table. I remember the brown bench next to it. He comes out to help me. His hair is sandy brown. I think I see a red shirt. The street seems miles long and very blue and hazy. The house is glowing with a yellow hue, every light on as the house fills with more people. We have blue green carpet. I stare at the carpet my parents stand on. I see shiny black shoes. I see a silver badge. My moms face is pale. The light is so bright. I'm squinting into the bright white light of our kitchen. I blink and suddenly I'm in my room. It's dark. I don't bother turning on the light. My white and pink laminate floors need swept. I move my sheer pink curtain, and pull up the off white blinds, stained from the sun. Yellow ribbons are covering the dull brown, leafless tree. A big purple bow sits next to a large poster. Blue background. Colorful stripes of blue, green, and pink. Green headband. I can faintly see the red shirt she is wearing while riding my pink and white bike. The light fades. The colors lose their intensity. Everything becomes dull and muddy.
"Tell us about that January 2nd 1999" "What do you remember about that day?" "Walk us through what you remember" I try to put into elegant words what I remember. I try to form sentences and memories that make sense. But it's only flashes. I don't remember details before I left her on the street. I don't remember much after the police were called. Everything goes dark. I wrote this to explain what is going through my mind every time I get asked these questions.
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Sunday, January 13, 2019
The Spot
It's hard to stand where I stand.
Nobody stands here with me.
Nobody feels the way I do.
Nobody knows what I see.
It's my point of view.
It's my version of things.
Nobody stands in my spot but me.
We are all affected.
We all feel the grief.
We all feel and cope differently.
Don't tell me what to do.
Don't tell me what to say.
I've been standing in this spot alone.
Ever since that day.
This spot you must know
Proves life isn't fair.
But despite this tragedy
I will not sit in despair.
Proudly I stand.
This spot that has been created
From more than just land.
It is filled with memories and strength.
It contains anxiety and dread.
This place where my demons are fed.
My spot was built this way you see
On the life altering day she left me.
Nobody stands here with me.
Nobody feels the way I do.
Nobody knows what I see.
It's my point of view.
It's my version of things.
Nobody stands in my spot but me.
We are all affected.
We all feel the grief.
We all feel and cope differently.
Don't tell me what to do.
Don't tell me what to say.
I've been standing in this spot alone.
Ever since that day.
This spot you must know
Proves life isn't fair.
But despite this tragedy
I will not sit in despair.
Proudly I stand.
This spot that has been created
From more than just land.
It is filled with memories and strength.
It contains anxiety and dread.
This place where my demons are fed.
My spot was built this way you see
On the life altering day she left me.
Sunday, October 7, 2018
Explanation
My whole life, I dealt with weird feelings, unexplained exhaustion and stomach aches. Restless nights filled with nightmares, cold sweats, and my heart racing. Stress and paranoia in the simplest of social situations. Barely passing classes and constantly failing tests. I couldn't bring myself to do normal everyday things. I grew up thinking I was lazy, weird, and stupid.
I didn't know I had anxiety.
I knew that Mikelle being taken affected me. I knew that it changed things. But I did not know that it had a name, that there was a reason I felt so off for so long. Slowly as I got older I learned to listen to my body and recognize things. I trusted my intuition more and more, rather it be in less than desirable situations, or untrustworthy people. Certain things happened through out my life, pivotal moments that molded me into who I am. Obviously my older sister being kidnapped when I was only 9 years old is the first and most tragic one. Being followed home from the bus stop when I was 14. Being in a couple toxic relationships in my very early adulthood. But then something happened. I was given an amazing gift. My son. Becoming a mother was almost like an apology for all the horrible shit I had gone through. I realized during my pregnancy, which was not easy, that there was essentially something wrong with me. It wasn't normal hormones. It wasn't normal stress. I came to the conclusion that I was having anxiety attacks. At this point I didn't say I "dealt with" or "had" anxiety. Just that I was experiencing anxiety attacks. For whatever reason I just decided to go with it and took that as "good enough". But it's really only been in the last couple years that I truly learned, and accepted the fact that I have anxiety. Probably PTSD as well. The more I learn about it, and read through ways to cope, the more it's like a weight is lifted off of me. I used to just torture myself about how pathetic I was. That was the only thing I could conclude. Nobody else around me seemed to have such trouble cleaning their room, getting sleep, or taking tests. It was me. I was weird, and wrong. Now I know. It's not easy of course, I have rough days. I still beat myself up sometimes when I order take out instead of cooking, or struggle to just be awake all day. I have also recently opened up more to Zac about the details of my anxiety. I never really used to tell him when I was having an issue or if I had one. I didn't tell him why the house was a mess and why I was still in my pajamas. But I realized communicating with him, and reaching out to him when I am actively having an attack, helps me. It helps me tremendously. Even if he is at work, and all he can do is text me, he will take the time and talk me through it the best he can. It boggles my mind that it took me 20 years to learn to do that. Because of all those pivotal moments in my life, I am now able to be confident in who I am. I am passionate about advocacy, child safety, self defense, writing, art, and expressing myself. Among other things. I like myself, flaws, anxiety and all. No matter the battles I have with my appearance, my house keeping skills, or anything else, over all I actually like myself. I now know that it is actually okay to like who you are even if you suffer from any kind of mental health problems.
I also know that just realizing it isn't a solution. I decided a while back that I needed to see a therapist of some sort. I have put it off (due to my anxiety, shocking irony I'm sure), but I finally feel as though I can actually go through with it. It's weird to think about, honestly, you'd think I'd jump at the chance to see a professional. I'm surprised at how hard it is for me. But I know I need it. I have never really seen one. I know my parents took me to one when I was 9 and I think I basically told the poor lady to leave me alone because all that mattered was finding Mikelle. I apparently hid my issues very well, the therapist and my parents mostly concluded that I was handling it well. And that is something I have heard my whole life when it comes to Mikelle. How well I handle it. How "normal" I am. How I could have turned out so differently. While people mean well, and I truly understand and partly agree, I can't help but feel frustrated. I have issues. I don't handle it well sometimes. I don't feel normal having anxiety. I'm not perfect. It's not easy for me to do interviews, and run a page for Mikelle, write a book about it, and write a blog (obviously since my last post was months ago). It takes all my energy when I decide to write and open up. But I know it's good for me, and more than that I do want to do those things. So I push through, and when I need to take a step back, I allow myself, and I try not to feel guilty for that.
I want to thank those who constantly support, and reassure me. I know so many amazing people, and even those that I don't know that follow Mikelle's page and take the time to send me kind messages or supportive comments. That means more to me than any of you can ever know.
I hope anyone going through any kind of hard time, tragedy or struggle knows that it is okay to reach out and that it does help.
I didn't know I had anxiety.
I knew that Mikelle being taken affected me. I knew that it changed things. But I did not know that it had a name, that there was a reason I felt so off for so long. Slowly as I got older I learned to listen to my body and recognize things. I trusted my intuition more and more, rather it be in less than desirable situations, or untrustworthy people. Certain things happened through out my life, pivotal moments that molded me into who I am. Obviously my older sister being kidnapped when I was only 9 years old is the first and most tragic one. Being followed home from the bus stop when I was 14. Being in a couple toxic relationships in my very early adulthood. But then something happened. I was given an amazing gift. My son. Becoming a mother was almost like an apology for all the horrible shit I had gone through. I realized during my pregnancy, which was not easy, that there was essentially something wrong with me. It wasn't normal hormones. It wasn't normal stress. I came to the conclusion that I was having anxiety attacks. At this point I didn't say I "dealt with" or "had" anxiety. Just that I was experiencing anxiety attacks. For whatever reason I just decided to go with it and took that as "good enough". But it's really only been in the last couple years that I truly learned, and accepted the fact that I have anxiety. Probably PTSD as well. The more I learn about it, and read through ways to cope, the more it's like a weight is lifted off of me. I used to just torture myself about how pathetic I was. That was the only thing I could conclude. Nobody else around me seemed to have such trouble cleaning their room, getting sleep, or taking tests. It was me. I was weird, and wrong. Now I know. It's not easy of course, I have rough days. I still beat myself up sometimes when I order take out instead of cooking, or struggle to just be awake all day. I have also recently opened up more to Zac about the details of my anxiety. I never really used to tell him when I was having an issue or if I had one. I didn't tell him why the house was a mess and why I was still in my pajamas. But I realized communicating with him, and reaching out to him when I am actively having an attack, helps me. It helps me tremendously. Even if he is at work, and all he can do is text me, he will take the time and talk me through it the best he can. It boggles my mind that it took me 20 years to learn to do that. Because of all those pivotal moments in my life, I am now able to be confident in who I am. I am passionate about advocacy, child safety, self defense, writing, art, and expressing myself. Among other things. I like myself, flaws, anxiety and all. No matter the battles I have with my appearance, my house keeping skills, or anything else, over all I actually like myself. I now know that it is actually okay to like who you are even if you suffer from any kind of mental health problems.
I also know that just realizing it isn't a solution. I decided a while back that I needed to see a therapist of some sort. I have put it off (due to my anxiety, shocking irony I'm sure), but I finally feel as though I can actually go through with it. It's weird to think about, honestly, you'd think I'd jump at the chance to see a professional. I'm surprised at how hard it is for me. But I know I need it. I have never really seen one. I know my parents took me to one when I was 9 and I think I basically told the poor lady to leave me alone because all that mattered was finding Mikelle. I apparently hid my issues very well, the therapist and my parents mostly concluded that I was handling it well. And that is something I have heard my whole life when it comes to Mikelle. How well I handle it. How "normal" I am. How I could have turned out so differently. While people mean well, and I truly understand and partly agree, I can't help but feel frustrated. I have issues. I don't handle it well sometimes. I don't feel normal having anxiety. I'm not perfect. It's not easy for me to do interviews, and run a page for Mikelle, write a book about it, and write a blog (obviously since my last post was months ago). It takes all my energy when I decide to write and open up. But I know it's good for me, and more than that I do want to do those things. So I push through, and when I need to take a step back, I allow myself, and I try not to feel guilty for that.
I want to thank those who constantly support, and reassure me. I know so many amazing people, and even those that I don't know that follow Mikelle's page and take the time to send me kind messages or supportive comments. That means more to me than any of you can ever know.
I hope anyone going through any kind of hard time, tragedy or struggle knows that it is okay to reach out and that it does help.
Monday, April 9, 2018
Anxiety
Screaming. It's silent. It's growing louder. The silence screams. Fear. Consumed and confused. A need for peace. Peace comes from silence. The silence is screaming. Embrace or reject. Decisions. Teaching the silence not to scream. Silently screaming. Peace. Breath in all the sound. Nothing and everything. Everything at once. Full of emotion. Feeling empty. Pain. Numbness spreading. It's painful. Breath. Let out the numbness. Let in the pain. Embracing the agony. Feeling it all. Heartbeat. It's growing louder. Chest grows tight. Everything stops. Silence. Heart pounding. Breathing in the peace. The silence is screaming.
By Kimber Biggs
Wednesday, April 4, 2018
Wind
Riding a bike
Wind through her hair
Smiling so carefree
Never knowing
She wouldn't be going
Home
Did she know what was happening?
Did she see it coming?
The darkness
The danger
Did she try to run?
Did she try to scream?
Drop the bike
Wind through her hair
Face frozen in terror
Never knowing
If someone would be there
Faster towards safety
Home
What did she think?
What did she feel?
It's hard to imagine
It doesn't feel real
Why was she alone?
Why did I leave?
I went
Home
She is my sister
I didn't have to leave
She was just a child
She shouldn't have to be scared
When riding a bike
Wind through her hair
By Kimber Biggs
Wind through her hair
Smiling so carefree
Never knowing
She wouldn't be going
Home
Did she know what was happening?
Did she see it coming?
The darkness
The danger
Did she try to run?
Did she try to scream?
Drop the bike
Wind through her hair
Face frozen in terror
Never knowing
If someone would be there
Faster towards safety
Home
What did she think?
What did she feel?
It's hard to imagine
It doesn't feel real
Why was she alone?
Why did I leave?
I went
Home
She is my sister
I didn't have to leave
She was just a child
She shouldn't have to be scared
When riding a bike
Wind through her hair
By Kimber Biggs
Thursday, January 11, 2018
Unclear Direction
I've been staring at this blank screen for about 3 minutes.. Not really sure what to write. My mind is all over the place right now. But I figure if I just start typing something will come out.
I have been wanting to write ever since her anniversary. I honestly just didn't know what exactly what I wanted to write about. Part of me wants to just ramble on about who she was.. But another part of me wants to scream and complain about how hard this is. How it's been 19 years and it's not easier to have a missing sister. Sure I have figured out ways to cope but it is still hard to accept the fact that it will never be easy to have her gone. Even when I find out exactly what happened. It won't make it easier to be with out her. It would just give me peace knowing I got the answers I wanted and I pursued justice. But easy? Never going to happen.
Something I often remind myself of is, my parents, siblings, and I are not the only ones going through this. I tend to feel like "nobody else feels the way I do". We all grieve and deal differently but.. there are so many people going through this. All my family. Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents, Cousins, family friends, her old classmates etc. They are all dealing with the loss of someone they love. It boggles my mind when I get that "slap of reality". I honestly feel selfish when I realize it. I know it I just forget it sometimes. It always comes back and hits me like a train. Even family members I don't see or talk to much think about her, miss her, grieve over her. Friends she went to school with that I don't even know. I've been lucky enough to connect with some and I always wonder what they go through. To all of you grieving along with me, just know I love you all. I am grateful for every person who ever met Mikelle because each of you has memories of her and all those memories are pieces of my heart. I hope enough people see this that it reaches more people who knew her that I have yet to connect with. Please, if you went to school with her, or knew her at all I would love to hear from you.
For the 19th anniversary I did a couple interviews, a story in the East Valley Tribune with Jim Walsh, and an interview with Karla Navarette on Channel 3 and 5. With each of them I discussed things like my anxiety from what happened, my son, who Mikelle was, how I deal. All the normal things we usually talk about when I do these interviews. They both turned out great! But I was left feeling "what else can I say or do? What can I do to get a lead in the case? What can I say to reach out to someone who may know something? How angry or sad or desperate do I need to be to make someone care enough to come forward? Is there a magic phrase I am missing?". I am left with so many questions and a feeling of mediocrity. I am of course always grateful to those who want to do stories with me but it is a weird mix of emotions that come afterwards.
Along with those emotions is a lot of frustrations in my attempt to write a book. I keep deleting everything I write. If anyone has any tips on helping the creative process along.. getting past writers block.. coping with emotions long enough to bust out a chapter.. a way to organize and focus my thoughts and ideas.. anything like that would be appreciated.
I think I am going to end this here because it is a bit all over the place but I will try to post more often.
I have been wanting to write ever since her anniversary. I honestly just didn't know what exactly what I wanted to write about. Part of me wants to just ramble on about who she was.. But another part of me wants to scream and complain about how hard this is. How it's been 19 years and it's not easier to have a missing sister. Sure I have figured out ways to cope but it is still hard to accept the fact that it will never be easy to have her gone. Even when I find out exactly what happened. It won't make it easier to be with out her. It would just give me peace knowing I got the answers I wanted and I pursued justice. But easy? Never going to happen.
Something I often remind myself of is, my parents, siblings, and I are not the only ones going through this. I tend to feel like "nobody else feels the way I do". We all grieve and deal differently but.. there are so many people going through this. All my family. Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents, Cousins, family friends, her old classmates etc. They are all dealing with the loss of someone they love. It boggles my mind when I get that "slap of reality". I honestly feel selfish when I realize it. I know it I just forget it sometimes. It always comes back and hits me like a train. Even family members I don't see or talk to much think about her, miss her, grieve over her. Friends she went to school with that I don't even know. I've been lucky enough to connect with some and I always wonder what they go through. To all of you grieving along with me, just know I love you all. I am grateful for every person who ever met Mikelle because each of you has memories of her and all those memories are pieces of my heart. I hope enough people see this that it reaches more people who knew her that I have yet to connect with. Please, if you went to school with her, or knew her at all I would love to hear from you.
For the 19th anniversary I did a couple interviews, a story in the East Valley Tribune with Jim Walsh, and an interview with Karla Navarette on Channel 3 and 5. With each of them I discussed things like my anxiety from what happened, my son, who Mikelle was, how I deal. All the normal things we usually talk about when I do these interviews. They both turned out great! But I was left feeling "what else can I say or do? What can I do to get a lead in the case? What can I say to reach out to someone who may know something? How angry or sad or desperate do I need to be to make someone care enough to come forward? Is there a magic phrase I am missing?". I am left with so many questions and a feeling of mediocrity. I am of course always grateful to those who want to do stories with me but it is a weird mix of emotions that come afterwards.
Along with those emotions is a lot of frustrations in my attempt to write a book. I keep deleting everything I write. If anyone has any tips on helping the creative process along.. getting past writers block.. coping with emotions long enough to bust out a chapter.. a way to organize and focus my thoughts and ideas.. anything like that would be appreciated.
I think I am going to end this here because it is a bit all over the place but I will try to post more often.
Sunday, October 29, 2017
Vivid Memories
This is just a quick little entry because I thought of something random about Mikelle. I figure no matter how short an entry, it's good to write as often as possible.
So while putting my son to bed, and reading bedtime stories to him, he was sounding out some "sight words". It lead to a discussion about how to spell a million different things. Of course. Anyways he said "closer kuh-kuh-closer. Closer starts with K. K makes the kuh sound just like closer". It was adorable by the way. I told him that it actually starts with C. That's when I remembered something.
When I was young and expanding my reading skills, Mikelle would get a kick out of me trying to read ingredients on different boxes or cans etc. I pronounced sugar like "cigar" one time, and I can vividly remember Mikelle's huge smile spread across her red face and excited laugh. She was completely unable to contain herself, and choking from the laughter. Covering her mouth and saying "she just said cigar!!". Same goes for my mom and dad who were laughing right along with her. I of course enjoyed being the center of attention. I am pretty sure they had me read 3 or 4 different words on this box before informing me of my mistake. This proceeded to be a nightly tradition at dinner time for a while.
I love remembering goofy things like that. I especially love when I can actually see her face in my mind, clearly, and perfectly. It's rare now, being able to see her as something other than the missing poster picture. I forget how she sounded and moved. I absolutely cherish these moments when I remember. When I feel like I am reliving it.
Today has been rough, lots of errands and in and out of the car. Tayven was seriously testing my patience all damn day. I have a headache. I haven't been feeling well. I was in a horrid mood right up until I pictured Mikelle laughing. Now I sit here smiling (and crying) and feeling ever so grateful to have my stubborn child testing my patience. Side note, he hugged me and rubbed my head and told me he loved me to the moon and back before going to sleep. (Melting!) Even on my hardest days, even when I am ready to punch the wall, or scream into a pillow, I try to remember how lucky I am. Despite everything that has happened, despite this tragedy, I have not lost my child. I do not know the pain my parents do. I honestly can't fathom how I would go on with out Tayven, no matter the circumstance. For that, I thank you Mikelle. In the most random, round about way, you have taught me patience, and gratefulness in ways that I never thought I would know. Also I thank you for your laugh, and your smile, and your mischievousness. Oh so sly! That reminds me of another time..
I remember when I finished cleaning my room I told my mom it was clean. Either Mikelle offered to check it or my mom asked her to go check it. Not sure which, but she came back after about 10 seconds and said "I checked it" and my mom said "ok? is it clean?" her response "I don't know I just checked it". At some point after a back and forth between them we all walked to my room and my mom said "show me how you checked it" and so Mikelle proceeded to walk up to the wall in my room and with her finger "drew" and check mark on the wall. She burst out laughing and said "see!? I checked it! get it?" and walked away quite amused with herself.
She also brought my dad a milkshake one time. When he saw it he said "that's a glass of milk". She said "No I made you a milkshake". I was curious so I asked her to make me one. I followed her to the kitchen where she poured a glass of milk and then shook it. Handed it to me and said "Milk! Shake!". I was not amused but she giggled and was obviously proud of herself.
We both get our sarcastic humor and "punny-ness" from our dad I think. Actually all of us kids got that.
Now that I am sitting here just typing anything that comes to mind, it feels really good. I am remembering more and more little tid bits. So much for a short entry! But in all seriousness if I sat here long enough I could write dozens of little memories. Some I remember more than others. But I am grateful for them. I wish my siblings had them the way I do. Nathan of course has some but he was only 4 (actually about to be 5) when it happened. But Lynelle was only 9 months old. Sometimes I actually feel guilty when sharing memories because she doesn't have any. I have to remind myself that she likes to hear these things because it keeps Mikelle real, and alive in her mind. Stories are all she can have of her big sister. So I will tell them to my dying day. Lynelle I love you, and I wish you knew firsthand how much you are similar to Mikelle. Your artistic ability especially! I consider myself very lucky and proud to be your big sister but still deeply wish I was just one of your sister here to tell you like it is, and support you no matter what. Mikelle would have been one bad ass big sister. I can just imagine her putting her slyness into play in her teens. Nathan speaking of similarities, you and your epic dad jokes and goofiness is such a likeness to Mikelle. I don't know if you know that but you are as funny and smart as her. I am so proud of who you are and am constantly amazed by your knowledge and passion to learn. It really reminds me of her so much. I love you and I hope you know the connection you have with Mikelle.
Alright so apparently this entry turned into a letter to my siblings. Sorry not sorry. Well as I said before I could go on and on but I think I will save more stories for a later date, when I am not ready for bed! Thank you all for reading, and learning about who Mikelle was. I want people to know her as a unique person. Not just a picture on a flyer.
Mikelle I love you. Thank you for the vivid memories.
So while putting my son to bed, and reading bedtime stories to him, he was sounding out some "sight words". It lead to a discussion about how to spell a million different things. Of course. Anyways he said "closer kuh-kuh-closer. Closer starts with K. K makes the kuh sound just like closer". It was adorable by the way. I told him that it actually starts with C. That's when I remembered something.
When I was young and expanding my reading skills, Mikelle would get a kick out of me trying to read ingredients on different boxes or cans etc. I pronounced sugar like "cigar" one time, and I can vividly remember Mikelle's huge smile spread across her red face and excited laugh. She was completely unable to contain herself, and choking from the laughter. Covering her mouth and saying "she just said cigar!!". Same goes for my mom and dad who were laughing right along with her. I of course enjoyed being the center of attention. I am pretty sure they had me read 3 or 4 different words on this box before informing me of my mistake. This proceeded to be a nightly tradition at dinner time for a while.
I love remembering goofy things like that. I especially love when I can actually see her face in my mind, clearly, and perfectly. It's rare now, being able to see her as something other than the missing poster picture. I forget how she sounded and moved. I absolutely cherish these moments when I remember. When I feel like I am reliving it.
Today has been rough, lots of errands and in and out of the car. Tayven was seriously testing my patience all damn day. I have a headache. I haven't been feeling well. I was in a horrid mood right up until I pictured Mikelle laughing. Now I sit here smiling (and crying) and feeling ever so grateful to have my stubborn child testing my patience. Side note, he hugged me and rubbed my head and told me he loved me to the moon and back before going to sleep. (Melting!) Even on my hardest days, even when I am ready to punch the wall, or scream into a pillow, I try to remember how lucky I am. Despite everything that has happened, despite this tragedy, I have not lost my child. I do not know the pain my parents do. I honestly can't fathom how I would go on with out Tayven, no matter the circumstance. For that, I thank you Mikelle. In the most random, round about way, you have taught me patience, and gratefulness in ways that I never thought I would know. Also I thank you for your laugh, and your smile, and your mischievousness. Oh so sly! That reminds me of another time..
I remember when I finished cleaning my room I told my mom it was clean. Either Mikelle offered to check it or my mom asked her to go check it. Not sure which, but she came back after about 10 seconds and said "I checked it" and my mom said "ok? is it clean?" her response "I don't know I just checked it". At some point after a back and forth between them we all walked to my room and my mom said "show me how you checked it" and so Mikelle proceeded to walk up to the wall in my room and with her finger "drew" and check mark on the wall. She burst out laughing and said "see!? I checked it! get it?" and walked away quite amused with herself.
She also brought my dad a milkshake one time. When he saw it he said "that's a glass of milk". She said "No I made you a milkshake". I was curious so I asked her to make me one. I followed her to the kitchen where she poured a glass of milk and then shook it. Handed it to me and said "Milk! Shake!". I was not amused but she giggled and was obviously proud of herself.
We both get our sarcastic humor and "punny-ness" from our dad I think. Actually all of us kids got that.
Now that I am sitting here just typing anything that comes to mind, it feels really good. I am remembering more and more little tid bits. So much for a short entry! But in all seriousness if I sat here long enough I could write dozens of little memories. Some I remember more than others. But I am grateful for them. I wish my siblings had them the way I do. Nathan of course has some but he was only 4 (actually about to be 5) when it happened. But Lynelle was only 9 months old. Sometimes I actually feel guilty when sharing memories because she doesn't have any. I have to remind myself that she likes to hear these things because it keeps Mikelle real, and alive in her mind. Stories are all she can have of her big sister. So I will tell them to my dying day. Lynelle I love you, and I wish you knew firsthand how much you are similar to Mikelle. Your artistic ability especially! I consider myself very lucky and proud to be your big sister but still deeply wish I was just one of your sister here to tell you like it is, and support you no matter what. Mikelle would have been one bad ass big sister. I can just imagine her putting her slyness into play in her teens. Nathan speaking of similarities, you and your epic dad jokes and goofiness is such a likeness to Mikelle. I don't know if you know that but you are as funny and smart as her. I am so proud of who you are and am constantly amazed by your knowledge and passion to learn. It really reminds me of her so much. I love you and I hope you know the connection you have with Mikelle.
Alright so apparently this entry turned into a letter to my siblings. Sorry not sorry. Well as I said before I could go on and on but I think I will save more stories for a later date, when I am not ready for bed! Thank you all for reading, and learning about who Mikelle was. I want people to know her as a unique person. Not just a picture on a flyer.
Mikelle I love you. Thank you for the vivid memories.
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