A Plea and a Prayer: No More

Leelah Alcorn. A bright young lady, only a few months younger than me. She ended her life recently, because she was shown no love, no acceptance, and felt as though the world would never have any hope in it for her, as she was.

Jamey Rodemeyer. 14 years of age.

Jacob Rogers. 18 years of age.

Seth Walsh. 13 years of age.

Asher Brown. 13 years of age.

Eden Wormer. 14 years of age.

And so many more, over the years and through the ages. Gone too soon. They took their own lives, driven to suicide by hatred, by neglect and feeling as though they would never fit in.

Suicide is on the rise because the more time that  passes, the more one realises that love and acceptance are becoming rarer and rarer in society. Bullies run rampant. The 'mongers' - the mongers of hate, and war, and fear - roam the streets and the cyberworld, waiting. Waiting to strike and then disappear, anonymous and uncaring.

Why? Why do we sacrifice souls of beauty, people of worth? And we do. We do sacrifice them. We sacrifice living beings with hearts and emotion, solely for our own agendas - or our own fear of taking a stand, taking their hand, and protecting them whatever the costs. We betray them to the abyss of agony, in an act of self-preservation.

We allow men, women, and children to die - because we are afraid. Afraid to love unconditionally, afraid to accept them, flaws and all. Afraid to get too close.

Because if we had let them get too close, what if they had dragged us down with them? What if their dirt and grime had brushed off on us and turned us - horror of horrors - into them? We could not allow ourselves to get close enough for that to happen... to have their dirt and grime mingle with the dirt and grime we ourselves already carry.

Don't you see? Can't you understand?

It was not only their hand that brought them to the next life. We - the fellow humans, the fellow souls - played our own parts. We did nothing to stop it. In some cases, we may have even caused it to happen.

This needs to stop.

We need to learn to love, to care, to feel. Apathetic is a pathetic way to be, and yet many who do not actively try to hurt others make it no better with their apathy.

Imagine a world where love reigned - a perfect ideal, where love replaced all pain, no exceptions. There would be no war; there would be no bullying; there would be no murders. Because everyone would love one another, and by extension want the best for every person they came across.

How many more innocents must die before we as a species realise that as long as hate, bigotry, fear, and superiority rule, there will be no peace? No hope for a gentle-minded world, no hope for the rescue of our children from depression, bullying, and anxiety.

How many more times will the Leelahs and Seths and Edens of this world have to die by their hands - and by extension our own - before we begin to change?

How many beautiful souls must we lose before it all becomes clear and we begin to hold them dear?

Please.

No more.

No more of this. No more pain, no more neglect, no more attacks hidden behind veils of sweetness-tinged judgement.

No more suicides, brought on by feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness.

No more deaths. Please, God, I beg you, no more. No more executions by the barrage of stones from the falsely righteous, justified by cries of 'sinner, foul sinner!'. No more worn and weary hearts pleading for Death to take them away from the day-to-day struggles of abandonment, cruelty, and unbelonging. No more light-filled souls shattered into shards of darkness.

No more, my God, I beseech thee.

No more.

Please... no more.

As The Sun Sets On 2014...

... I find myself reminiscing on the past year and pondering the year soon to arrive.

2014 has been a rough year, just like 2012 was. I've had to trek up many thornbush-covered mountains this year; much more frequently than the few times I was able to stroll through smoothly rolling valleys. It has been a dark year, but there has been light.

I've faced a lot of challenges this year, and quite a few new experiences; probably the widest range of any I've ever seen or went through in any one year of my life.

A fantastic Scottish singer and a friend of mine - George Donaldson - passed away from a heart attack earlier this year, leaving behind a then-13-year-old daughter and his wife; and it twisted my life upside-down. This was a man whom had been a father figure of mine since 2011, because of his warmth, generosity, kindness, and gentleness. And suddenly he was just gone.

In summer, a man who had been a huge part of my childhood committed suicide - Robin Williams. And though I didn't know him personally, all those years of looking up to him and being cheered up by his antics had made me feel like I did.

There was a light side to those tragedies. A faint light, but a light all the same.

After George's unexpected death, I began to ask questions about theology that I had never asked before; I sought out answers instead of accepting whatever ones were handed to me pre-baked on a platter.

After Robin's death, I grew closer to already-close friends. In the midst of people calling those with suicidal thoughts things like 'selfish', 'greedy', and 'hellbound', those that knew the truth stuck together and comforted one another. When I was sobbing the night after Robin's death, because I had lost a man I had looked up to all my life, and because someone had basically just told me I was hellbound because I had suicidal thoughts, my friends were there. They comforted me and kept me from completely breaking down. I tried to return the favour as best I could.

And through those trials, we grew closer.

As for friends... I made some new ones this year, and - as I mentioned above - grew closer to others. I also got to see more of my friends in this one year than I have in any other (considering up until recently, I only had one or two friends that could even visit on a half-regular basis).

In March, I got to meet two of my friends for the first time and another of my friends for the second time - Matt, who visited in October of 2013. I spent an hour or two hanging out with them in Seattle; it was only the second time I had ever visited the city and actually walked around.

In April, I visited a friend and her family for the first time in years. I also got to play with their baby lizard.

In August, I got to see Matt again and we spent an afternoon in town before going to a concert, where I had the pleasure of meeting our friend Alex for the first time. This was another first - it was the first time I had ever been allowed to go anywhere with a friend without a parent tagging along. It may sound like a little thing to most, but it was a huge milestone for me.

And again in November, Matt dropped by and we hung out with our mutual friend Brenna for a while.

From November to the end of December, a friend was living in our back room for a while as well.

All in all, I got to see nine friends - some of them multiple times - this year; six are mentioned earlier. The other two I spent time with at my high school graduation.

There's another milestone of this year. Two, actually - I graduated high school and, while I've been enrolled in college since March of 2013, went to my very first on-campus classes this summer.

Those were two experiences I won't soon forget. In June, I graduated high school at the age of sixteen. It was also the first time I ever got to try a coffee from Starbucks.

My long-time buddy August - whom I saw a few months prior for a while - came to watch my graduation, and I had a blast talking to him again. Then I met a girl who was friends with another friend of mine - we hit it off great, marveling at the coincidence that we would be graduating at the same time and that she would recognise my name from our friend's Facebook page.

During my on-campus classes, I got to see lovely scenery in the hiking trails at my college, and I met two new friends in my P.E. class. Another similar milestone was that taking these classes was the first time I would spend any longer than an hour (usually four hours) away from anyone my mom knew. And it wasn't within walking distance - it was a twenty-minute drive most mornings. And I would hang out on campus and in classes by myself. It was scary, and finding my way around without having a breakdown from overload of emotions and senses was a challenge.

I guess I learned a lot - not everything, but a lot more than I did - about being an adult this year.

I had to learn responsibility for my on-campus classes. I had to arrive on time, make sure I understood the information, and turn everything in on schedule. I had to remember to keep an eye on the calendars, and I had to get up early each morning so that I could get dressed and make sure everything was in my backpack before heading out the door.

I had to learn to put aside my own desires and fears in order to help my mom through some very rough times that she is still going through now.

I had to take responsibility for the friend who moved in with us. That was a challenge - I needed to exercise patience, calmness, punctuality, and persistence. All things I have trouble showing. I needed to make sure everything they needed was taken care of, and remind them of their day-to-day duties.

And while it is not a particular skill or attribute to learn, I was allowed to spend time with friends in town by myself (without parents) for the first time ever this year. For our family, that is a definite step towards adulthood. It may sound silly, but it is.

I had to ignore my fears and insecurities during the summer and tell someone exactly how I felt about them, despite the anxiety that they would 'run away' or push me away. (They didn't. And our friendship is even stronger now because I was honest, praise God.)

I had to destroy a knot of negative emotions in order to confess to my mother and my friends the struggles I have - the fear, the self-loathing, the guilt, the shame... it all had to be obliterated just long enough to confess. And that is probably the most adult thing I managed to do all year.

I learned patience, I learned more about logic, I learned how to schedule my time better... I learned that it is wrong to judge others for their own struggles, and I learned that even the people you trust have the ability to mess up big-time... and above all - I learned from a close friend that the best way for me to be is just to be me.

All that said... what do I hope to see in 2015? What are my resolutions?

I never do fulfill my resolutions. But here are some goals, wishes, and resolutions I have anyway:

~ Fly out-of-state to visit friends; either in Virginia, Texas, Ohio, or Florida.

~ Go to Emerald City Comicon with friends.
~ Learn how to drive.
~ Write a novel for the first time in years.
~ Start some sort of project designed to help the needy.
~ Get into acting somehow; by joining a drama team if there are any nearby.
~ Complete the 365 Photography Challenge

~ Attempt to get a job.

We'll see if any of those get completed this year; I do hope they will!

Before I close, I want to give special thanks to the people who made my year so much easier to bear and made me smile and laugh, and comforted me through the dark times: thank you to Sian, Hayley, Charity, Matt, Andrew, Eli, Brendan, William, Elizabeth K., Mark, Ellen, Elizabeth A., Ophelia, Adrienne, Joel P., Jasmine, Annie, Gael, Kitra, Seth, Hannah L., Jenni, and August. I love all of you so very much. Thank you for being yourselves, and for caring about me even when I'm at my worst.

To all of you reading this... here's to a new year - may it be bright and blessed and shiny. Keep on keeping on, all of you; every last one of you is amazing and strong and so very special.

Happy New Year, everybody!

God bless,

Theodora Ashcraft

A Letter To K.

I'm not going to use your name, before you start to get angry about me spreading your name and reputation all over the internet. You know that this is addressed to you. And I know you'll see it. I know you follow this blog and keep an eye on it so that you can find whatever you can about me and what's going on in my life - you wouldn't have found my personal email address otherwise.

So now that the fact you know this is addressed to you, and the fact that I know you can see it, have been established, I'm going to move on.

I would just send you an email, but as you've probably figured out... I've blocked you everywhere, now. I left you the ability to send Facebook messages in the hopes that that quirky guitarist was still somewhere inside; that he'd come back, and the new version of you would be gone, and we could go back to being friends.

It didn't happen. I gave you many, many chances. And I just cannot handle the messages of harrassment any longer.

You say you care about me, and that you hope I'm doing well.

And then you turn around and send me photographs that are designed to trigger me and make me want to hurt myself.

Do you really think I can believe you when you say you care? Real friends show respect, concern, and politeness. They don't get angry and send hurtful messages, guilt trips, and images designed to give nightmares.

Since you never seemed to want to hear my side of things without going into long, several-page rants, I want you to at least take the time to listen now.

I blocked you because you were speaking inappropriately to me, refusing to give me any peace, saying cruel things about my other friends, and basically harassing me.

It is not appropriate to insist on starting arguments about religion and politics with people you know disagree with you, and refuse to just drop it when they say they'd rather not discuss it - and when they try to end the subject themselves, it is not appropriate to get upset and guilt-trip them/send them pages-long messages stating how you feel on the subject.

It is not appropriate to take the words I've said about my closest friends (how much I appreciate them, how they've helped me, how much I look up to them, how much I care about them, etc.), and insult them outright in emails that sometimes span fifteen pages long. It is not appropriate to call the people I hold most dear to my heart 'power-hungry snakes' and to say that I worship them, that they're my owners, that they have control over my mind, solely because I appreciate their opinions, value their thoughts, and - horror of horrors - actually agree with them on many points.

It is not appropriate to see a blog article a girl writes confessing her struggles with porn, and then go talk to her in chat about it to say that she 'shouldn't feel guilty' and that you had considered or still wanted to 'teach her about it'. I don't know if you realise how creepy and wrong that sounds, but trust me, it does.

It is not appropriate to come to a girl's house after they have explicitly told you that you can't. Lack of warning isn't an excuse. Even if it was, if the girl tells you nearly a week in advance you cannot come over, you have plenty of time to call off any plans you may have formulated.

And another thing... when all of this, plus insults and hurtful words to my beliefs and a mutual friend's beliefs, causes us to block you for our own sanity... it is most certainly not appropriate to send them death threats when your attempts to guilt-trip them into friending you back don't work.

Am I a bad friend for not having time to let you come over very often for nearly a year? Maybe I am.

But look. I turned 15. I entered college. At the same time as high school. My time became severely limited. It wasn't like I decided to completely cut you out of my life but went around visiting other people behind your back. You thought I did when you saw photos of me visiting with friends in Seattle this March, and got really upset.

Here's the deal. They were and are some of my closest friends. I got to spend maybe two hours with them that day; I was meeting two of them in person for the first time, and seeing another of them again for the first time in six months. So yeah; I did take some time off from school to visit with friends that I rarely, if ever, see. You spent a year or more getting to visit with me once every month or every two months. You had no right to get upset because I decided to take a few hours out of my day to spend with friends that weren't you.

Am I a bad friend for starting to chat to you less online before I blocked you? Maybe I am.

But when I came to dread coming online in the evenings because I knew I would find pages-long rants on what I believe, how I live, who my friends are and how awful you think they are... I just did not want to talk to you, because you would expect me to respond to those rants when all I wanted to do was forget them.

When I never knew what would be waiting for me on Skype or in my inbox - whether it would be more verbal abuse towards my friends or my religion, or another inappropriate comment on my addictions - of course I began to dread messaging you.

Am I a bad friend for not telling you exactly how I felt, and for oftentimes not explaining to you why various things you did or said bothered me? Maybe I am.

But I knew you wouldn't listen. Both me and our mutual friend tried telling you over and over and over again to please stop saying and doing stuff, but you refused. I knew you wouldn't stop doing things, so I stopped asking.

I rarely tell anyone exactly how I feel and what my emotions are. I only tell people I completely trust, and there are only a handful of people I do trust with everything. Even less now, because time and time again, people prove they can't be trusted.

After the dramatic disaster in 2012 due to making the wrong friends, my trust in people was lowered considerably. I apologise for not trusting you, but quite honestly, I knew that if it was something to do with my religion or my beliefs that I was having trouble with, you wouldn't be able to focus past that to help me - you'd only be able to rant about them.

Am I a bad friend for blocking you? Maybe I am.

But I needed to in order to protect my already fragile sanity and emotions. I am dealing with college homework and crazy emotions I've never felt before. I'm trying to get back into writing, and I'm spending as much time as possible with people I've sworn to protect, comfort, and try to help. I'm trying to figure out what to do with my life, because I've tried to push reality away for so long, I find myself nearly 18 and completely uncertain about where I'm headed, what I want to do, what is going to happen to me, and whether I can handle whatever life throws at me.

I did not and do not have the energy or the strength to have to wake up every day terrified of what rants, guilt-trips, or innuendos were awaiting me online.

Even after I blocked you, you could not respect my wishes. You railed at our mutual friend about it, managed to work in a few more jabs at my friends, and then sent me guilt-trip after guilt-trip by whatever means you could.

And then you sent me and our mutual friend death threats.

You fell silent for a while, until you found out that you could still send me messages on Facebook. You would claim to care about me and miss me... and then make jabs about people, or jabs at how I was a bad person.

I put up with it, still hoping beyond hope that the quiet, musical guy I met at the lake would come back, and I wouldn't have to worry about... this new person I didn't recognise.

It never happened. And a few nights ago, you sent me a picture - whether it was photomanipulated or not, I don't know, but it doesn't matter - of a person who had cut the words 'I'm fine' into their arm with a knife, and told me that I should make that my avatar.

That was the last blow. I was online late, and I already find myself paralyzed by fear most nights. But that message set me to shaking and I couldn't stop. Talking to some of my brothers helped comfort me, but it didn't help completely.

I feel worthless and guilty about my own existence enough as it is. I don't need you trying to reinforce the guilt and the fear.

I blocked you there. So I'm writing you a message here. Because like I said, I know you watch this blog.

You know something else? I did research. What you've said to me and our mutual friend could land you in prison for five to ten years if you actually meant them - harrassment and death threats. You could also receive a heavy fine. Think on that for a second.

And I have one last thing to say before I close.

I won't be adding you back until you show me in some way that you've changed and that you aren't only trying to manipulate my emotions.

My entire life and my entire emotional structure have been messed-up because of your threats and your words and your stopping by my house when I told you not to, like some real-life stalker.

Because I was already scared of leaving the house, but now I'm terrified, because I have no idea whether your threats were real and whether you're lurking in the bushes somewhere. I'm terrified in the mornings to go outside without a rock in the hand because I'm afraid you're going to appear from around the corner and attack me.

Because I can't even turn my back to people anymore. I go to the post office and I have to edge awkwardly along the counter because I can't bear to turn my back to the people behind me. I go on walks alone and I can't stop looking over my shoulder. I spend the afternoon with one of my best friends, and I can't even sit down at the table to eat until I have my back to the wall.

Because I can hardly trust any of my friends anymore except for the few closest ones, all due to the fact that someone I once thought was a friend suddenly started to treat me the way you did.

I already had anxiety disorders before all this happened. Now I'm point-blank terrified if I try to leave the safety of my house. I don't want to be left at home alone because I'm afraid you'll randomly show up.

I have nightmares about you showing up to make good on your death threats. Nightmares where I'm trying to hide but you get into the house anyway and the people, whether friends or police, that I called, to beg for help and ask them to come over, don't arrive in time.

I feel the need to carry around rocks and knives in my pockets because I don't know who might try to sneak up behind me.

I regret not knowing how to shoot a gun. I regret not remembering half of the stuff I learned in my martial arts class years ago.

Do I believe you'll do something? Maybe. But mostly, my irrational anxiety has turned into full-blown, irrational fear to do anything without someone I trust by my side. Because I was threatened, manipulated. My emotions were ignored. My thoughts, beliefs, and feelings were put down as wrong. Someone I thought was a friend disregarded my wishes and came by my house without permission, invading my personal space multiple times.

This is why I cannot and will not friend you again. Not until I've heard you've changed.

And even if you do change, please know that it's going to take a long, long time for me to trust you again. I've been betrayed and manipulated too many times, and the way you acted and the things you said were the things that made me snap. I'm completely broken and shaken-up, and feel as though I cannot trust anyone. I have tons of friends and acquaintances - I only fully trust seven now. And only three of them are guys.

Please keep all of this in mind and think about it instead of just throwing it out as me being overly-dramatic, ridiculous, or stupid again. Because it took a lot to write this letter to you and have to post it on my blog where everyone can see it. I wouldn't have done so, if I actually had an outlet I hadn't blocked you from in which to send it.

Please actually consider my words important for once.

And please think about them. That's all I ask. I'm not telling you to change or do anything against your will. I'm just telling you why I did what I did and asking you not to put it off as stupidity like you used to when we argued about everything under the sun. If you respond, I probably won't reply, because I need time to try to mend, to get rid of all the emotions brought on from what I personally consider as traumatic, whether others do or not.

Thank you in advance. I sincerely hope you're doing well.

Regards,

Theodora Ashcraft

Mordecai's Story

I don't remember when we found him. I do remember that me and my mom were going to do everything we could to help him, just as we did and do with all stray cats.

See, we leave enough food out for our cats and any strays that happen to pass by. If we see strays, we try to befriend them. When they trust us, we take them to the vet and have them spayed or neutered; we also have the vet give them a check-up and buy any medicine we need to give the cats. When they're all healed, we let them loose. If they decide to stick around, they're always welcome.

Anyway, we leave a bowl of food out for our barn cat every morning. As a result, we often have strays (and occasionally the neighbour's cat) drop by and eat. I have no doubt that many of them drop in for a snack and then leave without me ever knowing they're there.

But some of them stick around - Magi, the dark-striped tabby is one who has been around for a long time. Cloud Dancing, a beautiful silver cat, spent a long time here before moving on; we saw him in the yard of a house on the other side of the neighbourhood. A wandering, drifting cloud; never sticking in one place for too long.

One week some time ago, we noticed that the food was disappearing much faster than it should have if just our cat and Magi were eating from it (Cloud Dancing had left). We thought it must be raccoons, and dismissed it as such.

Then one morning, I happened to look out the window and see a flash of orange. I saw enough to realise it was an orange cat.

I told Mom, and we started to keep an eye out for the mysterious stranger again.

As time went past, we realised that a dangerously gaunt orange tabby cat was eating our food. He was starving, and his fur was dirty and matted. He was covered in scabs, both from fights and from fleas. From his outward appearance, one would have thought he was just a rough-and-tough tomcat who was down on his luck and shouldn't be messed with - or just an 'ugly' cat that didn't deserve pity. Or both.

But one day we took our chances and went outside to approach the cat. We moved slowly. He ran off the first time, scared.

We decided to try again - and the second or third time, after several minutes of speaking gently to him... he walked right up to us and started rubbing his head against our legs, begging for attention. We petted him, and he even let us put him on our laps - you could feel his bones through his fur.

There was no fight when we carefully ushered him into a cat carrier and drove him to the vet. After a few days, we were able to take him home. We were told to keep him confined until he healed from the aftermath of the surgery. We were also given medications for his flea problems.

They had groomed him. He was still skinny, but his fur was no longer matted, and now he got food regularly, and as much as he wanted or needed. He had to stay in the bathroom for a few days. He didn't like it; he wanted to go outside again. But he always welcomed attention. Every time you would enter the bathroom, he would stand up on his hind legs and place his paws on your legs, wanting you to come down to his level and put him on your lap.

After several days of feeding him and keeping him clean, he was ready to go outside. We carried him down the stairs and out the door, and set him down. He immediately bolted, bounding through the grass.

As I turned around to head back in, I felt something crash into my legs from behind. I turned back to see that he had come running back and tackled my legs. I laughed, needless to say.

The days passed, and my mother and I knew that this charming orange tabby was here to stay. We still hadn't named him. My mother is the designated namer, and usually chooses names I would not choose. But her name for him - Mordecai - was okay. I wouldn't have named him that, but I liked it.

Unbeknownst to her, I've nicknamed him two things - my 'little lion', and my 'Cai. He is one of the friendliest cats I have ever met, and he appeared to have taken a shining to me early on. He loves everyone, but I'm the one he tends to run to first.

He has his own bed in the garage beneath a heat lamp next to the two beds belonging to our Russian Blues. He also has his own bed right outside our living room window - a large box padded with blankets and a pillow. Beneath that, he has a wooden cat house fitted with a heating lamp, as well as two bowls for food and water.

He's no longer that malnourished, matted and pitiful little creature he used to be. He's a healthy weight now, and his fur is thick and clean. It has been at least a year now, and he hasn't left. I think Mordecai is here to stay. And I'm overjoyed that he decided to.

Here are some photographs of Mordecai now; I don't have any of him before we rescued him, but you can see him as he is now.

Resting in his bed outside.

He was pretty sleepy, but he still managed to stay awake long enough to let me snap a ton of photographs.

There's my little lion. <3

Just look at those eyes!

Mordecai, chilling out on the front sidewalk.

I love this photograph. The brown and the green perfectly show off his soft orange fur. He has to be the most photogenic cat I've ever met.

He heard my dad out in the driveway when I snapped this photograph, hence why he's looking away.

Mordecai on a warm summer evening, relaxing on the still-warm rocks out back with Bob, our tuxedo/barn cat. This was taken through a window, which is why it's blurry.

My 'Cai is such a wonderful cat. This is why I feel such a need to rescue animals. I could have left this little one to fend for himself because he was 'dirty', or because he looked 'mean'. I could have gone off of how he looked when I first met him, gaunt and beaten up, and thought, "He looks like he gets into fights a lot, he must be mean. I'm not going anywhere near him."

But because my mother and I didn't, we've gained one of the brightest presences in our day-to-day life. You never know what kind of soul might be beneath the surface of the outward appearance - it could be a black soul, or it could be one of the brightest you've ever seen. You just don't know.

That is Mordecai's story. Or, rather... what I know of it. There's no way of knowing what happened to him before I met him. All I know is, I'm so blessed to have found him.

Goodbye To a Gentle Giant - Reminiscing (Part 1)

This is a series (probably just two parts, but it may end up as more) I'm writing solely to try to give myself a sense of closure over losing one of my favourite singers and a person I considered a friend.

George Donaldson - a gentle giant, Scottish singer, father, brother, and son - passed away March 12th. This post is me reminiscing about how I came to know of Celtic Thunder, and, through them, George. You don't have to read it, but I'm putting it up anyway for the few people I know would want to read it.

~*~*~*~*~

I first came across Celtic Thunder (and consequently, George Donaldson) in either late 2011 or early 2012. Up to date, 2012 was the hardest year of my life. I was looking for some Irish music in the CDs at the library, and I happened across a CD called, "Celtic Thunder: Act II". I looked at the front and saw several men on a stage, wearing kilts. I thought it looked interesting, so I took it home.

I was immediately hooked. The wide array of music captured my heart; all sorts of genres of music were meshed together. As I listened to more and more of the Celtic Thunder CDs, I found more and more genres - hymns were sang, original songs written by the singers, rock 'n' roll, pop, old ballads, country music, and, of course, traditional Irish music. And best of all, most - if not all - of the songs were clean.

In 2012, I had turned away from God. As a result, the only things keeping me from giving up on life were my friends... and Celtic Thunder.

Yes, I had other music, but it was full of depressing things, some of the songs had cursing in them... basically, most of what I listened to was horrid. But not Celtic Thunder. They sang songs that taught me determination ("Ireland's Call"), taught me about history ("Christmas 1915"), taught me about the love of fathers and children ("The Old Man" and "My Boy")... taught me a lot of things. And it kept me going.

Okay, skip ahead. In 2013, I met my mentor (though he wasn't my mentor right off, obviously) and new friends that were godly Christians, and I found my way back to God through them. But Celtic Thunder remained and remains a huge part of my life.

I love all of the members, past and present, for different reasons. When I first found the band, I probably talked more about the younger men of the group, obviously... I was a silly teenage girl with her priorities in a mess.

But George Donaldson always had a special place in my heart. He was the kindhearted one... the wise one... the fatherly one.

I don't have a good relationship with my own dad. So I tried to fill the dad-shaped space in my heart with other people; George was one of them. Listening to his interviews and watching him sing made me feel like he'd be a wonderful dad.

As I said, though, in 2013 I met several older, godly men, my mentor included. Now that I had father figures to look up to in my life, I no longer needed to cling to my daydreams of what it would be like to have George as my dad. But I still looked up to him; his generosity and kindness was inspiring.

In November of 2013, I was blessed enough to go on the Celtic Thunder Cruise. I never expected to get to know any of the band members... but to my joy, I met George not once, but three times. I talked to him a little more each time.

When I asked him for a photograph with me, he readily agreed. I was shaking; I had had a rough night before, and was homesick and anxious. George noticed. He has his arm around my shoulder in a side-hug, and when he felt me trembling, he tightened his hug reassuringly, smiling that smile of his - a warmhearted, sunshiney smile.

I thanked him, and left. I met him again later on, outside of a lounge. I said hello, and he started a conversation. We were headed the same way, and instead of trying to get away from me, a random fan, George walked with me and continued talking for a short while before we had to part ways.

Finding out about his death felt like a physical punch in the gut, and I'm still kind of in denial about it. The funeral services were held today, about a week after George passed away. I had gotten to know him through social networking and on the Cruise, and I felt like I had just had a friend taken away from me.

In a way, I have. He was one of the people who kept me going in 2012, and he was the one I looked up to as a father figure for so long. He was the one who helped me relax on the Cruise and feel less homesick.

I miss him so much more than words can say; I'm heartbroken, and I know that not many can understand why. You don't have to; just understand that I am.

This blog is actually sort of named after him - once, he was talking about something called 'Of Songs and Stories'. I loved the phrase, and used it as the name of my blog; 'of songs and stories' in Irish Gaelic.

George was a man with a huge heart, and that showed in everything he did and said. He is known among the Celtic Thunder fans as 'the gentle giant'; a big man who would have been intimidating, if not for his warm smile and gentle nature. He invested time in all of his fans, and when he was with his family, he spent every moment with them. His daughter Sarah was 'the light of his life'.

From my experiences, and from stories I've heard from others who have met and known George, he was a caring man. He was always smiling, and never passed up the chance to give people a hug and chat with them. And as he comforted me when he noticed I was shaking, there are several others who have had the same experience - they've been anxious or panicky about something, and George would comfort them until they were calmer, no matter what was going on or where he was. He was always gentle, humble, and considerate.

I hope someday to see him again. Until then, I won't ever forget him. And if you're reading this... remember to spend time with your loved ones and let them know you love them. You never know when God will take them Home... you never know whether you'll have the chance to say goodbye.

"He was with his family one night...
Times of love and laughter and light.
Heaven needed a new angel that day,
God called the gentle giant Home, and now he's gone away.

His heart was full of love
And no more could it hold
His heart took the wings of a dove
And flew Home to the streets of gold..."

God bless, all.

~ Theodora