from morgan

this is in part from an English assignment she is working on, and she gave me permission to share it. i am in awe of my daughter. i love and respect her. 
going to SC with Brinley tomorrow...and thank god it's the weekend. 

My Bedroom Wall
            There is this wall in my bedroom. Each time you look at it, there is always something new. Photos cover it, leaving few areas blank. You see, I decorated my wall, not so long ago, in January when my dad died. The thing is, he didn’t just die, he left us: my mom, my sister and me. With him gone I have to remember that there are people still looking out for me. That is why my wall is so important to me. It is filled with photos, photos of people I love and people who love me.
            The wall itself is light pink, the kind of pink you think of when a baby girl is born. The photos are scattered around in no particular way, a whimsical ocean of faces. They rest in their tilted positions and they are comfortable. From afar, they are a sea of blurred memories, hard to recall; but when you approach they become clearer. The layer of fog rises and a perfect moment is remembered: the white dresses from an Alonim Shabbat, singing and dancing the night away, the perfectly cut green grass from my early softball days with my dad as my coach, the eyes of my family that lit up on the day of my Bat Mitzvah, and the perfect splash my dad and I made when we jumped into the lake holding hands, in perfect unison. Also memories of my puppy, Agi, who also recently passed are sprinkled around my wall. She never left my side before, and now she never will. 
    Many people ask me, “Morgan, did I make it up on the wall?” To me, these people are people who don’t know me well enough to understand what kind of question they are asking. They are interrogating me, wanting to know if I think they are important enough to “make the cut.” What I say to them usually is, “Oh! I will have to go home and look. I’m not sure if you are up there.” When really what I am thinking is, “If you have to ask, then you clearly already know the answer to your question. My real friends know their faces are on my wall, without having to ask.
            The wall… my wall, holds one more important thing besides my photos. A baby blue sign that is perched at the top says “dream”. A line goes through the middle where young blue birds stand. They watch over my wall in the same way the stars watch over the sky. The sign hangs crooked because the hook in the back is not straight, but I don’t mind. Not everything has to be perfect. The wall is cool against my warm body when I rest against it. I know the wall is melancholy because it holds the faces of so many loved ones that have passed. But it also glimmers with hope from the faces of those that are still with me; hope for a good year, hope for no more tragedy and hope to hold new faces that I have yet to meet.