This Star Won't Go Out

So, I woke up Thursday (21) at 6:40ish, though I wasn’t that tired since I’d fallen asleep before 11. Anyway, we went on the 8 o’clock bus to Aix, got on the navette to Marseille airport, and were there soon enough. Then we got ready to go to the first plane to Munich. So I was pulling two little suitcase carry-ons, carrying a little duffel bag, and my mickey. So I was getting really tired from all that pulling, and everything was getting heavier, and heavier, so I stopped and said, “Mom, I can’t carry all these bags!” of course whining a bit (emotions, sleep deprivation). So Mom says “Daddy, can you pull one of these?” and he comes over and goes, “Oh ESTHER! Don’t do this stupid whining thing!” and it hurt. I got this stomach-clenching thing I’ve been getting lately—when mad, or jealous. And I got sad and angry, and Dad came to get the bag, all angry and flustered. As he grabbed the bag, I pulled away with my now “only” 3 bags, and said “Stop it, Dad!”—my voice cracking.


I went to the check in/waiting/BK room, and then walked to the bathroom (without the bags, duh). I went pee, and cried for . . . 2 (?) minutes, then sprayed water on my face and as soon as I had gained my composure enough, Angie came in.

“Are you ok?”

I walked past her, going out the door. Taking my anger out on her, I guess. “I’m fine.”

I walked about 2 feet and then went back in the bathroom, trying not to cry. I burst out in tears, and Angie hugged me, for a long time.

It was really comforting. Really. I’m so glad I walked back in there. I said a bit of what had been on my mind lately. Such as the fact that I feel so alone. And this whole thing is so hard. Cause, it really is. I can’t . . . well. She is an amazing friend and sister.


Exact date unknown


Love, intensity, value, passion, rejection, hope, care, failure, joy. What life throws at us never makes sense. Thinks we’re at life’s dispense. How long we wait for life to change us. How long we should try to change ourselves. The weight of death, the weight of fear. The burden of stress, the pain is here. Never to know, never to guess, never to know, how much mess. Do not show care, do not have love, do not feel joy, or you may change.


To feel

The weight of death, the weight of fear, the burden of stress, pain is here.

Never to know, never to guess.

Never to know, how much mess

Do not show care,

do not feel joy,

do not have love,

life’s not a toy

and yet we feel,

we have,

we show,

who knows . . .

I do not know.

I do not know.

(2007) September 9





9/16/07


Wayne, Papa, padre, papi, daddy . . .

Daddy. . .


Happy 48th!


You’re almost 50, almost an old guy! Wrong choice of words, I mean a MATURE guy.:) Duh.


I just wanted to let you know, Dad, how dear you are to me. You’ve watched over me and loved me through everything that has happened. Like while I was in the hospital bed—my hair, a wild mane, my face, white as the sheeting covering me, tubes in my nose, arms, sides . . . neck at one point! Not to mention my legs were as hairy as yours! :/But throughout this whole episode, you held my hand and prayed and cared for me. And loved me. And this is all I need to know you are the most amazing dad. Who knows, maybe someday this picture of me, sick, tube filled and peeing in a bed pan, will come back one day. But if it does, I know you’ll be there, helping me understand it’s all worked out in God’s eyes; helping me know God loves me even more than you and Mom and everyone put together, times infinity. And Dad? A couple more things . . . without you, I would be a poor, sick, hopeless, girl, but instead I’m just a sick girl. But I’m only sick in my body for the time God wants me on earth, once I get to heaven I’ll understand my time on earth was a piece of my time—not even. And that the second God’s ready for me to party with him, all the sickness goes away. So that’s what gives me hope. Daddy . . . I want to say that I know how much going to work in Switzerland meant to you, how much you were ready and excited and willing to go, and I’m quite sorry that I messed up your plans—but thank you for giving it up for me and everything I need here, in Boston showing me you wouldn’t give a second thought about going after the doctors told you what I’d need means so much to me. Just . . . thank you, Daddy, thank you. So much. For everything.


On that note, I’ll switch to a different subject.


Happy Birthday!


I hope you have a fantastic birthday, Daddy. I love you too much to express.


xxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoo

Your daughter,

Esther Earl



Father and daughter,

BOSTON, 2009


September 17, 2007 (Monday at 12:11PM)


You know, I think for a while there my entries were happy ones, the ones where I was like, “yes, life isn’t so bad, ladida.” And the times when I thought that after all I’d gone through, life was A-okay. Well, life is, I guess, not that bad, but I feel worse than ever. I feel tired, lazy, helpless . . . I don’t know. Today I’m feeling sick—my head hurts, my tummy aches, I feel flushed, but I took my temperature and it’s a normal 98.0. So yeah yesterday was Daddy’s birthday and it was good. On Friday I had started making a cross-stitch of a duck, and (in church!) on Sunday I finished. It had a yellow duck with a blue ribbon on his neck and it sayyyed [sic] . . . “I’m ducky for you, DAD!” or so. I had sorta followed a little duck pattern, so mmhmm. Dad kinda liked it. We also gave him a napkin holder (*snicker*) and a back scratcher (*choke*) and I gave him a letter that I cried while writing (*aww* ;))