I know this post is actually late, considering that Memorial day has come and past, but this needs to be written, and so it shall be.
When I was a kid, Memorial Day meant that the water parks were going to be open, Dad would fill up the pool, and BBQ season had officially begun. It was marked with the end of school and the start of summer. It didn't mean honoring falling soldiers or remember what our brave men and women have sacrificed to keep our country safe, both within and out.
This past Memorial Day was very different for me. I have only ever been to a cemetery twice. Once to go with Sharon to visit her father a year after he died, and when I went two months previously to bury grandpa. I have already remarked once on the stark beauty of a military graveyard. All of the pale tombstones lines up perfectly with one and other in every direction is certainly an ode to how our military is organized. When I went the first time, it was a rainy, blustery day; it certainly seemed fitting. But when we went with my grandma to visit on the two month anniversary of Grandpa's passing, it was a beautiful sunny day.
I was wearing my favorite blue sundress that I tied with a bow in the back and comfortable sandals. I thought that maybe if I dressed in something less somber, I would feel better. It was working for a while, until be pulled in the barracks. There were plenty of things to tug at my heart strings. Buried near my grandpa are 290,000+ veterans that date back to the civil war. And every single grave had an American flag pressed into the soil. Outside the gates, firemen had hoisted a ginormous flag on their ladder that flapped freely in the wind. At the gate stood men and women in uniform, smiling as cars entered and left the cemetery.
We wound around the paths that led to Grandpa's stone, and everywhere I could see where flowers had been left for loved one, and people still stood smiling through their tears down at one rounded white stone or another. Dad found a parking space, explaining that Grandpa was "right over there somewhere."
We got out of the car. I carried nine red roses in one hand, and twirled a ring my grandpa had gotten my grandma years ago, and had since given it to me around my finger of my other hand. We started off towards where we thought he was, presuming his headstone hadn't arrived yet. It took us a good ten or fifteen minutes of reading the temporary markers to realize that maybe we were in the wrong spot. But then Dad saw that instead of having a temporary marker, the headstone had been placed over where Grandpa was buried.
I could feel that tight, dry feeling in my throat. It always happens when I am feeling a lot of emotions and want to cry, but I am not ready to let anything out just yet. The headstone was perfect. It was white with a smear of light grey right through the middle of it, with the words "Loving Husband, Father and Grandpa. We Will Always Love You." It made me so sad and so happy to read that.
Of course I knew who my grandpa was. But knowing that it was there for anyone to read; that he was loved and loving, that there were people that cared about him right now, and missed him; that made me feel elated. Sure, when my dad dies, and I die, the people that love and miss him will be gone, but in a cemetery like this, there are going to forever be people there, either working on the ground or just passing through that will see that and know that someone cared about him.
Because that is what death really has people thinking about: how will anyone know I even existed?
Knowing that my grandpa is in that cemetery though, that has been taken care of since the Civil War gives me hope that there are going to be people that will forever know that he existed, and he was important. In a hundred years there probably won't be anyone to put flowers on his grave, but there is going to be someone placing an American flag in the dirt in front of his name. There will be someone trimming the grass, and realigning his headstone and pulling out the weeds.
In a few hours, Memorial day went from celebrating pool opening and BBQ chicken and school letting out. It became what is was really about: celebrating the lives of those men and women who serve our country, protect it, us, and our freedoms, and remember all those hundreds and thousands that have given their lives in all our pursuits of happiness.
I had never felt so proud of my country than I did in that one moment. I placed my roses down on my grandpa's grave and smiled through the sniffles and watched as all the flags turned right and flapped in the wind. There were hundreds of gravestones the mounted the rolling green hill, and while seeing all those certainly signified death, it also signified lives well remembered, lives that were going to be well cared after, and that was something I could definitely appreciate.
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Monday, April 1, 2013
Not Outwardly Emotional
So, I have a long history of just not really showing a great range of emotion. I basically have two settings: happy and mad. Every other emotion I basically keep to myself. If I am feeling down, people usually don't know it. If I am confused, I usually don't show it. And if I am really sad, I generally cover it up with a fake smile and try to move on.
As I have already talked about before, my grandpa died a little bit ago, and (weirdly enough) I have some dark humor to share. See, I went to go see my grandpa at the hospice. And it was hard to see him there. Hard enough that I actually cried. For anyone that knows me personally, I basically never cry. It's pretty hard to make me tear up for anything. I have watched Marley and Me twice. This isn't to say that I am stone cold or anything, (Marley dying is horrible) but I can't work up a lot of waterworks.
So, there I am, holding Grandpa's hand, tearing up. And he is looking sort of towards where I am, and I don't want his last memories of me to be of me sad, so I turn away into Sharon's shoulder. And she is tearing up because I am tearing up, and who walks in but my dad's weirdo brother, Chris.
The thing about my uncle is that he is certifiably weird. He didn't pass his psych test to become a police officer. (I know some cops, and they are the nicest people, so I can understand why they didn't take him, but still...) He says totally non sequitur things just to feel included in conversations. Sharon told a story about going to the bird rescue with Nathaniel when he was young and talked about one of the hawks getting loose, and Chris told the SAME story like twenty minutes later. He isn't a mean person or anything, he is just really odd, and super religious. While Grandpa was lucid, my uncle proceeded to hold his hand and say, "You're dancing with God, now; God is leading this dance." Grandpa was like, okay, whatever, bring me some chocolate pudding.
Any whose, back to me being sad and upset. So, Uncle Chris walks in and see me holding Grandpa's hand and my back. And instead of just leaving, (because this was the third time in twenty years I had even seen my uncle) he decides to tell me how his daughter was really upset about Grandpa, too.
Now, this may seem comforting to anyone else, You may even be saying, "What's the matter with you? He was just trying to help." What is the matter with me is this: I don't know him, I am very private about my emotions, and he was in my personal space.
"Yeah, I was just on the phone with Cece last night," he started saying, "she was sobbing so much, all I could make out was the words 'sailboats' and 'chocolate mocha.'"
I had no idea why he thought that was comforting. Firstly, Cece has visited my grandparents probably four times in her whole life. She is twenty-two. I have lived with my grandparents for whole parts of my summer, gone to movies with them, dinner with them, helped clean the house, learned how to play crocette, swam at the pool, and moved tables with them. I have spent almost every Christmas Eve with them, some Easters, and more than a few birthdays with them.
So the fact that she would be sobbing over people she doesn't even know pissed me off. The fact that Chris thought Cece being sad was comforting was annoying and weird, which pissed me off. (I mean, they are the Born Again Christians. They supposedly believe that there is some grand afterlife waiting on the other side, so they should probably be happy when people die.) And the fact that Chris decided to come into the room, when he had been perfectly fine out in the other room for the last ten minutes pissed me off.
And that was how I went from being really heartbroken to just plain mad.
In retrospect, that sort of made the rest of my last visit easier. I did get over the madness after finishing my coffee, and got to give my grandpa a final goodbye. I told him again how much I loved him and cared about him and kissed him on his forehead. And I didn't cry too much more after that. There was a little more waterworks, but thankfully Chris was nowhere to be seen. I got to have my cry all to myself, just the way I like it.
As I have already talked about before, my grandpa died a little bit ago, and (weirdly enough) I have some dark humor to share. See, I went to go see my grandpa at the hospice. And it was hard to see him there. Hard enough that I actually cried. For anyone that knows me personally, I basically never cry. It's pretty hard to make me tear up for anything. I have watched Marley and Me twice. This isn't to say that I am stone cold or anything, (Marley dying is horrible) but I can't work up a lot of waterworks.
So, there I am, holding Grandpa's hand, tearing up. And he is looking sort of towards where I am, and I don't want his last memories of me to be of me sad, so I turn away into Sharon's shoulder. And she is tearing up because I am tearing up, and who walks in but my dad's weirdo brother, Chris.
The thing about my uncle is that he is certifiably weird. He didn't pass his psych test to become a police officer. (I know some cops, and they are the nicest people, so I can understand why they didn't take him, but still...) He says totally non sequitur things just to feel included in conversations. Sharon told a story about going to the bird rescue with Nathaniel when he was young and talked about one of the hawks getting loose, and Chris told the SAME story like twenty minutes later. He isn't a mean person or anything, he is just really odd, and super religious. While Grandpa was lucid, my uncle proceeded to hold his hand and say, "You're dancing with God, now; God is leading this dance." Grandpa was like, okay, whatever, bring me some chocolate pudding.
Any whose, back to me being sad and upset. So, Uncle Chris walks in and see me holding Grandpa's hand and my back. And instead of just leaving, (because this was the third time in twenty years I had even seen my uncle) he decides to tell me how his daughter was really upset about Grandpa, too.
Now, this may seem comforting to anyone else, You may even be saying, "What's the matter with you? He was just trying to help." What is the matter with me is this: I don't know him, I am very private about my emotions, and he was in my personal space.
"Yeah, I was just on the phone with Cece last night," he started saying, "she was sobbing so much, all I could make out was the words 'sailboats' and 'chocolate mocha.'"
I had no idea why he thought that was comforting. Firstly, Cece has visited my grandparents probably four times in her whole life. She is twenty-two. I have lived with my grandparents for whole parts of my summer, gone to movies with them, dinner with them, helped clean the house, learned how to play crocette, swam at the pool, and moved tables with them. I have spent almost every Christmas Eve with them, some Easters, and more than a few birthdays with them.
So the fact that she would be sobbing over people she doesn't even know pissed me off. The fact that Chris thought Cece being sad was comforting was annoying and weird, which pissed me off. (I mean, they are the Born Again Christians. They supposedly believe that there is some grand afterlife waiting on the other side, so they should probably be happy when people die.) And the fact that Chris decided to come into the room, when he had been perfectly fine out in the other room for the last ten minutes pissed me off.
And that was how I went from being really heartbroken to just plain mad.
In retrospect, that sort of made the rest of my last visit easier. I did get over the madness after finishing my coffee, and got to give my grandpa a final goodbye. I told him again how much I loved him and cared about him and kissed him on his forehead. And I didn't cry too much more after that. There was a little more waterworks, but thankfully Chris was nowhere to be seen. I got to have my cry all to myself, just the way I like it.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Sucky Spring Break
So, basically this has been the worst Spring Break ever.
My car rolled to a grinding halt on the highway on Monday. Some kind of rod shot through the oil pan, resulting in all my oil pouring out all over the highway. Then a valve blew, and my car started smoking and me, of course, freaking out. I had to sit on the road in the cold for forty-five minutes waiting for a tow truck and my dad to come get me.
When we finally towed my car, she was declared dead. I was crushed.
Then on Tuesday, my grandpa took a turn for the worst. He was in really bad shape and had another clot in his arm. I had just visited with him on Saturday, and he seemed sickly, but not on death's door. He knew who I was, and even talked for a little while.
I went to visit him on Wednesday, and it was really bad. He seemed so sick and frail. He couldn't see anything, and was always looking past everyone when he did open his eyes. It was weird seeing how deteriorated he was. His eyes, which were normally brown, had turned almost all blue, and he was having little jerking spasms in his arms and legs. He couldn't talk at all, and mostly just moaned while he breathed.
I desperately wanted him to just snap out of it, but I knew he wouldn't. I finally broke down and cried. He was sort of looking at me though, so I turned my head into Sharon's shoulder. I wasn't sure if he couldn't or could tell that I was upset. I tried to smile every time he seemed like he was focusing, but it was so hard. I love him so much, and to see him like that was really rough. I felt like after twenty years of knowing him, I had somehow taken advantage of the little things, like his suspenders and the funny way his hair would just stick up. He was in a hospital gown and under blankets with his hair oiled onto his head because it was difficult to give him a bath. Hus face was even gaunt, and looking at him while he wheezed made me wish so hard for that roundness and his crooked smile.
When I finally went home, I was broken hearted. I couldn't stay because it was too hard, but I wanted to. I wanted to just stay and hold his hand like The Beatles song.
He died today at around 2:45 PM. I am so sad. Instead of being there, I was cleaning out my car at the mechanic's shop. Part of me was too chicken to go. I didn't want to see him take his last breath. I want to remember him as that sweet old man who would pay five dollars for a soda and eat a gallon of chocolate ice cream if he could. I want to remember him as my grandpa that taught me how to draw and took me to see Mulan and let me walk his dog that pulled like a huskie.
I love him, and hope that there is something more past just dying. Because he deserves to get a little slice of heaven.
My car rolled to a grinding halt on the highway on Monday. Some kind of rod shot through the oil pan, resulting in all my oil pouring out all over the highway. Then a valve blew, and my car started smoking and me, of course, freaking out. I had to sit on the road in the cold for forty-five minutes waiting for a tow truck and my dad to come get me.
When we finally towed my car, she was declared dead. I was crushed.
Then on Tuesday, my grandpa took a turn for the worst. He was in really bad shape and had another clot in his arm. I had just visited with him on Saturday, and he seemed sickly, but not on death's door. He knew who I was, and even talked for a little while.
I went to visit him on Wednesday, and it was really bad. He seemed so sick and frail. He couldn't see anything, and was always looking past everyone when he did open his eyes. It was weird seeing how deteriorated he was. His eyes, which were normally brown, had turned almost all blue, and he was having little jerking spasms in his arms and legs. He couldn't talk at all, and mostly just moaned while he breathed.
I desperately wanted him to just snap out of it, but I knew he wouldn't. I finally broke down and cried. He was sort of looking at me though, so I turned my head into Sharon's shoulder. I wasn't sure if he couldn't or could tell that I was upset. I tried to smile every time he seemed like he was focusing, but it was so hard. I love him so much, and to see him like that was really rough. I felt like after twenty years of knowing him, I had somehow taken advantage of the little things, like his suspenders and the funny way his hair would just stick up. He was in a hospital gown and under blankets with his hair oiled onto his head because it was difficult to give him a bath. Hus face was even gaunt, and looking at him while he wheezed made me wish so hard for that roundness and his crooked smile.
When I finally went home, I was broken hearted. I couldn't stay because it was too hard, but I wanted to. I wanted to just stay and hold his hand like The Beatles song.
He died today at around 2:45 PM. I am so sad. Instead of being there, I was cleaning out my car at the mechanic's shop. Part of me was too chicken to go. I didn't want to see him take his last breath. I want to remember him as that sweet old man who would pay five dollars for a soda and eat a gallon of chocolate ice cream if he could. I want to remember him as my grandpa that taught me how to draw and took me to see Mulan and let me walk his dog that pulled like a huskie.
I love him, and hope that there is something more past just dying. Because he deserves to get a little slice of heaven.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Grandpa is in the Hospital
So, my grandpa is back in the hospital again. I don't want to be depressing, but it is really kind of hard not to, because I feel sad.
He takes heart medication that keeps his blood thin so he won't have a clot, and thus a stroke. But he started bleeding in his brain a few days ago. Since he was on the heart medication, he didn't have his normal clotting factors. Instead of the bleeding stopping like it normally would, the medication made him bleed and bleed and bleed.
So the doctors told us that the only thing to stop his brain from bleeding was to take him off the heart medication. He'll stop bleeding in his brain, but his heart if more likely to throw another clot that will lead back to his original problem: a stroke.
I am heart broken. Sharon said today, "He's damned if he does, he's damned if he doesn't." Basically my grandma and grandpa had to make a choice. Does he want to continue bleeding into his brain, or wait for a clot to form?
They decided to take him off the heart medication. It will give him more time, but honestly we are looking at anywhere between days to months. I hate to think about death. He is a very religious man, so I think maybe he isn't as afraid to die as I am afraid for him to die. I called my mom on my way to school to let her know what was going on, (since my mom and dad are divorced, she isn't really in the loop where my dad's parents are concerned) and I was making a huge effort to not cry. It's stupid to hold it back, but I feel like I need to be strong. He is my grandpa, but my dad is going to be losing his dad. It is going to be way harder on him, and I want to be there for my dad. I don't want to be a sobbing, snot-filled mess.
I am going to the hospital to see my grandpa. I don't want to write here that it is to say goodbye, because he could have months still, but the thought is there in my head. I hate that little voice, but I have to prepare for the worst, and hope that it is the very best.
But honestly, I don't want my grandpa to be in pain for even a second. I would rather he go quickly than have him hurting. So I don't know what the best is. Maybe it is getting to have months, or maybe the best would be for him to be gone in a week. I don't know at all. I only know that I love him so much. It makes me so sad to think of him as frail when I remember all of the times he has been so strong.
I just hate to think of him not being here one day. He is an old man, (89!), but there was still that childish hope that he would get to see my own kids.
Anyways, I didn't want to have a long period of no posts for no apparent reason. If I don't post for a while, this is the very valid reason. But I suspect that I will try to keep it updated here when I can. If anything, I will try to write a few post and have them scheduled so I won't leave everyone hanging.
He takes heart medication that keeps his blood thin so he won't have a clot, and thus a stroke. But he started bleeding in his brain a few days ago. Since he was on the heart medication, he didn't have his normal clotting factors. Instead of the bleeding stopping like it normally would, the medication made him bleed and bleed and bleed.
So the doctors told us that the only thing to stop his brain from bleeding was to take him off the heart medication. He'll stop bleeding in his brain, but his heart if more likely to throw another clot that will lead back to his original problem: a stroke.
I am heart broken. Sharon said today, "He's damned if he does, he's damned if he doesn't." Basically my grandma and grandpa had to make a choice. Does he want to continue bleeding into his brain, or wait for a clot to form?
They decided to take him off the heart medication. It will give him more time, but honestly we are looking at anywhere between days to months. I hate to think about death. He is a very religious man, so I think maybe he isn't as afraid to die as I am afraid for him to die. I called my mom on my way to school to let her know what was going on, (since my mom and dad are divorced, she isn't really in the loop where my dad's parents are concerned) and I was making a huge effort to not cry. It's stupid to hold it back, but I feel like I need to be strong. He is my grandpa, but my dad is going to be losing his dad. It is going to be way harder on him, and I want to be there for my dad. I don't want to be a sobbing, snot-filled mess.
I am going to the hospital to see my grandpa. I don't want to write here that it is to say goodbye, because he could have months still, but the thought is there in my head. I hate that little voice, but I have to prepare for the worst, and hope that it is the very best.
But honestly, I don't want my grandpa to be in pain for even a second. I would rather he go quickly than have him hurting. So I don't know what the best is. Maybe it is getting to have months, or maybe the best would be for him to be gone in a week. I don't know at all. I only know that I love him so much. It makes me so sad to think of him as frail when I remember all of the times he has been so strong.
I just hate to think of him not being here one day. He is an old man, (89!), but there was still that childish hope that he would get to see my own kids.
Anyways, I didn't want to have a long period of no posts for no apparent reason. If I don't post for a while, this is the very valid reason. But I suspect that I will try to keep it updated here when I can. If anything, I will try to write a few post and have them scheduled so I won't leave everyone hanging.
Monday, February 11, 2013
70th Post: Boobie Day!
So, my neighbor upstairs is apparently into Goyte. She was playing/singing/performing karaoke to "Someone That I Used to Know."
Someone I used to know was "Quiet," and "Silence," and "Shut the fuck up, you sound terrible."
I guess that is the price you pay when you are way too poor to rent a house.
In other news, at the end of this post, I am going to talk about boobies. But before I get there, I am going to first write about other, more mundane, and certainly not as amazing, things.
The first would be that I have an english class in which I have exactly two assignments. I have to have between the two papers 25 pages. Fearing that I would not be able to fulfill this requirement, I began writing a story that I thought I would have to really work on to eek out that 12 1/2 page marker I was hoping to make. I started writing, got going... and had not even really started the story but had 17 pages. Thank you NaNoWriMo for making me able to expound on every little detail I could possible expound on. While it makes hitting the 50,000 word mark far easier than expected, it doesn't really help when I know that everyone else in the class will have to read my work and they are dredging through a hundred and fifteen pages. Especially considering that my character is blind, so I am missing a whole sense to even write about.
Next on my list: My grandpa has been in and out of the hospital since last week. Sure, he is eighty-nine, but if it is his time to go, I really don't want him to suffer. I would rather it be peaceful, like he just goes to sleep. Not him having these mini strokes and falling, resulting in a bruised hip and surgery and blood infusions. It makes me so sad to see him unable to stand up well or move things like a table or a chair. He couldn't even fix his pillows to make himself comfortable. He needs to get better and feel better. Not have this slow aching pain of getting older. I don't want him to think about things like, "It's my time." He deserves to be thinking about things like, "This is an amazing book," or "My son really helps around the house," or "Caught my three hundredth squirrel today!"
Dad and I have finally started season three of Battlestar: Galactica. So far, amazing. I won't say more, but I could definitely not stop myself from reading about everything that is going to happen in Wiki. I have no self control.
I have been really cranky for no apparent reason. Well I think I actually do have a reason though. I have been on birth control for about three years, and this is the first long period time I have gone off of it. I don't have someone I am currently wanting to have sexy time with, so I figured why spend the money? Well, PMS is a good reason. Holy crap, I definitely have not missed this nonsense. I don't understand why women were made like this. All crankiness and fatigue. It's almost enough to make me want to go ahead and start shelling out cash for some hormonal relief. But I need to get a better paying job first.
Speaking of which, I am working on that. The only problem is that the hiring process at this place that I really want to get a job at has the most ridiculously long timetable. So I may not be hired until the summer or something. Le sigh.
In better news, it was Boobie Day in my Human Sexuality class, and I learned some really cool things. Like that people on the night shift are possibly more prone to getting breast cancer. The reason being that they are exposed to light all day, and artificial light at night. There is also a high prevalence of breast cancer in cities because of the high amounts of light people are exposed to. In places where there is less light, (like England and Maine) people are more depressed, for lack of copious amounts of light, but there isn't a spike in breast cancer like there is in say night shift nurses who live in San Francisco. Basically, I learned that the best way to ward off an extra risk factor for breast cancer is to sleep in absolute darkness.
I am sure someone out there was really excited about reading the end of this. Ohmigosh, I love boobies, you were thinking. I think there are great, too. That is why I had to let you all know one extra way to preserve them!
Someone I used to know was "Quiet," and "Silence," and "Shut the fuck up, you sound terrible."
I guess that is the price you pay when you are way too poor to rent a house.
In other news, at the end of this post, I am going to talk about boobies. But before I get there, I am going to first write about other, more mundane, and certainly not as amazing, things.
The first would be that I have an english class in which I have exactly two assignments. I have to have between the two papers 25 pages. Fearing that I would not be able to fulfill this requirement, I began writing a story that I thought I would have to really work on to eek out that 12 1/2 page marker I was hoping to make. I started writing, got going... and had not even really started the story but had 17 pages. Thank you NaNoWriMo for making me able to expound on every little detail I could possible expound on. While it makes hitting the 50,000 word mark far easier than expected, it doesn't really help when I know that everyone else in the class will have to read my work and they are dredging through a hundred and fifteen pages. Especially considering that my character is blind, so I am missing a whole sense to even write about.
Next on my list: My grandpa has been in and out of the hospital since last week. Sure, he is eighty-nine, but if it is his time to go, I really don't want him to suffer. I would rather it be peaceful, like he just goes to sleep. Not him having these mini strokes and falling, resulting in a bruised hip and surgery and blood infusions. It makes me so sad to see him unable to stand up well or move things like a table or a chair. He couldn't even fix his pillows to make himself comfortable. He needs to get better and feel better. Not have this slow aching pain of getting older. I don't want him to think about things like, "It's my time." He deserves to be thinking about things like, "This is an amazing book," or "My son really helps around the house," or "Caught my three hundredth squirrel today!"
Dad and I have finally started season three of Battlestar: Galactica. So far, amazing. I won't say more, but I could definitely not stop myself from reading about everything that is going to happen in Wiki. I have no self control.
I have been really cranky for no apparent reason. Well I think I actually do have a reason though. I have been on birth control for about three years, and this is the first long period time I have gone off of it. I don't have someone I am currently wanting to have sexy time with, so I figured why spend the money? Well, PMS is a good reason. Holy crap, I definitely have not missed this nonsense. I don't understand why women were made like this. All crankiness and fatigue. It's almost enough to make me want to go ahead and start shelling out cash for some hormonal relief. But I need to get a better paying job first.
Speaking of which, I am working on that. The only problem is that the hiring process at this place that I really want to get a job at has the most ridiculously long timetable. So I may not be hired until the summer or something. Le sigh.
In better news, it was Boobie Day in my Human Sexuality class, and I learned some really cool things. Like that people on the night shift are possibly more prone to getting breast cancer. The reason being that they are exposed to light all day, and artificial light at night. There is also a high prevalence of breast cancer in cities because of the high amounts of light people are exposed to. In places where there is less light, (like England and Maine) people are more depressed, for lack of copious amounts of light, but there isn't a spike in breast cancer like there is in say night shift nurses who live in San Francisco. Basically, I learned that the best way to ward off an extra risk factor for breast cancer is to sleep in absolute darkness.
I am sure someone out there was really excited about reading the end of this. Ohmigosh, I love boobies, you were thinking. I think there are great, too. That is why I had to let you all know one extra way to preserve them!
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