Story time

I believe in ghosts.

I believe in the ghosts of things that once were, and that will be, and that are still here, but not quite.

Most of you might not know that I work at a retirement home- Ashford/Highland Glen. (Shoutout to Sabrina. :))

Most of you might not know that I spend my work shifts taking care of people that can't quite care for themselves, and that even though it's one of the hardest things I'll ever do, it's also one of the most rewarding. I work in a memory care unit, and, as such, I work with people that are in any stage of Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, or any age-induced mental impairment.

Most of you might not know that these people are the purest and sweetest souls that I've ever had the opportunity to meet.

They're also the reason that I believe in ghosts.

I've held the hand of a dying woman before, and I held her hand after she had passed, and told her that I love her. (Present tense.)

And the story I want to tell is funny, but it also makes me think- which is the best quality of a story, in my opinion.

So, a little background. On a normal day, I start work at 2:30, meaning I go straight from school, and I usually don't get home until around 11:00 at night. The shifts are long, and tiring, and by 9:30, I usually just want to cry. But that's cool.

On one particular night, around 10:00, we were all exhausted and ready to go home, when our pagers started going off- letting us know that there was a call light going off. This was a normal occurs nice, and I stood up to answer it, but that's when I noticed that it was coming from an empty room- one who's occupant had passed away a few weeks early. Weird.

The woman who had lived in that room was one of the residents I was closest to. She was tiny, weighing only around 60 pounds when she died, but her mind was surprisingly clear, and I loved talking to her. Needless to say, it freaked me out that an alarm was going off from her room.

I forced my coworker to come with me, and we walked down the hall to her room, with our iPhone flashlights on, and saw a figure in the corner of my room. I literally almost peed my pants, man. We were both silent until we turned on the light and saw one of our other residents standing in the corner, tugging on the call light. She was a wanderer, and it was common to find her in somebody else's room, but this one really freaked us out. Imagine walking into a pitch black room and seeing somebody in the corner... Yeah. Bad night.

But it made me think. For those of you that don't have experience with Alzheimer's, it's a destroying disease. It turns healthy people into people with hardly any recollection of their surroundings or even their family. And it's heartbreaking. Their former selves are like ghosts, and as sad as it is, some of the people I work with are no longer who they used to be, even in the slightest. That's why it's hard for their families to visit them- because it isn't truly their mom, or their dad, it's a ghost. So, yeah. I believe in ghosts. Maybe not physical, literal ghosts, but the ghosts of who people once were, and the ghosts that are now occupying their bodies, only a trace of who they used to be remaining.

If you knew me

If you truly knew me, you'd know that I hate being 'the girl that always sits in the same spot, the girl that doesn't share much and doesn't talk much', but I'm too afraid to change it. 

If you knew me, you'd know that I wish, more than anything, that I wasn't one of the five juniors in our class- that I wish I was a senior. That I wish I could grow up and leave and get out and hopefully, not visit Utah County any more than I need to.

If you knew me, you'd know that I love pineapple ice cream and Mary Higgins Clark's books and boybands and this class, even though I might not show it.

You'd know that I like instrumental music and risque music and music that makes me feel something. You'd know that I've played piano for almost ten years, and for about eight of those years, I wanted to quit more than anything, and I'm just now starting to appreciate the talent. You'd know that I play music in my car way too loud, and when I pick up the elementary school carpool, adults give me dirty looks for blasting 2011 Justin Bieber. Music is important, basically.

I love photography. I love being able to capture a moment, and for some reason, I love the way I feel with my camera around my neck. 

I love dogs, old people, and snow cones. I love my job (even though it SUCKS) and for the most part, I love the people I work with. I've got it pretty good, guys.

I love scary movies and San Diego and swimming with dolphins and laughing so hard that my head starts to hurt. I love the summer, and I love getting to sleep in, and I love having plans for the weekend. I love good grammar.

I love when people text me first.

One thing I don't love? This reveal. (Sorry, Nelson, but I almost boycotted). This is more scary to me than writing the first post, because at least then, nobody knew it was me. But I've written personal stuff on here for a good few months now, and now I'm supposed to tell you all who I am, and let you judge me, and that basically terrifies me. 

I care waaaaay too much about what people think.

You'd know that I hate being in pictures, that I hate the way I smile, and maybe that's why there's only three pictures of me on my phone. You'd know that I hate judge-y people, I hate slow drivers and eight hour work shifts and grumpy people. 

If you knew me, you'd know that my real name isn't Charlotte Rose, obvs, though it's a pretty name and it's done me a huge favor. 

                   My name's Cassidy Atwood- Cassy for those who know me. Nice to meet you.

                       Above: Me, with my best friend, Wyatt. Some of you might know him. :)

Thank you, Charlotte.