writing wednesdays // when you died, a piece of everyone's heart died with you

On December 3, 1996, a young family friend passed away after a drunk driving accident (he was driving alone and was the only one involved). I was 17 at the time, and even though I had dealt with my fair share of tragedies in my young life, this incident was extremely hard for me, and my family.

Looking back now, I am so grateful that I had writing as an outlet to get me through the rough times. It's no wonder a lot of young people act out as they suffer through the trials and tribulations of adolescence, the teen years and hormone changes.

I will definitely be encouraging my daughter to keep a journal from a very young age. When you don't feel like you have anyone to talk to, or that no one will truly listen, it always feels better after you write about it. I need to remember this too, now, at 35 and incorporate daily writing back into my life. We miss you Rob! xo

When You Died, A Piece of Everyone's Heart Died With You

 

Your presence is missed in the now empty and desolate house.
Words are hardly spoken because once one's mouth opens to speak, everyone is distracted by the glistening tears falling down our cheeks.
Somewhere in time, your soul is trapped and you have found your place of freedom.
You have fallen asleep into a heavenly dream from which you can never awake.

When you died, a piece of everyone's heart died with you.

The soccer field will miss your cleats impressing into the earth.
Your graceful run, so close to the ground, your million yard throw-ins, and your timely, tricky maneuvers can never be replaced.
You tried to act cool one day in front of all the girls and you truly did impress us all with your slip.
You sure did make us all laugh that day. 

 
When you died, a piece of everyone's heart died with you.

A child should always outlive his parents, but oh how you beat the odds.
Invincible, remarkable, talented, young, strong, good looking; the list goes on forever and a day.
You left your family and friends behind and moved onto bigger and better things, to a better world, a better life.
Someday we will see you again ... someday.

When you died, a piece of everyone's heart died with you.

We will miss your laugh, your smile, your skills, your ability, your eyes, your nose, your hair, your body, your mouth, your touch.
Everything you need now is your loving soul and behind you have left us your heart and character.
These are embedded in our minds and hearts forever.
A son, a brother, a nephew, a grandson, a cousin, a friend.
You were so many things but always a little boy who hadn't grown into your true title of "King".

When you died, a piece of everyone's heart died with you.
 

~ Jaclyn Van Den Berg (Bower) - December 4, 1996

 

writing wednesdays // the insane town

I had to include this one in my "Writings Wednesdays" posts for any readers from good old Walnut Grove (in Langley, British Columbia). I wrote this in 1996 when I was in grade 12 and I was a point in my life where I was quickly starting to realize that high school wasn't real life - just 5 years of ... well, read and see what I mean. This was before bullies were called out and right after I witnessed a fellow student get beat up by a group of his peers, and attended a party at a classmate's house that got way out of hand. Such a confusing time for a teenager - I'm kind of surprised most of us survived! I'm equally surprised that I actually submitted this as a class assignment in my writing class.

The Insane Town

 

Everybody talks behind each other's backs,
And when word gets around, somebody gets whacked.
Girls walk with their noses up high in the air,
When somebody has a bad hair day, it becomes a major affair.
They talk and they swear, they gossip and they hurt.
Only a kick in the head could make these air heads alert.
Word spreads like the plague and before one knows it,
They are being accused of sleeping with someone they've only known for a bit.
They all smoke their weed and get so high,
They think they are so cool when their brain is in the sky.
They trip on their acid and see weird things.
We laugh at them in class when they say stuff that is funny or something.
They eat their fungus and their legs begin to twitch.
They get so defensive and scream words like bitch.
Alcohol swims in all the inhabitants blood,
Nothing could phase them, not even a life threatening flood.
A friend likes face down dead as a dog;
It doesn't make them think differently, they just roll another log.
They party on weekends and trash a house,
They destroy some person's ride and creep away like a mouse.
The cops chase them and they laugh in their faces.
They spit on the losers and laugh at their court cases.
Nothing is serious, they think that they're all God,
The ultimate judge and whistle degradingly at that fine chick's bod.
The boys are all talk and they are always starting fights.
Nobody cares about a winner because no one is really right.
People get punched by one person and fall to the ground,
And before they know it, people are all around.
Their air is cut off and their head meets a shoe,
But it is not attached to the foot of the person who
Took the first swing and sent him down.
All these things happen all the time in the insane town.

 

~ Jaclyn Van Den Berg (Bower) - October 3, 1996

 

writing wednesdays // sunrise on shuswap

I was going to start off my first "Writing Wednesdays" with a throw back to a poem I wrote in 1993 when I was just 14 years old - the year I started my awesome poetry journal - ha ha. Then I thought that wasn't the best idea because that poem is called, "Why Live?" and it is dark and depressing, and people might over think it. As mentioned in my previous introduction to "Writing Wednesdays" post, I am kind of surprised my parents didn't have me in counselling as I had such dark thoughts to get out of my head and on to paper (the journal is filled with disturbing pieces). I had a fairly normal and happy upbringing so I have no clue where these disturbing words came from.

That being said, let's fast forward to 1996 for something a bit more pretty and poetic. The writing does get better but it's always fun to see where you started and how far you have come. And no, I didn't always rhyme. :) Enjoy!

Sunrise on Shuswap

 

As we sit and wait, we quickly begin to anticipate.

We see all the gorgeous colors that are going to light up the sky.

We wait for so long, but time slowly ticks by.

We make up our own conversation, learning all about our new friends.

The clock is moving slowly but I am glad because I don't want the night to come to an end.

Finally the sun peaks through the mountains and the glow is so bright.

I am so comfortable with you, and it is just so perfect and right.

 

~ Jaclyn Van Den Berg (Bower) - July 31, 1996

 



writing wednesdays

I spent some time this weekend cleaning out some old files. With a new baby comes a lot of paperwork so I wanted to get rid of some old stuff to make room for the new (and way more important) stuff.

 

In my travels through my craft room closet I came across my old writing file. I LOVE to write - always have and always will. I have been writing poetry and stories since I could spell. I've made countless writing/art projects as gifts for friends and family, and even get excited when I get to write a to do list - this girl is a writer through and through. Other than for documentation purposes, writing is why I started this blog in the first place - a small corner of the world for me to put my words down in one place just for me ... and whoever else might stumble across and read them.

 

When I was in grade 12, I had a very incompetent guidance counsellor who didn't really know what direction to point me in so, knowing that I wanted a practical college program vs. a university degree (hindsight being what it is - I might have opted for the degree but I am still a believer in experience and talent over education any day of the week) I looked for anything that had to do with writing. I stumbled across Douglas College's Print Futures: Professional Writing Program and after reading a few of the class summaries (I describe the program basically as a way to become every type of writer imaginable besides a novelist), I registered. Long story short, after some mix-ups, an intimidating interview and a handful of writing samples, I made the cut and attended the program from 1997 until graduating in 1999.

 

I've only kept a file folder full of writing projects throughout the years - from early childhood through to adult years. One of my most treasured possessions is my book of poetry that I have kept since high school - scrapbook style. I have long lost any electronic copies of my poems so I thought I would start a new series here on the blog called "Writing Wednesdays" where I will share a poem or a story each week. This will give me a chance to get them typed out, edited and re-shaped a bit - and have someone else enjoy them ... I hope. :)

 

Hope to see you back here on Wednesday for the first piece. And I would love to hear about and read your writing too if you care to share!

 

In grade 12, I took any writing related course I could: English AP, English Lit AP and Writing 12. In Writing we were given a different project to complete each week and "Eddie the Fireman" was my children's book assignment. My teacher was (crazy) supportive and even helped me send copies off to publishers. Looking at it now I can't help but think, "What the hell were we thinking?!" but it was a fun exercise at the time and I look forward to reading this little gem to my daughter for years to come.



I was an ... interesting teenager to say the least. Stubborn, strong, fiercely independent and bitchy (ask anyone). I had no clue who I was but I felt like I was on the edge of finding out so I was super confused, anxious and self-conscious. Writing helped me express myself so one day I thought, "Why not write my own religion?" I've always been really confused and unsure when it comes to a 'higher power' and have had a few bad things happen to me in my lifetime so this little self-imposed project help me put all those thoughts into focus. Looking back, it was probably a cry for help but now, at 35, I can appreciate what it is and am so glad I kept it. I mean, who does this?

 

Another storybook I wrote and illustrated using copied Suzy's Zoo characters. I'm going to read this one to my daughter this afternoon. She's too young to care ... or laugh at her momma yet. :)

 My Super Shades (remember these??) poetry journal. Filled with words, illustrations and dedications. I can't believe how dark my writing was from a very young age. No wonder my dad started questioning me after he read "An Apple Never Tasted as Good as the Day my Dad Died". What was I thinking?