A tribute to Kevin Michael Cosgrove who died in the World Trade Center attacks in 2001. Cosgrove was an American business executive in the insurance industry. In the last minutes of his life, he called his mother, left a message for his wife, rang his brother and sister, and also made a 911 call. The Aon Corp. vice president ran from his 99th floor office and got as far as the 79th floor before the unbearable plumes of smoke forced him to run back up and corner himself in a 105th floor office. Cosgrove is notable because of the recording of the 911 call he made during his final moments which ended with him crying out from inside the South Tower as it collapsed. At the time of his death, he left his wife, Wendy Cosgrove, a schoolteacher, and three children under the age of 12.
âTell God to blow the wind from the West. Itâs really bad, itâs black, itâs arid⊠Weâre young men, weâre not ready to die.â
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for @ginnyweatherby gotta fuel those GILF hours đđș
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Iâll Always Be There For You. No Matter What
The days have grown colder, or at least that is what it feels like. His bed, once warm, is no longer baring the heat that brought comfort all those years ago. AgustĂn, in his old age, bares the many wrinkles and laugh lines of a man who has lived a joyous life. Though if someone was to look at him closely, theyâd see the frown that seems ever more prominent across his features. His eyes have gone dull, the shine faded years ago.
He has nothing to complain about. His family has grown larger than his wildest dreams. With that growth, his heart also has grown to allow the love he feels for his grandkids to fill it up. But there is an agonizing hole left in his chest. One that was filled with the love of a woman he was lucky to call his own. Losing Julieta hit his family worse than he ever expected. Her laugh no longer echos through the halls, the scent of her food hasnât filled his nostrils for far too long. Her gentle hands havenât caressed his face, her voice no longer whispers comforting words when he is scared. His best friend is gone.
He puts on a brave face for his girls. Theyâve been through enough. They donât need to see him break down. But he does, privately, in his now very empty bedroom. There hasnât been a day that passes where he doesnât shed his tears. He holds her apron that he refuses to clean. Though her scent has long since passed from the cloth. His nietos and hijas are the biggest support he has, and for that he is eternally grateful. His beautiful daughters have blessed him with beautiful grandkids. The smiles that adorn their chubby cheeks shake away his frown.
They laugh like her. Their hair curls like hers. Their eyes are that similar, otherworldly brown that he fell in love with. He shakes his head as he wipes his eyes, taking a deep breath. The morning air fills his lungs, and his bones ache as he stands from his bed. He slowly dresses himself before making his way down the stairs. He inhales a shaky breath when he hears his family talking in the kitchen. Forcing a smile, he turns the corner and greets them.
Mirabel holds a toddler in her arms as she works the stove, cracking eggs into a small bowl with one hand She looks up at him and smiles warmly. Her innocent smile sends a pain through his heart. She looks so much like her mother. He pushes away his tears and returns her smile. Walking to the table, he quickly sits down before his legs give out on him. Isabela sits across from him, braiding her daughterâs hair.
âMorning, Papa. Did you sleep well?â Isabela greets. She looks over and he sees a very familiar expression. She looks at him with worry. She hides it well for the others, but he can see it behind her eyes and in her smile. He remembers a time when she never looked at him like that. He doesnât respond, choosing to give her a curt nod instead. Isabela looks at him with slight hurt before continuing. âMira is about to finish breakfast. Are you going to join us?â
âNo. Iâm sorry. I think Iâm going to have breakfast with your mother today.â AgustĂn watches Isabela and Mirabel share a look, but they quickly hide it. The kitchen falls into silence as Mirabel continues cooking and AgustĂn plays with his nietos, who bombard him with the energy only children can muster. The rest of the family comes down for breakfast. They all greet AgustĂn with small smiles. As they all eat, AgustĂn grabs his plate and stands up. He feels the eyes of all three of his daughters on him as he walks out of the kitchen.
He walks through Casita, his feet feel like they are made of concrete with each passing step. He stops in front of a lone door. He stares at it, his breathing quickens and his legs shake. Casita clicks its tiles in worry, catching his attention. Snapping out of his panic, he smiles down at the tiles and waves it away. Taking a large breath, he knocks twice on the door before opening it slowly. The room is dark. There is a small table next to a dresser and a small bed sits in the corner. A small frail shape lays beneath the blankets.
âGood morning, Julieta.â AgustĂn announces, trying his best to sound cheerful. Julieta barely shifts in the bed as he makes his presence known. He walks over, places his plate of breakfast on the table, and opens the shutters to the window. The sunlight that breaks into the room illuminates Julieta. Her once cheerful and chubby face is gaunt and frail. She barely moves as she stares blankly up at the ceiling. AgustĂn takes a seat next to the bed and smiles. âHow are you today, amor?â Julieta slowly turns toward him.
âOh⊠hi,â Julieta smiles weakly. AgustĂn watches as her eyes search his face, looking for any feature she might recognize. He feels his heart sink once again when she finds nothing and stares confused at him. âWhere am I?â she asks with a trembling voice.
âYou are in Casita, amor. Like always. I brought breakfast.â AgustĂn points to the plate and Julieta hums in response. He breaks off a piece of bread with a bit of egg and brings it to her mouth. Julieta grabs his wrists with trembling hands as he feeds her. While he feeds her, he talks about their nietos and their hijas. He informs her about all that she missed while she was sleeping. He answers her questions that mainly are reminding her who is who.
âI wish that tall girl would visit again. She was so nice.â Julieta whispers happily. AgustĂn feels tears burn against his eyes as he watches Julietaâs gaze quickly glazes over and she stares at nothing. He pushes several hairs out of her face and wipes her lips with a napkin. A small flame of anger rises in his chest. It isnât fair. She doesnât deserve this. It shouldâve been him, not her. Julieta spent years of her life healing the sick and injured. Why did this happen to such a caring soul? She should be out playing with her nietos, getting to know them and being there for the important moments.
âGus?â Julieta whispers. AgustĂn stops and his head snaps toward her. She looks up at him and raises a trembling hand. He quickly puts down the plate and takes her hand. âCan you pull out the seat? Mama needs to sit. Sheâs been standing there for too long. I donât want her legs to hurt her.â AgustĂn cannot help the tears that fall from his eyes. Alma has been gone for several years now, but she seems to always be the primary subject of Julietaâs hallucinations. He smiles through his tears and nods his head. He pulls out the chair and Julieta sighs in relief.
âIâll let you get some rest. Iâll be back with lunch, amor.â AgustĂn bends down and kisses her head.
âOh,â Julieta squeaks. She looks up at him with a small smile and an expression of pleasant surprise. âHi.â He smiles and kisses her again. As he walks toward the door, he watches as she enters another staring spell and he takes another deep breath. She has healed him hundreds of times, been there when he was hurt and he will be there with her till the end. Through thick and thin, sickness and health. His wife, his best friend, might have forgotten him, but he hasnât forgotten her. Heâll never forget her. Â Â
ââââââââââ
One of my biggest fears is forgetting. Dementia is a terrifying thing and my heart goes out to everyone who knows a loved one who has/is going through it.
Lewy Body Dementia has all the typical symptoms of memory loss, but with additional problems such as stiffness and trembling, daytime sleepiness, confusion, and staring spells. People with this form of dementia often see visual hallucinations.Â
Hug your loved ones folks.
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Sneak peek, out of contextđ
"You can't do that! She's my bebé!"
"She woke up for me!"
"Yeah, because you disturbed her! She was sleeping!"
"You-you take that back!"
"She heard your shrill voice and wanted you to stop talking!"
"Well, maybe she finally had enough of your moaning!"
"Why, you-"
"Ay, papĂ! You make me feel so good! Oh sĂ, oh sĂ, oh sĂ! Right there, right there, right fucking there! Por favor, mĂĄs dur-"
Pepa froze mid sentence. There stood her mama, holding a tiny sleeping Mirabel, Dolores peeking around her skirt with wide eyes. Alma fixed them both with a stern look.
"Pepa, do we really need a reenactment of last night? I think we've all heard enough at this point. I for one would not like to relive that."
Julieta blushed scarlet and buried her hands in her face.
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Behold...
Glowing Luisa!
I found the last one and couldn't resist
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Reading Fic Pre-Posting: No typos whatsoever. Reads well. Flows beautifully. I have definitely found all possible spelling and grammar errors.
Reading Fic After Posting: A typo every three lines. Ten grammatical errors. Switches tense twice. POV changes for no discernible reason. Uses the word âlookâ five times in one sentence.
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LISTEN...he chops wood sooo... đ©đłđ„
First art post of 2023 and it's a post of a dilf daddy the loving father of Mirabel, Luisa and Isabela and loyal husband of their mom, Julieta. đ
I mean let's be honest, the Encanto men are simp worthy so can you really blame me? FJDKSKDV đ€đ
I also made a short comic as a continuation of my previous post lmao đđđ
I want someone to be the AgustĂn to my Julieta. đ€đ On second thought, I want to be in Julieta's place actually oop- đ€
â â â â â
Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! If you liked this post, go check out more here on Tumblr and on my other social media accounts via link below:
Campsite.bio (Landing page for all my socials)
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I can't wait for thisđ„șđđ©”
Okay, so Iâm back and Iâm actually gonna try and write the fic I have been planning for ages. Bit of a warning, it will include the death of a child. It has a lot to do with Juliâs gift being unable to cure terminal illness. I think in that situation it would aid in making the patient more comfortable and give them slightly longer than they would have otherwise, but it canât cure it.
I will be exploring Juliâs thoughts on the matter (her guilt and her grief since the child is actually a friend of Mirabelâs and she has known her since she was born) and also how the girlâs family deals with such a tragic ordeal. Of course, there will also be a ton of fluff since Gus will be there to help make sure Juliâs mental health is taken care of and to comfort her when she needs it â€ïž
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donât you ever read a piece of fanfiction so good you just
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Brianna Gheyâs murder hurts.
She was the same age as my kid, just walking home along her usual path. Two other kids have been arrested on suspicion of her murder.
The UK media (in particular the Daily Mail and The Times) are deadnaming her or refusing to acknowledge her status as a trans girl.
The police are very keen to gloss over any suggestion that she was murdered due to being trans, despite people from her school (parents and pupils) raising serious safeguarding concerns.
Brianna shouldnât have died, and if it is found that she was killed by anti-trans extremists, I hope every single terf, gender critical, transphobic, nasty piece of work (and we all know who the main cheerleaders of them are) feel sick to the pit of their stomachs. Briannaâs blood will be on their hands.
Sleep well, sweet girl.
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Brianna Ghey was a 16 year old trans girl who was murdered on Saturday 11 February 2023 in the UK.
and as you can imagine, there are some dickheads who are dismissing this tragedy, cheering on this crime, and celebrating at this loss of life BECAUSE Brianna was trans.
this is what transphobia leads to. this is what happens when irrational hate for trans people, because these bigots seem to forget that we are PEOPLE, remains prevalent in wider society. this is what happens when the basic human right to live as happily and healthily as possible is discarded and overstepped for the sake of remaining in the repressive and oppressive status quo that benefits no one but the privileged.
you lose the ability to see other people as people. you lose your humanity, all for a moment of feeling superior over someone whose life is different to your own.
you can donate to a verified gofundme for Brianna's family here
but to every bastard who doesn't see an issue with her murder because she was trans, i hope you choke on a chainsaw.
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Today I found out one of my desk neighbors is Jewish, but hasnât been observant since his bubbe died.
He mentioned that he hasnât had matzo ball soup in years.
So I only have one choice.
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i don't know who needs to hear this but if you ever wrote livejournal or fanfic dot net or even wattpad fic back in the day that you aren't totally embarrassed of....repost it on AO3 now. you don't have to actively write there now, use a different username even, but for archiving purposes it is so important. and with streaming and other things making older fandoms becoming popular again, newer fans are going to AO3 and not finding any of the wonderful history of the fandom. please if you see this and you don't write fanfic but you have a favorite on another site PLEASE tell them to repost it to AO3. not just so more people will see it but for posterity.
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i realy wanted that more people understand that the casita rebuild was a metaphor to heal the toxic relationships and it probably took time to finish-no, everything wasn't solved with a hug
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