the Nevers

We never finished reading Fortunately, the Milk by Neil Gaiman. Cassie fell asleep the night I finished it, so I read the rest to Walt. Cassie never heard the end of the story.

Cassie never got to see Frozen, or Welcome to Nightvale live in New Orleans. 

Cassie never got to be 17.

Cassie was loved by so many people. She had the dearest, most fiercely loyal, and smart, creative, amazing friends any girl could ask for. 

Cassie got to meet her favorite band, Ludo. 

Cassie got to fall in love and spend a year and a half with her partner in crime, Max.

Cassie got to see the last Harry Potter movie at midnight on opening night with me.

Cassie got to help make many other children happy by holding a toy drive to give Christmas presents to homeless children. 

Cassie never got to have a child of her own, but she loved Ariana and River as if they were hers. 

Cassie never got to see the ocean, but it will always make me think of her, my little Waverider mermaid kitty witch girl. 

One year. It's been the longest, darkest, hardest year of my life. I miss her even more now than I ever thought possible. This year has rendered me down to the marrow of my bones. Stripped my identity, my life, torn me asunder. 

I keep going because I have another child to raise. I keep going because I have plans. There will be glitter in Baton Rouge. Cassie's name will be synonymous with cat ears, and kindness. Cassie's memory will fuel fundraising for a cure for Epidermolysis Bullosa. 

Cassie didn't lose her fight to EB. Her fight is only beginning. Her name and memory will live on and be an appeal, an entreaty, a blessing. She lives on in our hearts, our deeds, in the the kindness we show others and the simple joy of feeling the sun on our skin. 

It's been one year. One long, hard, impossibly painful year. I don't know how I'll survive the next, but I will. Cassie's body wouldn't let her do all the good works that she wanted, so she passed the torch to us. I'll keep carrying it as long as I have breath in my body.

“We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come. -” 

― Joseph Campbell

It's very hard to wrap my head around the idea that it's almost Thanksgiving. I remember last year so clearly; listening to Welcome to Nightvale with Cassie on the way to Christina's house for dinner, Cassie thinking there was too much nutmeg in the pumpkin pie, then going to Walgreens to shop for toys for the toy drive the kids did for St. Vincent DePaul. I didn't realize then what a perfect day it was. I didn't know how few we would have left. That less than two months later she'd be gone. I wish I could remember every word she said, every look on her face. What she wore that day. I wish I could hold that day in my hand and stroke it like a kitten and thank it for existing, for the last time that Cassie and I left the house together just to do something fun. Our little shopping trip to Walgreens, where we bought Monster High dolls and makeup sets to give to little girls at the homeless shelter.

 I wish I could hold my baby girl one more time. I miss her so badly. I wish I had had the presence of mind to sing to her as she took her last breaths. It haunts me that I didn't. But all I could do was stutter out a few words through my tears. I hope she didn't sense how sad and afraid I was. I hope all she felt was how much she was loved.

 We're not really doing Thanksgiving this year. Or Christmas. Tyra and I are collecting toys that we're going to donate to the St. Jude affiliate clinic where Cassie was a patient, but that's it. I don't have it in me to pretend I would find any pleasure in the holidays this year. I don't know that I could survive it, much less enjoy it.

 I stay pretty busy with work now, and that keeps me up and moving and functional. It gets me out of bed each day. But I can't say that I'm in a place where I feel pleasure or happiness in my life yet, that I feel any sense of purpose. I get up each day because this muscle in my chest keeps pushing blood through my veins, and the sun wakes me up each day, and so I'll continue to get up and function for as long as that happens. I just can't say when, or if, I'll be glad about it again.

Logan England talks about Cassie and Black Hat pt. 1

New Normal-ish

It's been quite a while since I posted. I feel like I don't have the words for what I'm feeling most of them time, so I just don't. I have a job now, Walt has made the decision to transition genders and lives as Tyra now, and is back in public school. The job keeps me busy and keeps my mind occupied, but Cassie is there, every minute of every day. It's hard to believe it's been almost a year since I heard her voice or hugged her. I ache for her. The idea of facing Christmas looms larger every day, and I wonder if I can handle it, or if I'm just going to hide in bed that day.

 We're trying hard to stay positive. We have a couple of events going on to honor Cassie's memory this holiday season, but neither is garnering much attention and I admit that's pretty discouraging. So I'm listing them all here in hopes people will see them and be interested in participating. The first is or "All we want for Christmas is a Cure" t-shirts that Cassie designed herself last year. We have to sell a minimum of 10 for them to print, and we've sold 8 so far. Here is the link if you would like to order one: All we want for Christmas is a Cure

Our next project is collecting Monster High dolls to donate to the St. Jude Affiliate Clinic in Baton Rouge. The took such good care of Cassie, and always had a Monster High doll in their toy closet for her. In December they give christmas gifts to every child who visits the clinic, so we want to help make that possible. We have a wish list of dolls up on Amazon that you can purchase from:Christmas just got Creepy in honor of Cassie England

And last but definitely not least, we have started a Facebook page to try to get more attention for the Black Hat movie. Specifically, to get us on the Ellen Degeneres show to talk about Cassie, EB, and the movie. Please join the page, like, share, and leave lots of comments on the posts. The way facebook works now, "engagement" matters a lot, the more comments and interaction on a post, the more of your followers see the post. Cassie England and Black Hat Anime on the Ellen Show

Thank you all of your support and love. The love of our friends have definitely kept me and Tyra afloat this year as we try to create a new routine, a new life really. We're so grateful for everyone who has been there for us. I know I ask a lot. There are so many things I want to do to honor Cassie's memory. I love you all for standing at my side as I do this. ~Logan

Freaky just got Fabulous

Aside from her friends and family, Cassie had three greats loves in her life: cats, anime, and Monster High. She loved her Monster High collection dearly. They were her friends, her companions, and I can't tell you how many of her days were brightened by packages in the mail containing dolls sent to her as gifts from all over the world. Being able to join the online world of Monster High collectors gave her a great sense of belonging, and she loved to make unboxing and review videos. She also dearly loved to get her friends hooked on Monster High as well. She adored being the first person to give someone their first doll and then sit back and watch them get as hooked as she was on them. I want to continue that tradition, because Monster High is a part of Cassie's legacy. Be yourself, be a monster. Be proud and celebrate who you are. That was Cassie's motto. It's the message of Monster High. I'd like you to meet Bea. She also has Epidermolysis Bullosa, like Cassie did.

That's Bea on the left, dressed as Skellita for halloween. Bea loves Monster High just as much as Cassie did. EB is hard to live with. it's hard to sit on the sidelines and watch other children do things that kids with EB cannot do. It's hard to feel isolated and alone. So I'm asking you all to show Bea the same love that you did for Cassie and send her a doll, or something else off of her Amazon wish list. Let's make Bea's life a little brighter, and spread Cassie's legacy by sharing her joy of the world of Monster High with another little girl who needs it just as much as Cassie did.

Bea's Amazon Wish List

Sue is taking medical supplies to orphans with EB who desperately need them. Please help if you can.

I've been living so long with my pictures of you that I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel

Tonight I spent some time cleaning out my Amazon browsing history and recommendations. I did this because every time I logged on to Amazon to watch anything on Prime, it shows a list of "recommended for you" products, and mine is always full of Monster High dolls. I'd think about how happy they would have made Cassie and how dearly she loved her dolls, and my heart would break, and I'd want to go burn Mattel to the ground because there shouldn't be any more dolls if my baby girl isn't here to enjoy them. It felt like I was erasing her. It made me sick to my stomach, but so did looking at those pictures of those dolls that will never be on the shelves a bedroom that no long exists for a girl who is no longer here. Same days I imagine I'll survive. This wasn't one of them.

Yesterday I took Walt to the pride festival and he decided that he wants to be a drag queen. He even went up to one of the performers and asked when they were performing again, and was disappointed that he can't get into the nightclub until he's 18. But the performer was really nice and told him to start out looking at makeup tutorials on youtube and practicing at home, so now he's already got a shopping list. It was good to get out for a while yesterday, I have a habit of just hiding out here in the house, and then I'm vaguely surprised when going out makes me feel a little better. But today hasn't been so great. The ache in my chest and tightness in my throat won't go away, and my girlchild is the only thing I can think about. I never know what's going to trigger days like this. A song, a smell, a memory, someone mentioning a movie she loved, or one she would have loved and didn't get to see. That's what gets to me over and over again. We just didn't have enough time. And I wasted too much of what we did have. There were so many things I wanted her to see, to share with her, to ask her and tell her and I have to live with knowing that none of it will ever happen. I don't know what her favorite song was the day she died, and I never asked her if she had one memory that stood out as the best moment of her life. It all feels so horrendously unfinished.

Under all those bandages

I'm sharing this knowing that it will be controversial. That it's graphic. That some people will find it exploitative and distasteful. That's okay. I'm sharing these pictures because I want people to truly understand what Cassie and people like her lived with every day under those clean white bandages that took 20+ hours a week to wrap around her fragile body to protect her from the world. This is why I have to see Black Hat made. This is why I post link after link, this is why I need to share Cassie's story. So one day there is a cure. So no parent ever has to see their child live with this, and no child has to live in this kind of pain for their entire lives. If you click this link, please understand you will see graphic photos of full thickness wounds that resemble second and third degree burns. They are not pretty, but they were Cassie's reality. They are the truth of Epidermolysis Bullosa.

Wound Photos

And some say that it loops forever this road that I lose you on every time...

People often tell me that one day it won't hurt quite so much. Or that it'll hurt, but it won't be unbearable. I mostly believe them. But it's hard to function waiting for "one day" to happen. Six months from now, a year, twenty. Who knows when that one day will come. I don't. I know that right now, five months after my daughter's death, there are days where I think I can't stand five more minutes of my life without her. Days where my next breath feels like too much. Moments when I miss her so desperately that I want to yell at whatever powers that be that if this was some kind of test to see how much I could endure, I'm crying uncle.

I can't really think about the future. Not right now. Not until that "one day" happens. I'm only 42 years old. The concept of 30 years of life without Cassie is unbearable. The idea that I could want to live that long hurting this much is unfathomable. So I don't look to far ahead. Lots of days I don't look any further ahead than when I can climb into bed at night and wake up 8 hours closer to the day I don't have to live without her anymore. I know that sounds morbid and horrible, but it's true.

To keep my mind occupied, to give myself a reason to get out of bed every day, I'm trying hard to do things that I know Cassie would want me to do. I'm helping run a raffle for our dear friend Jessica Gray to go on a spiritual retreat to Hawaii. Jessica has been undergoing breast cancer treatment for the last two years, and I know Cassie would have wanted me to help her. She loved Jessica like another mother. Jessica officiated her memorial service, was her mentor and teacher and Cassie loved her dearly. I do too. She brought a lot of magic and glitter and happiness into my little girl's life, and she's been a rock for me when she's going through so much herself. I'm grateful to have such incredible friends. If anyone reading this would like to know more and purchase a raffle ticket, you can read Jessica's blog here: Transformer of Poisons and you can purchase a raffle ticket or donate here: Support Jessica.

I'm new to this fundraising thing. But I know I want to do things in my daughter's name that I know would have made her happy. I want to do what I can to brighten lives in her memory, so that her name is forever associated with kindness and generosity. Thank you for helping me do that. Thank you for helping me get through the days.

Black Hat: The Film

"Desperate to get to an anime convention halfway across the country, a quirky teen artist “borrows” her sister’s car, kidnaps her wily, black sheep grandfather and together they embark on the road trip of a lifetime."

This is the official description of Black Hat, the movie that writer/director Robbie Bryan is making. But to me, Black Hat has another description; Cassie's legacy. 

Let me tell you a few things about my daughter. Virtually every other parent of a child with EB or person with EB can tell this story. School administrators who don't understand and want to put your cognitively normal child in special education classes. Peers who won't sit next to them in class. People who talk to your teenager like they are five, because they are smaller than average and are in a wheelchair. People who won't shake their hands, are afraid to touch them. Salons that won't cut their hair because they might be contagious. Restaurants that ask you to leave. And on, and on. It's a painful story of shunning those we don't understand, of assumptions and fear over education and love. 

But my Cassie, my beautiful, brave girl, had a level of self assurance and self confidence that I often envied. Cassie wasn't brave because she lived with EB; that's just how the dice rolled for her. She was brave because she refused to be treated differently, she loved who and what she loved and was completely unapologetic about it. She was herself, always. She bowed to no one, and never compromised her beliefs or passions to conform. She shunned normal. She embraced her identity as an "otaku", a fan of Japanese animation and culture. 

Through this love of anime, Cassie found her tribe, the people that would love and accept her exactly as she was. They were the outsiders, the odd ones. The nerds, the geeks, the kids who sat alone at lunch, the kids even their parents didn't quite understand. They dreamed of transformation, of worlds where the fantastic happened, they built elaborate, lovingly detailed costumes of these characters they idolized and wore them to conventions where they could all live in this world together for a few days. Accepted, embraced, understood. And Cassie loved it. She found her calling in this world of anime and cosplay when she was not even 10 years old. 

Cassie at Con-Nooga, age 10

And this love was not just a passing fancy. Cassie continued to love anime and cosplay with an unrelenting passion through her entire life. We attended anime days at the library, MechaCon, Louisianime, Comicon. She collected figurines and mangas and even as EB stole her fingers, curling them down into stumps, she drew hundreds of pictures in the anime style, especially her beloved "magical schoolgirls" and her goddess, her idol, Miku Hatsune. She dreamed, in a world where she was as healthy as she was intelligent and tenacious, that she would go to Japan and attend art school, that she would draw mangas that would earn her the money to open an animal sanctuary. 

So knowing these things about Cassie, imagine how I felt when days after her death I met Robbie Bryan through a mutual friend on facebook. Robbie, who just happened to have this script about an "otaku", a girl so much like my Cassie, who loved anime, who was ostracized for looking "different", who wanted to create art and be proud to be herself. It was almost enough to make me believe some larger force put him in my path. I knew, down to the bottom of my being, that Robbie was offering me the opportunity to share Cassie's story, Cassie's life, and have it not just be about her disorder, and about her pain and suffering. Not just this fragile little butterfly girl. That was only one part of Cassie's identity. Through Black Hat, I could share the things Cassie loved; her passions and dreams, her confidence and spirit. Not just her afflictions. 

So for me, this movie is not about Cassie's disorder, it's about her identity. About how I want her to be remembered. Not as a sick little girl. But as a girl who called herself a gamer chick, an otaku, who was proud be be called a geek and a nerd. The girl with pink hair, the girl who told me "Dai suki" or "Aishiteru" at bedtime instead of "I love you". My girl, who I am so incredibly proud of, who I owe a great deal more than allowing her to only be remembered as the little girl with EB. This movie will allow her to be remembered for the things SHE chose, that SHE loved, the identity SHE embraced, not just for the genes handed down to her by her parents. Because Cassie was never a victim of her DNA. She wrenched her identity, her self worth from the mangled hands of EB and never let it be taken from her. And I think the world just might deserve to know what an amazing young woman she was because of that. 

Black Hat Movie

Behind the curtain

This will probably be the hardest thing I have ever written in my entire life, second to sharing the news of Cassie's death. It's hard because my friends have so much faith in me, and have told me over and over again that they know I'm strong enough to get through this, that I'm handling it so well, that they're proud of me.

I want to preface this by emphatically stating that I am not suicidal and have no intention of harming myself.

But I have fallen into the deepest, darkest pit of depression that I have ever experienced. I am on medication. I am getting what help I can given my lack of insurance. I will not harm myself. But I have a lot of trouble caring enough to get out of bed every day, to eat, to interact with people. I have anxiety attacks when the phone rings. I have a lot of trouble even forcing myself to drive a couple of miles to the store when we're out of milk and toilet paper. I am not really a functional human being at this point. I think of Cassie literally every waking moment. I have replayed the moments of her death in my mind thousands of times. I cannot force the images from my mind. The only respite I get is sleep. So I sleep. 12, 14, 16 hours a day sometimes. I am not parenting my son as I know he needs. After paying off Cassie's cremation, medical bills, all of our overdue utilities, expenses for the memorial service, and then moving, while feeding a growing teenage boy, I am completely broke. I should be looking for a job, but I can barely make myself shower. I have been informed, as gently as possible, that the horrible condition of my broken and discolored teeth is going to be an impediment to my finding professional employment. I haven't had a job in 18 years. I can't leave Walt alone for more than a couple of hours at a time because he can't remember not to microwave silverware and not to leave the house when I'm not here.

I had big plans that I would be able to travel to Canada this summer so that Marcia and I could get married. That's not going to happen, for financial reasons.

This time last year I had four loud, silly, wonderful teenagers under my roof. My foster child went to live with his grandparents, my nephew went home to his mom, and Cassie is gone. Walt still needs me but not in the way that Cassie did. While that's probably a good thing, it leaves me feeling useless. The only thing I've ever been any good at, taking care of children, my children, I'm no longer needed for. I feel completely adrift, like my entire reason for existing is gone. And I don't have the energy to fight to make things better. I just want to sleep, because that's the only time that everything doesn't hurt.

How every single word you spoke echoes in me like a memory of hope

My precious baby girl,

It's been almost three months since you died and it's no easier to accept than it was the moment you died. I knew your entire life that I would lose you someday, but it never felt real. I never accepted that. It was just as shocking that you died as if you'd been perfectly healthy and should have lived a hundred years. I miss you more with every day that passes. It doesn't get easier, it gets harder. Because I just miss you more the longer I go without seeing your sweet face or hearing your voice, kissing your cheeks and hearing you laugh.

With you gone it becomes more and more apparent how every aspect of my life was about you, because without you, Cassie, it is so very empty. I am empty. You were my purpose and my reason. I look now for a new sense of purpose and it's so hard to do when it all seems so unimportant. I keep getting up every day and functioning because I know you would want me to. I wouldn't want to disappoint you.

I'd Like to Make Myself Believe

It seems that it took roughly six weeks for the soul-numbing shock to wear off, and the tears to start. I'm not much of a crier. I never have been. I barely cried the first month. And now I can't stop. This upsets Walter terribly and he avoids me a lot. It freaks him out that he can be talking about something seemingly innocent and innocuous, and I can't respond without my voice breaking.

Over and over again my mind plays through the few days that lead to her death. I was so sick myself, and felt so sorry for myself that I had to take care of her when I could barely stand up myself. I wonder if I missed something, if I'd sucked it up and done what I needed to, if I'd taken her back to the doctor, gotten more fluids in her, if if if. The thoughts chase themselves around my head morning and night, but they don't bring her back. Nothing is going to bring her back. I go to her room and look at her shelves full of dolls and trinkets and treasures and try to truly comprehend that she'll never play with them again. That the dolls she got for Christmas were barely touched. That I'll never see her sweet face again, or hear her voice. I know that having her here forever wouldn't have been long enough, but 16 years just wasn't enough.

Nearly every minute of my life for the last 17 years was spent caring for her. Now every minute is spent thinking of her and missing her.

In other news, Walt and I have been blessed to find a place to move to that will be more affordable for us now. The sad reality is that with Cassie's death, we also lost her social security benefits, which constituted about a third of our income. In some regards this will be balanced by the out of pocket expenses for her that I won't be paying now, but until I find a secure job, lower rent is a priority.

Finding this place is very good. The timing, needing to move in on April 1st, is hard. I can't say right now if I would ever feel ready, but I can say that the thought of moving is traumatic. Packing up Cassie's room, not being able to go in there every day and sit on her bed, see her bathrobe still hanging on the closet door and her purse on the doorknob. Like she will be home any minute. Of course many of her things will be displayed throughout anywhere I call home, always, but the idea of living in a space where I have no memories of her is hard. We loved this house. It's been good to us. We have a lot of wonderful memories here of sleepovers and parties and holidays. I know those memories will always be a part of me, but right now I want to burrow in and stay in place, but life has other plans for me and the Boy Wonder.

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone

About a week and a half before Cassie died, her friend Dakota asked me, out of the blue, "Mr. Logan, what are you going to do one day when Cassie dies? How are you going to handle it?"

I answered her honestly and replied "It's such a sad, scary, huge thought that my brain can't process it. When I try to imagine life without her one day my mind just goes blank."

And that's where I am. I am blank, and empty, and simultaneously brimming over with a leaden anxiety that sits on my chest like a blanket of bees, waiting to sting if I dare to take a deep breath. Which will get me first, the lack of oxygen or the bees? I don't know. I know that I never could have imagined how much I miss her. Nothing can prepare you for how it feels to lose something, or someone, until they are really gone.

Some days I get up and function. I do what needs to be done. Other days I try to sleep as much as possible because I can't get through a day without her there. The ache is too great. I look in her room, at her bed, and still I can't accept that I will never kiss her forehead again, hear her laugh, I'll never again wake up to hear calling out to me that she needs me. From my bedroom, across the hall from hers, each day when I sat up, I could see her feet. Each day I sit up and look across the hall to that empty bed, and my arms feel so empty. I know everyone tells me that I will manage to cope with this, that it'll become bearable one day. But those days are somewhere on the other side of that blank slate, the endless number of days I have to wake up and feel her absence before I've barely opened my eyes.

Dreamers only love you when they're Dreaming

Trying to sleep is outright torture. After only sleeping about 3 hours last night, I took a nap this afternoon and dreamed that Cassie was dead, and Marcia and I were supposed to be meeting somewhere to finally get married. I was unclogging a toilet that had overflowed and Cassie's iPad was on the floor getting wet, and as I was trying to save it, Marcia called and asked why I hadn't met her at the airport. She was in Brazil, and I was supposed to be there but hadn't bought a ticket or gotten my passport. I got off the phone and took off my shirt to mop up the mess on the floor and my chest and stomach were covered in huge blisters, so large they were hanging down over the waistband of my pants.

Then I wake up, and reality isn't any better.

a million minutes of Never

it's incomprehensible to me that I haven't seen my daughter in three weeks. I haven't hugged her, haven't heard her voice. How is the world still turning? It's like being zapped into some alternate universe where only me and a handful of others realize that the apocalypse has happened. That the world has been pulled apart and nothing will ever be the same, but around us life continues to happen, and I am fighting against the stream to get to some place where my heart doesn't hurt every second of every day. I dream about her, she's the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. I will never see her again in this lifetime. I will never hold her again, I'll never make up for the times I was too busy or too tired to read to her, to watch one of those animes with her that she adored and I couldn't stand. I won't be taking her to Comic Con this weekend to meet Wil Wheaton. Never Never Never. It doesn't feel real. I think if it did, I would lay down and die.

It doesn't matter that I knew for nearly 17 years that I could lose her any day. It doesn't matter that over those years, I saw and experienced the grief of many parents who went before me, losing their own children to this disorder. I cried for them, with them. But in the face of losing my own child nothing prepared me for how utterly empty I would feel, how I would lose not just my daughter but any sense of purpose, of meaning. How everything would feel flat and gray knowing she would never experience any of it again.

I know. I know that EB would have just continued to rob her of her health and she would suffer more, that she was never going to get well. I know that her death was painless, without fear, and that that is a great mercy. I know that she would kick my ass and tell me to celebrate her life instead of grieving her death. I know all of this. I know I still have a wonderful son who needs me and deserves my attention and time. But when I say the hurt is unbearable I meant it literally. Sometimes it hurts so much I just have to go to bed and sleep until I can stand it again, until I can make it a few hours without feeling like I can't go on like this.

People have often commended me and Cassie for how composed and accepting we were in the face of her illness. If I was composed, or believed I was accepting, it's because I didn't truly know how it would feel to hold a notebook full of her unfinished drawings and know they would never be finished. Because never can't be real until you are living it, one minute at a time.

Black Hat Anime Film to Honor Cassie

Just a few days after Cassie died, I was contacted by a friend who knows a fellow named Robbie Bryan, who is a writer/producer/filmmaker. He's in the process of raising funds to make a film called Black Hat, which is about a girl who is teased and bullied for being a fan of anime and cosplay, and her epic quest to get to an anime convention in Louisiana to meet one of her idols. She had told Robbie all about Cassie, and Robbie was touched by Cass, as all of us are, and wanted to name one of the main characters in the film after her, and fashion her look after our Cass. I was so moved by this sweet gesture. What better way to remember our baby girl, who started cosplaying at age 10, attended her first convention in costume, and couldn't wait to go to Comic Con this year? After conversing with Robbie several times, he invited me to come to Comic Con and talk about Cassie and her role in the film. Though the deadline to get a booth had passed, MechaCon offered to donate space in their booth for this. Many of the MechaCon attendees have posted fond memories of Cassie on their page, and it has made my heart ache with gladness to see that they enjoyed her as much as she enjoyed being there.

Robbie sent me the video showing the first artwork of Cassie as an anime character (the movie will be live action with a few anime sequences) and it is beyond beautiful. Cassie's likeness is perfect, down to her sweet kitty ears. If you watch the video, you can see it about halfway through.

I can't express how much it means to me for this film to be made. For Cassie's sweet image to be seen by anime fans and cosplayers everywhere, sharing the message to be freaky fabulous, embrace your differences, find joy in being you. Every dollar contributed counts. Every "like" on the facebook page, the youtube page, every share on reddit or facebook or tumblr counts. Please. Please. There is no better way to immortalize our beautiful girl, and no words for my gratitude to Robbie Bryan for including her in his project.

Please click the links, please like, comment, share, contribute to the fundraiser.

Black Hat at Seed & Spark

Black Hat Anime Facebook

The things we leave behind

How do you even contemplate disposing of almost 17 years worth of a little girl's plans, dreams, inventions, creations? Every bottle cap that was going to be a necklace, every acorn cap that was a fairy bowl, the popsicle sticks and wine corks that were going to be dollhouse furniture? She had plans, schemes, ideas, a head full of wishes and thoughts that never came to fruition. Robbed of her stamina and the use of her hands, she collected the trinkets and baubles to create fairy houses, jewelry, scrapbooks. A treasure trove of bits and pieces, my little magpie has them all lovingly stored in her bedroom. And now I have to stare at them, hold them in my hands and decide over each bottle cap, each length of ribbon, every piece of paper with her handwriting, what to do with it all. The shirts with the necks cut out so they wouldn't damage her skin, the ponytail holders, the posters and books and the pieces of her life surround me. Looking at them brings no comfort, but the thought of parting with them brings nothing but hurt.

I have a sudden urge to beg my landlord to sell me this house. To never leave the last place she called home. I know I can't afford to stay. Thank the powers that be for the assistance from all over that has poured in; Walt and I will have a few months here, but before long it will be time to pack our things and go be somewhere that Cassie never was. Where she never slept or laughed or cried. For me to spend my days in rooms where I never hugged her or heard her walking around calling for the cats or cleaned up her spilled paint, spilled blood. Do I box up everything she owned and store it away? What if one day I suddenly need to see her tee shirt with the butterfly winged kittens so badly that I'll die if I can't, but it's gone? The dress she wore to her prom, the necklace she wore for her 16th birthday, the boxes of crystals, the mangas, the things that prove she was here, she was alive, that brought her such delight?

The Monster High dolls. Oh, those dolls. Dozens of them. Yes, in truth, probably about 100 of them. If you had heard her squeal of delight with each new one you would have bought her a thousand. The way her face lit up when I came home with one that was hard to find, that she couldn't wait to get. The ones she got just weeks ago for Christmas and barely got to play with. How do I let them go?

How do I let her go?