The One Who Knows You

The One Who Knows You

Before I knew you, you were an art student in college. You probably sketched hundreds of self portraits but once you couldn’t seem to get it quite right.

Staring back at you from the paper was a young woman who resembled you, but her eyes were too dark, her hair too wavy, and her nose too narrow.

Despite her flaws, you kept the rough charcoal drawing anyway and safely stored it away in a box.

You are short. And I tease that you are shrinking whenever I see you.

You get angry. And it makes me smile the way you move your hands around when you yell.

You have red curly hair. And I’ve always loved to watch you try to tame it after you wake up.

You have a big heart. And I honor you for not being quick to judge others.

You wear glasses. And it makes me giggle when I find them after you forget where you left them.

You are patient.  And you have held my hand when things got tough more times than I can remember.

The self portrait you drew now hangs framed in the stairway leading up to my room in the little brick house we call home.

 As I grew up in your arms you traced me into who I am today.

 You always tell me it’s amazing how we’ve become two totally different types of women.

The portrait you drew, it was me.

I’ve spent a life-time getting to know you.

But you knew me before you even met me.

And kept me safe, despite all my flaws…

and Mother, I love you.

Bulldogs and Saving Graces

I am a firm believer that your teachers can make or break your educational experience. I’ve had my fair share of good and bad, but two stick out in my mind more than any other.

The Bulldog – the thought of her still makes me shiver.

For some reason my 8^th grade Language Arts teacher was out on a vendetta against me.

She was mean and ruthless.

Every time she got worked up she would start hollerin’ and her wrinkly old cheeks would waggle back and forth in slow motion.

When she singled you out, you knew you were in for it.

She knew exactly the right words to say to make me cry.

My Saving Grace – without her I wouldn’t have made it.

No one could speak to my heart better than that sweet little lady who taught creative writing.

She was kind and honest.

I spent more time in her office senior year than I did speaking to my “friends”.

In high school I was a bit of an outcast, but when I had long talks with her nothin' else mattered.  

On my worst days she picked up, with just a smile.

Learning How To Live With Death

As soon as I understood the concept of death I was terrified of it. For most of my childhood whenever I started to think about death I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering.

My thoughts about death kept me up at night.

My heart would race whenever anyone even mentioned death.

My nightmares were always concerning my own demise or the death of my loved ones.

The preoccupation I had with death is the reason why I joined the fire department. I quickly learned that seeing people at their worst moments, washing blood off my boots, and holding a bucket for someone to vomit into didn’t even faze me. I knew I could do this; I was going to face my fear head on.

My first cardiac arrest was neighbor.  I was the one to do chest compressions.

My first rescue was from a car accident. The young man’s jaw practically fell apart in my hands.

My first presumed dead on arrival was a boy I had grown up with. He overdosed on heroin.

These are only a few of the hundreds of calls I have responded too. Not everybody dies on the medic and sometimes you do save a life. As it turns out, I have learned that death isn’t something to fear. People argue all the time about when exactly life begins, but they never seem to argue much about death.

I believe that life isn’t guaranteed, and that death is destination.  How are you going to get there?

Word Count - 254

The Difference Between Life and Death

I remember the exact moment when I finally understood the concept of death. I was five and sitting in the bath tub while my mother poured warm water over my head I said, “Mommy, I am not going to live forever am I?”

After that moment death for me was something to fear; it kept me up at night and gave me nightmares. My preoccupation with death is the reason why I joined the fire department. I quickly learned that seeing people at their worst moments, washing blood off my boots, and holding a bucket for someone to vomit into didn’t even faze me. Even after my first call on the medic, a drunk who tried to beat up both me and they paramedic, I knew could do this. I was going to face my fear head on.

My first cardiac arrest was my next door neighbor.  I was the one to do chest compressions.

My first rescue was a car accident of an 18 year old. His jaw practically fell apart in my hands.

My first presumed dead on arrival was a boy I had grown up with. He had overdose on heroin.

Believe me that isn’t even half of it, and I’ve only been an EMT for three years. I still have my whole career in front of me. But if there is one thing I have learned this far it’s that death isn’t something to fear. Not everybody dies on the medic; sometimes you do actually get to save a life.

People argue all the time about when exactly life begins, but one thing you never hear people argue about is when exactly death begins.

 Life isn’t guaranteed, death is destination.

Word Count - 284

Generation Name Your Poison – The Youngest Generation Is Killing Themselves?

Binge Drinkers

Over Eaters

Texting Maniacs

Anorexic Dieters

Facebook Addicts

Speed Demons

You name the issue, and our generation is living it out. We surely aren’t the only ones to ever experience some turmoil. So why are we the problem generation?  

In a world controlled by the media and instant communication it only makes sense that the troubles of our generation are going to be mainstreamed. Little, if any, attention has been given to what makes our generation unique. Our notable quality, according to our predecessors, is that we seem to have a premature death wish.

Just name your poison.

Word Count - 100

On the Edge... [FINAL]

Eyes closed you take a deep breath, hold it, and then open your eyes and breathe out.

You are standing over a hundred feet in the air with nothing in front of you but open space.

To me it’s one of the best feelings in the world, and I HATE heights.

When you stand on top of the King and Queen Seat in Jarrettsville, Maryland you can see rural Harford County at its finest.  Located in Rocks State Park, the steep hike up to the 190 foot outcrop provides a breathtaking view that is worth the journey. Generations of Harford County families, including my own, have made trips to “Rocks” and have spent countless hours hiking, swimming, kayaking and even tubing in the state park.

Of course as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.

Deer Creek, the main creek that runs through the state park is eroding at its banks and getting closer and closer to Route 24. With the risk of the road falling into the creek something has to be done. One of the proposed ideas is to start blasting away the rocks in order to expand the road. The organization Save The Rocks plans to try and work with the State Highway Administration (SHA) to prevent this from happening.

Eventually nature will take its course the rocks will begin their own corrosion. I hope they will let this happen instead of blasting, and a compromise with the SHA can be made.

Word Count - 248      

All pictures taken by Meghan Cochran during the past two years.

Deer Creek

Great swimming spot on the creek

Rapids on Deer Creek

Amazing spot to relax with friends.

(Route 24 is located to the left of this picture)

View on top of the King and Queen Seat

Interesting rock structure located off a hiking trail

On one of the hiking trails

On the edge of the King and Queen Seat

ME! Climbing on the rocks (SAVE MY ROCKS!)

On the Edge... [Draft]

Eyes closed you take a deep breath, hold it and then open your eyes and breathe out.

You are standing over a hundred feet in the air with nothing in front of you but open space.

To me it’s one of the best feelings in the world, and I HATE heights.

By standing on top of the King and Queen Seat in Rocks in Jarrettsville, Maryland you can see rural Harford County at its finest.  Located in Rocks State Park, the steep hike up to the 190 foot outcrop provides a view that is well worth the journey. Generations of families have made trips to Rocks and have spent countless hours hiking, swimming, kayaking and even tubing in the state park. I myself have spent numerous trips to Rocks during my young adult life exploring the 855 acres with close friends and family.

As the saying goes: all good things must come to an end.

Due to the fact that Deer Creek, the main creek running through the park, is eroding at its banks,  getting closer and closer to Route 24 a dilemma has arisen. With the risk of the road falling into the creek something has to be done. One of the proposed ideas is to start blasting away the rocks in order to expand the road. The organization Save The Rocks plans to try and work with the State Highway Administration to prevent this from happening.

Word Count: 238 - All photos taken by Meghan Cochran within the past year

Deer Creek

Great swimming spot on Deer Creek

Rapids on Deer Creek

View from the top of the King and Queen Seat

One of the many hiking trails.

 On top of the ledge, again.

Where I come from... (Revisited)

It’s a typical, humid, late summer, Friday night in the lesser known, east coast, Bel Air. 

Most girls my age are running around in cut-off jean shorts, skin tight tank tops and brightly colored flip flops. The boys chasing after them, tongues hanging out, are wearing baggy shorts, a t-shirt two sizes too big and their favorite “skater shoes”. They are all off to have some sort of juvenile fun wearing their latest renditions of youth style.

                What am I doing this evening?

                I am riding the medic.

My evening attire will be a drab gray polo shirt with Bel Air Volunteer Fire Company plastered across the back. My navy blue trouser styled pants, which look like they have seen the wash one too many times cover the tops of my black steel toed boots.

My evening fun will probably consist of nursing home runs, taking care of the trivial aliments that the responsible parties in the home felt couldn’t wait for the transport company. I will be spending quality time with grandmas who will be dressed in their night gowns with tattered slippers. Yet they will still insist on wearing their nicest coat before they leave their putrid smelling rooms to visit the local Emergency Room.

So why do I bother to blabber on about what the citizens of Bel Air will be wearing on a Friday night?

It’s all about style. A word that is as complicated as culture itself.

It was not by choice, but by riding on the ambulance, I have received my own education on how style has changed throughout the years. The eldest matriarchs our of humble community still worry about looking presentable even when they need to be taken to the hospital.  In contrast, young girls much less than half their age are leaving the house with barely anything on. In the past style was all about what you had to wear, but today it’s all about whatever you want to wear.

Where I come from...

It’s a typical, humid, late summer, Friday night in the lesser known, east coast, Bel Air. 

Most girls my age are running around in cut-off jean shorts, skin tight tank tops and brightly colored flip flops. The boys chasing after them, tongues hanging out, are wearing baggy shorts, a t-shirt two sizes too big and their favorite “skater shoes”. They are all off to have some sort of juvenile fun that may or may not involve fast cars, loud music and alcohol.

Me?

I am on the medic.

My evening attire will be a drab gray polo shirt with Bel Air Volunteer Fire Company plastered across the back. My navy blue pants that look like they have seen the wash one too many times cover the tops of my black steel toed boots. There is no doubt in my mind that I will I be picking up one of the above mentioned suspects later.

But before the usual car crash at midnight I will probably be making nursing home runs, taking care of the trivial aliments that couldn’t wait for the transport company. I will be spending quality time with grandmas who will be dressed in their night gowns with tattered slippers. Yet they will still insist on wearing their nicest coat before they leave their putrid smelling rooms to visit the local Emergency Room.

So why do I bother to blabber on about what the citizens of Bel Air will be wearing on a Friday night?

It’s all about style. A word that is as complicated as culture itself.

It wasn’t by choice, but by riding on the ambulance I have received my own education on how style has changed through the years. Little old ladies still worry about looking presentable even when they need to be taken to the hospital.  In contrast, young girls half their age are leaving the house with barely anything on. In the past style was all about what you had to wear, but today it’s all about whatever you want to wear.

Word Count: 339      Above picture is of my aunt and my Grandmother, note the cool old photographs they were looking at.

Controlled by Organization

My life, as I know it, has become controlled by a small, pink, spiral assignment book.

Oh, it may look cute and packed full of enjoyable things to do. But don’t be fooled as I have, or it will suck what was once your interesting social life into its pages of not fun!

For this book contains a pre-planned day by day agenda of the next 14 weeks of my life.

 Everything I do now depends on whether my day is already full before it even begins.

Jam-packed with assignments, homework, projects, meetings, classes, exams, quizzes, and even the rare days I get to escape home are contained inside this dictator of a book.

With every turn of a page, I whimper at what lies ahead for the next week. 

This is what I have become.  Controlled. By an assignment book!

I once consciously made the decision to be in charge of my own life when I came to this university. All I wanted was to be educated for my career.

But I was fooled.

Even now as it sits across the room, secure in my black backpack, it holds power over me still.

This small, pink, spiral assignment book has taken over my life.

Word Count: 205 ---- Picture designed and editted by Meghan Cochran & Lisa McPherson

Opportunity to Fly

Very few people ever get the chance to notice an opportunity for fulfillment. Fewer actually take it, and fly with it.

My story starts in the small but big town of Bel Air in Maryland. I grew up with my family and a few close friends, there wasn’t much more that I needed. I liked to enjoy the simple things in life.

On my sixteenth birthday I joined my local volunteer fire company, BAVFC. After only my first call, a drunk who physically threatened me and the paramedic, I knew that I was sold. This was my opportunity. Soaring right into my training I became a certified Emergency Medical Technician before I turned seventeen.

After three years, I couldn’t imagine going into any other career. The time I have spent in the back of those ambulances has provided some the most rewarding experiences of my life.

Word Count = 146