Worry feels like I'm missing something, something important... 

Worry feels like a cloud over my head that about to open up and drench me...

Worry feels like an obstacle blocking half my view in the car on the highway, and any second I'll crash...

Worry feels like a fist holding my guts ever so subtly, clenching every now and then when I start to think that everything will be fine...  

Worry feels like a grenade sitting on my brain and I'm not sure it's a dud; it could go off...

...or I'm just paranoid. 

I could be letting my imagination run away with me, convincing myself there's more going on than anyone else realizes, like in some conspiracy movie. I could be completely wrong about the situation. I really could be worrying for no reason. 

But I don't know. 

I can only hope I'm wrong -- or dread that I'm right. And I can pray. 

Always pray. 

My earliest memory of my Grandpa was when I was turning 6; his present for me was a baby pig.

"Feed her lots of peppered papaya, and she'll get big 'n' strong." He winked at me, grinning. 

I have a lot of memories about Grandpa after that one. He seemed to be a little weaker every time I saw him. When he was gone Momma finally said it was pneumonia. 

I'm a worker, dancer, student, and dreamer.

I'm a boss, singer, teacher, and doer.

I'm the sister who baked you the BB-8 cake, the daughter making your omelette every morning. 

I'm less expressive than I'd like, more creative than I realize. 

I'm me. 

That's all I'll ever be. 

That's enough.

There are several nightmares from my childhood I still remember vividly, but in this particular dream, I was at least partially aware that nothing in front of me was real. I'm still unsure whether that was a good thing or not...

I was running. My mom and dad were running. my brothers and sister were running. We were all running from the bad men. The men who wanted to kill us. 

Run, run, run.

Faster. 

Then we were all in a warehouse, or an abandoned store. And the men caught up to us. They pulled out knives. The leader approached me; my dad was next to me, but it wouldn't matter. They'd stab us, and we'd die. Then I had a real light bulb moment: I was dreaming! 

They wouldn't kill us.

They couldn't kill us! 

Nothing here is real.

No one could hurt us, me. This was my dream, my nightmare. I just had to wake up. If I could just make myself wake up... 

I'd have to die. 

That always works, right? Falling out of a car, down the stairs, off a cloud in the sky, whatever. If I died, I'd wake up, because everything was fake. 

So I addressed the man holding knife near my heart. 

"Can you make it quick?"

And despite my plan, and my knowledge that he was merely a figment of my imagination, my blood ran cold as he laughed before stepping even closer and-

My worst fear is that I won't be needed anymore. That I won't matter to anyone for any reason. I dread having a few "friends" who only want my skills, or who just feel sorry for me and don't actually have a particular interest in my mind or interests. 

One of my most vivid nightmares from childhood was coming home one day to find that my family didn't even know me; to them I was a stranger, coming to see the house they were selling, the house I'd grown up in. But they didn't know me, and I woke up crying from the feeling of loneliness, emptiness it gave me. 

However unlikely it may seem to some, this fear is always present in my life. It drives me to excel at what I try to do, and fuels at least some of the disappointment I feel if I fall short. Even if I succeed in whatever I'm attempting, I fear that nobody notices, because I'm not important.

Whatever else happens to me, I wish never to be a no one. 

The only sound he hears is his own heartbeat, pounding furiously -- he can't even hear his own footsteps as he runs though the trees, then skids to a stop by the pond. Questions, so many questions running through his mind: 

What is it? 

Why does it want him? 

WHERE IS IT NOW?

The hairs on the back of his neck rise; he whips around to see what's there...nothing -- nothing, that is, except the pond...the pond. Memories fly through his head as he tries to make sense of the situation: a growling noise in his basement, large black eyes with white pupils, yellow, bloodied teeth, a huge shape in the dark... He shivers in horror at the thought of seeing it again, but of course that's unavoidable -- it's here, in the woods by the lake, with him. 

Something growls behind him, and he whirls around to -- 

Two very different screams -- on of terror and one of rage -- rip through the air as what can only be called a monster leaps from the water and rips its claws through its victim's body...

This is your big sister. Well, one of them. The oldest. We miss you. So much. I cry with how much it hurts sometimes. If you were here, you'd be learning to walk right now; walking, talking, dancing and bobbing your head, bouncing your curls, laughing at us and making us laugh back. All your family would be surrounding you, night and day, never getting enough of you. You have a baby sister now. She's so tiny, and strong, and beautiful, like you would be. But I know you're all right, better than all right. You're with the One who loves you even more than we can, and He is the safest One to be with. I know you're happy and safe and that we will see you again. I love you. WE love you.

-Your Sister.