Gina Atchison

Wife/Mom of 2/MiMi to 4/Bookworm/Movie addict/OU Fan. Colorectal cancer warrior

[Gina Atchison @GinaAtch]

Let’s have some Sooner magic!! #Boomer

[Gina Atchison @GinaAtch]

@Michaeljos92972 Such a beautiful picture! Sending a big hug to you!

[Mayor David Holt @davidfholt]

This week we honor those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever on September 11, 2001. Especially those with Oklahoma ties.

In addition to OCU and OU graduate Rick Rescorla (see my post earlier today), at least seven more Oklahomans lost their lives on 9/11.

Army Major Ron Milam was from Muskogee and died in the Pentagon, where he was serving the Secretary of the Army.

David Shelby Berry was from Oklahoma City and died in the World Trade Center. David was a graduate of Casady School, Yale University and the London School of Economics. He was working at Keefe, Bruyette and Woods.

Jayesh “Jay” Shah was from Tulsa and died in the World Trade Center. Jay was a graduate of Tulsa Memorial High School and the University of Tulsa. He was working at eSpeed International.

David Harlow Rice was from Oklahoma City and died in the World Trade Center. David was a graduate of Bishop McGuinness High School, Loyola University Chicago and the London School of Economics. He was working at Sandler O’Neill.

Army Spc. Chin Sun Pak “Sunny” Wells was from Lawton and died in the Pentagon.

Wayne Terrial Davis was from Edmond and died in the World Trade Center. Wayne was a graduate of Edmond Memorial High School and the University of Maryland. He spent eight years in the U.S. Army and was working for Callixa Corp.

Navy Petty Officer Brian Anthony Moss was from Sperry and died in the Pentagon.

(These seven are pictured top to bottom, left to right)

[Michael & Rebecca @Michaeljos92972]

May your Sunday be gentle with your heart, generous with your spirit, and filled with the kind of love and compassion that reminds someone they are never truly alone. ❤️

[Gina Atchison @GinaAtch]

@sportsiren So very sorry for your loss, Holly. You and your family will be in my prayers.

[Stefan Moore ★ @2StefanMoore]

“When I am gone, do not fear my memory. Do not be afraid to speak my name or look through old photographs. Do not be scared to play old videos so that you might hear my voice and see me laughing. Do not be wary of visiting my favourite places or eating my favourite foods or singing along to my favourite songs.

I know it will hurt. Those memories will remind you that I am gone. They will stab at you like a knife in an open, gaping wound. Raw, excruciating pain.

But after a while the knife will become less sharp, the wound will become less open and the pain will become less raw. And those memories will remind you that I was here. That I lived.

Do not reduce my life to my death. Speak my name, hear my voice, sing my favourite songs and visit my favourite places. Because that’s how I can stay alive a little. Right here with you.” 🧡

Memories are the legacy of love.

Wonderfully written by
Becky Hemsley ❤️

Artwork by
Amanda Cass ❤️

[Michael & Rebecca @Michaeljos92972]

What If We’ve Been Keeping Score Wrong?
by Michael Whelan

For most of my life, I thought I understood the scoreboard.

Money mattered. Titles mattered. Awards mattered. The size of the office mattered. Being important enough that somebody returned your call mattered.

We spend half our lives collecting evidence that we mattered.

Then life begins taking things away.
The title disappears. Someone younger gets your office. Awards gather dust. Your résumé becomes a document nobody asks to see.

Then you look down your own street.
The neighbors who once sat outside talking until dark begin disappearing. One moves. Another downsizes. Someone gets sick. Someone's spouse dies. Eventually the neighborhood that felt like a village becomes houses occupied by strangers.
Live long enough and you become the historian of a street nobody else remembers.
And you begin wondering whether we've been keeping score wrong.

Maybe success was never about how many people knew your name.
Maybe it was about how many people felt less alone because you knew theirs.

I've thought about that a lot lately, especially after all these years (10) writing here on Twitter.
Most people scrolling past my words have absolutely no idea what has happened quietly behind the scenes.
They don't know about the dozen or so people I've helped get into hospitals for advanced treatment. The phone calls made. Doors knocked on. Clinical trials found. Fees waived. Doctors and institutions contacted when frightened families didn't know where else to turn.
They don't know about the private conversations with people sitting beside hospital beds, scared out of their minds.
Some of those people began as strangers on the internet.
Many became family.
None of that appears on a résumé orv on my essays.
There isn't a trophy for it.
And perhaps that's exactly the point.
So when a few people find enjoyment attacking me, questioning my motives or spreading false rumors about me to their followers to make themselves feel bigger, I've learned at 70 that I don't have to win every argument or please everyone.
Sometimes I just smile and think:
If you only knew.
Not because I'm a saint. God knows I'm not.
But because I've finally learned that character isn't determined by what strangers say about you.
It's determined by what you do when nobody is watching.
At some point, the scoreboard changes.
You stop asking, “What did I accomplish?”
You start asking:
“Who did I help?”
“Who did I love?”
“Who felt less frightened because I showed up?”
Someday someone will clean out our homes. Our possessions will be scattered. Our accomplishments will become old stories.
Even our neighborhoods will eventually forget our names.
But somewhere, hopefully, another human being will remember.
They'll say:
“When my world fell apart, that person stayed.”
No trophy.
No title.
No applause.
Just that.
Maybe that's winning.
Maybe it always was.
And when my own chair is finally empty, I hope someone remembers not what I had, but how fiercely I tried to make their burden lighter. Because in the end, perhaps the only proof we were ever here is the love that still hurts after we're gone.

[Gina Atchison @GinaAtch]

@Michaeljos92972 Yes! All of this, Yes!!

[Gina Atchison @GinaAtch]

@Michaeljos92972 I Do

[Bob Stoops @CoachBobStoops]

#OUDNA

[Gina Atchison @GinaAtch]

@Michaeljos92972 Of course your followers are here! And we appreciate you and your words so so much!!

[Michael & Rebecca @Michaeljos92972]

WHEN WRITING FROM THE HEART SCARES PEOPLE AWAY.
By Michael Whelan

I’ve discovered something about writing from the heart that I wasn’t prepared for.
Sometimes honesty costs you an audience.

And I’ll admit something that may sound terribly immodest:
I believe my writing is special.

Not because I think I’m some literary genius. I believe it’s special because I know what it costs me to write it.

There are pieces of my life scattered across these pages. Rebecca is here. My fear is here. My loneliness, caregiving, cancer, childhood, animals, mistakes, hope and heartbreak are all here.

I’m not manufacturing content.

I’m leaving pieces of myself on the page.

Which is why I’m genuinely confused that my writing doesn’t draw the audience it once did.

Maybe I’m not as good as I think I am. Every writer has to be willing to consider that.

But I also wonder if something else is happening.

When I write something funny, people laugh. When I write about sports, television, animals or the absurdities of getting older, people engage. Those stories are comfortable. You can read them with your morning coffee and continue with your day.
But when I write from the deepest rooms of my heart—about Rebecca, grief, caregiving, loneliness, fear, or what happens when the person who helped make you you suddenly isn’t here anymore—I can almost feel people backing away.
And that breaks my heart.
Not because I need applause.
Because I wonder when we became so frightened of one another’s pain.
Someone else’s grief reminds us that someday there will be a name we cannot say without our voice trembling. Someone else’s cancer reminds us our bodies are temporary. Someone else’s loneliness makes us examine the empty chairs in our own lives.
So we scroll.
We look for something lighter.
And the person brave enough to say, “I’m hurting,” is sometimes left talking to an empty room.
Since Rebecca died, I’ve tried not to decorate my grief for public consumption. Some days I laugh. Other nights I shake, cry, and wonder how one human being can miss another this much and still wake up the next morning.
I write about all of it.
Not because I enjoy being sad.
Not because I want sympathy.
I write because somewhere, at 2:13 in the morning, another person may be sitting alone in a silent house believing they are the only human being on Earth feeling this way.
I want my words to find them.
Maybe that’s what writing from the heart is supposed to do.
Not collect applause.
Not chase algorithms.
Not make everybody comfortable.
Maybe the best writing reaches through the darkness, finds a stranger’s trembling hand and whispers:
“Me too.”
Yes, writing this honestly may scare some people away.
I wish it didn’t.
Because grief has taught me that we don’t need fewer uncomfortable conversations.
We need more people willing to stay when the conversation becomes uncomfortable.
So I’ll keep writing from the heart.
Even when I don’t understand where the audience went.
Even when the numbers hurt.
Even when it feels like I’m writing into an empty room.
Because somewhere out there is one person who desperately needs to know they aren’t alone.
And if my words reach that one person tonight?
Then the room was never empty.

[John Dabell @John_Dabell]

O.P.T.I.M.I.S.T.
O – Outlook that sees possibilities.
P – Persistence through every setback.
T – Trust in a brighter tomorrow.
I – Inner strength that keeps rising.
M – Mindset focused on growth.
I – Inspiration that fuels action.
S – Smile that lights the way.
T – Triumph that follows belief.

[Gina Atchison @GinaAtch]

@LisaAtThePort @Michaeljos92972 I’m ordering it right now!!

[bollockstothis @laurast51362949]

@Michaeljos92972 I saw a lovely sentence that said ‘We’re all walking home together, some just get there sooner’

[Gina Atchison @GinaAtch]

@Michaeljos92972 What a pretty Peanut!

[John Dabell @John_Dabell]

Cancer survivors:

You have the right to set your own pace.
You have the right to celebrate small victories.
You have the right to protect your peace.
You have the right to say "no" without guilt.
You have the right to ask for help.
You have the right to change your mind.
You have the right to laugh, even on difficult days.
You have the right to hope for better days.
You have the right to be proud of how far you've come.
You have the right to keep believing in tomorrow.

[Corby Davidson @corbydavidson]

Ok. I can’t believe this just happened. My kid is sitting in a beach chair with his hand casually in the sand, & suddenly goes “oh my god look.” He pulls up a girls wedding band. It says “April 16, 2016 I love you.” This was gone FOREVER until now. Seagrove, Fla…Find this lady!

[Gina Atchison @GinaAtch]

@BrandonRahbar We will certainly miss you!