Good Riddance, 2008

Alot of those somewhat sappy new year's e-mails have been flooding my inbox lately. You know the ones I mean- about how the new year is going to be one filled with all kinds of blessings and good things- health, wealth, happiness, friends- and have pretty pictures of floating angels and sappy music playing in the background. Those syrupy sweet e-mails, which put you in mind of an ex-Hallmark writer on steroids- that try and tell you that everything is going to be kittens and ladybugs and smiley sunshines. Barf.
But getting off my high horse, I'm not poking fun at the people who send them, and the intent behind the forwards are sweet. It's just that it's such a one dimensional view of reality, I can't help but be irritated. Life isn't all sunshine and roses. And the new year isn't going to be filled with all good things, no matter how many e-mails we get that say so. The fact is, sometimes life just isn't fair. It's hard, it's easy. It's sad, it's joyful. It's fury and rage, and jokes and laughter. It's loss and it's gain. Fighting and making up. Losing and winning. Jobs lost and promotions given. I wish someone would come up with an e-mail forward that says all that. I guess no one wants to hear about the bad stuff----- but somehow in light of this past year, pretty pictures and sugary songs can't mask the hollowness of the words empty promises.
Maybe I'm too cynical for my own good. Cynical, negative- realistic. Whatever you want to call it. I'd rather face facts than hide behind pollyanna promises.

As much as I can't wait to say good riddance to 2008, part of me doesn't really want to let go. It just hurts to think of starting a year without Emily. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's yet another one of those "firsts". 2008 royally stank, but facing 2009 without her just seems so empty.

But from the bottom of my cynical heart, I do wish you all a Happy New Year. And as the last few minutes of 2008 wind down, I do pray for all those things for all of you- health, wealth, happiness, kittens and ladybugs. But even more, I wish for all of you- life. In all it's beauty and it's ugliness. Strength in the hard times, rejoicing in the happy times. Comfort in the sad times, laughter in the good times. And celebration for each new milestone this year brings. And above all, courage to make it through another year. May 2009 be a better year than 2008.

Tinsel and lights, and Silent Nights

"How was your Christmas?"

How do I answer that? No let me rephrase that--- I don't know how people want me to answer that. Do they want to know the truth? Or do they want to hear me put a happy face on it? I'm in a bit of a quandry... I've been on a truth kick lately. But no one wants to be thought of as a Scrooge at Christmas, and no one really wants to hear that your Christmas wasn't all jingle bells and twinkling lights. It makes them feel bad, and it makes me feel worse for making them feel bad. So instead of lying through my teeth, I've settled for the non-committal half shrug that is becoming all too familiar. The "things-really-aren't-okay-but-we-both-know-you-don't-want-to-hear-me-say-it,-so-I'll-say-nothing,-and-you-feel-like-a-better-person-for-asking-and-I-don't-come-across-as-a-mopey-jerk-for-actually-saying-what-we-both-really-know-is-the-truth" shrug. People amuse me, seriously they do. Why do we spend so much time pretending?! If you don't want to know, I'd really just rather you spare us both the effort and don't ask, simply because you feel some sort of obligation.
Temper tantrum over. And of course, I'm not talking about everyone. There are a few of my friends who have asked, who I know genuinely want to know, who I don't have to pretend with, and who won't judge me for not putting on a brave, happy face.

So how was Christmas? After all that-- I don't even know how I want to answer that. It was both good and bad. I'd be lying (which I'm not doing anymore) if I said that I wasn't excited about my new 16-gallon fish aquarium, or my Flyers jersey, or the other cool things that were waiting for me under the tree. But there was still an emptiness that couldn't be ignored. In some ways, Christmas afternoon didn't feel like Christmas at all. It was like... well, any other day. Aside from the fact that there were a whole lot of really cool presents that morning. Maybe that was a coping method- maybe it was easier to deal with if I tried not to think too hard that it was Christmas. I'm not sure. It's very hard to try and put the feeling into words. Maybe it's because there aren't any.

Honestly, for me this year, Christmas Eve was the saving grace. Sitting in that sanctuary listening to Silent Night being sung by candlelight, that's when I most felt like it was Christmas. Christmas Eve I didn't have to pretend it was anything but what it was. It wasn't about me, it wasn't about Emily, it wasn't about family, or friends, or anything other than the real meaning of Christmas. For those five minutes, I felt at peace. It's where my thoughts drifted back to all throughout the day on Christmas. It's a familiar carol, and as sometimes is the case with familiar carols, you often don't really pay attention to the words. But it makes me think- that night wasn't exactly all twinking lights and tinsel either. It was a scared young mother, and an equally terrified father. It was frightened shepherds and probably nervous animals. But in the midst of confusion and fright and uncertainty, God sends His Son to earth. And I can just imagine that after He was born, in the midst of all that confusion and fright and uncertainty, there was peace. And after the angels appeared, in the midst of the shepherds fright and confusion and uncertainty, there was peace and reassurance. And in the midst of my own confusion and uncertainty, there were those few moments of peace and comfort. In the form of a reminder from a song, and in the grasp of a friend's hand.

So that was my Christmas. It wasn't the Christmases I've been used to for the last 25 years. And it wasn't even the nightmare I was imagining it to be. Instead it was a reminder of all that it ought to be. I look at Emily's little paper on the fridge in a whole new light- "Jesus is the Reason for the Season". Merry Christmas Em- I miss you.

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
'Round yon virgin mother and Child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace

Silent night, holy night,
Shepherds quake at the sight.
Glories stream from heaven afar,
Heav'nly hosts sing Alleluia;
Christ the Saviour is born
Christ the Saviour is born

Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love's pure light.
Radiant beams from Thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord at Thy birth

Another Piece

Emily's stupid hamster is sick. Or maybe it's just old age. Whatever it is, the little thing is not looking good. I feel bad- I don't like the thing. It's noisy. I swear it waits to start chewing on the cage until I sit down to watch my favorite show on TV. It smells, and it's not a very friendly hamster at that. And, I resented getting stuck with it because Emily decided to be a baby. When I got my dog two summers ago, Em threw a temper tantrum because I was getting a pet and she wasn't. So she ended up with a hamster. That she swore she would take to her townhouse in Shippensburg. Well once she realized that they actually require some effort to take care of, all of a sudden there was a convienent "no pets" allowed rule at the townhouse. Even though her one housemate had a pet iguana. But we still got stuck with it. And on top of it all, she gave it a really stupid name. I mean seriously, who names a hamster Cleopatra?
*Sigh* Emily, that's who.

She always marched to her own drum with everything else, why should a hamster name be any different.

Now don't get me wrong. I love animals. And she is a cute little thing--- but I still don't like it. And as irrational as it may sound, I think the main reason I dislike the thing is because it outlived my sister. Emily's gone, but that dumb little hamster is still here. But I don't want the thing dead, and I really hate seeing it look so sad and miserable. And it's losing a connection to Emily. It's another one of those little pieces that's going to be lost.

Just put some tinsel on it

So it seems that the powers that be didn't read my last blog about putting Christmas on hold until it stops hurting.

Christmas is bothering me more than I thought it would. I guess it's not a good sign when I'm too bummed to want to annoy my co-workers. As much as I used to love Christmas, as much as I loved lights and all that--- putting them up at work was more just to annoy my co-workers. I've won the award the last three years for most decorated cubicle. And I just haven't been able to bring myself to put them up here. A few people have asked where they are. I don't have the energy to make the extra effort to pretend that this Christmas is going to be okay. Let someone else put up lights in their office. This year, I just don't care.

A friend of mine that I work with came over a couple weeks ago and was asking me what Emily's full name was, how to spell it, and the dates. She wouldn't tell me why she needed to know all that. And anyone who knows me knows how much I hate that. It's not that I don't like surprises---- I don't like to be teased with it. If you don't want me to know yet--- don't bring it up.
Well anyway, she came over yesterday and had something in her hands. I'm telling myself, "be nice, be nice, be nice. Her heart is in the right place. Be nice, be nice, be nice. Maybe it's not as bad as you think it is." So she gives me this box. I asked if it was going to make me cry, and she said "probably". Crap. It was going to be as bad as I was thinking it was going to be. I said maybe I'll open it later, and of course, no--- she wants me to open it right there with her watching. Because everyone who knows me knows how much I love to cry in front of people. Grrrr. So I open the box, and pull out something soft and velvety. It was a "Christmas Memory Stocking"-- the top says "In the Spirit and Memory of Emily Ruth Norman" and has the dates. It was very thoughtful of her, and I know her heart was in the right place..... but I hate it. I feel like a terrible person, but I can't help it. I hate it. It was all I could do to try and not let it show, because I didn't want to hurt her feelings for anything. I hope she couldn't tell, because apparantely I am not so good at hiding my emotions. I don't know why the stocking bothers me so much, but it does. And it came with this syrupy-sweet card about how you're supposed to get people to write their memories of the person and put them in the stocking, and on Christmas Day you're supposed to read them so that your loved one isn't forgotten. Like I really need a stocking to remember her. I shouldn't be so ungrateful. And I'm trying my hardest- but every time I look at it, I have to fight the urge to take a pair of scissors to it. Maybe I'm not really angry about the stocking- maybe I'm just angry, and the stocking gives me something to be angry at. And then she was just sitting there kind of looking at me expectantly, like she was waiting for something. And I realized I wasn't crying--- I think that's what she was waiting for. Why is it that people just aren't happy until they've made you cry?! Like there's something wrong with not falling apart all the time. Unless there is something wrong with that. Maybe they're right and I really do have a heart of stone. A normal person certainly wouldn't be acting like this. A normal person would probably have loved that stupid stocking. Or could at least appreciate the sentiment. I on the otherhand, keep thinking that if she really knew me she'd have known that this was just about the worst thing ever. I think there's something wrong with me.

I just want Christmas to be over. I didn't think I'd react this way, I really didn't. Thanksgiving wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. But then again, it seems that I have the emotional status of a rock. But I didn't think it would be this hard, or that I would be this angry about everything.
I still mean the stuff I wrote before. I still believe in the meaning of Christmas. I'm still looking forward to Christmas Eve at church, and even Christmas Day itself. Music has always been the one thing that makes me feel better, and I've been playing Christmas music since the day after Thanksgiving. It's the other stuff that I can't seem to deal with. It's the bright lights that do nothing more than remind me how dark my life seems right now. It's that dumb macaroni wreath Emily made when she was a kid that she always complained about mom putting up. But it was the first thing she looked for when she walked in the door. It's the ornaments on the tree that used to mean something, but now just seem to be mocking me. I must confess that when I decorated the tree, I always put most of her Mary's Angel and her Godchild ornaments in the back. I put a few in the front, just so it wasn't obvious, but most went in the back. It was childish and stupid, but it made me feel better. This year all I felt was guilt. I put the Mary's Angels in the front this time. Too little, too late-- it didn't help.

There was an article in the local newspaper about a Lutheran Church that had a "Blue Christmas" Sunday service. Basically it is exactly what it sounds like- a service for people who have lost someone, or even something. (I wonder if they played that awful Elvis song?!) At first I thought it was stupid, but the more I think about it, the concept kind of makes sense. Christmas seems to take over from October through December, and you can't escape it. Lights and songs and tacky inflatable lawn ornaments are everywhere. It's almost as if you just put enough lights on it, bury it under some tinsel and ribbons, you can cover the sadness. Pretend it doesn't exist. No one wants to hear that you're not in the Christmas spirit. (Unless you're my friend who seems to have made it her mission to try and find something to make me cry.) So maybe there's something to that church service. That it's okay to celebrate Christmas for what it is, and yet still acknowledge that not everything has to be lit up, blown up, or covered up with boughs of holly. That it's okay to not pretend that a little tinsel will make it all okay.

Maybe next year will be better.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has always been kind of an indifferent holiday for me. When I was a kid, it was the signal that Christmas was finally almost here. Even now as an adult, Thanksgiving is when Christmas officially can start coming. The decorations go up, and I can start listening to my Christmas music. (And I went and found blinking lights to put up around my cubicle. If I can find one small enough- I’m going to get a mini Christmas tree. If I was really daring I would see if I could find a way to make them flash to music. But I think that might finally push them over the edge.) But anyway. Thanksgiving has always been a rather nondescript holiday. More and more, Christmas decorations are going up before Halloween, and Thanksgiving is lost even further in the shuffle. Honestly when I think of Thanksgiving, my first thoughts are Mom’s corn pie, leftover turkey soup, and her pecan pie. Which is hand’s down the best pecan pie in the world. Yum. I know what Thanksgiving is supposed to be- counting your blessings, pilgrims and Indians, family, yadda-yadda. Seriously though, nine times out of ten- it’s calories, parades, football games, Black Friday shopping, and stress.
(And pie. mmmmmmmhhhhhhh)

But I’ve been thinking a lot more about Thanksgiving this year. Kind of ironic that I start to think about what I have to be thankful for during the worst year of my life.
But I do have a lot to be thankful for. I appreciate my family more now than I think I ever have. I’ll never take another one of them for granted again. I’m thankful for the friends that I have… the ones that stood by me even when I was being the most miserable and the most unlovable. I’m thankful for all the things that everyone says… my health, my job. But it means more this year.

I just need to remember that...

(unfinished draft, posted 5-8-09)

Christmas Trees and Elvis Songs

There should be a new law that says no Christmas decorations are allowed to be put up until after Thanksgiving. And stores should not be playing Christmas music before Halloween. And while we're outlawing that, we may as well outlaw EVER playing Elvis's "Blue Christmas". That is seriously the worst song ever. I hate it. Followed closely by "The Hippopotamus Song". "Santa Baby" is not much better.

But I could devote a whole entry to a list of hated Christmas songs. Did you know that there are 41 days left until Christmas. I know that because the beginning of November I start a countdown on our whiteboard at work. Partly because I love Christmas, but mostly because it annoys the people I work with.
I love everything about Christmas. When I was a kid, it was about Santa and the presents. No surprise there. Now that I'm a grown-up (no funny comments from you, Mom and Dad), it's so much more. It's a time to reflect about what Christmas is. It's celebrating the wonder of Christ's birth. It's Christmas trees and lights. It's helping Sally decorate the church with the Christmas poinsettias. It's the candlelight Christmas Eve service. It's the anticipation of knowing you found the perfect gift for someone and imagining the look on their face when they open it. It's in Christmas cards and singing carols and Christmas music and mom's mint cookies. And you know what it isn't? It isn't big sales and cranky shoppers and snippy retail associates. It isn't fighting about saying "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas". It isn't all about the material stuff. And it irritates me to no end that something that should be such a peaceful, joyful holiday, has morphed into stress, tacky lights, and horrid Christmas songs.
When Emily was little, she wrote on a little scrap piece of paper, "Jesus is the reason for the season". It goes on the fridge every year. I know that phrase can sometimes be a bit cliche....but it reminds me of the magic of Christmas, the beauty of a child's faith. The way that a child can look forward to Santa and presents and all the "stuff" they want, but at the same time still sing "Happy Birthday" to Jesus. I think we lose that as we become adults. We get drawn into the stress and mess, and lose sight of the true beauty of Christmas. You can have them both. As long as you don't forget the main reason, there's nothing wrong with the stuff. Except for Elvis. Seriously, that song has got to go.

But this year is a different stress and mess. The very things that used to bring me solace from the commercialism are now the things I want to run away from. I love Christmas trees. Big ones, small ones, fake ones, real ones. I love white lights and icicles. I love the ornaments. One of the things on my list of things I want to see is the Christmas tree in New York. It's just not Christmas without one. I'm usually the one that decorates ours each year. It's my thing- mom does the house, I do the tree. Emily hated decorating it. She'd sit in the living room and fuss because I had Christmas music playing and she wanted to watch TV. And I'd tell her that there is something truly sacrilegious about decorating the tree and watching a Friend's DVD. And that if she wanted to watch it she could go downstairs. She never did though, she always stayed and talked to me. That memory is what Christmas is to me. It's the traditions that only a family can appreciate. So someone tell me, what am I supposed to do this year? I've spent the last seven months running away from my emotions and burying them in an attempt to keep myself from falling apart. But Christmas is something I can't run away from. I can't bear the thought of ignoring it, and I can't bear the thought of going through it. I can't bear the thought of putting up the tree, and I can't bear the thought of staring at the empty spot in the window. I'm afraid it will hurt too much, and I'm afraid it won't hurt enough. I wonder if I'll ever look forward to Christmas again, and I'm afraid that I'll forget.

I've been looking forward to the Christmas stuff that doesn't involve something I did with Emily. Decorating the sanctuary for Christmas. Putting up the lights in my office. (Again, partly because it annoys my co-workers. I'm going to get blinking ones this year). Setting out the poinsettias. Going to the late Christmas Eve service at St. Jame's in Gettysburg with my friends Sally and Mark. Playing my Christmas Cd's. Those things are safe. But I can't face our Christmas tree. Or the macaroni wreath. Or the advent calendar. Or the finger marks she never tried to hide in the cookie dough. Or the stockings. Or the million other little things that made Christmas... well, Christmas. So that's why I want to petition the powers that be that all the commercial crap has to go. If there's no commercial crap to make me want to hide myself in the familiar things of Christmas, then I won't have to face them and then I won't have to let myself feel anything.

I haven't lost sight of the meaning of Christmas. I really haven't. Even if there was no tree, Christmas will still come. Even if there were no cookies, or presents, or lights, or decorated churches, or carols, or snow.... Christmas will still come. Even without Emily, Christmas will still come. It will still be the celebration of the birth of Christ. And that gives me hope, it really does. I wonder how people who don't believe in God get through something like this. Because beneath all the trappings and bows is my faith and hope in God. I know that, and that's what I am holding onto. But even still, it hurts.

I don't think I can face Christmas, but I don't want to not face it. Does that make sense? I want to face it in my own time, when I'm ready. So I am hereby putting Christmas on hold until it stops hurting. And don't anyone dare play that Elvis song when I'm around.

Falling apart

I've had a revelation of sorts this week---- it's my fault that people say stupid things to try and make me feel better. Want to know why it's my fault? Because I make it hard to let people be comforting. Sounds a little crazy, but there's some truth to it. It is much easier to comfort someone who is weepy and crying than someone who puts up a wall. So because I don't crumble in front of every person who says something idiotic, it's essentially my fault that they keep talking.

Someone at church this past Sunday referred to me as "the Rock". Sunday was All Saints Sunday, and there's a part in the service where they read the names of everyone who's died over the last year. And because I'm not one to fall apart in front of people, I get called a Rock. Which translates into, "what the heck is wrong with you, you should be crying, don't you even care?" What do they know anyway? I am not a rock. I don't want to be anyone's rock. There's absolutely nothing wrong with showing emotion. Somedays I wish I could, I think it might help. But it's not who I am. It upsets me that they all think I am cold and uncaring because I refuse to share my heart with people who are virtually strangers. I don't trust easily, and I don't bare my soul to just anyone. I try and tell myself that the people who really know me understand. My parents know it. I wonder sometimes if I make it harder on them, but they know it. My friend Sally knows it. Debbie knows it. Lauren knows it. So why do I really care what anyone else thinks?

Because the truth is that I am a mess. I've been slowly falling apart for the last seven months, and I don't know how to pick up the pieces. I'm tired of putting up with people being stupid, making excuses that they say stuff because they don't know any better, and then I come off as the rude one.

I am so tired of being mad at Emily, but dangit, I am so mad I can't get past it.

poland 2009

I got an e-mail from my team leader from the Poland trip. I'm going back to Poland again next year. She mentioned in her e-mail that they may have another single girl going who could possibly be a room-mate while we're there. And while that's cool, and I'm excited about going back... even that made me miss Emily. I know I joke about how Emily was not one for getting dirty. Or doing hard work. But I think I could have convinced her to go with me. I think once I'd been and could tell her what to expect, she would have gone. And I know I could have gotten her once I told her that beer was cheaper than water and soda. Because the reality is, even though Emily was high maintenance, she really did have a heart of gold. And a soft spot for people who were hurting. I had a wonderful time, and I made lasting friendships with some of the people I went with. But there were several times when I was there that I found myself wishing that I had someone there with me. I took so many pictures of people standing together in front of buildings with their cameras. It made me wish for someone to stand beside me. And Lord knows I didn't want a picture of just myself. I wanted my sister. And I realized that I would have felt that way even if she wasn't gone...

(unfinished draft, posted 5-8-09)

Trick or Treat

It's Halloween. It never really was one of our favorite holidays. It was fun, and mom always made the coolest costumes, and what kid doesn't like free candy.... but it definitely didn't rank up there with Christmas. (Or in Emily's case, her birthday).
But I still have alot of memories of the cool costumes.
There was the princess costume that we both got alot of use out of. There was the year we were both black cats. Pipi Longstocking, Molly- The American Girl, the Jack-in-the-Box, the Mime, my very favorite- the unicorn costume, hippies, cowgirls... for someone who did not like Halloween at all, my mother was the best at making Halloween costumes. And it was years before I realized how much she disliked Halloween. So thanks Mom- for the fuzzy pumpkins you hung on the walls, and the costumes you made, the "smelly ghost" you let us put out (remember him?!). I'd mention the cardboard skeleton, but I think that was more Dad's thing than ours. It kinda creeped me out. I wonder how long it took for the people who bought our house in Alabama to find him hanging in the attic?

Anyway- back to Halloween. Greencastle has this really weird thing that they don't do Halloween on the 31st. It's always on the Thursday before. Which I've never really been able to find out why. Seems every time you ask someone, they don't know. Probably because they've done it that way for the last 300 years. I don't know. But anyway, trick-or-treat night was actually last night. As I was driving to choir practice, I saw all the little princesses, and witches, and ghosts, and skater punks, snow whites, and skeletons.... and I really, really missed Emily. I'm not sure what triggered it, but I started remembering all those years. I thought about the last time we went together- I think I was 17 and Em would have been 13. I was an Army girl, and Emily was a mime. I think that was the year we had finally caught on to the fact that maybe it wasn't such a smart idea to let mom and dad "check" our candy to make sure it was "ok". It was the first year I actually got to eat my Mr. Goodbars, and Snickers, and Milky Ways. Or maybe Greencastle candy was safer than Montgomery candy. :)
Emily was funny. I would eat all the "good stuff" first. (probably a survival instinct- get to it before the parents did!) Within a couple days, the chocolate was gone, and all that was left were the starbursts, the cheapo knock-off candy, and Mounds bars (which I know is technically chocolate, but it's full of coconut- which is just a way to ruin perfectly good chocolate, so therefore it doesn't count.) But Emily would hang onto her Snicker's and Reeses and Milky Ways for ever... so I suppose I can't really be too hard on my parents for raiding our candy. I sneaked out of Em's all the time. And the ironic thing is, I never really had to sneak. If I'd asked, she'd probably have just given it to me. *sigh*
Every year, Grandma always sends us a little Halloween goody bag. Mine are the peanut butter Mary Janes. You know, the candies in the orange and black wrappers? They've always been one of my favorites. Emily liked the orange candy pumpkins, which are one of mom's favorites too. And Em always shared. I never was very good at sharing when it came to food. Which is why the Mary Janes were my favorites. No one else likes them, so I didn't have to share.
I miss her. I found myself wishing she was here so we could pretend to be 6 again and dress up and go Trick-or-Treating. And then I realized that wouldn't really be all that fun for her, because she couldn't have eaten all that candy anyway. And if she was here, I wouldn't have wanted to miss choir practice, so we likely wouldn't have gone anyway. I found myself wishing I would wake up and that the last seven months would be one big trick. I wished I was pretending that I wasn't sneaking candy out of her pumpkin, and that she was pretending not to know I was doing it.

I'm not sure if I was missing what could have been, or what once was. But either way, I was missing her. I am missing her.

He even cares about the cookies....

....and that's why He made Aunts.


Thanks Aunt Pat- I love you too. :)

Hope

I've started and stopped about 12 different blog entries in the last month or so. I just couldn't seem to find the right words to finish what I wanted to say.
Lately, I'm not even sure I know what I want to say.

My grandmother passed away two weeks ago today. She's been sick for a very long time, and I knew that it was inevitable... but it sure doesn't make it any easier. Someone actually had the audacity to say to me, "That's sad, but at least it's not as bad as when your sister died." To phrase it as eloquently as I can- that's crap. It still amazes me at all the stupid things people say. I think I understand what they were trying to say- it is a little different when someone dies so young, as opposed to someone who was 80. I'll admit I'm guilty of reading through the obituaries and kind of by-passing the ones who were in their 70's and 80's, yet reading through the ones who were in their 20's or 30's. I suppose in a way, we try and make it easier to deal with by telling ourselves that because they lived such a long life, it's a little easier to say goodbye. And maybe there is some truth in that. I miss my grandmother, but I would be lying if I said it was the same sense of loss as when Emily died. But that definitely doesn't mean the loss is any less, just different. I lost a grandmother, but my dad and my aunts and uncle lost a mother. It's different relationships, different personalities.... you can't measure loss, you can't put emotion in a box. Grief is definitely not a one-size fits all kind of deal.

I fell in love with Shirley Temple movies because of Mom-Mom. I think we watched "A Little Princess" every single time we went to see them. I loved listening to her stories- about her past, about her family. I especially loved the ones about how bad my dad was when he was little. And it made my heart hurt for my dad and my aunts and uncle as I listened to them talk about her, their memories of her, and knowing that there really wasn't anything I could say or do to make it better. At her funeral, I really wanted to get up and say something, but I just couldn't get ahold of myself enough to be able to articulate what I wanted to say. My cousin Shannon played "My Heart Will Go On", on her flute, and I fell apart from there. I found myself crying so hard, and I'm not sure if I was crying for Mom-Mom, or because of the song and the words that go to it are so meaningful, for all of our family, or for Emily, or just a combination of it all.

This year has been horrible, for all of us. My suggestion was that we all get together on New Year's Eve and get trashed and forget that it ever happened. And I was only slightly kidding when I suggested it. But I've been trying to remember some of the good moments. (I think there was one.)
But in all seriousness, this year has really made me realize how amazing my family really is. I think we tend to take them for granted, because they're family, and you just assume they'll always be there. In some cases that could be a good or bad thing. (grin) I have aunts, uncles, and cousins that live two hours away, that in the past I've seen maybe once or twice a year. I mean seriously, that's ridiculous. So if there's any good at all to come from this mess that has been 2008, it's made me more aware of how important it is to make time for family.

Something I've been thinking alot about lately too is hope. I definitely haven't been feeling alot of that lately. People bandy that word about all the time, "I hope I get that promotion", "I hope he calls soon", "I hope she gets better", "I hope mom makes chocolate chip cookies for dessert", "I hope things get easier", but what does it really mean? So I went to Google. I love Google. Where did people go to find out stuff before it came along? Anyway, according to the all-knowing Internet, hope is "a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. Hope is the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best."
Isn't that kind of like being optimistic? Not really... optimism is more of.... a thought process that leads to a positive attitude. Hope is a belief, an emotion. You can talk yourself into being optimistic- but hopefulness comes through belief. And faith. I think you can be optimistic without faith, but faith is the very foundation of hope. Emily Dickinson wrote in a poem that "'Hope' is the thing with feathers-- / That perches in the soul." The verse on my daily calendar today is "Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful." Hebrews 10:23. The word that sticks out most to me is unswervingly. That is HARD to do. I can't say that I've been able to do that. I've never lost my faith, but I definitely have lost hope. But that's the beauty of faith. If you lose your optimism, you don't really have anything to fall back on. It's kind of hard to talk yourself into being positive, when you feel like you're in a downward spiral. But even if you lose hope, or feel like you've lost it, you still have faith to catch you as you fall. And you don't have to talk yourself back into hope. Faith lifts it back up. "Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope. Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:21-23

I can be optimistic that 2009 is going to be a better year. I can be optimistic that things at work will change. I can be optimistic that Mr. Right will someday call (soon, preferably!) I can be optimistic that mom-mom and Emily are better now, even if it wasn't the way I would have chosen. I can be optimistic that things will get easier. I can even be optimistic that mom might make chocolate chip cookies. But those things are all based on the power of positive thinking. My hope is based on the faith in knowing that even if that all doesn't happen, He's still going to be there in the aftermath and mess. Well, maybe not so much with the whole chocolate chip cookie thing. I don't think He's really all that concerned about that. (grin)

So to the rest of the year 2008- bring it on. You've thrown your worst at me, and I've survived. You've taken the people I love away, but you can't take away love, because love never dies. I have faith, and with faith I have hope. And with that, I can't be beat.

Mom-Mom

After Emily died, so many people said that it was tragic that she “died so young”. As if her death was somehow worse because she was 20 as opposed to 80. I guess we do look at a young person’s death as somehow more of a loss than someone who is older. I’ve caught myself looking at the obituaries and skimming past the ones in their 70’s, and 80’s…. but reading the ones in their 20’s or 30’s. I guess somehow we think that the elderly have lived a “full” life and it’s not quite as tragic as someone who didn’t quite get to do everything. But let me tell you, 80 hurts just as much as 20.
My grandmother died last Thursday. We knew it was coming, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier. I will admit, it was a different kind of sorrow and loss than I felt for Emily. But it wasn’t any less because she was 80. It was still the loss of a person. Someone who lived and breathed and laughed and cried. Who was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and a great-grandmother.
I felt like I ought to have said something at the memorial service. But I just couldn’t get myself together enough to get up there and say something. I found myself remembering how I fell in love with Shirley Temple movies, because Mom-Mom loved them. I think we watched “The Little Princess”, every time I stayed with them. I remember watching episodes of “Little House on the Prarie” together. I remembered all these things, all these memories, and how much I love her... but I couldn't string them together enough to form a coherent thought.

Sometimes you wonder how much hurt a heart can stand.

(unfinished draft- posted 5-8-09)

Bittersweet pieces

Emily used to always write notes to apologize when she'd done something to upset me. It drove me nuts- I don't know why. I used to tell her that if she really wanted to apologize, she ought to do it face to face instead of in a note. Stupid, right?
I was a bossy brat... I never stopped to consider that she probably used to write notes to apologize because I was horrible about holding grudges. I didn't make it easy for her, that's for sure.

My mother was at my grandparents house last weekend, and Grandma gave her a note I'd written to Emily that that she'd found and saved. I can't believe she saved it all these years, but I'm glad she did.....

Dated June 21,1996

"Emily,
I'm sorry about fighting with you. I don't like getting upset, and sometimes I know I can be bossy, but I don't mean to be, it's just that you're my only sister and I want to look after you. I'll try not to be bossy, and I'll try not to act like your mother all the time. I <3 u so very much!
You're loving sister,
Melissa
XOXO"

I have no idea what I did that made her so mad that I had to write a note to apologize to her. I must've really ticked her off though.

I just wish that I had tried harder to look after her.

Angels?

I’m not sure if I believe in angels.

I remember when I was younger, Pastor Mark told us in Sunday School that when someone died, they did not become angels when they went to Heaven- that angels are a separate celestial being. I remember being bitterly disappointed- my vision of all of us up there sitting on clouds with wings and halos and playing harps was pretty much shattered.
But now that I’m not 10 anymore, and understand a little better about what he meant, it would sometimes irritate me when people referred to their loved one as “Angel so-and-so.” It’s just not the way it works. But, everyone has different ways of coping. And if they want to believe that their loved one is an angel, so be it. That kind of thinking didn’t really help me. I know my sister, and I know for a fact that there is no way that Emily would be content to sit around playing a silly harp. And don’t get me started on what her opinion would be of wings. She’d probably have demanded a set of black ones, just to be contrary.

I’m not sure what to think about when people say that those who have died are watching over us. Can they really see us? That could be kind of scary. But if they can, I’m at least hoping that there’s no way that she can tattle on me when I’m doing something I don’t want Mom and Dad to know about. But seriously, that’s kind of disconcerting. How does the whole thing work anyway? Does she know what’s been going on since she left us? Can she hear me when I talk to her? Do I have to wait to get to Heaven to fill her in? If I do, I’m screwed. I can’t remember it all- I’m lucky I remember what I had for breakfast this morning. I never really put much thought into what happens when you get to Heaven. It’s not something that we can ever understand while we are here, so I don’t waste my time thinking about it, because I’ll never really understand it. I guess that’s all part of the whole black-and-white thinking aspect of my personality. If I don’t understand it, I don’t dwell on it. Kind of like my stance on timezones. Wherever I am, that’s what time it is. Doesn’t matter what time it is where you used to be, it is what it is where you are. But that’s another issue.

But back to the whole being an angel thing. I bring this up because of something that happened last week in Poland. Thrivent Financial for Lutherans is the group that sponsored this trip. Thrivent has a partnership with Habitat for Humanity, and that’s how these trips are coordinated. A team is considered 10 people, and for every 10, Thrivent gives a $10,000.00 donation to the local Habitat group. Because we had a team of 20 this year, Thrivent generously gave the extra $10,000.00 to Habitat in Poland. We couldn’t tell Adam, our Habitat coordinator, until the official okay came through. I guess Thrivent had to make sure that all 20 of us were actually there, etc. Our team leader, Terri, got the go-ahead on Thursday to inform Adam that the additional money was coming. Unbeknownst to her, that morning Adam had been to the bank and found out that they may not have had enough money to pay the workers. So when he came to the jobsite and found out that the extra money was coming…. it gave us all goosebumps. And when Terri told us that if even one person had not shown up, Thrivent would not have been able to give the $20,000.00, I almost cried. See, after Emily died- raising money for this trip was the last thing on my mind. And I knew that there was no way I could have afforded it on my own. I had decided that I was going to call Terri and tell her that I just didn’t think that I was going to be able to go. But before I could, that’s when my parents told me that they were using part of Em’s life insurance money to send me over there. Whoa. I knew there was no way I could back out. I never told Terri any of this, until that day. She cried when I told her about Emily's insurance money.
Later, we had all signed our names on the side of our trailer. Terri added one more :
"Anoit Emily"- Angel Emily in Polish.

Maybe there are such things as angels.

Missing Emily....

"...because without her, I don't make sense."

That's a line from "In Her Shoes", which I am watching at the moment.

And I don't make sense.

And I miss her.

Back to reality? Really? This is it?

I'm back in the States.... back to work.... back to my computer... back to my e-mails, telephone, and endless list of complaints. It's back to the part-time job at Food Lion tonight, which I am dreading like a trip to the dentist.

More about the trip later when I'm not cranky and tired, but one important thing I've learned since I got back?
I.Am.Working.Too.Hard.

Life is too short to waste it being stressed all the time.

Well I'm back in the States, trying to get back into the swing of things, and hating every moment of it. Somehow trying to pretend to care about the 352 e-mails I still have waiting for me is even harder than before. It just doesn't seem to really matter much, in light of last week.

I even hate the thought of going to work at Food Lion tonight.

I.Have.Too.Much.To.Do.

Another Piece....

Emily’s friends Rachel and Kevin got married on Saturday. Em was supposed to be one of the bridesmaids. I still remember her fussing because Rachel hadn’t decided on what color or style of dress she wanted. I don’t know Rachel as well as some of Emily’s friends, but I had always gotten the impression from the way Emily talked about her that she is a bit of a free-spirit, kind of a take-it-as-it comes girl. But for Emily, someone who needed to know what we were going to have for dinner each night of the upcoming week, the whole indecisive dress thing was driving her absolutely insane. I think her eyes actually popped out of her head when Rachel told them to “find something green”. I forget how many times she tried to pin Rachel down as to exactly what shade of green she wanted. I had to laugh when I saw the pictures and the dresses are yellow. Hahahahahahaha. I can just imagine what Emily’s reaction would have been.

I thought about the wedding all day on Saturday. I couldn’t bear to ask Diana if Rachel had gotten another bridesmaid.

My breath caught in my chest this morning when I logged onto my facebook. One of Emily’s friends had posted some pictures. I should have known- there was a picture of the vase of daisies that were placed in memory of Emily, right next to Diana where she should have been standing. I still can’t stop crying. I want to call Rachel and tell her thank you- for loving my sister. For remembering my sister. I want to tell her that I’m sorry, sorry that she lost a friend, and sorry that she wasn’t there for one of the most important days in her life. It’s things like those flowers that break my heart. One of Em’s friends left a quote on her facebook wall that said, “when you lose someone and you're not expecting it, you don’t lose her all at once, you lose her in pieces over a long time." Saturday was another piece. Seeing that picture this morning was another piece.

But yet, as much as it hurts- in a way I don’t want to stop picking up the pieces. It’s all that’s left.

Link to travel blog

http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/Team2008Poland/

So I was elected to be the official travel-blog writer for the Poland trip.
If you want to follow along and see what we’re up to- there’s the link.

I found out that we’re taking a tour of the Opel car manufacturing plant while we’re there. Be sure to keep an eye out for the blog on that one. It should be an exciting event.

Three days. I leave in three days….. yikes.

I ordered a luggage set for my trip. They’re very pretty, if luggage can be called pretty. They’re purple.  But smaller than I expected. Em would have taken one look and told me that I needed bigger ones, because I’d need more room to bring back stuff.

I’m really nervous about that flight. Never realized I was such a wimp about flying, but I’m slightly freaked out. And I miss Emily. She’d be driving me nuts, trying to make me feel better, but saying all the wrong things. And pestering me about bringing her presents. (Notice I used the plural form of present…)

I’m excited about going, but then I feel guilty for being excited, then I feel dumb for feeling guilty…

Where'd they go?

I find myself wanting to write something, anything--- and then I can’t think of a thing to say. I’ve got nothing. At least nothing that hasn’t been said before. I wrack my brain, trying to think of a funny story—and I come up with nothing. But I know there are tons of them- I mean, we laughed a lot. Sometimes at the expense of the other, but still we laughed. But for the life of me, I can't remember them.

Where are those memories now? 20 years, and this is the best I can do?

The ghost at the altar...

I hate that Emily won’t be at my wedding… well, if I ever have a wedding.
I was at one over the weekend, and I was watching the bride and her sister. Every so often they’d make a face at each other, or something silly. It is so something Emily would do. I’d be a nervous wreck, and she would be… well, Emily.

But what was really tearing at me is that I never wanted her to be my maid of honor. Does that sound horrible? Probably. But it’s true. I always intended to have her in my wedding as a bridesmaid… but not the maid of honor. I guess just because of our past, and the way things had been strained for awhile. I wanted my maid of honor to be someone that, well—liked me. And in another way--- someone responsible. Emily was many things, but responsibility and attention to detail was not one of her gifts.
Of course, it’s not like I’m even planning a wedding, or even remotely close to it. Who knows, knowing me… I may have just given in and taken the path of least resistance. Emily was a force to be reckoned with, and sometimes it was easier to just not fight it.

But now the choice has been made for me. And I feel so guilty. Because you see—I pretty much told her that once. We were talking about weddings and such, and she made the comment about how at least I didn’t have to decide on a maid of honor, because it was going to be her. Well that in itself ruffled my feathers, and so I told her that just because she was my sister didn’t mean she automatically got to be it. Just like I wasn’t assuming that I would be hers. I don’t know if she ever quite forgot that I had said that to her. And it hurts even more now because when it all comes down to it…..

I bet she would have had me as her maid of honor. And not because she felt like she had to either.

There’s a word for people like me… JERKS.

Brown thumbs and whispered prayers...

My prayer plant has flowers that are blooming. Why is this significant, you ask?
Aside from the fact that it obviously doesn’t take much to get me excited, I have the brownest of brown thumbs. I can’t keep flowers alive for anything. I don’t like to weed mom’s garden because I will inevitably pull up flowers that I thought were weeds. I love African Violets, but I manage to kill every one I ever try and grow. I try not to even look at Mom’s violets. I think they know, I am bad news for flowers. My great grandmother grew the most gorgeous flowers. My grandmother always has the prettiest flower beds too. And mom can make African Violets bloom just by looking at them. Somehow the flower whisperer gene bypassed me.

But house plants…. that’s another story. Somehow, I have managed to inherit all the rejects here at the office. People keep bringing me their half-dead scraggly plants. I guess they figure they are so far gone, it can’t hurt to give them to me. Maybe it’s the fluorescent lights, maybe it’s the humidity in the office, maybe they just recognize a kindred cast-down spirit. But for whatever reason—they are growing. I’ve actually run out of room. My office looks more like a greenhouse than a cubicle. People are now running when I approach with a cutting or a plant. I’m running out of people to give them back to. I just wish that I could sneak a carnivorous plant, like a Venus flytrap, in the midst of my jungle that I could unleash on those unsuspecting fools that get on my nerves….

*snaps out of daydream*

Anyway… back to Melissa’s jungle. I like my plants… but they still aren’t flowers. They’re neat, but not a lot of color. Just a lot of green.
A friend gave me a cutting of a prayer plant about a year or so ago. I liked it because it has deep red veins running through the leaves, and the underside is also red. It breaks up all the green in my office. I rooted it in water for a while, and then when I thought the roots were long enough, I planted it. Three days later, the darn thing was half-dead. So I pulled it back out of the dirt, and stuck it back in the water, figuring it was too late, and I had just killed another one. It perked up. And stayed perked up. And started getting more leaves. So I left it for a few more weeks, and then tried to plant it again. And… it worked. And it’s been growing ever since.

Prayer plants are a neat little plant. They get their name because at the end of the day, the leaves roll themselves up, and point upwards…. like they are praying. Every once in awhile, the leaves will twitch too. Someone said it’s the angels whispering a prayer when they do that. I figure I can use all the prayers I can get…

Last week, I noticed that there were three spiky looking things shooting up from the middle of the plant. I almost cut them off, but decided the less contact I have with the plants, the better. So I left them alone. And to my surprise, the other day I looked and there are really pretty white and purple flowers blooming off of those spiky things. And now there are more spiky things shooting out of the stems. How cool! I didn’t know prayer plants bloomed. So being the geek that I am, I went to my very favorite website- Google- and looked up flowering prayer plants. And to my surprise, I have discovered that prayer plants can be rather temperamental, and aren’t the easiest of houseplants to maintain. According to Google, I am supposed to be mixing acidic soil in the pot every couple months, trimming the leaves in the months of March and February, giving it special food, making sure it maintains a constant air temperature, and keeping the soil and leaves moist. Several sites suggested keeping a bowl of water near the plant to provide humidity for the leaves to “keep it happy.” (I am SO glad I didn’t know all that before. I'd have killed it just trying to keep it alive.) The day I spend more time on a plant’s beauty routine than I do my own is the day when pigs fly. I'm lucky I manage to brush my hair and throw some mascara on in the mornings. It’s managed this long without all that, it’ll be okay. Maybe it just likes me.

But back to the flowers. Since it is such a temperamental plant (haha, like its owner I guess), it is very unusual for it to bloom without "perfect conditions". I guess they do in their native rainforests, and in greenhouses, but not often indoors.

Well I’ll be darned. The girl that has the power to wither African Violets with just a look has managed to coax flowers from a plant that is not supposed to bloom. Maybe that green thumb gene is lurking in there somewhere.

Whatever the reason, I don't care. That silly little plant with the flowers has just brightened my week. See? Told you it doesn't take much.

Maybe the little angels whispering among the leaves figured I could use some extra prayers these days.

Return to Sender.....

Now I’m known to have a rather weird sense of humor. So you all may not find the humor in this, but in light of the last 4 months…. I just have to laugh.

I received a very strange call from my flute teacher. I’m taking flute lessons from the Cumberland Valley School of Music, and the fall semester is starting soon. So here I am at work, and the phone rings.

“Good afternoon, this is Melissa.”

“Melissa?”

“Yes?”

“Melissa Norman?”

“Yes?”

“Melissa, that’s really you?”

Slight pause… “yes, that’s me.”

“This is Dottie, your flute teacher? Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you’re there. I’m so glad I got a hold of you.”

Okay, weird. She sounded, almost upset. But… Dottie is normally a little… different. You know, the musician-y type. But she’s really nice, and she put up with me trying to make actual music come out of that darn flute, and she still seemed to think there is hope for me.

Anyway, she proceeds to tell me that the CVSM office had called her because my registration form they sent me came back undeliverable. So she asked for my address again. She still sounded a little strange. Then she said, “Okay, so I’m going to call the office back right away.” I’m thinking… “gee, this is really nice that’s she going to so much trouble--- but I’m an adult beginner flute student. Why on earth is she going to all this trouble?”

We chatted for a few minutes, and then I hung up.

Half an hour later, the phone rings again.

“Good afternoon, this is Melissa.”

“Melissa?” (different voice, same question)

“Yes?”

“Melissa Norman?”

Ok, major déjà vu.

“Yesss…..”

“This is Christy from the CVSM office? I understand you just talked to Dottie a little while ago.”

She went on to say that she just wanted to double check the address again. So I gave it to her. Then she asked me if I’d had any trouble with receiving my mail. I told her no, and then finally asked what was going on.
She hesitated and said… “Honey, I don’t know how exactly to say this… but when your registration came back it was marked that you were, um… deceased.”

WHAT?!?!

I was stunned for a moment, and then I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I stupidly said, “Well.... I’m not!!” She kind of laughed too. I realized that somehow the post office must have gotten Emily and I mixed up. So I told her about Emily. Which I hate doing to people. It catches them off guard, and they never know what to say. And it’s worse when you get the really sweet people like her. She sounded like she was going to cry, which made ME want to cry… so I did what I always do when I get uncomfortable. I make jokes.

“So… I wonder if all my bills are returned to sender marked ‘deceased’ if I still have to pay them?”

She did laugh though, so the crying situation was averted.

Poor Dottie… no wonder she sounded so strange on the phone.

I find myself laughing, until the underlying reason for the whole mess hits me again. Then it’s really not quite as funny as it seemed.

Dad’s going to go have a little talk with the Post Office though- one, they are returning the wrong one’s mail. two, we didn’t ask to have her mail returned in the first place. Ahh the joys of living in a small town...

So in the meantime, if any of y’all have mailed me anything--- don’t panic if it comes back. I am still very much here.

Here's your sign....

Okay, so I’m arranging for a freight carrier to come in and pick up some compressors we are shipping to China. I sent the weights and dimensions to the woman making the arrangements: 3 skids, weighing 11,000 pounds, 12 x 4 x 4.

I get an e-mail from this woman, and she tells me that I didn’t specify whether or not the dimensions were in inches or in feet.

Ummm….. okay, it’s 11 THOUSAND pounds. I mean, seriously? What on earth would fit into a 12 inch by 4 inch box and weigh 11 THOUSAND pounds?

People amuse me.

But I politely e-mailed her back and said “It’s in feet.”

Now there’s a sentence you don’t find yourself typing very often…..

hahahahahahaha


I picked up the phone to call Emily and tell her. She always got a kick out of my stupid work stories.
*sigh*

measuring up

I was driving to work this morning, and the thought struck me again as it has occasionally in the last four months. If I should die sometime in the near future, who’s going to speak at my funeral? I spoke at Emily’s because… well, because she’s my sister. And I owed it to her. And I knew that my parents couldn’t. I actually didn’t think that I could, but the strength to make it through those awful minutes didn’t come from me anyway.
But seriously… who? It’s a depressing thought. Who knows me well enough to really talk about who I was? What kind of person I was? What made me, me? It was Emily. And she left me first.
I don’t like to think about funerals and stuff. But the sheer lack of knowing what Emily would have wanted for hers has made me think about it a lot. I love my parents, but the truth of the matter is that a lot of the decisions… I made. Not the “big” ones, like whether or not to have her buried or cremated, and where to have the service. And that’s fine, they weren’t my decisions to make. And I know that funerals are really for the living, and not the dead anyway. But oh… I don’t think Emily would have liked it. I wanted “her” at the memorial service. I wanted an urn up front, and even her picture. But when I brought it up, it bothered mom. But that service didn’t feel real, it didn’t have the closure that I needed.
I chose the picture for the memorial bulletin. They used my poem on the inside. I chose all the scripture and the hymns. I think I picked ones she would have liked. I insisted on doing the picture collage to put in the fellowship hall. Mom didn’t like it, but afterwards I think she came around and was glad I did.

But who the hell is going to do that for me? And if I leave my list of what I want and what I don’t want…. who’s going to make sure that my parents do it? Who’s going to write a stupid blog about me? Who’s going to go through my stuff and make sure my dearest friends and family get something of mine that meant something to them?

And last of all…. it’s totally weird, stupid, and selfish…. but it bothers me that there won’t be as many people at mine as there were at Emily’s.
There. I said it. It’s been bothering me for months. But I can’t help it.

She always did everything better than me. And even now that she’s gone… I still will never measure up.

I hate her. I hate myself for hating her. I hate that I can’t seem to get past this.
I hate everything.

Temper, temper

I want to be three again, so I can do this:

RRRRRRRRAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But at 25, I don't think people would be as understanding........

Nicknames and heartache

There’s a rage lurking just beneath the exterior, and I’m not sure how much longer I can fight it back. I am so unbelievably pissed off. Maybe I need medication, maybe it’s just that I’ve been pushing everything down for the last four months, maybe it’s a combination of both. But I can feel it rising up inside me, and it actually almost scares me. I’m afraid one of these days someone is going to say something and I am literally going to go ballistic.

God, I just don’t understand. I want to trust, I do…. but it’s just so hard when everything around looks so bleak. I can’t stand the thought of facing day after monotonous day here. I’d just up and go to SC, except I’m afraid Lauren won’t go for that, if I don’t have a job lined up. I’m pretty sure that I could manage to get one, but who knows? I may not right away, and it’s not like I have a readily accessible supply of money. Which is my own dumb fault, I know.

I just feel so lost. And alone. I’ve never felt this lonely in all my life.


Diana posted something in her livejournal that just about cut me to the core. She posted an excerpt from an e-mail survey that Em had sent, and one of the questions was about what nicknames people call you. Em’s response was “Usually just Em, but sometimes people call me Emmy… usually when they want something. (*cough* my sister* cough*)

I wanted to cry. I never called her Emmy because I wanted something from her. I called her Emmy because it was a pet nickname and it was cute, and she wouldn’t let many people get away with it. Just like when she called me “Misla”. I’m sure she didn’t mean a thing by it, other than being funny with her friends…. but it’s still left me somewhat heartbroken.

I hate this. It’s just not fair.

Scary movies and getting even...

I was texting back and forth with my cousin Rachel last night. (Oh the joys of being 13 with a new cell phone and unlimited text messaging!) Anyway, she was telling me about some scary ghost show she was watching on TV, and it reminded me of a funny Emily memory.

When Mom was involved in Girl Scouts she would go away for weekend leader’s retreats. (I still think that was just a ruse to get all those women away from their kids and husbands for a weekend. I mean seriously, just how much training do you really need?! Just kidding, Mom.) Anyway, when she was gone, we would rent all the scary movies and action movies that Mom doesn’t particularly like and spend the weekend staying up late and watching them. So this all started one weekend when Mom was gone and the three of us decided to watch “What Lies Beneath”. Which is by far one of the scariest movies I think I have ever seen. At one point, we paused the movie for a bathroom break. Emily commandeered the upstairs bathroom, so I had to go downstairs. Mind you, we were watching the scariest movie I have ever seen. With scary bathroom scenes. Anyhow, when I started back upstairs, Emily was back in the living room, but Dad wasn’t there. She had this really weird look on her face, and when I asked where Dad was. She shrugged her shoulders, still with that strange look. Then all of a sudden from the hallway I heard, “RRAAAAARRRRRRR!!!” I screamed, half jumped and then half fell to my knees, still on the stairs, terrified out of my bloody mind. Emily was falling off the chair she was laughing so hard. That answered my question where Dad was. And I for one was thankful I had already gone to the bathroom. She was so smug that she and Dad cooked this up. Neither one would ever ‘fess up over who thought of the idea first. But Emily was pretty pleased with herself.

So needless to say, I had to get even at Em. Yes, I know Dad was the one who did the jumping and making of loud noises… but that’s to be expected from him. (And even I must admit, it was pretty funny.) But still, Emily turned traitor. She broke the unspoken sisterhood vow. It’s the kids against the parents. You don’t break ranks and join the other side.

So fast forward many months later. Both mom and dad were gone for the weekend, and Emily had invited a couple friends over. I know one of them was Dacia.. and I think Diana was there too, but I can’t remember now. One of them brought “The Ring”, which is also a very scary movie. The whole premise of the movie is that people watch this videotape, then they get a phone call telling them they are going to die. (Or something like that, it’s been awhile. But I do remember the part about the phone call. Remember that, it is very important to this story.) We paused the movie for a bathroom break and Emily felt the need to tell them about the time she and Dad “got me.” We all had a good laugh at my expense, (haha), and then it hit me. The perfect revenge.
We turned the lights back off, and finished the movie. Now at some point, Emily had ended up with the phone next to her. I just happened to have my cell phone in my pocket. I waited until the movie ended, and just as they turned it off… “BRRRRIIINNNNG!!”
I have never laughed so hard in my life. Emily screamed, threw the phone across the room, and practically jumped into Dacia’s lap. I think I scared Diana along with Emily (I’m pretty sure it was Diana…) but Dacia had seen me with the phone, so she knew what I was doing. Felt kinda bad for scaring Diana too, but the look on Emily’s face was priceless.
I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. She pretended to be ticked, but even she admitted that she had it coming.

Oh… the memories.

The depths of despair....

I start to think I am doing better, and then find myself falling into the "depths of despair", as Anne used to say. (You know, from Anne of Green Gables? One of few movies ever made that was just as good as the book) And it was one of our favorite movies. We used that phrase all the time. Emily of course, was the more dramatic of the two of us. She'd put her hand to her forehead and heave this huge sigh that must've come from her toes and would almost have you convinced that making her pick up her breakfast dishes really had thrown her into the "depths of despair." *shakes her head as she types*. I'd forgotten about that until now.. I remember watching Anne of Green Gables for the first time. We were in Alabama, and for some reason, we were all sitting on the floor. I was sitting on the Turkish rug in front of the fireplace. I used to like to sit and pick at the charred threads from the fire. I close my eyes, and I can almost feel the parts of the rug I had picked clean. Anyway, I remember getting to the part of the movie where Anne and Diana aren't allowed to be friends anymore, and I started sobbing my heart out. To the point where mom and dad had to pause the movie. I was inconsolable at the thought that Anne had lost the one person who was as close to her as a sister. Never mind that mom kept telling me it was going to be okay, to keep watching. My heart was just breaking. Eventually I calmed down enough to finish watching, and mom was right- everything turned out okay. I thought I understood that depth of grief as a 10 year old little girl, caught up in the emotion of a movie. Now I'm a 25 year old little girl who's caught in the nightmare of life, and who understands firsthand what the "depths of despair" really does feel like. And unlike the movie, there's no way I can fastforward life to see if everything turns out okay.

See, that is why I read the end of books, and want to know what's going to happen at the end of a movie. I need to know what's coming, and I need to know it's going to turn out okay. And if it's not- at least I can prepare myself for it. (I'm neurotic, I know. Somedays I really think I would be a shrink's dream come true. There's so much to work with, I may as well be a walking dollar sign.)


Well. That was so totally not where I was going to go with this post. Funny how something like a silly phrase unleashes memories you'd forgotten you had.....
Guess I'll save the rest for another day. Doesn't quite seem to fit now.

I can't seem to catch my breath. I'm not talking metaphors, I'm talking asthma. I've been sighing and yawning all day, because it's the only way to get enough air into my lungs. It's very hard to truly describe what it's like to live as an asthmatic. I think it's one of those things no one can understand until they have felt it. (Ha, kind of like this nightmare that's been the last four months of my life.) The best I can do is that it feels like someone has a fist wrapped around your lung. You don't notice it until you try and take a breath, and then you realize that it has slowly been tightening it's grip. And you're breathing, breathing, breathing, and those damn lungs just won't expand. You feel the panic start to settle, and the only thought in your mind is air. It's a helpless feeling. Asthma is one of those non-diseases. It's a disease, but not a Disease if you know what I mean. Like Cancer is a Disease. And Diabetes is a Disease. Asthma isn't quite worthy of the capital "D"- it's kind of ranked down there with arthritis, and acid reflux. It's something that you live with and deal with. But for those of us who are Asthmatics, and those who have witnessed us having an attack--- that's some pretty scary stuff. The only thing that's as helpless as having an attack is the one who is watching the person having the attack. My poor parents come to mind. And Laurie, who I think I have traumatized forever that one night at the beach.
I've fought with my parents since I was diagnosed as a kid. Refused to take my medicine, refused to slow down, refused to label myself as "sick", was mortified when they made a stink at school when my P.E. teacher made me run the mile, refused to go to the doctor and waited until long after I should have.... in some ways I'm as bullheaded as Emily was about being "sick". I guess the difference is in her capital "D", and my lowercase "a".
My point to all of this... I can't breathe. And I don't know if it's the asthma, if it's grief, or a combination of the two. But today I gave in, and gave up, and called the doctor. I'm going to ask tomorrow if she can refer me to an asthma specialist. Maybe I'm grasping at straws and praying that the fist that has been tightening around my lungs and my heart the last few months is just Asthma and not Grief. And maybe there really is a magic cure that will make it easier to breathe again.

But there's a part of me that's afraid I won't ever be able to really breathe again.

A Lifeline....

Sometimes I never know what to say on here. No, I take that back. Sometimes I never know how much to say on here. I find I write something, and then I don’t post it because when I re-read it, it sounds somewhat pathetic and extremely depressing. There are quite a few entries I’ve written and never posted, but they still are there in cyber limbo. I went back this morning and read a few of them, and the raw emotion I was feeling then kind of took me by surprise. Yikes. I have trouble showing weakness. And to me, those posts when I was at my lowest showed me at my most vulnerable. And in typical Melissa fashion, I hid those away and put on a happy face. I think people are onto me. I’m not fooling anyone. Why do I even try? After Emily’s party on Saturday, Brandon had a campfire at his house and invited a group of people. At one point, Ashley disappeared. After awhile Diana went looking for her. When she didn’t come back, I went looking for the both of them. And found them sitting by the fence crying. And as I sat down next to Diana, before I knew it, she was sobbing. And then Ashley was on the other side and the three of us were a mess. I’ve never heard such heart-breaking sounds in my life. And I cried, but I still didn’t let myself completely go. And I don't know why...

I find myself feeling… not worse for Emily’s friends than I do myself, but feeling for them differently. Your friends don’t die at 20. It’s just not the way it’s supposed to be. I was thinking the other day, and I’ve thought this before, that while I miss Emily more than I could ever convey in my feeble words… it’s different. I think about Lauren and Debbie, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost either of my best friends. But while Emily wasn’t my best friend, she’s my sister. She’s the other half of me. She was my childhood, and was supposed to be my adulthood. She’s intertwined through my life story in a way that no one else except a sister could ever be. I’ve lost a connection to my past, and I’ve lost a part of my future. It’s like my life is a tapestry, and Emily was a particular thread that went missing halfway through. The completed tapestry will still be beautiful (hopefully!), but when you look up close, you will be able to see where the thread stopped.

This blog has been a lifeline for me. When I started this, I had no clear idea where it would go. I guess in the back of my mind, I was thinking it would be more… funny stories and memories of Emily. Seems like it’s been more about me. (haha, Emily would HATE that!!!) Funny how things never turn out the way we expect. Even in something as silly as this. But when I go back and read those unposted entries, it struck me that the majority of them aren’t from the beginning… but are from within the last month. Maybe I’ve been afraid to share those personal thoughts because I should be “moving on” by now? That I’m afraid of coming across as depressed as everyone else gets back to “normal?” Or just that I’ve been feeling this all along and have just refused to let those emotions go. That’s probably closest to the truth.

Over the last few months, so many people have commented on how “well” I write. (insert typical Melissa eye-roll, and shoulder shrug.) I don’t handle compliments well. I guess I wasn’t expecting that reaction at all. I wasn’t writing because of any kind of talent, but because I needed something to keep myself from exploding. So what on earth possessed me to start a public blog and send it to my family? I guess because I wasn’t really expecting it to turn into a personal journal of sorts. I’ve been writing forever- journals and short stories, and most recently, poetry. That I’ve never really shared with anyone before. For a lot of reasons- lack of self-confidence, a fear of letting people get too close, etc. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what I want to do with the rest of my life. And the answer that still is there is the same one that’s been there since I was 10 years old. I want to write. So what the hell is keeping me from it? Again… lack of self-confidence, fear of letting people get too close, fear of failure, rejection… etc. I’ve said this so often over the last few months, and I’ll say it again. Life. Is. Too. Short.

Someone suggested someday compiling this blog into a book of sorts. Along the lines of “Tuesdays with Morrie”- that kind of thing. And it just makes me laugh that my writing, which was something so intensely personal for so many years, was “discovered” for lack of a better word, because of Emily. I shake my head. Everything was always about her. But I guess this time I owe her one. She’s helped me discover myself. I’ve discovered more of who I am, and why I am the way I am. She’s always been the voice in my ear, encouraging me when I needed it, and putting me back in my place when I needed it. For awhile I thought I’d lost her. I’m starting to hear her again.
I can’t quite bring myself to go back and post those entries. Maybe I will sometime soon. Or maybe you’ll just have to wait for the book. . I guess I don’t have to tell you who it’s going to be dedicated to.

Another letter.....

Okay, another letter came from Hagerstown Community College addressed to Emily yesterday. Oh, I was royally ticked off. (See previous post) Before I could think, I had the phone in my hand and was furiously dialing ready to raise hell with the first person to answer the phone. My saving grace? No one answered. I called six times in a row, no answer. Then I had to go to work at Food Lion, so I had to give up for the day. Someone was watching out for me ( and the poor admissions people too!)

And then… I forgot about it this morning. It just dawned on me a little while ago that I haven’t yelled at anyone today. Aha! The admissions people at HCC! So I picked up the phone, dialed, and got someone from the admissions department. (Different from the last one I talked to.) And here I am ready to rip someone a new one---- and she was the nicest, most sincere, helpful person. Now tell me how do you yell at someone like that? She was so sympathetic when I told her why I was calling, and right away said that obviously, something was wrong somewhere. So she’s apologizing profusely, and asked if she could put me on hold while they figured it out. So she came back on after a few minutes (apologizing that I had to wait) and said they talked to the IT department and Emily is supposed to be removed from every mailing list. (Although if their IT dept is anything like ours, that doesn’t really give me warm fuzzies, but that’s not her fault.) And then she extended her sympathies again.

Doggone it- sometimes I think God does stuff like this to me on purpose, just to teach me a lesson. Ah well, lesson learned.

Passed over.... again.

This is a more toned-down post than what I wrote in my newly-acquired Live Journal (thanks to Ms. Diana :)..... but my boss is a jerk. First class, certifiable, card-carrying memeber of the jerk club. I wish Emily was here to bash my boss with me. She was definitely much better at it than I am. Of course, she used way more four-letter words than I do.

I have been passed over yet AGAIN for a promotion that I deserve. This is the second time in two years. And the kicker is that I have been doing the job for the last four. And not getting paid nearly enough for it. But that's my fault- I let them take advantage of me. Well no more. I'm dusting off the resume and getting out of here as soon as possible. Then maybe after I'm gone they will realize just how much I actually do around here. Arrrggggh!

I HATE being disliked for no reason. I can handle being disliked if I deserve it. 'Cause that usually means I dislike the person anyway. But for some reason, he has taken a dislike to me. And it's not even just me that thinks that- the entire department can tell. So at least I know that it isn't something that I am doing wrong. But it doesn't make it any easier to take. Especially since I consider myself to generally be some-what likeable. :(

So I officially am giving up. It is finally time to move on, after talking about it for the last however many years I've been unhappy here. Emily would be proud of me, I hope. It's goodbye Melissa the doormat and hello Melissa the---- well, I dunno who she is yet. I guess the next adventure is going to be finding her.

Funny story

Sara told me a funny story on Saturday.
Emily worked with her at Payless shoes for awhile. Sara said that Emily had marked on the calendar the whole weekend off for her birthday. The funny part? Emily quit at Payless in January.

an interesting conversation

Had an interesting conversation with my father yesterday. I’ve been agonizing over how/when/where to bring up the subject of possibly moving to South Carolina with them. I’ve been feeling guilty for even thinking about it- I just haven’t been sure if that’s fair to do that to them right now since it’s only been a few months since Emily died. But yet, I can’t stand the thought of being here a moment longer than I have to. And dreaming about moving down there and moving in with Lauren and Rachel for awhile makes it easier to get through the days. I called Lauren Sat. night after Emily’s party, and brought up how I wasn’t sure best to approach the subject. Her advice was that when the right opportunity arose- He would let me know. She’s usually right about these things- this time was no exception. Wasn’t expecting it so soon- but hey, I’ll take it. Satis est, right? It is enough.

Anyway, we were at Cracker Barrel yesterday after church. Mom was waiting with Grandma outside, and Dad and I were talking. He said something about our neighbor next door said to tell me to get my resume to him. Apparently he has a lot of contacts with a lot of businesses and stuff through his job. I said something to dad about that there just wasn’t anything open around here. (And in all honesty, I have looked for other jobs around here too.) Dad asked me how far I was willing to go. I kind of shrugged my shoulders, and didn’t really answer. Then he looked at me and point-blank asked, “Melissa, where exactly do you want to be?” Whoa. I asked him “honestly?” he nodded his head, and I said, “South Carolina.” And he said if that’s where I wanted to be, then that’s what I needed to do. Whoa. This coming from the same man who two years ago did everything he could to talk me out of it? I told him my concerns about leaving him and mom right now, and he said that although that wouldn’t be his first choice, I had to do what was right for me. Wow. Talk about a weight falling off of your shoulders! Now I feel like I can really look without feeling guilty or dishonest. I don’t know if he said anything yet to mom. I think she may be the one with more of a problem with it.

But I have also got to get out of here. I’ve been toying with the idea of moving down there for 4 years. It’s time to get off my duff and try and make it happen. Even Pastor Mike told me a few months ago when I went to talk to him that when a person usually talks about something for so long, it usually is a sign it’s something that they really want to do. And if God didn’t want me to try- I would think He would have put that desire to rest the last time, right? But each time I go there, it’s stronger. And now it’s almost all I think about. So I’m going to stop making excuses. I’m going to go home, and start sending out my resume like crazy. Tonight. No more, got to wait to talk to mom and dad, no more waiting until I get back from Poland….. starting tonight. And if it is God’s will, He’s going to have to make it happen. Oh, I hope it is. It’s the one thought that makes me happy these days.

Pieces

I'm not even sure where to start.... it's been such a strange, strange day.

I read Emily's wall on her facebook. One of her friends posted a quote that just had me in tears:
"when you lose someone and you're not expecting it, you dont lose her all at once, you lose her in pieces over a long time"

Ohhhhh.... that is so very true. That is exactly what this has been like. And today was another piece. Today was the first piece of the "Firsts". The first birthday, the first holiday, the first anniversary. It was a piece of all the big events that she won't be here for. Other people's birthdays. Anniversaries. Weddings. Graduations. Today felt like losing a piece of her.

Tissue Alert

Okay, so maybe it's silly- but I bought Emily a birthday card. Two actually- a funny "Happy 21st" and a "Happy Birthday Sister" card.

Every birthday, someone always got the "Prize"- that was the person who found the mushiest card. Whoever made the birthday person cry, was that year's winner. Emily was the ultimate sappy card finder. But the kicker with her, was that every card she found was perfect- not sappy because she wanted to get the "Prize", but sappy because you knew she really meant it. Little stinker.

Well this year, I think I found a card that would have totally had her in tears. And since she can't read it, I have to make someone else cry besides myself. So I'm going to post my card. If you aren't up for tears today... you may not want to read it. But then again, sometimes tears help. A dear friend of mine tells me all the time to laugh when I need to laugh, but to let the tears flow when they need to.

(Front)

Because I have a sister,
I always know if I have food in my teeth
and which jeans look best on my butt
(and definitely which ones don't)!

Because I have a sister,
therapy costs me nothing,
is open at any hour,
and is available on speed-dial.

Because I have a sister,
I never apologize for a mood swing,
say, "I guess you had to be there,"
or shop all by myself.

Because I have a sister,
telling on each other
is now telling everything to each other
(and I mean everything).

(Inside)

Because I have a sister
I'll always know
the warmth of hugs and home.

I am who I am
because I have a sister...
and because it's you.
Happy Birthday


I'll spare you everything I wrote in the card, except this one paragraph.
"Emily, I am who I am because of you. Yes, the good and the bad. Having you as a sister shaped me into who I am today. I miss you everyday. You're in my heart forever."

Happy 21st Emily. This is so not the way this day was supposed to be. But I hope that the party in Heaven is beyond even what your wildest dreams ever were.

Like Diana said... Love Never Dies.

July 11, 2008

This bites.

'nuff said

Got to get out of here

I hate my job. I spend most of my days doing a whole lot of nothing- just pretending to look busy. And it’s not that I don’t have stuff to do… it’s just that it doesn’t interest me in the least. I don’t care, because it isn’t important. And it makes the days seem so incredibly long. But I can’t seem to help it. I tell myself everyday that I’m going to do better, but then I get here… and I simply don’t care again. I’ve got to get out of here.

I’ve been stressing the last week about how I’m going to ask my parents about moving to Columbia. And then it hit me the other day… I am 25 years old. I don’t have to ask for their permission. Heck, I could leave tomorrow if I really wanted to. (I’d never do that to them.) I mean, am I afraid they are going to say no? They can’t stop me. I guess the bottom line is I want their approval. But I don’t need their permission. I really feel like this time moving in with Lauren could be a reality. I think it’s doable. Since mom and dad loaned me part of Emily’s insurance money to pay off my credit cards, I don’t have all that debt hanging over my head. I owe them back of course, but it’s only one payment and no interest. So I can totally still do that, and pay Lauren rent. I’ve been paying mom and dad, so it’s really not going to “cost” me more. I just need a job. But even so—if I really, really work at saving up maybe three months salary, I could go ahead and move and find a job when I get there. I think it may be kinda hard to find one from here. But I don’t doubt that I could get a job pretty easily.

Moving is the only thing that makes my days seem bearable. I’m sitting here absolutely dreading the thought of coming back here tomorrow. And next week. And the week after. It’s like a tunnel that never, ever ends. I have got to get out of here. I want to go to the one place I feel happy and safe. I want to go to the one place I feel like I am home. I want to go to South Carolina. I can’t take another day here.

No more movies....

There are at least three movies I want to go see.

And I have no one to go with.

Damn Emily- she messed up everything.

Missing South Carolina

Somehow it was harder leaving Laurie’s this time. It’s funny because usually when I’m there I’m always thinking “I only have four more days until I have to leave”, or “only two days left”, or “I can’t believe I have to leave tomorrow.” But not so much this time. It’s like… I just got so used to being there, I wasn’t even dwelling on having to leave. Until Sunday afternoon, and then it was all I could think about. I wished I could have just stayed and not come back. It was about three o’clock before I finally left. And as Lauren and I stood in her kitchen and she hugged me, I started crying. Even she was getting weepy, and I’ve only ever seen her cry once before. Maybe it was just because it seems like so very long before I’ll be able to get back down there again- not until after the beginning of the year. Maybe it was because we’re both struggling with what we want to do with our lives, and it was comforting to commiserate together. Maybe because the last time I left her house, two days later my world fell apart. Whatever it was, it was just way too hard. Something about SC really calls to me. I feel like I’m home when I’m there. Every time I’m there it’s like that. We’ve been talking for years about me moving down there. Lauren’s already offered to let me stay with her. At first I was afraid I only wanted to because of them. And I know I can’t live with her forever. But I can still see myself making a life in Columbia. I just don’t know if I can do that to Mom and Dad right now. Is that selfish? I’m going to have to move out someday, is there ever a right time? Neither of them want to stay here in Greencastle forever either- I think they dislike it here as much as I do. And I can’t very well be in my 30’s and still living at home.

I need a change. I’ve needed a change for years, I was just too scared to leave my comfort zone. Now I’m too scared to stay there.

What I've been thinking about....

She promised me she would be better about taking care of herself. She promised me she wouldn’t leave me all alone. She didn’t keep that promise, and I almost hate her for it.

Some days I feel like I am out of my head. Like it’s happened to someone else, not me. In a weird way, it’s like I can disassociate myself from it. I comprehend it, but I just don’t want to believe it. But that feeling doesn’t last for too long, because reality has a cruel way of crashing back down on you.

One of Lauren’s friends was looking at my daisy tattoo on my foot, and asked who Emily was. It was the first time I’d met someone who didn’t know. The first time I got to explain the significance of the tattoo. That it was on my foot because that’s where she had one. And that I chose a daisy because it was her favorite flower and also because that’s what was on her foot. That the “live, laugh, love” was from the tattoo on her hip. Her name. And it didn’t hurt as much to explain as I thought. I thought it would hurt more…. I wondered if it should have hurt more.

I picked up the phone to call her the other day. Her number is still in my phone- I just can’t bring myself to hit that delete button. Or remove her from my speed dial. I carry her phone around in my purse. I don’t know why- I don’t want to switch phones and use it. I don’t even like it. (Actually, it’s more like I don’t think I could figure out how to use it. It has wayyy too many buttons.) And I know it’s silly to have a perfectly good phone just sitting there, but yet- there it sits.

When I turned 21, I bought myself a really pretty opal ring. Spent more than I really should have on it, but it was my present to myself and it made me feel better. I wear it all the time. Two weeks ago- I bought a simple ruby and diamond band. I figure it’s Emily’s birthday present… to myself. I wonder if I would have thought of doing something like that for her if she was still here. I like to think I might have, but the reality is; I probably wouldn’t have thought of it …. and that makes me feel almost a little worse somehow. I should have been a better sister. I should have done a lot of things differently. I just hope she knew how much I really did love her.

I can’t believe that Saturday is so close. Now more than ever, I REALLY wish I’d just stayed in South Carolina. If she was here, I would have been driven completely batty by now because of her incessant obsessing about “her day.” I’d have waited until the very last minute to buy her a gift. She would be begging for hints about what we all got her. She’d be obsessing about what she wanted to drink. Honestly, even if she was here, I’d probably still be dreading Saturday, simply because of all her drama. But given a choice, I’d so much rather be dreading it for those other reasons rather than the reason I dread it now.

Fears

I’m really nervous about going to Poland next month. Not about being there, or not knowing the language, or any of that. I’m looking forward to the trip itself. I think it’s going to be an awesome, amazing experience. Our team leader sent us some information about the families who will be living in the homes we are building. Their stories really touched my heart. Most of them are the ones that kind of fall through the cracks. They aren’t the poorest of the poor, yet for whatever reason they’ve fallen on some rough times. But because they make too much, they don’t qualify for government assistance. I’m looking forward to meeting these people, and I really feel like I’m being called to help. So that’s not what I’m nervous about. I’m scared to fly. I keep thinking, “what if something happens to the plane?” I know the statistics, and how many flights there are every hour without incident… but still, it happens. And I’m scared. Not really for myself- more for my family and friends. What if something happens to me so close on the heels of Emily? I don’t think our family could handle another tragedy right now. I know that sounds narcissistic, but it’s true. Not now. If there wasn’t so much money put into this, and the trip non-refundable, I think I’d back out. I’m being morbid, I know… but still. It could happen. I get an almost sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about flying there, and flying back. I’m trying to trust God- but I still can’t help but worry. And I know I can’t be afraid to live my life because of the “what-ifs”. If Emily hadn’t died, I’d still be nervous about flying- but I’d still go. But her death changed everything. Now I’m scared for different reasons.

Arrgh.