How High is Up?

Rescued from the Draft Folder....

2012-02-07T16:40:00.001-05:00

Have I really been absent since Christmas? Yikes. Don't worry- I haven't comepletely fallen off the face of the earth.

I was cleaning out some old drafts, and came across this one from back in September. Not sure why I didn't post it then, but here it is now.

Watch out for the quiet ones
Drafted, September 26, 2011

I don’t make friends easily.

And that’s a truth- not one of my typical self-degrading statements. I like to think I am a friendly person- approachable and somewhat likeable. People say I’m easy to talk to- so I suppose that there’s something redeeming in there. Either that or I am extremely adept at fooling people. Okay, okay… I’m done being me.

But in all seriousness… I am friendly, but not easily friend-able. I very much keep people at a distance. I have what you would consider several surface level friends, but I can probably count on one hand the number of people that I would truly consider a “friend”. And interestingly enough, one or two of those few that I consider close friends are people I only know through e-mail correspondence. But I consider those relationships just as deep and important. There’s a level of safety that’s found in pouring out your soul in anonymity.

During one of the first meetings with my therapist, she asked me some of the things I hoped to gain from these sessions. My response was to become more extroverted and adept at making friends. When she asked me why, I responded without hesitation, without even really thinking about my answer:

“Because that’s what people want me to do”.

The words I spoke hung the silence for a moment, and then the clarity of those words struck like a clanging gong.

For several months I’d been berating myself because I wasn’t living up to expectations that were set for me- someone else’s idea of who I should be. It was pointed out that I wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t doing things. I wasn’t forming enough friendships. But the more I tried to force those things, the emptier I felt. I was smothering, and making myself miserable to fit myself into expectations that I can never meet, because

That’s. Simply. Not. Me.

I think the advice was well-intended, and prompted out of a level of concern. Or more accurately, from the perspective of an extrovert who can’t comprehend how an introvert operates. For an extrovert, the thought of a weekend looming with no plans made, no places to go, no people to see is incomprehensible. For me? I’d prefer my own company to just filling up the emptiness with a warm body. Don’t get me wrong- I like being around people. I would say that I’m social, but I don’t seek out company just to save myself from being alone. And I’m not a talker. Put me in a group of people and I tend to blend into the background. I don’t have the ability to entertain a crowd, and I don’t captivate an audience with stories or conversation. More times than not, when I am in a group I get the joke that each teller thinks is so original and funny:

“Hey over there, you should really keep it down!”

or

“Someone shut Melissa up, she’s talking too much!”

Or my personal favorite,

“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for!” (what does that MEAN anyway?)

The variations are many, but the message is the same:
You’re not measuring up.
(And I can’t help but think to myself, it’s the quiet ones like me that allow the boisterous ones to have an audience to perform in front of.)

I listen more than I speak, and absorb more than I expel. Maybe that’s where the innate sense of empathy I seem to have comes from… and I think that quiet nature is what makes me essentially who I am. I would much rather be in the background than in the spotlight. Believe me; I’ve tried the spotlight thing. And I’m okay with sharing the spotlight. Heck, I don’t even want to share it. For all I care, you can have the spotlight, the secondary lights, and the backlights too. I’ve tried to fit myself into the mold of what other people think I should be, and it doesn’t work.

I think about Emily and Lauren and Rachel and my friend Debbie- the four most social people I’ve known- and wonder at what it is that they have (had) that makes it seem so effortless, and why I seem to be missing it. Lauren and Rachel are the same way. And if you look up extroverted in the dictionary, you will find my friend Debbie’s picture beside the definition. Emily never knew a stranger. She had more friends than I could keep track of, and a never-ending stream of places to go and people to see. But I can’t be Emily. I realized that I’ve been trying to be. I look at my sister and all the things she was, her huge personality, the friends that she had, and the effect she brought on people, and I envy those qualities in her, because I don’t have them. Usually the younger sibling lives in the older sibling’s shadow. Subconsciously, I’ve been trying to lose myself in hers. Or maybe I’m trying to fill a gap that simply can’t be filled. The funny thing is, if Emily was here, she would be the first one to give me the well-deserved kick in the pants that I need and tell me to get over myself in the way that only a sister can.

To me an extrovert is almost like a puzzle that I can’t quite solve. It's the missing key to unlocking the world’s standard of “normal”.

But that’s them. And that’s not me. The cool thing is though, I think for the first time in 28 (and a half) years…. I’m finally starting to be okay with that. I’m happy with the friends I have. It may not be many, but they’re genuine, and they are friendships that will last a lifetime.

I do have one friend in particular who has quickly become one of the dearest and truest friends I’ve ever had. I don’t share easily. I don’t trust. And I very rarely speak my heart or give voice to my own wants or needs. I’ve heard it time and time again that I’m too easy-going. I’m one of those people that consistently defers to what someone else wants. “It doesn’t matter”, “I don’t care”, and “whatever you want to do is fine with me” are my Gospels. And most of the time, it’s because that really is what I feel. I happen to really be that easy-going. But once in a while I do have a preference, yet still hesitate to give it voice. One of my biggest fears in any/all relationships is that eventually the other person is going to get tired of me. That they will wake up and realize that I’m really not worth all the aggravation. I don’t know where that comes from. I’m sure that’s a whole year’s worth of material to keep my therapist occupied. But I think the fact that I recognize it is progress. And somehow with my friend Viviane, there’s a security in our friendship that I’ve never really found with any one else. It’s freeing. I think I realized that if someone decides they don’t want to be my friend anymore because I’d rather have pizza for dinner than Chinese…. that certainly isn’t a friend worth having. It seems ridiculous, but those are the kinds of trivial opinions that I won’t typically voice.

But while I’ve found that security with one friend, I still haven’t been able to extend that to the rest of my life. I take on too much at work, and can’t seem to ask for help. I still let people use me as a doormat, and find myself making excuses for the reasons why they do that. I still hesitate to take a stand and say…

“I want Chinese for dinner!”

I struggle with some deep-seated need to be accepted. To earn other people’s approval. Basically, my self-esteem reaches a point so low at times that it’s non-existent. I don’t know why my mind works like that, or what chemicals in my genetic make-up went haywire to make me wired that way, but that’s the way I am. My therapist likes to tell me that it’s only a matter of re-programming my thinking. That your thoughts are only a projection of your mind, and what your environment has pressed upon you- they aren’t a reflection of your soul, of your true self. Makes sense to me. And it makes me hopeful that there’s a simple cure for neurotic self-depreciating people like me: it really is all in my head.
But curiously I wonder…
If you can re-program self-esteem, can you re-program yourself into an extrovert? Is extroverted-ness or introverted-ness controlled by your thoughts or is it part of the soul? And is one really better than the other? If we were all extroverts, the world would be… a much louder place. And if we were all introverts, well…. let’s just say that the restaurants would be hurting for business because none of us would be willing to voice an opinion as to where we wanted to eat dinner.

But while there are some things about myself I admit need some “tweaking”, I don’t really want to re-program into an extrovert. I wouldn’t be me. And for all my faults, flaws, and sometimes too-easy-going- nature, there’s obviously something about me that seems genuinely likeable-enough. I wouldn’t have been able to say that before.

And that thought alone is encouragement enough to keep trying.

Christmas Triangles

2011-12-14T11:52:00.002-05:00

I want to put Christmas lights in my office this year.

I love Christmas. It’s my favorite holiday- always has been. I love the music- and by music I mean REAL Christmas music. Not Madonna singing “Santa Baby” or the latest teen sensation angelically lip syncing to a rendition of “O Holy Night”. Honestly? And if Lady Gaga comes out with a Christmas CD, I think I’ll revolt. And of course, anyone who has read this blog for an extended period of time knows my extreme hatred of Elvis’s “Blue Christmas”. Seriously, it is THE Worst.Christmas.Song.EVER. I’m contemplating inventing a device that will completely eradicate its existence from the minds of the entire population. Have I mentioned how much I despise this song?

But I digress… back to lights. I used to go all out for Christmas at my old office. I had a Christmas countdown on the marker board. I had garland, I had Christmas beads, I had bowls of candies, Santas and snowmen, and lights strung around the cubicle. My former boss remarked once that it looked like Christmas threw up in my office. My response was the immediate purchase of an adapter to make the lights twinkle on and off. An instigator? Moi? Nooooo…..

After Emily died, it was all I could do to survive that 1st Christmas, let alone give any thoughts to decorations. The 2nd Christmas, I was unemployed and had no office to decorate. Last year, the 3rd Christmas and once again employed, I still didn’t have the heart to decorate my new office. But this year is different. I want lights. I want garland, and I want to make cookies for my co-workers. Some would say that’s healing- but I don’t think it’s really healing. Nothing has healed… because Emily is a wound that will never heal. It’s more of an… adapting. I turned a bit of a corner when I realized that my soul is never going to fully heal. The key is learning to live with the hurting soul. Easier said than done of course, but it’s progress.

Christmas still isn’t the same. But at the same time, I don’t want it to be the same. I don’t want to honor the same traditions, because they hurt too much. I have a mental image of trying to make a star shape fit into a triangle-sized hole. With enough pressure, you can force it to fit- but you lose vital pieces in the process. You lose what makes a star a star- and that’s how I feel about Christmas. Pretending things are the same only makes it more hollow, more empty, and more about my sadness and my grief than about Christmas itself. I don’t want Christmas to be a triangle.

I tend to listen to melancholy Christmas songs. It gives voice to the hurting part of my soul- it is an outlet for the sadness, while at the same time still honoring Christmas. Sarah McLachlan is my favorite album. Her voice has a melancholy overtone, and her album is a perfect blend of what I like to call, "Subdued Christmas". Sometimes I think her song “Wintersong” was written specifically for me. It’s the perfect song when you need a good cry.

And part of steering away from falling into the Christmas Triangle is realizing that it is okay to be sad at Christmas. It is okay to cry through a sad Christmas song, and it is okay to not have the heart to send Christmas cards just to check them off a list. I refuse to stress about not having money for Christmas presents (well- I’m still working on that one). I’ve given myself permission to enjoy my lights, I bought myself a pair of Christmas pajama pants, and I am itching to bury myself elbow- deep in cookie dough. I realized that it is okay to accept the fact that I despise that Christmas macaroni wreath Emily made, but at the same time its absence from the wall would break my heart. I am coming to grips with the fact that grief makes no sense, there is no rationalizing, and there is no rhyme or reason to its triggers.

I miss Emily more than anything. There are so many things that I wish she was here for. She’s my Christmas star- and her death is the triangle-shaped hole. And somewhere in between is a shape that encompasses both-instead of forcing the star into the triangle, you simply let it rest as it is and the shapes eventually form into one.

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry~ Dare to be Different

2011-12-09T09:33:00.004-05:00

Attempting to fit in
left me frustrated.
Enough!

I dare say,
conformity
is
highly overrated.

Check out the rest of this week's poems at Laura's site!

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry ~ Look Twice

2011-11-17T11:28:00.002-05:00

Reflections slice
through crystal skies
and clouds of ice
touching
memory’s surface
bringing you
to me.

Check out the rest of the poems at Laura's website!

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry~ A Charmed Life

2011-11-10T10:42:00.003-05:00

Charms of sterling
memories circling
weaving long ago dreams
and childhood whimsy
in silver threads

Check out the rest of the poems this week over at Laura's site!

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry~ Midnight Rendevous

2011-11-03T10:14:00.007-04:00

Midnight Rendezvous

Moonlight falls
glistens in palest light

crystallizes,
light and water meet
in a secret moonlit-dance

On beer shirts and saying goodbye

2011-10-28T12:32:00.005-04:00

It’s hard to sum up a person in words. You can describe them- their personality, their looks, tales and stories of things they did, and share their words of wisdom…but words and paragraphs can’t fully capture the look of a person. The way someone’s eyes crinkle in just such a way that is uniquely theirs when they smile, or the feeling you get when they say your name in a certain way. The subtle glances exchanged over inside jokes, or the way you can send a silent message of understanding that only comes from the heart of a deep friendship. The familiar scent, the sound of a laugh, the weight of an arm around your shoulder, or the gentle pat of a hand- all these things are beyond the description of words. It’s a feeling of someone. And when they’re gone- you’re left with an emptiness that also defies description.

My friend Maria was… one of the greatest people I’ve ever known. I’ve known her since I was 15- that right there ought to tell you something. Teenagers are not fun. And the fact that she looked past my sullen, grumpy, mixed up teenager attitude and still saw something redeeming… says a lot about her. I remember the first time I met her was when I grudgingly went to dinner with her and my parents. I think I was probably the epitome of a sullen teenager who would rather be anywhere than at a boring work dinner. Boy was I wrong. I liked her instantly. She spoke to me like an adult. She didn’t ask me what I wanted to be when I “grew up”, or how I liked school, or any of the other ridiculous questions adults seem to like to ask kids. She asked about my interests, and my thoughts and opinions on things. She was definitely one of the coolest adults I’d ever met. After that initial dinner, I went with them often when they’d get together. My parents were out of town when the terrorist attacks happened on September 11. My parents couldn’t get back home, and didn’t want my sister and I to be alone. Maria, a government employee working in D.C., came without hesitation. Driving probably a good three hours to stay overnight with my sister and I so we wouldn’t be alone, just to turn around and have to drive back early the next morning. I’ve never forgotten that. Her presence was calming in the midst of a tragedy beyond comprehension. In the days and weeks after the attacks, I was convinced that my dad was going to be re-called from retirement into the military and would have to go to war. I finally e-mailed Maria and asked her what she thought, (probably hoping she’d have some inside-information and could tell me if he would have to go.) I still have the e-mail she sent back to me: “I don’t think this is something you need to worry about, but I won’t lie and tell you that it isn’t a possibility. Right now things are pretty uncertain. But I will tell you that if they get to a point where they have to recall old retired farts like your dad (sorry dad!), then we’re all screwed anyway.” That of course, was Maria.

One year she asked me if I’d be interested in riding with her for a charity bike ride- 150 miles in two days along the Eastern Shore of Maryland. I think that’s really when I stopped seeing her as just my dad’s friend and she became my friend as well. You spend a lot of hours together when you train for a long bike ride. We’d meet halfway, or sometimes I would drive to her house and spend the weekend. She had a way of listening without judging. She never made me feel like I was whining. She gave you advice without lecturing. And she was able to maintain a distinct line between being both a friend to my parents, and a friend to me. She listened to me complain about my parents, and I’m sure she listened to my parents complain about me. She saw me as Melissa, not Wayne and Peggi’s daughter. And she saw my parents as Wayne and Peggi, not Melissa’s parents. Not many people can do that so effortlessly, and make it work so well.

When I think of Maria, I think of how her eyes were always smiling. I think about the fact that she was who she was, and she didn’t care what anyone else thought. I think about her huge heart, her contagious laugh, and the way she walked. She walked on the balls of her feet, so she always had a little bounce in her step. I could pick her out of a crowd anywhere. I think of the last time I saw her a few months back. She looked so happy. Happier than I’d seen her in a long time. She and Rimas, her partner, came to South Carolina with a golf group. I drive down to meet them for dinner. It was the first time I’d seen her since I moved south, and now I am so thankful I took the time to see them.

Her service is tomorrow. Well, I say service, but it’s actually a celebration of life. She did not want a funeral, so her family is having a celebration at a military country club. Attire is jeans and your favorite beer t-shirt: no suits. She is my hero.

But I’m not going.

I thought long and hard, and did a lot of soul-searching. I can come up with a million plausible excuses: It’s a really long drive, and I just did it last weekend. Plane tickets are too expensive. I’d have to fly into a different airport, and it’s not convenient for someone to come get me. But when it all comes down to it, they’re just excuses that could be worked around. The real reason I’m not going, all excuses set aside, is simply because:

I don’t want to.

I don't want to remember her in a room surrounded by a crowd of people I don't know, pretending to celebrate, but still saying goodbye. I don't want to hear stories just yet. Even though it's what she wanted, I am not ready to celebrate her life. I still need to mourn her loss. No, back up. I still need to accept the fact that she's gone, and I'm not there yet. I'm still stuck in the "I can't believe it isn't true" phase.

I am just not ready to say another goodbye.

And you know what? I think Maria would completely understand that. So I’m going to celebrate her life in my own way. Since I don't have a beer shirt I’m going to wear my shirt she bought me from the Tequila Mockingbird restaurant on one of our bike rides, I’m going to find a quiet spot on the lake, and I’m going to have a margarita and drink to my friend’s memory.

And the world’s going to keep on-turning, the memories still churning. Hearts continue breaking, and souls are still aching. But the world keeps moving, and memories start soothing, giving healing to a sorrow that has no words.

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry~ Taking my bike and going home

2011-10-27T09:04:00.005-04:00

Because I need to think about something light.....

Bicycle for two
just me and you
started a fad
'cause I got mad;
and split the bike in two.

The words keep churning, the heart's still burning...

2011-10-24T10:31:00.002-04:00

I’m not sure where to start.

Words are my solace. My emotions spill out in black and white type, and through fingers flying over a keyboard. I picture the inside of my soul as one big jumble of squiggly black letters, just waiting to be released. Thoughts are formed, sentences are strung together, brilliant and inspired thoughts are born… only to be caught because....

I never know where to begin.

I can’t seem to find the release button, and so the words stay churning, and the hurts keep burning. I can't give voice to my emotions. Writing gives me the freedom of release- of revising and sorting through the jumble of letters and extracting exactly what I want to say. But when it comes to tragedy- the time when I need the strength of words the most, I flounder at the beginning. I can't sort it out because there’s no beginning, and what’s worse is that there’s no ending, because grief is that nasty circle that just keeps spinning. Somehow putting the catalyst of the breaking of a heart into a simple sentence seems so... so mockingly…. normal. There should be better words. There should be an easier way to begin. And there isn't.

My friend Maria died this weekend. And the news came on the heels of a weekend visit to Pennsylvania to attend the memorial service of a friend who passed away from cancer two weeks ago. Two lives, two deaths. One older, one younger. One expected, the other a tragic shock that I still can’t comprehend. Is one worse? Is one loss easier to deal with than the other? The answer is no. There is nothing in death that is easy to deal with. The answer is no, but with a caveat. The answer is no, but one is easier to accept, as callous as that may sound.

I liked Charlie a great deal. He was a good man- with a kind heart and a laugh that I can still hear in my head. His presence will be missed. Cancer robbed us of a good man- but also a man who had lived a long 75 years. Death hurts, but there is a slight consolation in the knowing that he is free from suffering. And these thoughts alone break my heart. These thoughts break my heart in the realization that because I’ve been touched by so many deaths of friends and family I can now measure it by the degrees of acceptance. My heart is calloused, and I don’t like it.

But Maria? My mind refuses to accept her death. I saw her four months ago. She celebrated a birthday three days ago. She told me via facebook that the next time we got together she wanted to be on the other end of the photos of my cooking experiments. I told her that hopefully once I have my house, she’d even get a place to stay out of the deal. Plans that will now never be. A friend whose beautiful smile and gentle encouragements are lost forever. How does a seemingly healthy woman in her early forties have a heart attack?

I’m mad. No, I take that back. I’m furious. I’m pissed off and ready to thoroughly throttle the first person that dares to look at me cross-eyed. I want to crawl into a room and stay there forever and stop having friends because it hurts too damn much when they leave me.

I wrote a poem once that contained the line; “even the most broken of hearts is never beyond what God can mend”. I used to believe that wholeheartedly. It’s what I clung to when I thought my heart was shattered. Now, I’m not so sure. I think the heart has limits, and I’m reaching mine.

I know that grief has cycles. And I know that life moves on. My heart will hurt and break and mend, my life will go on, and that the days will come when the thought of Maria will bring a bittersweet sigh. I’ll tell stories with a smile, and the stitches of the broken hole in my heart with her name on it will fade to a dull ache instead of the piercing pangs of the present.

But instead of bringing comfort, that thought brings tears. I’m tired of becoming used to moving on. I’m tired of accepting death after death. I don’t want to resign myself to passing through the grief process and knowing that I am going to make it through, that I will smile and laugh and joke and move on with my life. Instead, the five year old me is wailing and stomping her feet, and she is demanding that the world simply stop and wait for her broken heart to mend. To her, life simply isn’t fair. She wants answers and is refusing to listen to the voice of Time and Reason.
I start to count the people I’ve loved and lost and somehow the ratios don’t seem to balance out. I’ve said goodbye to too many people in my 28 years. In my grief-tainted thoughts, it’s more than my fair share.

And I don’t understand.

Yes, this post is all about me. I wanted to write about Maria- I wanted to give her a tribute fitting for a dearly loved friend. Maybe in a few days I can write about her, and the friend that she was, the friend that she will always be, and the many, many ways she touched my life and my heart. Those words are there. They’re forming in the depths of my soul, even though I’m doing my best to not acknowledge them because I’m wounded and hurt and not in the frame of mind to let them be. They will form and break through and maybe even bring healing. But for now, for today, the only thing that my heart can hold is the knowing that it has been stretched to just about it’s breaking point. That the constant mending and breaking is wearing thin, the seams are fragile, and that it’s liable to shatter into a million pieces.

The soul’s still aching, the world keeps breaking. And the words keep churning, and the heart's still burning with a sorrow that has no words.

When faith in the unknown doesn't cut it.

2011-10-17T17:33:00.006-04:00

I saw a cat get hit by a car this weekend. In the big scheme of things, it was just an insignificant thing. But it's been on my mind since it happened. The scene played out in slow motion. Four lanes of traffic, and a little black cat caught in the median. I watched as he made a dash towards the side of the road. The car in front of me slowed down to miss him, but kitty got spooked and turned and went back towards median where he'd come from. My eyes were involuntarily squeezing shut as I somehow knew what was going to happen. The car in the next lane was unable to miss him. It struck the cat, and I watched as he flopped and scurried back across the lanes towards the side of the road, and then collapsed in the parking lot of a bank. I quickly turned in and went to check on him. He was still breathing, but suddenly I was unsure of what to do. There are two types of people in an emergency. The ones you want to be with and the ones you don't. I fall into the latter category. Do I touch him? I didn't want to move him and make his injuries worse. Do I call 911 for a cat? Where's the nearest vet? Do I have a blanket in the car? What do I do? As the thoughts went through my mind, I watched as he got a faraway look in his eyes, and then he stopped breathing. Just like that. When I looked closer, I saw he'd been hit pretty bad. Even if I hadn't hesitated, I don't think he would have made it. My friend told me the fact that he made it to the side was probably pure reflex. I hope so. I hope he wasn't hurting, and I hope he didn't suffer.

Like I said, it was a little insignificant event in the big scheme of things. But it's stuck with me. One wrong move, one split second decision changed a destiny- even if it was only that of a cat. If only he'd kept going, he'd have made it safely across the road. If the car that hit him had been going slightly slower, the cat might have made it back across. If I'd been in the second lane, maybe I'd have been more aware and missed him. If. If. If. Life is full of too many of them.

But what really got to me was that moment when life stopped. I've been touched by death, but I've never witnessed the actual moment when life stops. Now you're here. Now you're gone. And the world just keeps on going.

But where does the soul go? I can't seem to wrap my mind around the concept. I know people argue whether animals have souls. I myself firmly believe that some animals have more of a soul than alot of people I know, but that's another post in itself. But even though it was a cat, and regardless of whether you believe it has a soul.... I could see something shift in its eyes in that moment when he stopped breathing. Something changed. That spark, that thing that made it alive, went out... and for a moment the sounds of traffic faded, the surroundings blurred...and there was silence.

I'm sure I'm making a bigger deal than necessary out of the life of one little cat. But it's not so much about the cat, (although as an avid cat lover, I will confess that there was a tear or two that slipped out), it's just that the mysteries of life and death became a little too real again. And like everything else, it started me thinking about my sister, and generated thoughts about her last moments. Thoughts that I really didn't want to be thinking.

Did she know? Was she aware? Where is she now? And please, for the love of all things holy, do NOT tell me that she is in a better place, or that she's looking down from the heavenly skies, or that she didn't suffer, or any other such thing, as I cannot be held liable for what I'd do or say next. I am tired of platitudes and empty answers, no matter how well meaning the good intentions are behind them. Sure, there's theology and theories and beliefs and explanations and books and studies and thesises galore on the subject of the afterlife. But it's not proof. It's not definitive. It's not an answer. Or at least it's not the answer I want. Most days I get by with leaving the unknown in the hands of faith. Usually that's enough to drive away those nagging unanswered questions, but there are moments, phases if you'd like to call it, when my faith seems insurmountably too small, and all I really want is a satisfactory, concrete answer. This is one of those phases where faith isn't enough, where faith in the unknown simply does not cut it. I want it to be enough. I really do. But right now I want answers more. And of course, the only ones who hold the answer to the unknown.... can't tell you.

I wish someone could.

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry~ Brief Respite

2011-10-13T10:25:00.002-04:00

Brief respite

Shed the weary load

if only for a moment

before braving

the world once more

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry ~ Impenetrable

2011-09-26T10:04:00.003-04:00

Photo is a dirty/fogged up parking meter!)

Impenetrable
Smudged and shadowed
mysteries within
yet clarity is found
in reflections
from the outside looking in

Ocean sands and glowing candles

2011-09-23T12:40:00.018-04:00

I’ve been in a bit of a funk since I returned from France. Actually, I was in a funk before I went to France… so much so that I didn’t even write about the fact that I was going to France in the first place.

So first things first- I went to France about a month ago.

The trip came up somewhat on the spur of the moment. My friend Viviane grew up in France and still has family there. She needed to make a trip home, and asked if I’d like to go with her. Umm…. That was a hard question to answer. Ha!

So off we went for a whirlwind 19 days. The trip was upon us so quickly; I didn’t even have much of a chance to freak out about the flight. Well, at least not as much as I usually do. At least not enough that Viviane would realize just how neurotic a friend she’d chosen to take with her. I do try to keep the crazy to a minimum.

It was definitely the trip of a lifetime. And a tiring one- we traveled from Paris to her mom’s house, then headed to the coast for three days. Back to her mom’s house for a few days, then headed to Southern France on a four day adventure, then to Paris for the remaining four days of the trip. In 19 days I was able to put my toes in the English Channel, and then in the Atlantic Ocean. We waded in rivers in Southern France, and drove through mountain roads. We walked in the ruins of centuries-old castles, and got lost along the Route de la Noix. (The Road of the Nuts. I thought that was appropriate!) I stood under the Eiffel Tower, put my feet on the spot that marks Paris’s coordinates, and managed to navigate the Paris subway system. We even ventured into a cave in Southern France. I can honestly say that I have seen France from the inside out.

And the food…. Ah, I think I am French at heart. Bread…. Cheese… wine… pastries… sigh. I’ve been home for two weeks and am still going through major pastry withdrawal. To my amazement, I actually lost a few pounds while I was there. I attribute that to all the walking. And we certainly walked A LOT. Americans are most definitely sedentary creatures. And also probably to the lack of fast food restaurants, and the on-the-go processed foods that we typically eat because we are in too much of a hurry to sit down and actually enjoy a meal. One of the most common questions I was asked was if I minded the amount of time spent at the table. On the contrary- it was a welcome change from grabbing a quick bite in front of the TV. And one of my favorite parts of the day was stopping for a coffee and pastry. Have I mentioned yet how much I enjoyed the pastries?

But a lack of baked goods is not what is causing my funk. Although I’m thinking that an éclair and au café would probably do my blue mood a world of good.

No, my problem is the same old story. I miss my sister. I spent an incredible two and a half weeks in France, and all the while, I missed Emily something terribly. Not in the overwhelmingly painful sad kind of missing her... but the “I wish she could be here” kind of missing. Which is an improvement of sorts, I suppose. I wasn’t miserable and depressed during the trip. I wasn’t despondent, and as I might have briefly stated, I was able to fully enjoy and indulge in my new found pastry habit. I laughed, I enjoyed the company and companionship with my best friend, I took a million photos, I had a wonderful time. I’m able to function without the overwhelming sense of loss and black despair.

Yet everything reminded me of her. From the interaction between Viviane and her two sisters, to the amazing sights I wished I could have shared with Emily, and all the pretty things (and presents!) that she would have loved- she was a constant in my thoughts.

I wrote her name in the sand along the coast of St. Malo at the edge of the English Channel, and in the sands of Cap Ferret on the Atlantic shore. The ocean reminds me of Emily more than any place in the world. And even though her name has long since been swept out with the tides, it made me feel like a little piece of her was with me, even for just a few fleeting moments.

When I went to Poland a couple years ago, I lit a candle for Emily in one of the cathedrals. Though I’m not Catholic, it was my little way of letting her know that I was thinking of her. Of letting her know that somewhere, her light is shining. So during this trip, I lit one for her in a cathedral in Bordeaux, and of course- the cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris. I had a hard time finding a place to light one in Notre Dame. For one thing- it’s HUGE. Pictures certainly do not do it justice. And there were little alcoves honoring all kinds of Saints everywhere. Obviously not being Catholic, most of the areas that were set up for the candles didn’t hold much significance for me. I didn’t really want to light a candle for my sister in just any place I could find, I wanted to find the “right” spot. Something not as… “Catholic-y”, as irreverent as that sounds. And to further test my lack of decision-making skills, it was a rather gloomy cathedral. Most of the alcoves were dark and depressing. I was just about to give up, when I happened upon an area dedicated to St. Genevieve, who was a patron saint of children. Right away, it made me think of Emily- she was really good with kids. It also had the prettiest and brightest stained glass window- in blues and greens. I got an “Emily-vibe” as I stood there. I think she would have liked that one. And so… Emily had a light burning there too.

But oh, how I still miss her! I think about the amazing opportunities that I’ve had, and the places that I’ve been able to go… and I still feel an underlying sense of guilt because she’s not here. Why her? Why not me? And I know there’s no point in asking those kinds of questions, because there’s not a thing I can do about it. My feeling guilty is not going to bring her back. But feelings do not listen to reason, and my feelings happen to belong to one of the most obstinate people on the face of the earth. All I know is that even in the writing her name in the sands and in the glow of the candles I’ve lit- my heart still aches with her absence. It’s abated somewhat over time. But it’s still there. And I suppose it always will be.

So where do I go from here? I don’t know. I simply do not have the answers, and I don’t know where to find them. I just get so tired of the cycle of embracing grief and letting go, only to have it turn tail and head right back for me. I tire of having the highs of a wonderful experience tempered by the shadow of Emily and the loss of her. It’s wearying. I see signs of light at the end of the tunnel, only to find that I’ve run into another dark curve and the light has disappeared.

I need a brighter flashlight.

And a pastry.
Perhaps two.

But ultimately I want the one thing that I cannot have…I want my sister back.

Glimpses Beyond Bars ~ 15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

2011-09-15T15:33:00.004-04:00

Glimpses Beyond Bars

Captive soul
yearns to break free
to soar beyond
a world
that doesn’t understand
me

The Questions that Define Us

2011-09-11T19:00:00.002-04:00

It's the Question that defines every generation. "Where were you when.....?"
I imagine that some day my children or grandchildren will be coming to me for the answer to my Question "Where were you on September 11th?" Perhaps they'll ask out of curiosity, or most likely for a history assignment. Kind of like the questions I asked my parents: "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" or " Where were you when the Challenger exploded?" Sadly, every generation seems to have at least one.

I imagine that Question has been asked several times this week.
I wouldn't know for sure- I haven't watched the news once today.

Now granted, that's really not anything new for me. I haven't watched the news in.... well, I can't remember when. But if I did watch the news on a regular basis, I still wouldn't have been watching it today. I don't need a news anchorperson to remind me of what happened ten years ago. The images are forever burned into my mind- and I don't need to turn on a TV to recall them. Days of spending hours glued to a screen watching sorrow after sorrow caught on film, all the while knowing you are powerless to help, leaves a mark on your heart that never really goes away.

Every one remembers in their own way. I know some people are comforted by inspiring stories, by watching the tributes on TV, by heartfelt lyrics, and photos with a song playing in the background. And there is nothing wrong with any of those things. It's just not my way of remembering. It's not how I cope. Perhaps it's just another manifestation of my personal tendency to bury deep and ignore those things in my life that I don't want to deal with or think about. "If I close my eyes, I can't see it... therefore it doesn't exist." That of course is straight from chapter one of the gospel of Melissa's Guide to Dealing with Life and All the Crap that Comes With It. Which typically is the case in about 98% of everything in my life. But I don't think that is necessarily the case today. It's not that I don't want to remember. You can't not remember what happened. It's just that for me, sitting and weeping in front of a barrage of image after image of pain and sorrow and confusion and suffering is..... hollow. That's the best description I can come up with to describe it.

There's a part of me that really cannot stand "anniversaries". This "anniversary" is no different in that aspect. I know that people need to mark the passage of time. I know that when significant milestones come around, there's a deep-seated need to draw again on that sense of community and patriotism that swelled in the aftermath of tragedy. But with that comes the question that begs to be asked. Why is this day any different from the day before and the day before that and the day before that...? Where are the tribute videos on Facebook, the American flag pins proudly displayed on blazer lapels, and the sense of solidarity that brought this country together in one of the worst and darkest days in our history as a nation on the other 364 days of the year?

What happened to those days when you weren't a Democrat, Republican, or an Independent- you were an American. What happened to those days where the color of your skin faded and it didn't matter if you were a 1st generation American or if you could trace your roots back to the Mayflower, what mattered was that you stood on the soil that proclaimed "Land of the Free"? What happened to the days when you could look into the eyes of the person next to you and the unspoken message that passed was that we were in this together?

What happened was what happens in all tragedies- life returned to normal. People slip back into their routines and habits and reclaim the prejudices that were all too briefly set aside. Democrats once again became the Devil(s) Incarnate, Republicans returned to thumping their Bibles, and Independents slipped back into the middle ground of Those Who are too Dumb to Make up Their Minds- each group loudly bashing the other. People whose skin was bathed in the glow of red, white, and blue returned to the colors that still somehow are used to determine a person's worth. That ticket from the Mayflower once again became all- important, and newcomers are looked down upon as being on a somewhat lower level as far a citizenship.

Do I sound cynical? Unpatriotic? Preaching from a very high horse? Perhaps. Maybe it's not the most patriotic of remembrances that will be written today. But it's the way I feel. For the average citizen, at least, for this average citizen, September 11th is a day that's now honored once every year, and mostly forgotten about the rest of the time. But for the soldiers that went to war as a result of that day, September 11th bleeds into September 12th. And continues on into February 2nd. May 19th. July 27th. For the thousands of families that lost someone they loved, September 11th is the shadow lingering on October 2nd. On December 24th. On April 3rd. On June 30th. On August 9th. September 11th isn't a once-a-year anniversary for them... it's a daily reality. For me, it's not. The war rages on in countries and towns with names I cannot pronounce, bullets are hurtling through the air, and buildings are burning, people are suffering, families on all sides are mourning their losses all as a result of that day 10 years ago, and yet here I sit in the comfort of my air conditioned house typing on my pretty red laptop, listening to my iPod, occasionally glancing at my Facebook news feed from my phone, dreading going to work in the morning, chatting with my mom and making plans to fly home for Christmas, and all the while drinking microwaved Starbucks coffee. In other words, a typical day.

Somehow the two realities don't equal out in the Scale of Grief. And I am having a hard time reconciling that with the significance of what today should mean to me.

Yes, my life changed that day, along with the lives of this nation, and most of the world in some aspects. The lingering aftershocks still follow me ten years later- an intense aversion to watching the news. A dislike of heights and tall buildings. A greater and more amplified fear of elevators. A flash of slight panic when seeing someone of Mid-Eastern ethnicity at the airport, followed by a deep sense of self-loathing for feeling that way, and worst of all- a sickening realization that even in the knowing it is so, so wrong to feel that way, this prejudice will probably stay with me the rest of my life. Even though September 11th left its scars on me... my life returned to normal. And maybe that's why the marking of its anniversary doesn't bring me comfort. I feel dishonest in honoring a day that most days I don't even think about anymore.

So how do I wrap this up? Surely there ought to be something redeeming to say at the end of all that. Honestly, I think part of me was hoping that I'd find my own answer somewhere in the writing- that I'd suddenly change my outlook and be like the rest of the population who can spend the day remembering without the sense of self-righteousness that I'm pretty sure is threaded all throughout this post...
but you can't help who you are, and I certainly am not like most people.

I guess the best I can do is to try and honor the memory of September 11th. Or rather, quietly mourn and reflect.

Mostly I fervently pray that there will be no more "Where were you When...?" questions to be asked.

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry ~ Moving On

2011-08-05T10:46:00.003-04:00

(The photo is one of those automatic vaccuum thingies....)

Moving On...

Empty room
with ghosts and gloom
shadows linger
like prints of a finger
they cannot be
wiped clean

It doesn't play fair

2011-07-12T10:20:00.003-04:00

I think what I hate most about grief is its unpredictability. Just when I think I finally have a handle on it, when I think I am finally navigating my way through, when I'm starting to believe that perhaps there is healing, when I'm getting to the point where it's finally easier to breathe...

the rules up and change.

Grief does not play fair. It lurks in unsuspecting corners, lies in wait for when you at your most vulnerable, and plays on what once was safe and familiar. A photograph you've looked at a thousand times a day suddenly catches your eye in a different light and just about breaks your heart. A song that has absolutely nothing to do with death, grief, or loss has you weeping over your steering wheel because it's a new song that Emily has never heard, but she'd probably love it. Someone asks you how many brothers/sisters you have, and you still do not know how to answer that question. A photograph of her drinking out of a plastic cup makes you inexplicably pissed off at the fact that the very same cup is still in the cupboard all these years later, but she's gone. Throughout ordinary convervastions- the word "diabetes" comes up at least once a week. Why is that?

Grief doesn't play fair. It changes the rules.

For the first two years, Emily's birthday didn't hit me as hard as the day she died. The 1st of April forever will be the day that my life, and the life of my family and Emily's friends changes. It's a giant, ragged gash in my timeline. And every time it rolls around, it marks another year that she's been gone. The 1st of April is like a shadow that I know I can't escape. It's expected, and I'm learning how to wait out the shadow of that day. But her birthday was different. I think because in my mind, she'll never be more than 20. It's hard to imagine what she'd be like at 24, because it would be just that- an imagining. Without her here to incessantly bug me about what I bought her, or where we were going to dinner, it's easier to let the day go by with a remembering, but not dwelling. For me, her birthday was easier to get through, because as callous as this soounds.... without her here the day lost its significance for me.

But oh no... not this year. Grief decided to throw me a curveball and turn me into a complete, weeping mess. I miss her today so much I can literally feel the ache. I close my eyes and picture her, and it feels so real I don't want to open my eyes. I plugged in my iPod on the way to work, in the hopes of drowning out the sorrows in my head. Lately I've been on a Melissa Etheridge kick, and I figured she'd be a safe choice- there's not alot of sorrow in her rock-style singing. But grief, in its cosmic plot against me, had other ideas. The song "Breathe" came on, which contains the lyrics of a chorus that goes "I'm alright, I'm alright. It only hurts when I breathe."

And cue the water works. That line, that chorus, sums up my existence lately. I'm alright, I say. Sure, I'm fine. Put on a smile, work hard, laugh, best foot forward. But meanwhile, each breath is an aching for what's missing.

Grief doesn't play fair.

I sobbed my way through the song. Then figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I switched on my playlist I've entitled "Emily", which is every song I have that makes me think of her, and I bawled my eyes out on my way to work. I gave in and I cried for the heart-ache, for the unfairness of it all, for the loneliness, for the breaking and mending of a heart, for the memories that were, and the ones that will never be.

I can't say that I felt better- nothing will ever make it better. But I did feel a little less despondent, and at least ready to face the world. (Once I cleaned up my face. Note to self- buy waterproof mascara).

Grief may not play fair, but then again.... it's never played against me.

Breathe- Melissa Etheridge

I played the fool today
I just dream of vanishing into the crowd
Longing for home again Home,
is a feeling I buried in you

I'm alright, I'm alright
It only hurts when I breathe

And I can't ask for things to be still again
No I can't ask if I could walk through the world in your eyes
Longing for home again Home,
is a feeling I buried in you

I'm alright, I'm alright
It only hurts when I breathe
I'm alright, I'm alright
It only hurts when I breathe

My window through which nothing hides
And everything sees
I'm counting the signs and cursing the miles in between
Home

Home, is a feeling I buried in you, that I buried in you

I'm alright, I'm alright
It only hurts when I breathe
I'm alright, I'm alright
It only hurts when I breathe, when I breathe
Yeah, it only hurts when I breathe, when I breathe
Oh,it only hurts when I breathe

Absence

2011-07-12T10:04:00.001-04:00

"There is nothing that can replace the absence of someone dear to us, and one should not even attempt to do so. One must simply hold out and endure it. At first that sounds very hard, but at the same time it is also a great comfort. For to the extent the emptiness truly remains unfilled one remains connected to the other person through it. It is wrong to say that God fills the emptiness. God in no way fills it but much more leaves it precisely unfilled and thus helps us preserve -- even in pain -- the authentic relationship. Further more, the more beautiful and full the remembrances, the more difficult the separation. But gratitude transforms the torment of memory into silent joy. One bears what was lovely in the past not as a thorn but as a precious gift deep within, a hidden treasure of which one can always be certain."

~Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Happy Birthday Emily.

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

2011-07-07T16:54:00.002-04:00

Twisted wire

digging into pristine sky

rain pours through pin-pricked holes

when angels start to cry.

Three Years....and then some

2011-05-24T13:55:00.001-04:00

The blank screen has been mocking me. I feel like I have a million words just aching to pour out of my fingers, but I'm just not sure where to start anymore. Even writing in a journal, pen to paper, writing with the freedom of knowing that no one else will read those words.... the words still don't come. Words used to be my solace, my way of coping, my outlet. And now? It's an emptiness. I want to write, but I don't know who I am writing for anymore. My thoughts are disjointed, and so are my sentences, and when I re-read what I've written, it falls flat and empty. And when I can't say what I want to say perfectly, I'm too embarrassed to post it. Heaven forbid I write something that is less than stellar. There aren't many things that I am good at... so the few things that I am relatively talented at, I'm pridefully snobbish about.

And perhaps therein lies the reason for my writing block. Maybe the flight of my Muse is nothing more than a much-needed dose of humility to remind me that I write to release, not to impress. Maybe I need to write without thinking, without wondering what people will think, and eventually I'll come back to where writing was healing, not hindering.

I don't know what to say that hasn't already been said. Another year has come and gone. Another milestone, another empty day. On the first of April, I started to post something on facebook about missing Emily. But I didn't.... because I wasn't sure if I really wanted to read the plethora of "thinking of you's", "I'm sorry's", or whatever else's people say. And I don't mean that in an ungrateful way... because the comments and notes from people who remembered meant the world to me, they really did. The problem was within my own self. I did some soul searching and realized that I was searching for something, ANYTHING, to fill the emptiness, and I was looking for sympathy. I would have found it on Facebook... but then I was more afraid that the consolation I thought I was searching for would instead make that emptiness all the more real. That instead of filling the ache, it would echo more resoundingly. And I'm not sure if I could have handled that. I feel like I am warring against myself- the self that wants to be reassured, comforted, and made a fuss over... and the self that is longing desperately to finally FORGET. Sometimes I hate myself for feeling that way, but I do. I'm mad, I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm lost, I'm lonely, I'm furious at her, and I'm mad at myself.

And that seems to be the cycle of my life right now. The simple fact of the matter is that I am 28 years old and have absolutely no freakin' idea of who I am. I go back to a line from my favorite movie, In Her Shoes- "without her, I don't make sense".

But I should make sense. I am more than my sister's sister. I am more than my parent's daughter. I am more than so-and so's friend, family, employee, or co-worker. I am those things, but not defined by those labels. The loss of one shouldn't make me lose my sense of self.

Losing Emily made me lose my balance. I used to think I lost my sense of self, but I'm realizing that I never really had the core sense of who I am to begin with. And I don't know where to find it.

I've been going to counseling again. And this time around, I'm actually seeing a licensed therapist. Nothing against counselors, but I think last time left me with more questions than answers. Or to put it bluntly- I was more screwed up than I thought and needed more than band-aid therapy. This is the "I'm going to ask you tough questions and tell you things that aren't necessarily nice to hear, and make you re-hash buried and unpleasant memories, make you feel lousy sometimes, and this isn't going to be butterflies, kittens and lady-bugs, but we are going to deal with this CRAP, and even though it doesn't seem like it now, you will get through this mess" kind of therapy. My therapist asks the hard questions, and doesn't let me get by with a non-answer. Sometimes I don't like her. But I respect her for not giving up on me. I think she won my everlasting respect when in answer to one of my typical self-depreciating humor jabs at myself about being beyond help, she said "Melissa, I like you, but get over yourself. If I thought you were beyond help, I wouldn't waste my time or yours." Talk about putting it in black and white terms. In some ways, I am very much a black or white thinker. Other times I like to think I try to see in color, but really most of the time I am a misplaced free-spirit who wants to see in color, but is too afraid to peek beyond the shades of black and white.

All that to say, she sees through my B.S. and I respect her, and also like her, for that.

I keep thinking that by now I should have moved on. From the outside, I have. I get up every morning, I work, I have friends, I laugh, I brush my teeth, bathe on a regular basis, and only occasionally catch myself having deep philosophical conversations with the cats... I function. I live. But it's that shadow that follows me that I can't quite shake that reminds me in some ways I'm still stuck in a rut. That shadow of Unfair. Sadness. Loss. Death. Reminders. Memories.

I know that death is a part of life. I know that bad things happen for inexplicable reasons. I know that my loss is on some levels a tragedy, and yet on other levels is nothing compared to what some people have suffered. I am not special or alone in my sorrow, but yet I'm still marked by that shadow of "One who has suffered". I'm a card-carrying member of the Grief Bites club, but I don't want the perks of membership.

What I want most is what I can't have....

.....the end of the story. To see how it all turns out in the end.

One More Day ~ Mary's Blog

2011-02-17T16:15:00.003-05:00

In the two years, 10 months, and 15 days I've spent trying to process grief, loss, and Emily... this blog post pretty much says it all.

One More Day

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry ~ Frozen Tundra

2011-02-10T14:37:00.002-05:00

Frozen tundra

I’ve reached the edge

where the horizon bends

touches, then blends,

merging light with

frozen earth

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry ~ Escape

2011-01-27T20:07:00.001-05:00

Escape

Spinning, twirling,
stretching, aching
emerging
Changed,
into a world
where nothing
touches me

But Grace

Lots of awesome poems this week- be sure to read through the others!

Hello blog, it's me...

2010-10-18T10:36:00.003-04:00

I feel like I did when I was a kid and I ignored my journals for a period of time. I'd stop writing and then when I picked up the pen I wasn't sure if I should play catch-up with everything I'd missed, or start with whatever the thing was that had prompted me to pick up the pen again.

I've been avoiding writing. I've told myself I'm too busy, I don't have the time in the evenings, I don't have anything new or interesting to say, and weekends are too hectic to waste time on a computer. But the truth of the matter is that writing makes me confront my demons, and sometimes it's easier to push all that to the side and continue merrily along in ingorance.
Or denial.
But the thing is, that only works for so long until eventually it reaches a point where it threatens to erupt into what my friend Diana so eloquently calls... emotional vomit.

Writing soothes my soul. I don't like to talk. I process my thoughts slower than most people, I think. Writing gives me the time and opportunity to sort through my thought process, to find exactly what I want to say, and more times than not- I usually find my answer to whatever I'm wrestling with by the time I'm through.

So why stop? Because sometimes there are answers I don't want to hear, and lessons that I don't want to learn, and recongizing a problem means that I can no longer continue in blissfull ignorance and I actually have to DO something to change it.

And that's not always easy.

So if you're still hanging with me... bear with me. I'm still processing...

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

2010-10-18T10:32:00.004-04:00

A thousand reflections

Ships on a shallow sea

littering the ground

…losing sight of me

Reflections

2010-07-06T16:27:00.002-04:00

It was a different kind of Fourth of July for me this year. For the last 4 years, my 4th of July plans involved planning a week-long trip to Columbia to celebrate Rachel’s birthday. Her birthday’s on the 8th, and with the three day holiday weekend, it was always convenient to come down that weekend. It was a little different this year since I’m now here on a permanent basis.

I’ve come to love fireworks. There’s just something about leaning your head back and watching the brilliant bursts of color against the night sky. I could watch them for hours. And then I look at the faces of some of the people I love most in the world, with the colors of the fireworks reflecting in their eyes, and I feel like everything is almost perfect.

Until I think of the one person who I miss more than anything. Last year when we watched the fireworks, I sat there with tears rolling down my face, and the song “somewhere out there” playing through my head. (The song is from an American Tale, the movie where the little mouse is separated from his family, and he and his sister are hundreds of miles apart, yet staring up at the sky and singing this song. Total heart-breaker) This year… same thing happened. I’m not sure what it is. I don’t have any strong memories of watching fireworks with her. I associate the 4th of July with Lauren, not Emily, just because it’s become a tradition that we spend it together. I’m not even sure if Emily even liked fireworks to be perfectly honest. But something about staring up into the vastness of the sky makes me wonder if somehow, she’s looking down at the same sky I am. If she sees the same brilliant colors bursting in the sky, or if she can see the reflection of them in the tears running down my face, and if she knows just how desperately I miss her.

Which I know is highly unlikely. Yet somehow, staring up at the sky and even thinking of the possibility, in all of it's improbability, is a comfort enough.

Somewhere Out There
written by James Horner, Barry Mann, Cynthia Weil

Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight
Someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight

Somewhere out there someone's saying a prayer
That we'll find one another in that big somewhere out there

And even though I know how very far apart we are
It helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star

And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby
It helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky

Somewhere out there if love can see us through
Then we'll be together somewhere out there
Out where dreams come true

Wonder Why ~ 15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

2010-06-18T10:00:00.004-04:00

Eventually I'm going to get around to writing something on here of substance... but for today, it's just another poetry day.

Wonder Why

trained eyes
searching skies
striving to unlock
mysteries.
meanwhile,
on earth defiled
life remains
unsolved.

Courage ~ 15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

2010-06-11T09:48:00.002-04:00

Courage
arms reaching

fingers grasping

painstakingly

breaking through

the barriers

beyond shifting sands

freedom awaits.

hearts and trees and memories

2010-05-17T14:51:00.004-04:00

I opened an e-mail from my dad this morning that brought back a flood of memories. He sent a copy of a letter he received from the neighbors/friends that lived next door to my grandparents for as long as I can remember. I think they had at least 30 kids, or at least it seemed like that. Between the cousins and the neighbor kids there was never a shortage of playmates when we went to visit.

My grandparents have a beautiful red cedar tree in their front yard. The kind of tree that is every kids dream climbing tree. It has branches low enough to make a small child feel like king/queen of the world, and branches that reach higher for the more daring souls. That tree's had three generations of Norman's swinging from it's branches. Actually, probably four because I'm sure my pop-pop climbed a branch or two. It's always been a fixture at my grandparent's house.

After the heavy winter this year, one of the branches broke from the weight of the snow. The Capaldi's helped to cut down the branch, and this is what she sent us:

I just cried when I saw this. The note that she sent talked about how she felt the heart represented the love between my grandparents, the love for their family, and for their neighbors. It brought back some bittersweet memories. And the thought of that tree breaking kind of breaks my heart. I love trees- there's a beauty about them that's always fascinated me. But the beauty of that heart in the branch is a perfect symbol of my grandparents. The thought that struck me about the photo was that sometimes the thing that threatens to break and destroy you, like the heavy winter snow, is actually what allows the hidden beauty to shine through.

Beauty is found in so many places- in hearts and trees, and in memories. I hope that tree survives for many more generations to come, broken places and all.

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry ~ Convienence

2010-05-14T08:37:00.003-04:00

Convienence

turn a handle,

push a button

never think twice,

the water flows...

taken for granted

2010-05-11T16:52:00.003-04:00

The past few weeks have been quite a whirlwind. Within a week after being laid off, I had an interview, was hired, and started working at a new company- all in the span of about two days. I'm incredibly thankful and grateful- so far I absolutely love this place. It keeps me busy, and the days have flown by. I'm already halfway into my fourth week there. I know they say everything happens for a reason. Typically I hate that phrase. But for whatever reason the other job happened, I sure am glad that ending up here was what happened next.

I haven't been hanging out on the computer much in the last few weeks. I think that this is the longest I've gone without facebook since I signed up for it. And you know what? I really don't miss it all that much. I never realized just how much of my time was being spent on facebook. I still try and catch up with my favorite blogs, but usually all I want to do in the evenings is go to sleep! I've wanted to come up with something interesting and profound to write, but I seem to have a case of blogger's block again. And in some ways, the story never changes. I still miss Emily. Sometimes I wonder if the story ever changes, or if this is the way it's going to be forever. I don't know if reaching that place of somewhat acceptance is healing or just giving up fighting against it.

I have found myself thinking about Emily alot. So many things remind me of her. Laurie and I went to the mall a couple of weekends ago. (Which we have quickly discovered is not a good idea. We are definitely a dangerous duo when it comes to shopping). One store in particular makes my credit card shriek as soon as we walk in the door. This store sells the best jeans EVER. After the 5th person told me how great they made my rear end look, I was sold. Seriously. The clothes border a little on the funky side. It's actually the kind of store Emily would have fallen in love with. Loud colors, bright patterns, and all kinds of funky. Mostly stuff that I would never consider trying on in a hundred million thousand years. I have definitely fallen into the world of grown-up, conservative clothes. In otherwords... somewhat boring. But the one sales girl is so cute, you can't help but humor her and try the stuff on anyway. And as I stood in the dressing room in a hot pink shirt with black embroidered angel wings, and blue jeans with silver threaded seams, completely out of my comfort zone, and feeling like a fool, I looked in the mirror and saw Emily. People said all the time how much we looked alike. When we were younger, I could see it. But as we got older, I couldn't really see the resemblance. Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing something that I could totally see my sister in. Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was wishful thinking. But for a split second, all I could see was Emily's face. Then it was gone. Maybe it was just a quick reminder of how much she still is very much with me.

I bought the shirt and the silver threaded jeans. I have no idea where I will ever wear it. But it's a little reminder of Emily. A little reminder to let go and have some fun once in awhile. Those kind of reminders I can deal with.

Inner Angst ~ 15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

2010-04-15T22:56:00.002-04:00

Inner Angst

thorny exterior
shouts "stay away"
yet secretly I yearn
for you to ...

stay anyway.

Catching up

2010-04-13T11:46:00.003-04:00

It's been a very strange time. In the last three weeks I've started a job, marked the passing of the 2nd anniversary of Emily's death, went to the beach with Laurie and Rachel, celebrated my 27th birthday, and then found out that the company I was working for hired someone else while I was gone.

I feel like I'm really not quite sure where to start, and with what. Right after I posted my blog about the cutting, my computer cord fried and I was without a computer for several days. I never really got to acknowledge the comments that so many people left for me. Forgive the silence, and know that I treasure every word written.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the job situation. One of the pitfalls of working through a temp agency is that the employer doesn't necessarily have to give you a reason why they don't think you're a good fit. There's a little more to the story than that, as there usually is, but what's done is done, and there's not much sense whining about it anymore. It wasn't a good fit for me either, and I'm just praying that something else that will be comes along soon.

In someways, I'm almost glad our annual beach trip happens to be around the time of Emily's death. I don't know what it is about the ocean that makes me feel closer to her, but that's where her memory comes alive to me the most. I can think of her and the knot around my heart loosens just a little. Perhaps this sounds corny, but staring out into an endless sea gives me a greater appreciation for everything that I do have. Maybe it's the feeling of being so insignificant when you think about the big picture. Whatever it is, I come away from the beach feeling restored.

I purposely left my computer at home for the week we were gone. Which is a first for me. Usually I find myself going through some kind of withdrawl after a few days. Even when I was in Poland I made sure I got my internet fix at the local internet cafe. I guess I kind of wanted to prove to myself that I could go without it. And you know what? I really didn't miss it all that much. Instead of staying up late plugged into my computer, I went to bed so I could get up with the sunrise. Instead of checking up on the latest facebook status, I spent more time checking in with the two people closest to me. It was- refreshing.

But now I find myself once again with the weekdays stretching ahead of me, plugged into my laptop sending out applications again. Ironic.

It's been a strange three weeks. I hope the next three are a little better.

Two years, and two days

2010-04-03T22:34:00.002-04:00

I've spent the last two days trying to find the words to write. As usual, the more you force it, the harder it is. I'm still not sure what I want to say that I haven't said before. I still can't believe that it's been two years. This day hurts the most. Holidays are bittersweet, but there's so much else going on that it's easy not to focus completely on missing Emily. I miss her on her birthday, but quite frankly she drove me so crazy with her incessant obsessing about her birthday that ignoring the day is not a new concept for me. But the first of April? All I could do was think about her. Sometimes it was a happy memory, but mostly I just missed her. So much has happened in the last two years, and it's still hard to wrap my mind around the fact that it is happening without her. And it still breaks my heart when I go a few days without thinking about her. When I can't remember what her voice sounds like, or the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, or the way she'd pretend to play the role of the "dumb blonde" even though all of us saw right through the act, but we went along with it because she was Emily and she was cute.

Damn, I miss her.

I don't like growing up without her. I'm going to be 27 in two days. I can just imagine the cracks about how I'm getting close to 30, and it makes me want to cry. She'll forever be 20 in my mind, and I just wonder what she would have been like at 23. And when I'm 34 what she would have been like turning 30. I wonder if we would have become closer by then. Sometimes I fear that we might not have ever worked things out. It's the open-ended wonderings that keep me up at night.

Last year was not a good year for me. I spent most of it sunk in a depression up to my eyeballs and doing my best to hide it from everyone I love. When I see my scars, I see Emily. Sometimes that's a comfort. Sometimes it makes me furious that I allowed myself to fall into that kind of coping situation. I want to blame her, because it's easier than blaming myself. I'm furious at her one moment, and miss her so much the next I can't breathe. I go a few days without thinking about her and sometimes it's a relief to forget.

This year I think I've finally started to figure out who I am. Who I am without Emily, and yet who I am with the memory of her still with me. I find that I look at things with a different perspective than I would have before. I value and cherish my friendships and relationships more, even if I'm still learning how to show it. I've been overwhelmingly blessed with friendships through a blog that I probably never would have started. I've realized that while moving away was one of the best things I've ever done, you can't run away from the memories completely. I've found in Lauren a different kind of sisterhood that's helped to heal the broken spots that I thought were beyond repair. I've learned that no matter how often I yell and scream at God, He still hasn't given up on me. And it's sinking in that He never will.

I'm not the same broken person I was this time a year ago. But yet I know I'll never be truly whole, because there will always be a broken piece that is my sister.

And I'm learning to be okay with carrying that brokenness. I've finally realized it can't be fixed. So instead I heal around it, face the broken part when I need to, and build around it instead of over it. And I carry her with me, because she's part of me.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;
and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)
i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) ~ee cummings

Beauty from the Ashes

2010-03-18T23:26:00.000-04:00

Beauty. Ah beauty. It jumps out at you from the covers of magazines, beckons from the cosmetic department, and mocks you as you stand in front of a closet bulging with clothes that someday you vow you WILL fit into again. It's the taunting voice in your head that whispers all the ways you will never measure up.

Beauty isn't always pretty.

Sarah Markley's blog this week is about beauty. Five women have written posts on her blog about beauty. And she asked her readers to write a post on their blogs about their thoughts on the subject. Of course, a million topics sprung to mind- my love/hate relationship with my mirror. That I will never come to terms with the fact that I am almost six feet tall and I hate it. My ongoing battle with my weight. That no amount of makeup will ever make me feel pretty. And don't even get me started on my hair.... But the one thing that has affected me most kept tugging at me. And it wouldn't go away. Everything else I tried to write about seemed to fall apart. The post below wasn't easy to write. It's ugly, it's scary, it's not pretty. My family and friends don't know this about me, and it's probably going to make the people closest to me upset to read about this. But still I felt compelled to tell it. And one thing I've learned is that ignoring that still small voice in your soul is never a good idea. I've carried this secret long enough.

My arm is ugly. It's a mess of scars. Some long-healed and some still fresh. No, it's not the result of an accident, or surgery, or an illness.

They're self-inflicted. I was, I am, a cutter.

I wear long sleeves year round. On the rare occasion I can't wear long sleeves, I'm always conscious of keeping my arm hidden. Lying and secrecy has become an art.

When my little sister died two years ago at the age of 20, my life fell apart. I never got the chance to speak the things I'd left unspoken for far too many years. My thought was to shut her out before she hurt me again. The wounds of the past were too difficult, and I was tired of bearing the brunt of her anger and her depression. I let myself get steeped into resentment and anger and I built a wall between us. When she died, the guilt of that fractured relationship consumed me and overwhelmed me. Guilt is a powerful thing. It can take over your life. It creeps into your heart, thoughts, and wreaks havoc on your relationships.

With the first drag of the blade came a sense of overwhelming relief. "This hurts- alot. But I know why it hurts. The pain is real, it's controlled, and I can be the one to control it. I alone can make it start and I decide when to make it stop." That's how it started. When it became too much, I cut. I've been through counseling for it, and even though it's better, it's still a reality I struggle with all the time. And according to my therapist, there's no magic "cure". It's just a matter of finding another way to cope. For me, sometimes just seeing the scars is enough. Sometimes it's not.

My pain's been hidden- by my own doing. My cuts bleed in silence and shame. There's nothing beautiful about it. Beauty has no place in scars. In blood. In tears.

Or does it?

Can there be beauty in heartache?

When I reach for the blade and instead set it aside, there's beauty in healing.

When I receive an e-mail from a friend who wanted to check in on me, there's beauty in compassion and understanding.

When I seek solace from my cousin, there's beauty in being comforted.

When I look for relief from God instead of from a blade, there's beauty in grace.

When I tell my story on a blog, there's beauty in freedom.

My arm is ugly. My pain is ugly. Grief is ugly. My sister's death nearly destroyed me. But beauty can still rise from the ashes, and beauty is what transforms my scars.

I am a work in progress. But I'm not giving in. My scars won't define me, but they are still a part of me. It's a map of where I've been, and will someday show how far I've come.

And that is what makes me beautiful.

Complexity ~ 15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

2010-03-05T15:48:00.005-05:00

Under the Microscope:

Upon reflection
there's more to me
than meets the eye

take the time
to look.

Ernie

2010-03-04T14:18:00.003-05:00

Someone once said that after you lost an important person in your life, losing a pet pales in comparison.

FYI? That's complete crap.

It's different yes. And the sadness at losing a pet comes from a different perspective. But it still hurts.

My cat Ernie had to be put down this morning. The poor little guy's suffered from kidney problems for just about all of his 15 years. I think a part of me knew when I saw him last at Christmas that he probably wouldn't be around much longer. And in a way, I already had to say my goodbye when I moved and he stayed with my parents. But it still hurts, and I still miss him. Lauren has two cats that I love dearly, but they're hers. Even though I couldn't bring him here with me, he was still "mine". And now he's gone.

In a way, he's another little broken piece of Emily I've got to let go. He was our childhood cat. He was still a link to my sister, and now that's gone too.

Losing a pet does pale in comparison to losing a person. But one thing I've learned over the last two years is that there's actually no comparison in grief. It can't be measured against any other kind of loss. It's like trying to measure how high up is. It simply can't be done.
And I'll sucker punch the first person that tells me that losing a pet should be easier after what I've been through.

Broken Pieces

2010-03-03T23:22:00.003-05:00

I find myself missing Emily tonight. The kind of missing that comes in waves.... it's the one minute I want to stare at her picture forever, and the next minute it hurts too much to see her smile. It's the I'd give anything to hear her voice, and the sudden gut wrenching sucker punch when I realize I can't remember what her voice sounds like anymore. It's the catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror and seeing her instead of me, and then being torn between looking for it again and wanting to smash the mirror to a million broken pieces.

I used a little of her perfume this morning and almost cried at the thought that it'll be gone soon.

I still haven't figured out what tense to talk about her in- was or is?

I was online today and wondered how pathetic it would be if I ordered myself a bouquet of daisies just because they remind me of her.

I find myself wanting to cry to someone, but sometimes seeing the other person's helplessness at my tears only makes me feel worse.

I feel depressed because I sometimes still feel guilty, and I feel guilty for being depressed.

As the 1st of April gets closer, the knot in my stomach tightens just a little more.

I fear that I will always dread spring, and I hate that feeling. But yet I also fear the moment when I don't because it means losing another little piece of her.

It hurts to hold onto all the broken pieces, but they're too deeply embedded to let go.

Emily- I miss you.

Slow Fade ~ 15 Words or Less Poetic Challenge

2010-02-26T14:26:00.004-05:00

Slow Fade

sunlight fading
on the vastness of the sea
whispering goodbye
as you flow away from me

The comment about my poem this week was that it was beautiful and sad. I guess it is kind of melancholy. The ocean makes me think of Emily. I don't know if it's the sheer endlessness of the water, the rhythm of the waves, the solitude, or just simply because the last time I talked to her was at the beach. Whatever the reason, Emily and the ocean are synonymous in my mind.

There were alot of great poems tied to this picture. Check them out!

15 words or less Poetic Challenge

2010-02-19T09:28:00.005-05:00

I'd gotten out of the habit of coming up with something for Laura Salas's 15 Words or Less Poetic Challenge. The poem doesn't have to be about the picture specifically, just something that the picture reminds you of.

Thought I'd give this week's a go...

Suspended

hold your breath
suspended in time
waiting in anticipation
barely breathing
lest it sway the outcome

Wordless Wednesday ~ South Carolina Snow

2010-02-17T10:41:00.002-05:00

Childhood is the Kingdom where Nobody dies

2010-02-05T16:00:00.001-05:00

(I'm spending a rainy afternoon clearing out the blogs I had saved in my "drafts" folder, and I came across this one. I wrote it back in June. No idea why I never hit publish. It's interesting to re-read the things I've written. In a way it gives me a different perspective on, well, myself. I think at the time I was feeling a little too vulnerable to send it out. One of the bloggers I frequent has a quote posted on her blog by Anais Nin: We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection." That's somewhat fitting in my case. So I decided to send it out.)

June 9th, 7PM
I had a dream last night that we were at our old house in Alabama. I can't tell you what the dream was about, who was in it, or if it was even a good or bad dream. I just remember seeing the house. I've been back to Alabama twice since we moved away. Both times I drove by our old house. Both times I stopped in front and thought about asking whoever lived there if I could come in. But I was too afraid to see the changes. I think sometimes it's easier to remember the way things were, instead of what they end up being.

But now, I kind of wish I could see the house in a way. I want to close my eyes and see the ghosts. I want to sit in front of the fireplace and run my fingers over the singed spots from the sparks. I want to see us horsing around on the floor. I used to lay on my back and stick my feet up. Emily would lay on my feet and I'd "fly" her through the air. I want to remember the night of the "Blizzard of 1993" when the power went out and we all had to sleep in the living room. Emily and I fought over who got to use the Turkish blanket, and then the dog ended up sleeping on it anyway. I want to know if the rocks we painted are still in the front yard. I want to sit in the middle of the floor and picture the sea of Barbie dolls and accessories that engulfed the living room. I want to run my hand across the mantle where we hung our Christmas stockings. I want to open the closet door and laugh at the mismatched sqaure from when I set the carpet on fire. I want to remember Emily that way all the time. I wish Emily had stayed that way. I wish I had stayed that way. I want to tell the two ghost girls to stay in those moments forever.

I want to... I want to....

I want to go back to my childhood.

I've never had that desire before. I've never wished I could be a certain age again. But I've never had to, not until I was faced with having to get older without Emily. I wish I could go back to before life became complicated. Before Emily became angry. Before we started hating each other and she was still the loveable ditz that drove me crazy, but she was too darn cute to stay angry with.

One of the books I'm reading has an excerpt from a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay that struck me when I read it. :

"Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age
The child is grown, and puts away childish things.
Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies."

I miss my kingdom.

I haven't felt this melancholy in awhile. And when I started writing this blog- my intent was a funny story. I'm not sure what made it morph into melancholy. I guess that's just part of living with two dominant sides. The side that wants to move on, to smooth the ragged edges of the hole in my heart, and the side that wants to stay in bed and weep for my sister, that's afraid of letting the hole close lest it forgets.

Light and Shadows

Present and Past

What is and What should be

I guess in all honesty- even if I could go back to my childhood, I don't think I would. Kingdoms don't last forever.

But I still miss it.

As I was writing this, I did a search on Google to make sure I got the quote from the poem right. And found the poem in it's entirety.
Whoa.

Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certian age
The child is grown, and puts away childish things.
Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.

Nobody that matters, that is. Distant relatives of course
Die, whom one never has seen or has seen for an hour,
And they gave one candy in a pink-and-green stripèd bag, or a jack-knife,
And went away, and cannot really be said to have lived at all.

And cats die. They lie on the floor and lash their tails,
And their reticent fur is suddenly all in motion
With fleas that one never knew were there,
Polished and brown, knowing all there is to know,
Trekking off into the living world.
You fetch a shoe-box, but it's much too small, because she won't curl up now:
So you find a bigger box, and bury her in the yard, and weep.

But you do not wake up a month from then, two months,
A year from then, two years, in the middle of the night
And weep, with your knuckles in your mouth, and say Oh, God! Oh, God!

Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies that matters, - mothers and fathers don't die
And if you have said, "For heaven's sake, must you always be kissing a person?"
Or, "I do wish to gracious you'd stop tapping on the window with your thimble!"
Tomorrow, or even the day after tomorrow if you're busy having_fun,
Is plenty of time to say, "I'm sorry, mother."
To be grown up is to sit at the table with people who have died, who neither listen nor speak;
Who do not drink their tea, though they always said
Tea was such a comfort.

Run down into the cellar and bring up the last jar of raspberries; they are not tempted.
Flatter them, ask them what was it they said exactly
That time, to the bishop, or to the overseer, or to Mrs. Mason;
They are not taken in.
Shout at them, get red in the face, rise,
Drag them up out of their chairs by their stiff shoulders and shake them and yell at them;
They are not startled, they are not even embarrassed; they slide back into their chairs.
Your tea is cold now.
You drink it standing up,
And leave the house.

Waiting

2010-02-01T15:42:00.003-05:00

I've been avoiding my blog lately. Actually, I've been in such a funk lately, I've been trying to avoid practically everything.

You know that feeling you get when something's gnawing at you, and you just don't know how, or don't want, to deal with it? That's been me.

Job searching is the pits. I absolutely hate it. I dread logging onto the computer and clicking on the job pages. It's draining. It's tiring. It's depressing. And I'm sick of it. I just want this phase of my life to be over. I want to be employed. I hate that I dread Sunday afternoons because it means that Monday is coming and I have yet another empty week looming ahead. I am sick of my own company. I want to complain about having to get up early, and I want to count down the hours until 5pm again. I don't want to have to worry about how long unemployment benefits will last, and I don't want a guilt trip every time I want to splurge on a coffee from Starbucks. I just want to return to a sense of normalcy.

I do love being here. I love everything about it. I love the fact that I've only had to pull out the heavy winter coat twice so far this winter. I love the slower pace and the easy-going temperaments of the South. Someone at Kroger the other day told me I had a beautiful smile. And living with Lauren and Rachel is probably one of the best things that's ever happened to me. By all accounts, I should be deliriously happy.

It's just this stupid "unemployment" cloud hanging over my head that's messing everything up. Because the fact of the matter is, I feel absolutely useless. I know, I know. There are plenty of things I could be doing. I could be working part time. I could be volunteering somewhere. My mother thinks I should write a book. But I just can't get my heart into any of it because I feel so unsettled, and just out and out worried.

Two weeks ago, I went on an interview for an admin position for a manufacturing company. Then the next week, I got called back in for a second interview. I really thought I nailed it. Thought I was a shoo-in for the position, and that I'd already be working by now.

I still haven't heard whether I got it. And it is driving me absolutely insane. I'm to the point now where I almost don't care what the answer is. I just want to know. No, that's not entirely true. I really want this job.

The waiting is really coloring my attitude, and my outlook. Poor Lauren- I've been on a stretch of highs and lows for the last two weeks. I'm surprised she isn't ready to send me packing yet. My parents are probably rolling their eyes when they see a text message from me, whining about "why haven't they called me yet." I obviously am a firm believer in the whole "misery loves company" theory and am attempting to force it upon all those that I come in contact with.

In the big scheme of things- it could be worse. I've only been searching for a little over three months, and there were three major holidays thrown into the mix. Unemployment is still available, so long as I can get the extension. I have a place to stay, and a family that's not going to let me get kicked out into the street.

But I'm disheartened. And I don't know how to fix that. I've heard every pep talk, heard enough "something will come along"s, and tried every positive thinking method there is. Frankly, it just ain't cutting it. I never was one for platitudes. I'm too much of a realist for my own good I think. Or maybe too much of a pessimist. I wish I wasn't like this. I wish I could really believe what Lauren and my mother keep telling me- that they know something will come along soon. I guess it's a good thing that I have optimistic people in my life. Maybe their good attitudes are enough to counteract my pessimistic one.

And so there's nothing left to do but wait and try not to drive everyone batty with my mood swings. I'll wait, wondering if staring hard enough at the phone will make it ring on command.

Perhaps God is using this time to teach me some much needed patience. Or perhaps He wants to see just how close I'll get to going off the deep end. Or maybe He's using me to teach my family how to love someone at their worst.

I'm kidding- I know He doesn't work like that. But I sure do wish He'd help hurry this job thing along.

Meanwhile, I'll still be sitting here.

Waiting.

Happy Birthday Heather

2010-01-21T14:55:00.002-05:00

Facebook reminded me that today is Heather's birthday. I am the self-proclaimed Queen of Birthdays. I love them. I love celebrating them, I love finding the perfect card, I love decorating people's offices, and I love baking. I rarely, if ever, forget a friend's birthday. Except Heather. I don't know why, but I've always had a mental block when it came to her. Last year I woke up in a panic that morning because I'd completely forgotten. This time it snuck up on me too. I kind of wish I'd not logged onto Facebook at all today... now I miss her all the more. Her husband is keeping her account active- which I think is good. But every once in awhile he'll change her profile picture, or add something else. It kind of breaks my heart everytime I see her name when I log in. It's like in that fleeting moment, I've forgotten that she's died.

I didn't realize her death would hit me this hard. I find myself still picking up the phone to send her a text message. I want to call her and tell her to pray about the whole job search thing. I miss going through it without her- Heather was overbearing sometimes, but she definitely was the one person you could count on to keep track of you. After I was laid off, she was one of the few people who made sure I wasn't forgotten. Which is kind of why I'm kicking myself that I forgot her birthday, yet again.

So when I pick Rachel up from school today, we are heading straight to Starbucks. Heather loved coffee as much as I do. We'd argue over whose turn it was to make the next pot of flavored coffee. When I smell it, I think of her. So I am going to get the biggest coffee they have, load it up with flavor shots, and toast my beloved friend. I only wish she was here to share it.

Happy Birthday Heather- I miss you.

Munchkin

2010-01-19T11:02:00.004-05:00

Laurie and I spent the weekend at the beach. She had off yesterday, Rachel was spending the weekend with her dad, so Uncle John and Teri invited us to the beach house for the weekend. It started off great. Until Saturday morning when Laurie got a call from one of our neighbors- she'd hit our cat Munchkin. Munchkin's 19... and he has a bad habit of walking in front of our cars. Our neighbor was backing up, saw him, and stopped. I guess she thought he'd moved, but she ended up backing over his leg. So she called asking Laurie where to take him to the vet. We figured worst case scenario was that he'd have to be in a cast. But then the vet called and said he'd fractured his leg in three places, but that his bladder had ruptured and he was bleeding internally. At his age, he wouldn't have survived any kind of surgery, so we had to put him down. Laurie was so distraught. Rachel and her dad went to the vet and they were with him when they put him to sleep. Then they buried him in our backyard.

I felt so bad for Laurie. I think this is only the second time I've ever seen her really cry. And it's such a helpless feeling, because you know that there is absolutely nothing you can say to make it better. She finally told me on Monday morning that she feels so guilty for going to the beach. That maybe if we had stayed home, Munchkin wouldn't have been hit. I wanted to tell her not to feel guilty. That even if our neighbor hadn't hit him this weekend, it could have very well been one of us that did. I wanted to tell her that there was no way she could have known this would happen. But I couldn't... because I know what it's like to struggle with that kind of "what if" guilt. And I'm telling you- it's the worst kind. I know what it's like to drive yourself nuts with "if only I had done this" or "if only I'd said that". And I know what it feels like to hear people tell you that you can't blame yourself. Even though you know it's not your fault... you can't change that feeling. And people telling you not to feel that way doesn't make it easier. But at the same time, I hate seeing Laurie struggle with those feelings.

When we got home, Adam had buried Munchkin too close to the pond in our backyard. The pond floods when it rains, and Laurie was worrying about something happening to his grave. Not only that, but he was also in the middle of the yard. I swear, men don't think things through. She wanted him buried on higher ground and closer to the fence. Someplace where we could put a little marker or something. And someplace where he wouldn't be walked over, or mowed over in the summer. Then she started crying, saying she didn't think she'd be able to move him herself. I told her I'd do it. She didn't want me to, she was afraid it'd be too hard on me too. But I insisted. Laurie and I are alike in alot of ways- stubborness being one of them. But I think I have her beat. I don't often put my foot down, but I out-stubborned her last night.

I managed to do it this morning. It was hard- I've never had to bury a pet before. Once I got the new hole dug, I had to un-dig the first grave. As soon as I sunk my shovel into the ground, it was a muddy mess. I was so angry at Adam- why on earth did he bury him in the mud? I swear men don't think. I was afraid to keep using the shovel... I didn't want to hit the box. So I dug him out by hand. By that point, I didn't think I could do it. I was afraid of what I'd see when I got to the box. I didn't think I could pull him out of the ground. But even though the last thing I wanted to do was unbury this little cat, the memory of the look on Laurie's face was somehow harder to bear. It's funny how you can find the strength to do the impossible for the people you love most. And fury has a way of motivating you too. Let me just say it's a good thing Adam wasn't anywhere near my shovel at the moment.

I miss that little cat too. It's awfully quiet around here without him. Even though I've only been here for a few months, I've been coming to Lauren's for the last five years. I got attached to the little guy. I came home this afternoon, and really missed him trotting out to greet me at my car.

But mostly my heart hurts for Laurie. I'm probably driving her nuts with my hovering. I've never seen Lauren this sad, and it's a terribly helpless feeling to watch someone go through it. People who aren't animal people don't always understand how attached you can get. But they really are like family. Even though it's not the same, watching her reminds me a little of what I went through with Emily. Grief is grief- and it doesn't always have to be for a person.

*sigh*

Winter ~ Wordless Wednesday

2010-01-13T08:38:00.000-05:00

The winter blues....

2010-01-05T14:26:00.003-05:00

Well it's hit me once again... the post-holiday depression.

The lights in the neighborhood are coming down... radio stations have long since stopped playing Christmas music...Christmas trees are lying discarded on the curbside... ours is still up, but I think there may be more pine needles on the floor than on the tree. It's January, and somehow this is the time when winter seems longest. Rachel's back in school.. Lauren's back at work... and I'm back to only having the cats to talk to while I spend what feels like an eternity job hunting on the computer.

I am officially down in the dumps.

Maybe it's the typical holiday let down. Maybe it's all the worries and stresses I pushed away during the holidays crashing back in all at once. Maybe it's missing Emily. Maybe it's simple lonlieness. Maybe it's a combination of all of the above.

And it's hard to even try and explain it to someone. How can you expect words that will help when you can't even articulate what exactly it is you want help with? I'm even having trouble finding the right words to even try and pray about it.

I suppose my biggest worry is finding a job. It was easy to not dwell on it with all the holiday hoopla. But now that it's over, the worry is back. I honestly didn't expect it would take this long to find a job. I suppose I naively assumed that it would all turn out exactly as I imagined, that I'd find the perfect job, discover what exactly it is I want to be when I grow up, and life would just march happily along. Well it's been almost six months since I was laid off, almost three months since I moved, and here I still sit. Perhaps God's trying to teach me patience. I think I'm failing miserably at patience and I'm getting an ulcer from worrying instead.

And now I'm stuck trying to find a way to even end this post. Phrases like "something will turn up soon", or "the right job is out there" and things like that are running through my mind. But they don't really help. Not when you're in this kind of mind set.

So I think instead I am done with the computer for today. I shall toss my "lose 10 pounds" resolution right out of the window and break into the stash of Christmas cookies and curl up with one of my new books.

Perhaps things will look better tomorrow.

Balancing Act

2009-12-31T08:00:00.000-05:00

It's New Year's Eve. It hit me all of a sudden that 2009 is almost over. Sheesh, I'm still trying to remember that Christmas is over.

I've been fighting a cold for the last three days. As I sit here and type I'm practically drowning in a sea of wadded up tissues, comfy blankets, and an armory of cough and cold relief medications. It's the kind of sick that makes you want to burrow under the blankets, crash on the couch, and have someone bring you hot tea and clean up your mess. It's a good thing I've never really been much of a party-type person on New Year's Eve. I'll be lucky if I can keep my eyes open long enough to say hello to 2010. Pizza, some sappy movies, and my two favorite girls cuddled on the couch sounds perfectly wonderful to me.

But for right now, Laurie's already at work, Rachel's still upstairs sleeping, and I'm hanging out with the cats and my laptop in the quiet of the morning hours, trying to come up with the right words to sum up this past year.

Last year around this time I was desperately anxious to be rid of 2008. I think I had some unrealistic expectations that 2009 was going to be wonderful, simply because I deserved a break.

Funny how life doesn't always work out quite like that.

In some ways, this year was marked with as much loss as last year. My friends that I lost to cancer, Heather and Terri. My grandfather. My grandparents moving out of the house they've lived in for decades.... even though it's only a house, it was a firm fixture in my childhood memories, and seeing it empty for that last time was heartbreaking. My job- even though I was glad to be out from that job, it still pretty much stinks to be laid off. And I really miss the people that I worked with.

But I guess the difference between December 31, 2009 and December 31, 2008 is that this time around... I know that life does in fact go on, as much as I hate that cliche. And even though this year has been difficult, there have been some pretty great moments too. I got the opportunity to return to Poland with Habitat for Humanity. I went to a counselor and started putting the pieces of my life back together. I moved- and even though the uncertainty of not having a job still weighs heavy on me... being here has been one of the best things I've ever done.

So as I'm thinking back on this past year, I guess it's been a balancing act mostly. A year of taking the good with the bad, and not letting myself fall back into that cycle of depression. 2008 taught me the painful lesson of grief, depression, and loss. But 2009 taught me how to discover the strength and grace to simply live through it. Because the reality is that you don't get a year "off" from unpleasant things happening. But how you deal with it is what defines you.

So come on 2010. I'm ready this time around.

Another Christmas here and gone...

2009-12-25T21:37:00.007-05:00

It's winding down... another Christmas Day has come and is almost gone.

It doesn't feel like Christmas without Emily. Or at least, not like the Christmases I remember. It's different. Christmas has become a little quieter, a little softer, and yes... even a little bit darker in some ways. Christmas for me now comes in the soft glow of a candle in a darkened church sanctuary, listening to the singing of Silent Night. And the tears flowed again this year. Not the tears from a broken heart like last year. But tears of.... remembering. And longing. And even a little bit of healing.

And as I drove home from the midnight service last night, I took the advice of a friend and looked up at the Christmas Eve sky. She was telling me about her dad, and how sometimes she doesn't get the feeling that he's still with her. But that sometimes when she looks at the sky, she knows that he's still there. (I'm paraphrasing- she said it much more eloquently than I am.)

I get that feeling alot. For awhile there, I saw Emily everywhere I went. I heard her voice, followed her laughter, and caught a whiff of her favorite perfume. I dreamed about her all the time. For awhile I thought I was going crazy. And then it slowly stopped. I don't search for her in every store I go into. The sound of her voice is fading in my memory and it kinda breaks my heart. But the feeling of emptiness is somehow a little harder to handle.

But last night she didn't feel quite as gone. She was in the singing of the carols, in the beauty of the poinsettias, and in the light dancing on the icicles on the tree. And driving home in the early hours of Christmas morning, she was in the stars in the sky, the snow on the ground, and in the chill in the air. It's like that quote from Taylor Caldwell said... I felt less alone last night. And that was where I found beauty in Christmas.

Christmas Day will never be the same. But then again, nothing ever really stays that way. Christmas can't always be found in traditions. Or things. Or even people for that matter. But what doesn't change is the very heart of Christmas. The faith, the belief, the love, the joy, the promise, and the hope... that's Christmas Day.

People keep telling me that with each passing holiday, each year, each milestone it will get easier. Which I don't find to be true at all- at least not for me. I don't think you can measure grief in terms of easier or harder. I think each one is going to be different, in it's own way. Last Christmas was horribly painful. This Christmas season didn't hurt, but it was somewhat lonely, and tinged with alot of melancholy. Just like you can't measure how high up is, you can't measure grief.

You just have to take it as it comes, one day at a time.

But for this day, this Christmas, and in this moment... she doesn't feel quite so far away. And that's enough for me.

Merry Christmas.

Not alone

2009-12-24T16:57:00.002-05:00

"I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses." ~ Taylor Caldwell

I thought this quote was beautiful. I needed to be reminded of that this morning. As my pastor friend says, "Satis Est". It is enough.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Winter Wonderland

2009-12-24T08:00:00.003-05:00

It's amazing how quickly you adapt to your environment.

I. Am. Freezing!!

But it's really beautiful. We started seeing the first signs of snow about an hour outside of Charlotte. Just an occasional patch here and there. By the time we hit the mountains of Virginia, it was everywhere. It was a nice drive actually. I've never driven down interstate 81 and 77 in the winter, and the snow just transformed those mountains. But Rachel's reaction was the best part. When you've lived all your life in South Carolina, more than a dusting of snow is a big deal. It's funny how you take something like the beauty of snow covered fields and mountains for granted. I looked at it with different eyes yesterday. I was about the same age as Rachel is when we moved from Alabama to Pennsylvania, and I remembered how awed I was that first time it snowed and the grass actually disappeared. It was an awesome reminder to take time to slow down and really soak in the beauty of creation. (Figuratively slow down I mean. It was me driving after all.)

It was dark by the time we finally pulled into Greencastle, so I didn't get a good look at the snow. But now I'm sitting at the kitchen table, looking out the window at a postcard-perfect scene. Mom is making a stew that smells fantastic. It's Christmas Eve and I feel.... content.

Pretty soon I'm going to wake Rachel up. The postcard perfect scenery is in desperate need of a good snowman or two.

It's not the same without you ~ Wordless Wednesday

2009-12-23T06:28:00.000-05:00

Heading home for Christmas

2009-12-22T23:08:00.004-05:00

Rachel and I are leaving for Pennsylvania in the morning.

Honestly, I have some mixed feelings. I'm very much looking forward to seeing my family, my pets, and going to my beloved Christmas Eve services. I'm excited that Rachel is coming with me- it'll be nice to have some company on the way up. It's really cute how excited she is about going with me. (She still seems to think I'm cool. Go figure.) Rachel is at that age where she so very much wants to be a grown up. She's 14 going on 24, know what I mean? But when she heard that PA got almost 2 feet of snow, there was that little girl again, jumping up and down and wanting to know if we could make a snowman when we get there. I'm thrilled that I'll be with my family, and that Rachel will be there, but sad that we won't be with Laurie on Christmas Day. I wish it were possible to be in two places at once.

I'm anxious to go home... and yet in some ways I'm not. Because Christmas makes me think of Emily. And I miss her desperately. It's been very easy to avoid thinking about her. Lauren and Rachel's decorations and traditions are not my decorations and traditions, therefore they are "safe". I don't see Emily everywhere I look.

Going home is different.

Home means Emily's macaroni wreath she made in kindergarten and the picture she colored on the refrigerator. Home means fighting over whose turn it was to move the mouse in the advent calendar and covering your tracks in the chocolate chip cookie dough. Home is the ornaments on the Christmas tree and endless hints about what's hidden in the brightly wrapped packages. Home is memory, and sometimes memory hurts.

But yet that's what I've been missing the most. Memories. The same thing that hurts is also the same thing that brings comfort. Memories can be painful, but forgetting is heart breaking. And I remember her most at Christmas.

I feel like this is such a depressing post for it being three days before Christmas. And I don't mean to be depressing... just honest.

I want it both ways. I want to remember and forget all at the same time.

2009-12-18T22:50:00.003-05:00

Seven more days..... and I still haven't found my Christmas spirit. I've finished almost everything on my shopping list. I finally found the Post Office, and my cards are in the mail. My iPod is getting a workout playing my favorite Christmas albums. I even tried my hand at making mom's mint cookies. (they aren't as good as hers). I'm doing all the Christmas-y things, but my heart really isn't in it. I was at Kroger today and in the course of conversation with the cashier, told him I was going home to PA for Christmas. And I suddenly felt weirdly grown-up saying that. I'm now one of those people who travels home for the holidays.

I'm a little torn about Christmas, actually. I can't wait to see my parents. And I'm eagerly looking forward to the Christmas Eve service. Rachel is actually coming with me, and this will be the first time she's ever been to Greencastle. I'm excited for her to see my home, my cat, and for her to meet some of my friends. But Laurie is going to Savannah to meet her mom and stepfather, so we won't all be together at Christmas. And I'll admit- that's got me a little bummed.

But beyond the outer trappings of Christmas..... I still don't have that excitement. Or even the depression that I did last year. This time, it's almost like an apathy. And I think feeling nothing is somehow worse than feeling something. Even if that something is unpleasant.

Wintersong

2009-12-18T10:35:00.002-05:00

I'm not usually a sad Christmas song kind of person. That song they play on the radio about the Christmas Shoes leaves me bawling my eyes out. The words and message are beautiful... but still....

But the one exception is this song by Sarah Mclachlan. The first time I heard it, all I could think about was Emily. And so when I miss her most, I play this song. And even though it's such a melancholy song- it fits inside that melancholy hole in my heart that is Emily.

The lake is frozen over
The trees are white with snow
And all around
Reminders of you
Are everywhere I go

It's late and morning's in no hurry
But sleep won't set me free
I lie awake and try to recall
How your body felt beside me
When silence gets too hard to handle
And the night too long

And this is how I see you
In the snow on Christmas morning
Love and happiness surround you
As you throw your arms up to the sky
I keep this moment by and by

Oh I miss you now, my love
Merry Christmas, merry Christmas,
Merry Christmas, my love

Sense of joy fills the air
And I daydream and I stare
Up at the tree and I see
Your star up there

And this is how I see you
In the snow on Christmas morning
Love and happiness surround you
As you throw your arms up to the sky
I keep this moment by and by

An Alexander Kind of Day

2009-12-17T23:26:00.003-05:00

So it's officially been an Alexander kind of day. As in the book- "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day". One of those days where a whole bunch of little things go wrong, and even though it's not that big of a deal.... by the end of the day you're left wanting to throw your arms up in the air and just say the heck with it.

I started off by waking up at 4am and wasn't able to go back to sleep.

My Christmas cards still haven't been mailed because I need stamps. I got lost trying to find the post office. Never did find it. Cards are still in the car.

None of my clothes fit anymore.

I can't afford to buy clothes that do.

And it's not like I have anywhere to wear them anyway.

Tried to use my new Wachovia card at Starbucks today and the card wouldn't work. And of course the place was busy. And people were giving me "that look". Very embarrassing.
Turns out I forgot to activate the card.

Dropped a box on my toe.

I have terrible cramps. (Sorry guys..)

Spilled a glass of water all over Lauren's coffee table and got a bunch of her papers soaked.

Went to the store to buy a memory card and discovered when I got home that I bought a card adapter instead.

And then to top it all off.... I locked myself and Rachel out of the house tonight. In the dark. In our pajamas. In the cold. Yes, South Carolina does get cold. Lauren was at band practice and we couldn't get ahold of her. Our neighbor with the key wasn't home. We ended up having to call Laurie's dad to come over with the key.... and he was not happy with us at all. I felt terrible. After we sat out there for about half an hour, Rachel suddenly remembered she had a house key on her school badge which was in her pocket. Luckily we discovered that before Uncle John drove all the way over. But I still felt embarrassed and really, really stupid. I hate having people mad at me. :(

And now I can't sleep. I miss Emily, I'm bummed because I don't have a job, I'm starting to get a little worried about money, I'm irritated because I can't afford to get Christmas presents like I usually do... and...and...and....

I'm whining.

Seriously.... the only good thing about these kinds of days is when they're over.

Here's to tomorrow being a better day.

What happened to the joy?

2009-12-15T10:30:00.000-05:00

I love Christmas.

I am slowly discovering though, that it is a different kind of love then when I was a child. Like most kids, to me Christmas meant presents, trees, Santa Claus, and mom's cookies. (Specifically her chocolate mint-frosted cookies, which are hands down the absolute best cookies. Ever. Seriously. Like, so good I hid them when she started putting together plates to give the neighbors. Christmas meant sharing. But not when it came to those cookies.)

And I'll admit, when I was a kid the thing I probably loved most about Christmas was the presents. Wondering what was hidden in those colorful boxes, what wonderful surprise was concealed underneath the tissue paper, and what would be waiting from Santa on Christmas morning.

And I wonder- is that really such a bad thing?

Alot of my joy even now is in memories of those Christmases when I was a child. Remembering counting off the days on the Advent calendars. The way our house constantly smelled of cookies. Being surprised when I opened my lunch box and discovering mom had sent a small container with a spoonful of leftover mint icing. Singing along to Christmas carols, and hunting for where mom had hidden the "stash of stuff" this year. (Even though I never peeked, there was still a thrill just in the knowing where it was.) Remembering lying there wide awake at 5:00 in the morning, willing the minute hand to speed up until that magical 6:00 hour when we were finally allowed to get up. And then the squeals and exclamations and shouts of joy as those boxes were finally unwrapped.

Now, as an adult, Christmas has a deeper meaning- one beyond the joy that comes from circling the pages of a toy catalog, gazing at store window displays, and dreaming up letters to Santa. I find joy in the familiar Christmas songs and beloved carols. I find peace sitting in a darkened room lit only by the glow of Christmas lights. I find comfort in the memories, and solace in knowing that Christmas goes beyond anything that can be bought from a store, or ordered over the internet.

But yet, why does Christmas seem to lose some of its magic as we grow up? What happens to it, to that joy, and where does it go? We feel guilty for anticipating what's in that pretty box because "that's not the reason for the season". Stress replaces anticipation, endless to do lists makes Christmas seem like a chore rather than a celebration, and when you smell Christmas cookies you also simultaneously imagine the numbers on the scale reading 20 pounds heavier. Christmas merchandise is making an appearance alongside the Halloween decorations, and the latest pop stars prancing around in nothing more than glorified Christmas colored underwear have the audacity to sing "O Holy Night". In some ways, I can completely understand how easy it is have the real joy of Christmas buried under the tinsel and trappings.

As adults, we're focusing on remembering the "reason for the season", admonishing that it's not all about the stuff, and aren't letting kids believe in Santa Claus. Yet it's not kids who are snapping at salespeople in the store, stressing about how on earth everything is going to get done, and bemoaning that Christmas always come too quickly. Instead of dealing with the unpleasant, we throw some more tinsel on it and pretend it's all okay. But what kind of joy is it if it has to be forced? If that's what remembering the reason for the season is all about- I think I'd rather go back to being seven and oblivious again.

I don't think there is a right or wrong kind of joy at Christmas. And there's no right or wrong place to find it. Whether it's found sitting in a church service or in a child's anticipation of Santa. In the stanzas of a familiar Christmas hymn or your 1st grader's debut as Rudolph in the school play. In the reading of the Christmas story or in watching someone you love open that perfect gift. It's found in the glow of the Christmas lights and in the grasp of a friend's hand. It's in the glue holding together a child's macaroni wreath and in the kind that binds together family and friends.

The commercialism of Christmas drives me insane. I hate that Thanksgiving gets lost in the shuffle, and as far as I'm concerned, a little of those inflatable lawn ornaments goes a long way. I struggle with buying gifts out of obligation and not from the heart. I eat Christmas cookies and can't help but count calories. And if I had my way, "Blue Christmas", "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree", and "Santa Baby" would be outlawed from every radio station there is.

But the great thing about joy is that if you really try- it surpasses all those things. So what if your neighbor has twenty inflatable musical lawn ornaments strewn across their yard? So what if your pants start to feel a little tight? So what if the relatives you haven't seen or talked to since you were five don't get a Christmas card? So what if "Blue Christmas" has been played for the fifth time in.... nope, wait. When it comes to Blue Christmas, there is no redeeming joy. Seriously- Worst. Song. Ever.

But you get what I mean. I wonder what would happen if we stopped trying so hard to make Christmas fit into our perfect molds of what it should be, and instead just let Christmas be what it was meant to be. A season of joy. Of hope. Of doing less and gaining more. I think we'd find that the magic of Christmas doesn't disappear as we grow up... it just needs the tinsel dusted off a little.

Christmas trees and memories

2009-12-13T07:18:00.005-05:00

I've been trying to avoid really thinking about Emily lately. I seem to be falling back into the pattern of "if I don't think about, then it doesn't really exist." But you'd think after six months of therapy, it would have sunk in that the more you push things down, the bigger the mess when it all comes out. And it always does.

It started when we went to get our Christmas tree earlier this month. Lauren and Rachel get a real tree, which I was thrilled about. It was a different tradition than what I grew up with, so it was on the "safe" list. But when it came time to decorate, then I got the moody blues. Decorating the Christmas tree has always been my job. Emily hated decorating the tree- but every year she'd sit with me in the living room and keep me company while I did it. This year.... I was the one sitting and watching while Rachel decorated the tree.

But after that momentary bout of the blues, I haven't let myself think about her. Because if I do- I'm afraid I won't stop. And I don't want to put a damper on Lauren and Rachel's Christmas either. The only thing worse than actually being depressed at Christmas is having to deal with the person who is depressed at Christmas.

But Lauren knows me entirely too well. There's not much I can get past her. Most of the time I love it. Sometimes it's a real pain in the butt.

Last night we went out to do some Christmas shopping. It's kind of eerie how alike Rachel and Emily are in some ways. They have the same "all-about-me" mentality, the same dramatic flair, and the same inability to keep anything secret. While we were out, it was fairly obvious Rachel was trying to get my Christmas present without me noticing. And the harder she tried to be secretive, the more obvious she was. It's a good thing that I like to be surprised at Christmas and did my best to keep out of earshot- otherwise it would've been fairly easy to figure out what she was up to. Emily was the same way. She hated waiting for Christmas, and would inevitably give so many hints about presents she bought, that it didn't take much to figure out what it was.
Rachel was driving me absolutely nuts last night. She was poking us, teasing us, and wanted to buy every single thing she laid her eyes on. And then when it reached the point where all I wanted to do was shake her.... she held out her arms to hug me and said "I love you." I swear she and Emily were cut from the same cloth. Emily knew just how far to push you... and right when you were ready to explode, she'd do something to melt your heart. Rachel's like that in some ways.

So when we got home, I pulled out my photo album with the Christmas pictures of when Emily and I were little, and I simply sat and cried. And I realized what Jack had been trying to tell me throughout all of those counseling sessions- that the hurt really is never going to go away. And that you have to reach a place where you can acknowledge that, where you can process the emotions. Because not dealing with it, and pushing it down just makes it more painful when it eventually comes to the surface.

Wordless Wednesday ~ Rainy Days

2009-12-09T10:21:00.005-05:00

Amused

2009-12-04T23:48:00.002-05:00

After braving the crazy hordes of people at Wal-Mart on a Friday night (what were we thinking?!), Laurie and I decided to treat ourselves to a burger at Fudruckers for dinner. We sat at our table for about an hour, just goofing off and talking. Rachel is spending the weekend with her dad, so it was just us. I love that girl, but she definitely doesn't like to sit and linger. She's constantly on the go. So it was nice to be able to spend a little while just leisurely talking. As we were getting up to leave, one of the women at the table next to us asked Lauren how we were related. Before we could answer she asked if we were mother and daughter (poor Lauren!). Laurie was a good sport- we laughed and said, no- we're cousins. They told us we really resembled each other. I know Lauren wasn't wild about them thinking she was old enough to be my mother, but it tickled me that they thought we looked so much alike. :)

Interview time again....

2009-12-03T22:51:00.004-05:00

I have a job interview tomorrow morning.

This time the only person I told was Lauren. I wasn't even going to tell her, but since she's the one that let me know about the job, I figured I should at least tell her. Last time I went on an interview, I told everyone- broadcasted it everywhere, and then I ended up not getting it. I'm not superstitious or anything like that, but I thought this time I'd keep it quiet.

The job is a position with DHL. Honestly, I'm not too wild about it. Sounds like they're interviewing a LOT of people. I sent an application on Monday, and by Tuesday they were already calling. They called me three times to try and schedule an interview. And the weird thing is that the position that I am interviewing for is for an Entry Writer. Which is totally not what I applied for, or even listed as an opening on the webiste. I don't even know what an entry writer for DHL is. But I figure it can't hurt to go, and see what it's all about. Who knows, it may be something really interesting. As long as I don't have to work weekends, and as long as the money is good... then we'll go from there. I guess that's one perk of the whole unemployment thing. It gives me a little wiggle room to find the right job, instead of having to take the first thing that comes open. And if nothing else, it's one more interview under my belt. And it gets me out of the house. Lately I feel like I'm just taking up space. *sigh*

So we'll see. I'm not going in with high expectations, so I'm not nearly as nervous as I was before. I have an idea of what I did wrong last time, so hopefully this time around I'll know what not to say. And who knows, this may just turn out to be a great opportunity, in spite of my pessimism. I'm learning that God has a funny way of making things happen in the ways we least expect it.

Christmas is coming

2009-12-03T00:00:00.000-05:00

I can hardly believe that it's already December. Today is really the first day that reminds me of Pennsylvania December weather. It's rainy and cold. But even still-- I'll take the 48 degrees over the 28 degrees any day! I will admit, it still doesn't quite feel like Christmas yet.

Around this time last year I was a mess. I couldn't decide which was worse- facing Christmas without Emily, or not having Christmas at all. Everything was a reminder of what I had lost. But yet last year, I ended up finding solace in the Christmas Eve service. And that simple service ended up bringing more healing than I ever expected.

This year Christmas is different. We started hauling Lauren's decorations down from the attic this past weekend. The lighted wreath is up, the Christmas knick knacks are coming out, and now I even have a stocking on the fireplace. Lauren was insistent on putting out some of my decorations too, so we're using my Nativity scene. We're going to get the Christmas tree this weekend- a real tree, which I am giddily excited about.

But it isn't quite the same. The trappings of Christmas are going to look a little different this year. I'm a little bummed about money and not having a job. And yeah, I miss having an office to decorate, and I'm sad that I won't be singing in the choir's Christmas cantata. It's not the same familiar decorations I am used to, and the memories that go along with them. The cookies Lauren's making aren't the same as my mother's. And no one can decorate a house for Christmas quite like my mom. I am going back to Pennsylvania for Christmas- but not until the 23rd. It's fun being here and getting ready for Christmas with Lauren and Rachel, but yet it's different.

I think they call it... growing up.

But that being said- I don't have that overwhelming sense of dread and sorrow that I did last year. I still miss Emily more than words can say. And I still get teary-eyed when I think about that macaroni leaf. And I still feel guilty that for all those years I hung her godchild ornaments on the backside of the tree. And I know I'll wake up in the middle of the night Christmas Eve looking for her in the bed across from mine, and I can already feel the pang of sorrow when I remember she won't be there. But I won't let it debilitate me like I did last year.

But the most important part of Christmas is not tied up in any of those things. I learned that last year, and that's changed my perspective.

Aside from seeing my family again, I'm anticipating the Christmas Eve services the most. It's the one place I can let go of all the trappings of Christmas and embrace the true meaning. That's the one thing I have this year that I didn't have last year. This time when the memories grow dark and I find myself slipping into sadness, I have the memory of that candle-lit service to hang onto.

A month of Thanks ~ reflecting back

2009-11-30T22:34:00.004-05:00

Even though I didn't quite make my goal of posting something every day, I still wanted to come up with something inspiring to close this month. Like how focusing on being thankful has dramatically improved my outlook on life. Or how I feel like I'm looking into a mirror and seeing the reflection of someone with a new perspective. But it hasn't turned out quite like that.

This month has been marked by alot of loss. Heather. My grandfather. My other grandparents' house. Added onto the other losses- of Emily, my grandmother, my job, and moving to a new state, I was feeling pretty overwhelmed. Everything seemed to fall apart so quickly. It quite honestly sent me into a tailspin for a few days. I felt like everything I knew and held dear was falling apart, and the mirror I was looking into suddenly shattered into a thousand shards of glass. I was entirely too busy dwelling on the things that I'd lost, I really didn't want to focus on the things that remained. But yet, one thing I did get out of this little blog challenge is a keener awareness that there is in fact always something to be thankful for. Sometimes it's not much. Sometimes it's everything. Sometimes it's all in the way that you look at it. I used to roll my eyes when people talked about having an "attitude of gratitude", but there's something to be said for that. Some mornings I stared at a blank computer screen, certain that there was not one single thing I had to be thankful for. With that kind of mindset, of course you'll never come up with something. But when I looked beyond my momentary bout of "poor me"... I found I had quite a few things to be thankful for. Sometimes it was as big as being thankful for the family and friends in my life. Sometimes it was a simple "I love you" note left for me on the counter. Like I said, sometimes it wasn't much- but sometimes it was everything.

What I've struggled with most is trying to find the thankful in Heather's death. She is still constantly on my mind. Deep down I knew that she was going to die. I think I knew from the moment I heard "liver cancer". But I certainly wasn't prepared for her to go so quickly. But then again, are you ever really prepared to say goodbye? I miss her terribly. I find myself pulling out my phone to send her a text message. I'm so disappointed that she never got the chance to meet Lauren. We'd always talked about taking a trip here together, but it never worked out. I have trouble comprehending that she's really gone. In some ways it's just as hard as Emily's death. But in other ways it's a little easier to process simply because I know that even though her death has left a hole in my heart, I know that hole eventually starts to heal. And that knowledge allows me to not get as bogged down in the sorrow, and to be thankful for the memories I have of her. To be thankful for her, and for her life.

I hope I can carry some of the lessons of this month with me in the days and months to come. That I can find a way to look for the good in the midst of the bad. Like when I get depressed about not finding a job as quickly as I'd hoped. When I'm feeling scared and lonely and worried that I won't fit in. When I find myself missing Emily. Missing Heather. Missing the house that embodies so many childhood memories. When I feel like I have nothing to be thankful for at all, that's when I need to hang onto the one thing that I know will never fail- the promise that when everything seems to be falling apart, He's always going to be there to gather up the pieces. And to turn that shattered mirror into a glass mosaic. Sometimes the things that are most beautiful, come about as a result of being broken.

So here's to finding thanks in the reflections of the broken glass in life. And the beauty that comes in the mending.

A month of Thanks- Sarah

2009-11-27T00:00:00.002-05:00

Today I'm thankful for Sarah. I love that girl more than I could possibly say. From the moment she was born, she was "my" Sarah. We share the same middle name, Catherine, after our grandmother. I look at her now and can hardly believe that she's already 13. Seems like it was only yesterday I was taking her to the park to feed ducks that were bigger than she was. Now she pretty much can look me in the eye.

Sarah is a free-spirit. She's beautiful, she's funny, and I miss her. She's my beach buddy- she's the one that will get up and walk along the beach with me in the mornings when everyone's still asleep. She helps me look for sand dollars, and doesn't tease me about picking up every little piece I find.

I still laugh at a phone conversation between my mom and Aunt Pat. It was a long time ago- I think I was 18, and Sarah would've been about 5. I forget how the subject came up, but mom said something about me going to a wedding, but it came out sounding like I was going to my own wedding. So Aunt Pat started joking about me getting married. Sarah overheard her and got upset. She said that I couldn't get married because if I got married I wouldn't come play with her anymore.

It's eight years later, and she still seems to think I'm cool, and isn't embarrassed to be seen with me just yet. ;)

A month of Thanks ~ family

2009-11-26T00:00:00.001-05:00

Today being Thanksgiving, I thought it was appropriate to save this post for today.

I'm actually spending Thanksgiving in Atlanta. Lauren and Rachel and I are heading out tomorrow and meeting Lauren's mother and step-father there. I'm not sure what to expect this weekend. It's my first Thanksgiving that I won't be spending with my parents, and I'm feeling a little bummed. Even though Lauren and Rachel are my family too, it's still not quite the same. It's hard to embrace change sometimes. But I suppose that's all a part of growing up.

And so today I'm thankful for my family. My parents, Emily and my other "sisters", my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins... all of them.

It's easy to take them for granted. I took Emily for granted her whole life. And it took her death to make me realize just how precious family can be. And how I'm so blessed to have so many people in my life who love me.

Family.

They drive you nuts, make you laugh, they make you cry, can send you running for the nearest loony bin, they make you angry, and they love you in spite of the ugly sides.

Some days it's harder to remember. Some days it's the only thing that keeps you going. I find God has a wicked sense of humor when it comes to family. He links a group of people together that if you weren't related to them, you probably wouldn't have anything to do with them. :)

I'll be honest. Sometimes I find it hard to be thankful for family. Sometimes all of the dynamics just gets to be too much. But I guess in some ways, that's part of the beauty of family. As much as we all would like to sometimes, you can't ever separate yourself from them. They're a part of you, a part that goes deeper than just genetics and family ties- they're intertwined in who you are. They're memories and hopes for the future. They're the whispers of happy times, and shadows of darker nights. They belong to you, and you to them, in a way that friends simply can't.

Today I'm thankful for all of it- for the light and the dark. In all of it's beauty, it's ugliness, it's ups and downs, high points and low points.... at the end of the day, your family really is sometimes all you have.

A month of Thanks ~ feeling thank-less

2009-11-25T08:43:00.009-05:00

I've been rather mopey the last few days, and honestly haven't felt like writing anything. Especially writing about something to be thankful for. I came up with a few half-hearted thoughts... but I've learned that trying to force the words when they won't come usually never works. Everything I was writing about felt... flat and hollow. Like the writing assignments you had to do in English class on a book that you hated. My English teacher could always tell when I was writing about a topic I could care less about. She said the writing was sound, but she could always tell when it was missing the heart. That's how I've been feeling about my little month-long assignment the last couple days. That the words were there, but not so much the heart. Then I was frustrated at myself that I couldn't even stick to the whole being thankful thing for a measly little month.

But, how sincere is gratitude if it has to be forced? When the heart of gratitude is missing... it ends up being just a few empty words.

We had our life group meeting last night. I really wasn't in the mood to be there- but since they meet at our house, it's kind of hard to find an excuse to miss it. I should probably apologize to them- I wasn't the greatest of company. One thing that the counseling sessions I went to taught me was learning to recognize and read the signs, or "triggers", that something wasn't right. I think it only took Jack two sessions to pick up on the fact that when something has me upset, or when I'm holding back on saying something, I start chewing on my thumbnail. And that when I'm nervous or upset or dwelling on something- I start shredding things. Last night I was up to two napkins, and halfway through tearing my paper plate to bits before I realized what I was doing.

So then I started running through all the things that could be contributing to the shredding of paper products... and I came up with quite a list. I miss Heather. I'm sad about my grandfather. I keep picturing my other grandparents empty house and it depresses the heck out of me. I'm frustrated that I don't have a job. I'm so thankful to be here, but in some ways I still don't quite feel at home. I worry about what will happen if I can't find a job. I'm wracking my brain trying to figure out what I even want to do with my life. I'm lonely, in some ways. I am not looking forward to Christmas AT ALL, and that depresses me. I love Christmas. I do want to see my family for the holidays, but I don't want to make that drive again. I'm worried about Lauren's job situation. Some days I'm not sure what my role is here. And of course, there's the ever present hole in my life that is Emily.

I wasn't paying much attention to the discussion last night, to my chargrin. And when it came to my turn for prayer requests- instead of sharing some of that stuff... I clammed up. I really like the girls in the group. And I know that they genuinely care, and would listen. But I just couldn't bring myself to open up. In some ways, I still feel a little out of place. And yet, I can come to a computer and spill my guts to who knows who out there reading this. Maybe because this allows for a little anonymity. There's a measure of safety in typed words on a screen. Computers don't talk back.

In a strange way, I guess today I'm kind of thankful for feeling thank-less. All my life I've had the tendancy to ignore my feelings. To bottle them up, and wait for it to go away. My therapist told me that once I recognized a "trigger"- I had to make a conscious choice. Either deal with whatever's bothering me, or push it aside. Alot of what's bothering me isn't really something that can be "dealt with" or easily fixed- it's pretty much all in my head. But Jack also told me that allowing the feelings to just be is also a way of dealing with it. "Let yourself be upset, mad, sad, angry, etc." he told me. "Just don't let it become all consuming."

So today I think I'll do just that. I'll recognize that I can't make myself feel something I don't, and I'll try to be okay with that. I'll acknowledge that there are somethings that are beyond my control and that I'm just going to have to learn to deal. I'll miss Emily, and Heather, and yet still thank Him for the memories I have of them. I'll snap out of my moody blues, and it will once again be safe for paper prodcuts to be within my grasp.

A month of Thanks ~ text messages

2009-11-23T22:45:00.001-05:00

Today I'm thankful for text messaging on my phone. Seems like a trivial thing to be thankful for, but thankful I am nonetheless. If someone would have told me two years ago that I would have not only joined the ranks of the texting masses, but also got the fancy phone with the keyboard, I would have laughed in their face. Yet here I am, fancy texting phone and unlimited message plan, and thoroughly loving it.

In keeping with my character trait (or perhaps flaw) of saving EVERYTHING, it shouldn't come as a huge surprise to reveal that I save just about every message I get. I even typed up messages from old phones so I could keep them forever. When my spirits start to flounder, sometimes reading a message from the people I love most is enough to lift them back up a little.

Lauren has a knack for sending me a text just when I really need to hear an "i love you" from someone. My parents have fancy new Blackberry phones, and have also joined the ranks of the texting world. I have several funny messages from Rachel. Pictures and messages from my Aunt Lisa make me smile.

I still have messages from Heather, and I find myself reading them over and over again. I do not, however have text messages from Emily. This bugs me alot. I didn't hop onto the texting bandwagon until after she died. Just one of the many things I still sometimes kick myself in the butt for.

Last night my friend Debbie sent me an out-of-the-blue message, just to tell me she'd been thinking about me. It came at one of those moments where I was just feeling mopey. That simple little message flashing across my screen reminded me of how blessed I still am by the friends and family in my life.

I don't need a piece of technology to realize their importance, but the countless messages I've saved over the last couple of years are a tangible reminder of all that I have to be thankful for.

A month of Thanks ~ being brave

2009-11-22T22:57:00.003-05:00

We just finished sniffling our way through the movie "Steel Magnolias". Rachel picked it out, even after I warned her it was a tear jerker. I didn't think I'd ever want to see that movie again- the plot hits just a little too close to home. I was trying to think of an excuse to not watch it, but being the people-pleaser that I am, I didn't want to be a party-pooper. I figured I'd suck it up and watch the movie with them. I can't keep running away from everything that could possibly be a reminder. Otherwise all I'd ever be doing is running.

And oddly enough, it didn't bring the reaction I was expecting. Of course I cried, but I cried because it's a sad movie, not because it especially reminded me of Emily. And I realized that maybe, just maybe, dealing with a potentially difficult reminder is easier than hiding from it out of fear. And that maybe the first step towards being brave sometimes isn't a step, but an unwanted push. I know, I know- watching a sad movie doesn't exactly fall into the category of incredible acts of bravery. But for me, the "I don't address my feelings head on, but bury them inside and avoid unpleasant situations at all costs" kind of girl I am... it's a small step forward.

So tonight I'm thankful for bravery- even if I didn't start out looking for it.

A month of Thanks ~ just because

2009-11-20T08:31:00.001-05:00

I'm thankful for the quick, out of the blue notes Lauren leaves me. The no special reason, just because I think you're wonderful, and I want to say I love you kind of notes.

It really makes my day.

I'm thankful for the pictures Rachel colors for me, and the notes she writes me.. When I got home Wednesday, she'd written me a letter on her whiteboard, telling me how glad she is that I've moved in, and how much she looks up to me. It made me cry. And the sap that I am, I even took a picture of what she wrote so I'll remember it for always.

I'm thankful for the just because moments.

A month of Thanks ~ it's good to be home

2009-11-19T08:00:00.002-05:00

I did miss yesterday... simply because by the time I finally got home, I was too tired to speak a coherent sentence, let alone try and type anything.

This morning I am thankful to be home. I fell into bed last night, and slept like a rock. I was so happy to see my bed and my pillows again! I didn't bring my pillow with me when I left last week. Isn't it funny how you never sleep quite as well without it?

I'm glad to be home, but it's still a little hard to figure out where exactly home is these days. Even though the circumstances sucked, it was so good to see my family again. And as anxious as I was to get home and see Lauren and Rachel (and my pillow) again, I was pretty bummed leaving Philly on Tuesday.

Now I'm sitting in the quiet of the living room, trying to decompress a little, and working up the ambition to haul the junk out of my car.....

Perhaps I'll just enjoy the solitude of home for a little while longer. The stuff can wait.

No more

2009-11-17T20:43:00.003-05:00

I am not going to another funeral. I've had just about all I can handle.

I'm feeling mixed emotions- all I want to do is go home. I want to sleep in my own bed, with my own pillows, and get back to wearing flip flops and eating outside. I miss Laurie and Rachel. But I miss my family here already. I'm not sure where home is anymore.

A month of Thanks ~ Pop-Pop

2009-11-17T06:00:00.000-05:00

My pop-pop's funeral is in just a few hours. I asked to read a scripture verse at the funeral today. I wish I could come up with something more profound to say at the service- but all I have is a bunch of memories that I don't think I could string into a coherent speech. It's strange how each death affects you differently. I guess in a way I was expecting this soon- he's been sick for over a month. I'm sad, and I'm going to miss him.... but in some ways I said my goodbyes many months ago when dementia took away the man who was my grandfather.

So today I'm thankful for my pop-pop. My parents love to tell the story about the day I was born. My bassinet in the hospital nursery was next to this baby boy who, as my mother says, looked like a baby football linebacker, and had a face that only a mother could love. Apparently pop-pop was incensed that his "beautiful granddaughter" was next to that "ugly baby", and kept insisting loudly that he be moved away immediately. :)

The summer that I was 12, I spent two weeks with them by myself over the summer. It was a huge deal, I got to fly alone, and had them all to myself. Pop-pop made the world's second-best pancakes, (my dad makes the best), and he made them as often as I wanted. My grandmother kept miniature milky way bars in her candy dish, but she was rationing how many I could have because I was "getting chubby". Every so often I felt a nudge in my side, and a candy bar slipped into my hand. One quick sideways glance, and pop-pop just winked and smiled.

He rarely called me by my name, it was always "how's my girl?". And he always wanted to know how many boyfriends I had. When I answered with the usual "none"- he wanted to know if all the boys in school were stupid and blind.

He was a special man. And everyone loved him- especially the little old church ladies. When we went to visit him at the assisted living facility this past Father's day, there he sat with a group of women. He even had the aides wrapped around his little finger. The one girl came over with a bowl of ice cream and said "here Mr. Norman- I put your favorite sprinkles on it for you." And she was all of 16! He just had this way about him that made everyone love him.

I hated to see him like he was these past few months. Dementia/Alzheimer's is a horrid disease. But even up to the last time I saw him, he still called me "his girl". I don't think he remembered my name, but I think he still at least knew who I was. And I'm so thankful, because I couldn't stand it if he'd forgotten me.

As much as I'll miss him, I'm glad that he's not in discomfort anymore. And I'm thankful for memories, and that I have the best pop-pop a girl could have ever hoped for.

A month of Thanks

2009-11-16T22:06:00.003-05:00

I'm thankful for the quiet of my hotel room, my glass of wine, and the fact that this incredibly long day is finally over.

I'm not even going to think about the funeral tomorrow. As Scarlett says, "Tomorrah is another day".

A month of Thanks ~ in the midst of chaos

2009-11-15T22:14:00.000-05:00

It's only 10:00, so technically I'm not late yet on my "thankful" post for today.

It's been quite a bit of chaos this weekend. My other grandparents are in the process of moving from their 4 bedroom, colonial house that they've lived in for the last 40 years to a one bedroom apartment. Before my pop-pop passed away, my parents had already planned to come up for moving day/weekend. Obviously, I hadn't planned on being here for the moving festivities. But pop-pop's funeral isn't until Tuesday, so since I'm here, I got to help too. Not sure how much of a help I've been, but I've been trying to be useful in spite of the lingering general depression from Heather, my pop-pop, and being cranky and grumpy. My grandparents live within an hour of where my pop-pop lived, so we've been bouncing back and forth between my dad's family, and my mom's family. I swore after I moved last month that I wasn't going near another box or moving truck for a very long time. And they say God doesn't have a sense of humor. :)

I'm not sure what exactly I'm thankful for in all of this chaos. Probably just the chance to be here with my family. Even though I wasn't planning on staying for a whole week, I've missed my mom and dad. And I always love the chance to see my aunts, uncles, and cousins. I just wish it wasn't for such a sad reason and crappy circumstances that I'm still here. But I guess finding the good in the midst of the bad is what makes you appreciate it all the more, right?

A month of Thanks ~ Happy Birthday Lauren!

2009-11-14T00:00:00.008-05:00

In the midst of what has turned out to be an incredibly horrid week... I do have something wonderful to be thankful for today. It's Lauren's birthday. And while I'm thankful for her everyday... today I'm doubly so!

Lauren is my mother's first cousin. Which I guess makes us second cousins. Or is it 1st cousins once removed? Or something like that. I never could keep all that straight. As a child, I adored Laurie. I loved her laughter, I loved her hugs, and I loved how she never made me feel like the annoying brat I probably was. She always told me how beautiful I was. And how much she loved my name. She listened to me in a way that most grown-ups didn't. She listened like the silly tales of a 1o year old was the most fascinating thing she'd heard all day. I loved how she made a fuss over me every time I saw her. I loved her for all those things, but what I probably loved most was that she was one of the few adults that never made a fuss about how tall I was getting. Perhaps since she's also tall, she understood. And as painfully shy about my height as I was, if I hadn't adored her already, she'd have become my hero simply for that reason alone.

After my great grandmother died, and then later after we moved to Pennsylvania, we didn't make the drive back to Columbia for Thanksgivings anymore. The last time I saw Laurie, I think I was about 13. Rachel was maybe six months old. Then in 2005, we had a mini family reunion at the beach. Lauren came with Rachel, and as soon as I walked in- there she was with that same smile and huge hug I remembered as a kid. (I must admit though... I was quite devastated and thoroughly dismayed when I hugged her back and realized that I was half an inch taller than her).

That week was one of the best memories of my life. We hit it off from the start, and spent many hours sitting on the beach, just talking. There are very few people that you meet that you have an instant connection with. I found myself telling Lauren things I hadn't told anyone before.

After we all were back home, I don't think three days had passed before I got an e-mail from her inviting me to move in with them. :) It took four years, but I finally took her up on it.

But during those years, she was there for me like no other person has ever been. She was the first person I called when something happened- good or bad. She was there for me when Emily died, and ever since. She's the one that finally made me take that step and go talk to a counselor. Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself. She knows when to push, and when to back off. She's more than a cousin. More than a best friend. More than a kindred spirit. More than a sister. She's all those things times ten.

Lauren is one of those people that moves with a quiet grace, the kind that you don't always notice right away. She has a way of making people feel comfortable and loved. She has a smile that lights up a room, and a laugh that you can't help but join in with. She's beautiful- inside and out, even though she doesn't see it in herself as much as I think she should. She listens, she's patient, she encourages, and she has a heart bigger than anyone I know.

And now she's opened her house and has given me a place to stay. A place to start fresh. This past weekend when I got the news about Heather, she sat with me. Not saying a word. Just rubbing my back as I cried on her shoulder for an hour. She knew I didn't need words, or platitudes, or any of the other silly things people say. I just needed to know she was there.

I still marvel at how the grown up cousin I adored
as a little girl has become my closest confidante,
my bestest friend, and the older sister I never knew.

Today and everyday... I'm thankful for her.

Happy Birthday Lauren! I love you!

A month of Thanks ~ timing

2009-11-13T00:00:00.000-05:00

I had no idea when I started these daily "thanks-giving" posts, it would be in the midst of a whole lot of unpleasantness.

My pop-pop died this morning. On top of Heather dying Saturday, and her funeral last night.... I think I'm just kind of numb.

And I have no idea what to be thankful for today.

Pop-pop has been very sick for the last three weeks. I think we all knew this day was coming... but knowledge still doesn't prepare you for the sadness. And for me, the timing.

I guess the one thing that I am thankful for though... is in fact, the timing. Originally, I had wanted to turn around and head back home today, but decided to stay until Friday. So at least I was still here when it happened.

It's not much to be thankful for... but at the moment it's the best I can do.

A month of Thanks ~ Heather

2009-11-12T08:47:00.008-05:00

Today I'm thankful that I made the trip for Heather's service last night.

I really was waffling about whether I wanted to make the drive. Part of me was saying it was kind of dumb to drive all that distance for a funeral. But she would have done it for me. And I couldn't bear not to come.

I seem to have followed the remnants of hurricane Ida all the way from Columbia. It poured the entire drive- until I hit Martinsburg, WV. It stopped raining for the last 30 minutes of my drive. But in some ways, I'm thankful for the crappy weather. Even though it kept me from appreciating the fall beauty of my beloved mountains, the rain made me focus on driving. Sometimes on long drives I tend to let my mind wander. 8 hours alone gives you ALOT of time to think. But yesterday I was too busy making sure that I didn't get into an accident, I didn't have much time to think about Heather, and about how desperately sad I am.

Her service was beautiful. It was definitely unlike any memorial service I've ever attended.
As we walked in, they had a collage of pictures set up. And my favorite one of the two of us was on there. It caught me off guard, and then the tears started. The church was packed. I knew she had touched alot of lives, but it still astounded me how many people were there. At one point, more chairs had to be set up. It reminded me of Emily's funeral when the organist had to keep playing beyond the starting time because people were still filing in.

Her service was what I think I would want mine to be. There were alot of tears... but mostly laughter. It was truly more of a celebration than a "goodbye". It was a tribute to her faith, and to her indomitable spirit throughout the last seven months of her battle with cancer. I still cried through the whole thing. The pictures taken of her the week before she died were the hardest to see. She had lost so much weight, she was mostly unrecognizable. Except for her eyes. You could see even in the pictures that her eyes hadn't lost her laughter, her sweet spirit, and that fire and passion that made Heather... well, Heather.

She fought a hard battle. It broke my heart when her husband described how much pain she was in towards the end. I'm glad that she's pain free now. After hearing that, I wouldn't have wished her here one day longer to suffer so. But I am still so heartbroken that she's gone. After the service, I went to hug Gary, her husband. He said to me, "I'm so glad you came. She thought the world of you."

There went the tears again. I've struggled most with feeling like I didn't do enough. That I didn't go to see her when perhaps I should have. That I didn't say enough, that I didn't try hard enough. That perhaps if the situation was reversed, she would have done a better job of being a friend. I was afraid that she didn't know how much I love her, because I have a tendancy to not say it often enough to those I care about most.

That simple sentence broke my heart and healed it at the same time. I think she knew. I think she knew that I wasn't her. And she never needed me to be "her". She loved me as I am, shy and reserved and reticent to share sometimes. Heather was the kind of friend that accepted all of you. If nothing else, hearing those words "she thought the world of you", took away some of that guilt I've been feeling.

I'll think of her when I see or smell a flavored coffee. We always raced to see who could make the first pot of "the good stuff" at work. I'll think of her when I taste chocolate. Especially M&M's. I'll miss being called "chickadee", her pet name for everyone. I'll miss her laugh. I'll miss her hugs. I'll miss her wisdom. Heather was one of those people that wouldn't give you the answer you "wanted" to hear. She cut to the chase, and told you what she thought. And most of the time, she was right. Even if I didn't always want to hear it right away. She could read me like a book. "What's wrong?" she'd ask. If I'd say "nothing", she'd ask again. If I still insisted nothing was wrong, she'd sigh and say... "you always chew on your thumbnail when something's bothering you. Now what's wrong?" There aren't many people that can "bully" things out of me when I don't want to talk. Heather always could.

My beautiful friend.... I'm trying to be thankful for your life. It blew me away just how many lives you touched. And I hope you know that your prayer was answered. That through your fight with this horrid disease, you still shone as a light to so many of us. Every person there was a testament to that. You've touched us all, and your memory will be with us forever. When Emily died, I clung to the phrase that "Love Never Dies". I say that now for you too. Part of me is still so angry that you're gone. I'm selfishly sad for myself, because I miss you. Because it's not fair, because 44 is still so young, because you had to suffer so much. But it's all part of the process, right? I'll carry a piece of you with me always.

I'm heading back to Columbia tomorrow, with a heart that's both heavier and lighter at the same time. Heavy because of the finality of goodbye. Yet lighter because in some way I feel like I owe it to Heather's memory to do something with my life. To be the kind of friend Heather was. To love more freely, and to show that more often. To see beyond my own little circle, and to be a light to those I come in contact with every day. Heather taught me that. And more than anything, I want to honor that lesson.

And Heather--- I think the world of you too.

A month of Thanks ~ the most important Veteran I know

2009-11-11T00:00:00.000-05:00

Since today is Veteran's Day, I thought it was appropriate to dedicate today's thankful post to the most important Veteran I know... my Dad.

When people asked what my dad did, I proudly said he was in the Air Force. Although I didn’t appreciate it when I was younger, because of his job I was able to experience a part of the world that most people will never see. I lived in a village of people that didn't speak the same language, eat the same foods, or share the same faith, yet I think it gave me a tolerance and acceptance of people I don't know if I would have otherwise. I walked the halls of the Pentagon like I owned the place because “my dad works here.” My dad is also the one who made me “cool” in a new elementary school. On career day, Dad brought his K-9 squad and did a demonstration with the drug dogs. I was seriously the most popular person in the 4^th grade. And he came every year after that. He’s a hero to this country, and he’s a hero to me.

He sat with me at all hours of the night in various emergency rooms when my asthma flared up. When those mini beanie babies you got in McDonald’s happy meals were all the rage, he ate at Mickey D’s for weeks to get those stupid little toys. When I was home sick from school one day he bought me a Grand Champions horse figurine. Just because. When I’m not home and he hears an ambulance drive by, he calls to make sure I’m okay.

He’s the one I called when my band director made me cry in front of everyone in 11^th grade. My dad showed up with mirrored sunglasses, arms crossed, and a scowl and frightened my band director so badly that from that day on when he picked on my friends, their comment was that they were going to “call Melissa’s Dad”.

Dad and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. Okay, most everything. We argue and he drives me up a tree sometimes. But then again, I know I can also bug the living daylights out of him too. That’s the beauty of family. They still love you in spite of your ugly sides.

My dad is the strongest man I’ve ever met. And by strong I mean a strength of character that has both the “tough” side, and yet the side that can cry. He showed me by example the kind of man I hope to marry someday. I’ve grown up with a man who showed affection and respect to his wife and kids. He’s the kind of guy that opens car doors and pulls out chairs. He’s taught me to set my expectations high and to never settle for anything less. My dad is fiercely loyal, and would fight to the death anyone that threatened the people he loves. I know I can call my dad any time for anything. All my life he has taught me right from wrong, yet he gave me a way out for the “wrong” he knew I would inevitably do. On the day I got my driver’s license I remember him sitting me down to talk to me about alcohol. He said that while he hoped I would use common sense, he wasn’t naïve enough to think that I wouldn’t drink. He told me if I ever found myself in a situation where I couldn’t drive, to call him. Day or night and he would come and get me. And that resonated with me. It was the voice in the back of my head, reminding me that even if I did something stupid, Dad was always there to offer a way out.

I’ve made a lot of stupid decisions in my life. I did a lot of really dumb things that make me cringe in embarrassment now when I think back on them. I know that he was disappointed when I quit the swim team in junior high. And when I didn’t practice my clarinet as much as I should have. When I didn’t finish my gold award for Girl Scouts. When I didn’t go to college right away. But the key is that even though he was disappointed in some of my choices, he’s never been disappointed in me. And I know that.

I often wished that I had the desire to join the military. I wanted in some way to honor the commitment my dad had made to his country by following in his footsteps. Not to get into politics and all that "mess", but post-September 11th, I couldn't bring myself to commit to a calling for a government whose policies I didn't agree with. Of course, that doesn't mean that I am not grateful for the men and women that are serving even as I type this. Whose sacrifices allow me the right to express my thoughts. The men and women of the Armed Forces have my utmost respect and admiration. I just wish this mess overseas would end. (Okay, end of soapbox!)

Eventually I realized that I didn't have to honor my dad by being like him. But I can honor him by becoming a woman he's proud to call his daughter. 'Cause I sure am proud to be just that.

So today, while I'm thankful for all the Veterans that have served, and are currently serving... I'm most thankful for the one I call dad.

A month of Thanks ~ Terri

2009-11-10T08:33:00.004-05:00

Today I'm thankful for my blog friend Terri. I've mentioned her before- she's an amazing artist, and an incredible writer. Her blog, honor yourself, is one of the first stops on my daily reading list. I've never met her in person, or even spoken to her on the phone, but her e-mails have been a source of light in the dark over the last year. As well as her art. I bought a poster from her website. I was actually looking for a gift for a friend, and stumbled across this one. I cried when I read it, because it summed up exactly what I was feeling about my life "post-Emily". I had it framed, and it hangs over my dresser. It reminds me that I do carry a piece of Em wherever I go.

Terri has this incredible knack for knowing exactly what to say. Her e-mails make me think, they make me ponder beyond just the current emotion, and they make me dive deeper into the heart of it.

Her blog this morning was really beautiful. She talked about background noise, and how it can drown out the noises of life we're straining to hear. I can't do justice by just paraphrasing what she said, so you need to read it in it's entirety. The paragraph at the end hit me like a ton of bricks, and it was exactly what I needed to read today.

the noise outside. the noise inside.

Terri- thanks for being the whisper that cuts through the loud noises. I'm thankful for you!

"hopefully it's just like the noise of life.

sometimes you don't notice it.
sometimes you can hear leaves fall and be
moved by the sound. and sometimes you can't
hear anything soft and gentle happening
around you.

it just depends on the day.
and the noise inside you."
~terri st. cloud

A month of Thanks ~ friends that care

2009-11-09T08:40:00.004-05:00

Since Saturday, I've had countless calls, text messages, e-mails, and facebook hits from friends. Friends calling to tell me what happened, friends making sure I'd heard the details, and friends expressing their sympathy and love on facebook.

Today I am thankful for each and every one of those people.

Heather's memorial service is Wednesday night. I'm going to get up early that morning and drive back. I hate the thought of that drive... but I feel like I owe it to her memory to go. To honor her, and to say that final goodbye. And I think it will be good to be with those friends that knew her and love her too. Lauren has been such a blessing this weekend through it all.... but it's slightly different because she'd never met Heather.

I'm not in a place yet where I can be thankful for Heather's life, and for all that she was to so many people, and for the impact that I know she's had through her life, and even her death. I know that will come eventually, but for night now- I'm just simply so sad that she's gone.

A month of Thanks ~ sticking to it

2009-11-08T21:38:00.006-05:00

*sigh*

I thought very much about skipping today. I figured that I "deserved" a pass... a freebie... a "just lost a dear friend so it's okay not to be thankful for anything so I get out of blogging" free card.

But I never did like to take the easy way out.

Today I am thankful for putting one foot in front of the other. For seeing the beauty in a fall day, even through the tears, for the song that comes on the radio that puts words to the heartache, and for the wordless understanding that comes from a simple grasp of the hand.

Today I am thankful for the beauty in remembering that Love truly never dies.

Heather

2009-11-07T23:02:00.003-05:00

I got the phone call today. Well, two phone calls and a text message. They came about two hours ago.

Heather died this morning.

I knew as soon as I saw the name on the caller id on my cell phone that she was gone. I stared at it, paralyzed, not answering. As if not answering would somehow make the message on the voicemail not true.

As I listened... I think I felt my heart break.

And then I cried into Lauren's lap for an hour. The nasty, heaving, sobbing, "ugly" cry. The kind of cry that I haven't done since the day Emily died. And God bless her, Laurie didn't say a word. Just sat with me, held me, and let me cry.

Oh how I wanted to believe that He was going to heal her! How I so desperately wanted my cynical outlook to be proven wrong! It's not fair. I want to wail at the sky and curl up in a ball and close my eyes and pretend it's all a bad dream.

She can't be gone. Not Heather. Not my friend.

I keep thinking of the last time I saw her. The last time I heard her laugh. The last time I hugged her.

I never cry. And now I can't stop. And I don't know if I'm crying for her, or for myself. Maybe both.

I think her memorial service is Wednesday. I can't decide if I want to make the drive and go. Part of me feels that I owe it to her memory. Part of me wonders if it really matters.

I guess I'll make that decision when I'm thinking a little clearer.

Oh Heather..... I miss you already.

A month of Thanks ~ a mish mash of stuff

2009-11-07T09:16:00.004-05:00

I must admit, this morning I'm not feeling especially thankful for anything. Call it a funk, foul mood, or just plain feeling sorry for myself... but I'm finding it alot easier to list the things that are going wrong at the moment, rather than find something to be thankful for.

So I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and remind myself that there is always something to be thankful for. And of course, things quickly come to me. And since I'm not in a mood to elaborate on just one thing.... today I'm simply thankful for a mish-mash of stuff.

I'm thankful for the cats that slept on my feet last night because I think they knew something was wrong. Usually they don't stay with me.

I'm thankful for the teenager that makes me laugh and forget my troubles.

I'm thankful for my cousin that knows sometimes a hug says more than words.

I'm thankful for the comment my mom left me on my last post- and even more thankful for my mom.

I'm thankful for my dad who patiently listens to my silly questions about all things fish-tank related, usually when I'm calling him smack-dab in the middle of the workday.

I'm thankful for the friends who call and keep me updated on Heather.

I'm thankful for the internet, that keeps me in touch with so many people.

I'm thankful simply for the fact that I'm still here.

Now the key is to keep these thoughts going through the day....

Do you ever get used to saying goodbye?

2009-11-06T16:18:00.004-05:00

I hate that word. Goodbye.

Someone once told me that the word goodbye came about from the phrase "God Bless Ye". Whatever. It's a horrid word. And I try to avoid saying it.

My friend Heather is not doing well. As in, it's getting close to the end. Her second opinion ended up being the same as her first. Aside from the research drugs, there was nothing that they could do. Then her doctor's at Johns Hopkins said she wasn't a candidate for the drugs because her tumor was too large, too advanced.

My brain gets stuck on that point. That's it? There's nothing more that they can do? I don't understand how with all the research, all the experiments, all the money that is poured into cancer research, and there's nothing they can do.

Sometimes I wonder if they're really trying to find a cure at all.

Heather's in hospice, on a 24/7 morphine drip, and isn't accepting visitors at this point. I was seriously contemplating driving back to PA to see her this week. And a very selfish part of me is glad that decision was made for me. The last time I saw Heather was when we met for breakfast. She was still eating, she was still laughing, she was still alive. I don't know if I could stand to see her lying in a hospital bed, dying. Cowardly of me, yes? I'd like to believe that if she wanted me there, I'd move heaven and earth to make it happen. But I have to be honest and admit that I'm selfishly relieved I don't have to see her like that.

Our friends who keep me updated keep saying to keep praying. To believe that He is a God of miracles, and that there's still a chance He can heal her. I do believe that- to an extent. But not in Heather's case. I think I knew from the moment she told me she had liver cancer that she would die. Does that make me unfaithful, or a realist? I tend to look at things in a black and white perspective. I tend to believe the worst... to prepare myself for the worst so I can handle it when the inevitable comes. And then if the worst doesn't happen, well.... then I'm gladly proven wrong. But not caught unprepared. And even though I want to believe with all my heart that He's going to swoop in and save her... I cannot bring myself to pray for something that I honestly, truly, don't believe is going to happen. And I think He understands that. At least, I hope He understands.

That being said- I know that she's soon going to be out of pain. That she'll be with her mom again. That she'll be healthy and whole. Heck, maybe her and Emily can even have a few laughs at my expense. In the end, whether He heals her or not... either way Heather wins. I'm not worried about Heather. I'm just sad for her family, sad for her friends, and horribly sad for myself.

I am so tired of saying goodbye to the people I love.

A month of Thanks ~ convienence

2009-11-06T08:36:00.002-05:00

These days of thanks aren't in any specific order of importance, by the way. Just what happens to pop in my mind.

Today I'm thankful that I now live within less than ten minutes of.... everything! Wal-Mart, Petsmart, the grocery store, the mall, the movie theater, Zaxby's (my new favorite fast food place. Which is probably dangerous that it's so close...)

Perhaps that's a silly thing to be thankful for. But as I was going to Petsmart yesterday to pick up some food for my fish, I was thankful that this wouldn't be the normal 45 minute to an hour excursion. When I really started thinking about it, I realized that I don't think I've ever lived this close to convienence. Even when we were in Alabama, everything was a 20 minute drive. Same as living in Greencastle. So this whole being less than ten minutes away is quite a novelty.

I'm sure I'll start to take it for granted eventually. Lauren and Rachel both looked at me like I lost my mind when I was practically giddy about how close Wal-Mart is. What can I say? I don't get out much. :)

A month of Thanks ~Autumn

2009-11-05T10:06:00.003-05:00

I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud.
So I like best of all autumn, because its leaves are a little yellow, its tones mellower, its colors richer, and it is tinged a little with sorrow.
Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring,
nor of the power of summer,
but of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age.
It knows the limitations of life and is content.

Lin Yutang

Today I am thankful for autumn. I love this time of year. I love curling up with a blanket and a comfy sweatshirt. I love being able to use the fireplace. My mouth starts watering for pecan pie and pumpkin flavored breads. I even love the smell of autumn. Somehow the air is crisper. I will admit that the colors here in South Carolina cannot quite compare with the brilliant reds and oranges of Pennsylvania. The colors are a little more muted, a little less brilliant, and I find myself longing for a glimpse of the mountains. But that being said, the view outside my bedroom window is still beautiful. My room looks out over a small pond in the backyard. The morning sun hits my side first, and the yellow leaves reflecting on the pond is still quite beautiful. And I am loving the 65-70 degree weather in November!

Someone once told me they hated fall because it marked the approach of winter, and that soon everything would be dead and cold. I've never looked at fall that way. I guess perhaps the leaves are dying in a sense, but not the tree itself. I look around at the colors and think that there is beauty even in the dying. The fading colors send a promise that winter doesn't last forever, and spring will be here before you know it.

So today I am thankful for autumn. For the beauty that I see all around, for the holidays that are coming up, and for the promise that each season is not forever.

A month of thanks

2009-11-04T09:54:00.000-05:00

We went to the mall over the weekend, and the Christmas decorations are already making an appearance. I've even heard a Christmas jingle on the TV once or twice. I'm not ready for this yet. I love Christmas. It's my favorite time of the year. But seriously, starting in October? It's just depressing. And this year isn't going to be an easy one. With my job situation still up in the air, I'm trying to think of what to do about gifts this year. And if I have a job by December, I'm wondering if I'll be able to take enough time to go back to Pennsylvania for Christmas. And if I don't have a job, will I be able to afford going back. Lauren got some not so great news about her job and she's worried about what she's possibly going to do next. Needless to say, Christmas spirit is definitely not in the air in this household quite yet.

What bugs me more about this time of the year is that Thanksgiving seems to get lost in the shuffle. In the midst of the looming commercialism of Christmas, the memories of Emily that are hardest this time of year, and the somewhat gloomy outlook... I've already completely overlooked the upcoming holiday.

So in a conscious effort to be thankful for what I do have, I'm going to try and post at least one thing I'm grateful for everyday throughout the entire month.

Here goes #1:
I'm thankful for the opportunity to have a "new" start. Moving here has been something I've wanted to do for years. The "unknown" is still somewhat scary. I still have no idea what the future's going to bring, but I'm thankful to be here. Thankful that I have this opportunity to try and see what happens.

2009-11-01T22:48:00.003-05:00

I find myself becoming less attached to my computer these days. Used to be I'd sit here for hours, randomly checking facebook and other websites. Now I log on maybe once in the evenings after everyone else has gone to bed. Although I guess becoming unplugged isn't really such a bad thing.

The weekends go by way too fast. Even though there's not much difference for me between weekends and weekdays thanks to the joy of being unemployed... Sunday nights now mean that Lauren has to go back to work, and Rachel goes back to school. And I'm left rattling around in a house that still doesn't quite feel like home, and alone. I've ventured out a few times around the area, but there are so many interstates and roads around here, I'm not quite brave enough to go joyriding. I'm not sure I'll ever figure this place out.

I sound like I'm whining. Truth is, I've been in a funk all day. Worried about whether I'll get this job... worried about whether I'll find something else.... worried about Lauren's job.... just generally worrying.

I felt homesick today. It's hard to explain. I don't want to move back... and I'm not regretting being here in the slightest. I guess I was just missing the familiar. Perhaps that's normal.

Fairytale endings

2009-10-31T00:52:00.004-04:00

Sleepless in Seattle came on TV tonight. I love, love, LOVE that movie. To me, a good movie is one that you can watch not once, not twice, but three times in a row. And thanks to TBS and their mini-marathons, it actually is possible to watch this great movie times three. Seriously, best movie ever. Along with While You Were Sleeping. Another great mini-marathon flick.

Emily laughed at me every time this movie came on. I am a hopeless romantic comedy sap. She'd tease me to no end about fairytale endings and happily ever afters and how nothing ever happened like that in real life. She played the cynic... yet she always sat and watched it with me. She'd never admit it, but she loved it as much, well... almost as much... as I do. I know that real life rarely tends to play out like a sappy Meg Ryan movie. That life doesn't keep floating along perfectly after the movie's ending credits. But it's an escape. For two hours I can lose myself in the fairy tale where everyone does, in fact, live happily ever after. Emily got that- even if she didn't want to admit it.

I actually haven't seen it in a long time. Not since Emily died. And even though I've seen it hundreds of times, can quote lines verbatim, and could probably play Meg Ryan's part... it hit me differently tonight. Tom Hanks' character is dealing with the loss of his wife. And I never really paid attention to the lines about grief and loss.... simply because I'd never been there. But one line grabbed at my heart. When his character was asked what he was going to do, here's the line in response:

"Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning... breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out... and, then after a while, I won't have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while."

Sounds rather familiar. Hauntingly familiar actually. She touches everything. It still takes me by surprise how intertwined she is in so much of me. Even in something as simple as a sappy movie. Thankfully though, this isn't one of the more painful realizations. It's one of those things that sparks the flame of her memory a little brighter, without getting burned in the process.

2009-10-31T00:48:00.003-04:00

I have discovered the antidote to taking yourself too seriously.

Move in with a fourteen year old.

Back to the world of grown-up clothes?

2009-10-29T13:59:00.004-04:00

I had a job interview this morning. An administrative assistant position for the executive director of the Columbia Jewish Community Center. Last night I frantically started tearing through my closet trying to find something to wear. It's amazing how you can have a closet full of clothing and absolutely NOTHING to wear. As I discarded outfit after outfit, I cursed myself for not having lost the 20 pounds or so I need to in order to fit into most of my "grown up clothes." No skirts, because then I'd have to wear panty hose. And it never fails that I always get runs in them no matter what I do. And not knowing the company policy, I needed shoes to cover the tattoos on my feet. Dress shirts didn't look right, sweaters were too casual..... my room was quickly becoming a disaster zone.

I finally pulled out a business suit I've kept in my closet, hoping I'd fit into it again someday. Holding my breath and praying with everything I had that those pants would fit... I tried them on. Someone must have heard me 'cause they fit. Guess all that moving and hauling and running around I've been doing has helped a little.

As I ironed my shirt this morning, (you don't have to check your glasses mother. You read right- I can iron. :), anyway.. as I ironed my shirt this morning I decided to go for broke and pull out the fancy black Steve Madden heels. I don't often wear them. It is the epitome of unfair to give a love of fancy high heeled shoes to a girl who is 5'11 (and a half-ish). I've always been sensitive about my height, and people love to make stupid comments highlighting the obvious. "wow, you're tall!" Gee, like I didn't know. But every once in awhile I decide to embrace the tall girl and wear the shoes.

As I looked in the mirror at the girl with her hair done, make-up on, business suit, and high heels, I almost didn't recognize myself. I so often only see the messy ponytail, the faint trace of mascara (if I think about it), ripped jeans, and a comfy hoodie that the woman in the mirror seemed like a stranger. Then I went downstairs and Rachel's eyes widened in shock. This was the first time she's seen me looking like a grown up. I felt pretty confident. Guess I do clean up pretty good.

It's amazing what an outfit can do for your self-confidence. As I walked to the car, I prayed that this would be a scene to be repeated for many mornings to come. Walking out in nice clothes, heading to work. I've missed my grown up outfits. It's been awhile since they've been used.
On the way home from the interview, I stopped in at the vet to pick up some medicine for Laurie's cat. Breezing in and out of the building in my fancy clothes, I pretended I was running errands on my lunch break. Stopped to get gas and didn't mind the guy at the next pump watching me. Pathetic, isn't it?

Later on, after the suit was hung back in the closet and my jeans back on, my high heels swapped for a pair of flip flops, and my hair pulled back out of my face, Rachel and I went to Starbucks. I watched as a woman in a suit and yakking on a cell phone came in. People sure reacted differently to her than they did to us. I envied her, her job, her obvious haste to get back to wherever she'd come from.

Confession. I do not want to work at Food Lion down here. The thought of starting there next week makes my stomach feel queasy. I hate the thought of putting on that ugly shirt and forcing myself to make nice with the general public. I really enjoyed the people at Food Lion in Greencastle. They knew me. They knew me and liked me because Emily was my sister. Because my mom works as a vendor there. I was used to getting my way when I needed it, and being able to make the schedule work for me. No one knows me here. No one knows my sister. And honestly, I'm just plain tired of being a cashier. I should be grateful to have it. But the reality is that I want to wear my grown up clothes again.

I should hear something within a week. I'm trying not to get my hopes up. And I know that this isn't the only job out there. And that if it doesn't work out, it just means that it's not the right one. But it sure would be a load off my mind to get hired soon. I want to get to know that grown up in the mirror a little more.

Boxes, speed dials, and neon signs

2009-10-23T12:29:00.004-04:00

Over the last month I've started and stopped at least four different blog posts about the latest change heading my way. I got to a certain point and then I couldn't find a coherent thought to tie it all together. I think in a way I couldn't write about it, because I still hadn't completely sorted out my feelings on it. Then before I knew it, it's come and gone, and I haven't posted a word.

Are you confused yet? I tend to do that.

I've moved to South Carolina. A week ago today, actually. It's been a long time coming- since.... well, about 2005 when Laurie first made the offer. The timing never seemed right. I'd get close to making a decision and then I'd get scared and change my mind. When the economy tanked, I told myself it made no sense to quit a perfectly good job (albeit one that I hated), and head off to a whole other state without one. Then suddenly I found myself without my perfectly good job, and out of excuses. So after alot of agonizing, going back and forth, fretting, and worrying "can I really do this", I decided to do it. And so I did. Packed up all my earthly possessions into a 6 x 12 U-Haul trailer and headed down the road. (With my parent's help of course.)

And now I found myself here a week later with my stuff for the most part unpacked and put away. (How is it that what took about three weeks to put into boxes, only took about three days to take out of the boxes?!) I woke up thinking this morning, "oh man, it's Friday... the week is almost over." Then I realized that this is not a vacation, and I don't have to go home on Sunday.

I find myself thinking of that word, too. Home. A few days ago I was updating my information on my cell phone. Speed dial number 2 has always been set to "home". Speed dial number "8" has always been "Laurie's house". But where is home now? For me, wherever my pillow has been has always been home. Home to me is my childhood in Alabama, the last ten years in Pennsylvania, Laurie's house even before it became my house too. I've even been known to say on vacations that I was ready to go back home, yet meaning the hotel or beach house we were staying at. But the question of how to organize my cell phone stumped me. Do I keep speed dial number 2 as "home", as in where mom and dad are? Or do I change it to where my pillow happens to be and make "home" my new phone number? Argh. As insane as it sounds, it's been quite a quandary for someone like me, who has a nasty habit of resisting change. Even on something as ridiculous as a cell phone.

I've finally stopped referring to my room as the "guestroom". With all my stuff in there it looks like my room. And with Rachel's help I have my fish tank set up, so now it even sounds like my room. My coats are in the closet, my DVDs on the shelf, my magnets are on the fridge, and I even have stuff in the attic. I physically feel like I'm home, now I'm just waiting to wake up and not feel like I'm on an extended vacation.

I've been searching and even applying for jobs already. Food Lion transferred me to a store here in Columbia, but I missed being on this coming week's schedule. So I've got another week stretching ahead of me with not a whole lot to do. I'm trying not to stress about finding a job. After all, I've only been looking for three days. I still have many months of unemployment coming in before I have to worry about "needing" a job right away. But I'm so tired of not working, and I'm feeling rather impatient. In some ways I feel like if I'm actually working, rather than sitting on my duff for most of the day waiting for Rachel and Laurie to get home, then I'll somehow feel useful. Moving here has been a long time coming. I've wanted to be here, and despite my whining, I really am excited to be here. In alot of ways I think this is where God wants me to be at this moment in my life. So I'm simply trying to remember that, and trust that since He's brought me this far, He won't suddenly leave me out to dry.

So here I am. Suddenly in this pattern of waiting again. Seems like the last six months that's all I've done. I waited for the Poland trip. I waited for moving day. And now... I'm waiting for a job. Waiting for a clear sign that says, "MELISSA! HERE IS WHAT YOU ARE GOING TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP. AND THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED TO DO TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN."
(Flashing in very bright colors so that I can't possibly miss it.)

Does it ever really happen that way? I think it should.

Beauty in the light

2009-10-07T18:41:00.004-04:00

I love fire.

I love the way the flames seem to dance. I love the way the colors are so distinct, yet at the same time seem to blend so easily into one. Reds, yellows, oranges, blues.... fire can be so beautiful.

I spent this past weekend at a campground with my aunts and my cousins. Sitting around the campfire on Saturday night, I found myself just staring off into the flames. Thinking about how blessed I am to have such incredible people in my family. Thinking about Emily. Thinking about how things are going to be changing so much pretty soon. Just generally getting lost in thought.

I really miss Emily. In some ways, I miss her now more than ever. I wonder if now that the numbness has started to wear off, it's really hit home that she's never coming back. And as I sat staring into those flames, I just plain missed her.

When I was in Poland, we toured the All Saints Cathedral. While we were in the sanctuary, there was a place to light little votive candles. (I'm sure there is an actual term for this, but I can't remember what it is at the moment.) There were three tiers of candles. Most were lit. The church was semi-dark, and the beauty of the candles flickering against the backdrop of that centuries-old church took my breath away. And even though I'm not Catholic, I lit one for Emily. Not because I held any beliefs that by lighting that candle it would "do something." But just out of a need to still have something of her to hold onto. Something physical to represent her. Something I could see.
I know that it's long since burned out by now. But it was there, flame flickering and light dancing for all to see. Lending it's little light to the bigger picture. Kind of symbolic for my sister's life. It doesn't matter that the candle is no longer there. What matters is that it was. Each of those lights represented something. A prayer, a person, a memory. And each person who sees those lights I think carries a bit of the person it honors with them. Not necessarily by knowing who the light shines for. But just in knowing that it's shining.

And for me, that's enough.

A candidate for anger management?

2009-10-01T17:44:00.004-04:00

I never realized how many commercials there on TV these days that are related to diabetes. After Emily was diagnosed, I obviously paid more attention when they came on. But it wasn't until after she died that suddenly those commercials were on every five minutes. Ads for glucose meters, test strips, etc. All being hawked by perfectly healthy looking people who made it seem like diabetes was just a slight inconvenience that could be cured by having a color coordinated blood sugar meter.
*sigh*

The latest irritant is a commercial by Bayer.

The commerical bothered me so much I threw a pillow at the TV.

But it wouldn't go away. So I threw another one.

And another one.

When the thought crossed my mind that maybe throwing a remote would make it go away, I realized that there is a distinct possibility that I may slowly be losing my grip on reality.

I could picture myself trying to explain:
"Mom, Dad... your TV has a gaping hole in it because the TV commmerical made me mad"

My parents are very understanding people. I've gotten away with quite alot in my 26 years. But yet, I don't think my being cute and adorable would have gotten me out of that one.

I'll stick to throwing pillows. I have a feeling I'll be seeing those commericals for a good long while.

Random Sparks

2009-10-01T00:53:00.000-04:00

It's funny how random little things will spark a memory.

Facebook has opened a whole new world. I haven't spent this much time on the internet since I was a teenager and ICQ was all the rage. (Does anyone even use that anymore?!) Facebook definitely leaves ICQ in the dust. Photos, updates, links, videos, quizzes (which quite honestly I have no interest in, but they're out there), stickers..... it's mind-boggling really all the things you can do. One of the features is that you can create a "fan" page-- you can pretty much be a fan of everything. People, places, restaurants, toys... and food. I saw one this morning for "Dunakroos". Anyone remember those? They were all the rage in the early 90's. They are little cinnamon graham crackers in the shape of kangaroos, and they come with frosting you dip them in. Vanilla with sprinkles or chocolate. They were our absolute favorites. And surprise, surprise.... the icing was the best part. Mom used to get so irritated because we'd eat the icing and not all the crackers. I laughed this morning. It's the little things like this that make me miss Emily so much more. If she was here, I'd have picked up the phone and called her, "Em do you remember....?!?"
But then again--- if Emily was still here I likely still wouldn't be on facebook and never would have even seen the silly things in the first place.

*sigh*

sigh

2009-09-30T16:14:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I'm so mad at Emily I could wring her neck.

Then I feel guilty for being angry, and I get mad at myself.

When I realize I'm angry at myself for being mad at her, I get angry at her all over again.

Then I feel twice as guilty.

Then I come across photos like this one and I'm no longer angry... I just plain miss her.

The breeze, it is a-blowing

2009-09-25T12:53:00.004-04:00

It's a Friday afternoon.

It's sunny, 73 degrees, and a beautiful fall day. My windows are open, and the breeze is clearing out the stuffiness and stale air from the house. As corny as this sounds, I can almost taste Fall. It's slightly chilly, but a comfy sweatshirt and a pair of socks make the afternoon perfect.

Almost.

It's one of those times where everything comes together to make a moment almost perfect. Except for this heaviness that I just can't shake.

Terri's death makes me realize yet again how fleeting life is. In less than a month, she went from being healthy to being diagnosed with cancer, admitted into the hospital, then all to suddenly, she died. In a month. It takes me a month to get around to changing the water in my fish tank.

Heather's latest news makes me ache for my friend. And makes me curse the helplessness that I feel. Cancer is raging through her body and there isn't a dammed thing I can do about it. We met for breakfast this morning, and I had to bite back the platitudes and phrases I know she must be sick of. "What can I do? What do you need? I wish there was something I could do. I know you're going to beat this." But the thing is.... even though all those things are the wrong thing to say....not saying it leaves you with nothing to say. And that's harder. I think I can understand now why all those people said those stupid things after Emily died. Because silence is harder to bear.

I've been so lonely. I've been having a major pity party for myself. These last few weeks I've felt like the people who I thought were closest to me have abandoned me and forgotten me. I've been angry, I've been bitter, and I've been depressed. I lost a job, I lost a Bible Study group, but I didn't really expect to lose the people.

But things change. People change. And relationships change. I'm not really angry anymore. And I decided that being bitter wasn't hurting anyone but me. Sometimes the easiest thing to do is let go. I have good memories from these people. I'd rather hang onto that and keep those thoughts alive, rather than tarnish their memories with bitterness. Perhaps I should have tried harder. Made more of an effort. Sent more e-mails. Maybe not have inserted cutting and catty remarks on my blog on the off chance that they were reading it. Perhaps I should have.... should not have.... perhaps....
But one thing I've come to realize is that the people who truly love you, are the ones that won't make you try harder. Let me rephrase that..'cause sometimes friendship is hard. They won't make you try harder all on your own.

My heart is still so sore from Terri's death. And I am still helpless in regards to Heather's cancer. Even though I've let go, I still sometimes miss the familiarity of what I've lost. And Emily is the ever present shadow that I don't think will ever leave.

But yet... all these things offer one beam of light. I can still reach out a hand to a friend that is hurting, even if there is nothing to say. I re-live memories of friends and realize that sometimes there are certain ones that you only have for a season. And then the season changes. And everywhere I go, I take a piece of Emily with me. And still...I'm still here. I'm here and can appreciate the beauty that is outside my window at this very moment. It doesn't sound like much in the face of all this sadness. But sometimes a little is still enough to get by.

Seems the breeze blowing through my window has cleared the stuffiness out of more than just the room.

Update on Heather

2009-09-22T00:42:00.000-04:00

Heather... oh Heather.

My friend Heather sent an e-mail update yesterday, and it's not good. The chemo is not shrinking the tumor. Her doctors are telling her that she has a rare cancer that will not go into remission. Removing the tumor is not an option, because they cannot remove the cancer cells, and it would continue to grow and spread.

She's looking into a second opinion. They want to do a research study on two drugs that have not yet been tested on humans. The drugs will not cure the cancer, but supposedly will keep the cancer at bay and keep the tumor from growing.

But underneath the research, second opinions, and more tests is the underlying message that she has terminal cancer. That's a hard thing to wrap your mind around. And if it's hard for her friends, I cannot imagine what it's like to actually have your death sentence handed to you like that.

When I spent that day at John's Hopkins with her, it was hard to believe she was so sick. If it hadn't been for the IV pole attached to her, you'd never have known she was ill. She was laughing and chatting and just being... well, Heather. Looking around, I felt so sorry for the people I saw. Especially that girl with the oxygen tank. But not Heather. Not my friend. She was going to be fine.

Turns out she's not. I'd like to believe that God is going to swoop down and perform a miracle. That the tumor is going to disappear along with all traces of cancer cells. And that's possible, I suppose. But the hard reality is that hundreds of people die from cancer. Each one of them has family and friends that are praying for that miracle "swooping" that never comes. I'd like to think that I'm not being cynical... just realistic. Cancer sucks. People die. And if God swooped in on every one of them, then I suppose it wouldn't be a miracle.

Have you seen the new commercial from the American Cancer Society? The one where they show cancer survivors/patients celebrating birthdays and at the end says "the official sponsor of birthdays?" It's a great commercial. And I can't watch it. It about breaks my heart into two. Terri was only 52. Grace was only 6. Elena was only 7. That girl from the cancer ward is only in her 20's. Heather's in her 40's. How many birthdays do they have left?

In my heart of hearts, I'm hoping that God proves me wrong. I want more than anything to be wrong and Heather to be cured. Heather amazes me. Her e-mails are full of a grace and strength and peace that I can't begin to understand. Where my mind fills with "what-ifs" "if onlys" and dark fears, Heather writes of her situation and fears with peace, trust, and faith. I know she's scared. She'll be the first one to tell you that. She accepts her situation and relinquishes control to Him. I want to bargain, plead, and negotiate with God on her behalf. And I'm sure that she's had her moments of pleading too. It's human nature- I think it'd be impossible not to. No matter how strong a person's faith is.

I know He doesn't bargain. I know that sometimes His answer is no. I know that He's always working in ways that we can't possibly understand.

I know that life doesn't always turn out the way we want it to.

But oh... I wish it would.

Things always look better in the daylight...

2009-09-19T12:19:00.003-04:00

You'd think I'd have learned by now that hitting "publish" on a post that I've written in the late hours of the evening/early hours of the morning isn't always a good idea. Darkness seems to invite darkness and it never fails that the darkness of night seems to seep into my mind and heart., and thus carries over into my words. I woke up this morning thinking, "hmm... maybe I shouldn't have actually posted that after all". I find it easier to write what's on my mind rather than actually say it. I'm uncomfortable sharing, and showing, emotions. Emotions can't be controlled, and nothing makes me feel more uncomfortable than being in situations that I don't have a handle on. Words can be controlled. I can force words to say exactly what I want and how I want. I can edit, revise, and re-structure as many times as I want, to make sure it says exactly what I want. (I never realized how much of a control-freak I am.) And when you're up late and not sleeping, sometimes all you want is for someone to realize that you're hurting.

But then the morning comes and you realize that it really isn't quite as bad as you thought. As most things do, it looks better in the daylight. Not that what I was thinking and feeling wasn't real... but I think when you allow the darkness to settle in... that's all you'll ever see. Darkness.

I re-read what I posted and this morning realized that I don't want to be that person. I can't honestly say that I feel better than I did last night. That I don't have that same hollow feeling when I think about Emily, and Terri, and other family memebers and friends that have died. But I do feel different. I realized that I don't want to be that person that can only see the ugliness. I don't want to shut off everything and everyone and hide out in the dark. After all, things look better in the light, right? I need to remember that...

They say that's the way life goes...

2009-09-18T23:23:00.003-04:00

I was awakened this morning by my cell phone- the obnoxious "whistling wizard" tone signaling that I had received a text message. At first I ignored it. Anyone who knows me, knows me well enough to know that I am neither coherent, nor pleasant, nor functional before 8AM. Then two minutes later, another message. Somewhere in my semi-alert state something triggered in my head that two messages early in the morning means something is not right. Bad news always seems to go hand in hand with bad timing.

The week I was laid off, my friend Terri from Bible Study was on vacation. She was still away the day that the group got together for a surprise lunch for me. The week that I left for Poland, they sent an e-mail around that Terri wasn't feeling well. When I came back, I read in an e-mail that she had been taken to the emergency room and had been admitted to the hospital. My former friends didn't seem to think this necessitated a phone call. (Yes, that is a trace of bitterness in case you missed it. I'm trying, I really am... but being forgotten by your friends is a hard thing to swallow.) I learned that Terri was diagnosed with an very aggressive form of full-blown leukemia. She was admitted to Hershey Medical for 8 weeks of intensive chemotherapy. Halfway through they had to stop because she had an infection and was too weak to handle the chemo. Though the last report I had received, she was doing better.

My text messages this morning were from two friends telling me that she died of a brain hemorrage last night.

Death has a funny way of sucking the life out of your heart. Time seems to be frozen, and yet it rushes by you in a blur. It's a curious place of your brain screaming "no" in denial and yet simultaneously your heart is breaking.

I didn't cry. I didn't yell. I didn't do anything. Part of me wanted to throw my phone across the room. But the other part realized that doing that couldn't erase the words burned into my mind.

The hardest part of death is coming to terms with the fact that someone you know and love is gone. I mean GONE. There are alot of people that I miss. Family that I don't see nearly as often as I wish. Friends that have moved, former friends from work, and friends I've left behind over the years. But yet, it's not quite as painful because even though I miss them- they are somewhere. They are still out there, only a phone call, e-mail, or car ride away. But missing someone who you know is not anywhere on this earth is a whole different story. It's hard to take Terri out of the "missing someone who is somewhere" category, and put her into the "missing someone who is gone" category. I've been thinking about her on an off all day today. It doesn't seem real.

What scares me is that I think I've become numb to grief. Since Emily died, she has become the measuring stick for all future griefs and hurts. And anything that falls short of that imaginary line on the stick gets shoved into a little compartment somewhere. Things like the loss of a job, the loss of a group of people that I thought were friends, and now the actual loss of a friend still don't seem to register high enough on the scale.

I think that makes me heartless. I didn't say a word to anyone today about Terri. Because saying it means I have to deal with it. And dealing with it makes it real. I think part of me is still stuck in that moment of trying to pretend I never saw that message. Perhaps I am in denial. Or perhaps I am simply crazy.

Whatever I am, I am for sure and for certain one thing- I am sick and tired of death. They say that's the way life goes. I say it sucks.