Milestones

5 years.

It hardly seems possible that I've been working here for 5 years. It barely seems possible that I've been out of high school for five years, yet I'm actually only two years away from my 10 year class reunion.

Oy.

It's funny how I landed here- After I freaked out the summer after I graduated high school and refused to go to college, I ended up working as a receptionist at a local temp agency. I was there for about 6 months when I got laid off. Three days after I got laid off from there, I was offered a temp to hire job here at Frick. I went in for an interview on a Wednesday morning. Two hours, three interviews, and one drug test later I was hired. I started working that same afternoon. Three months later I was hired as a permanent employee. Six months after that I was promoted from Engineering clerical assistant to Administrative Assistant in the Contract Administration department. And that's where I've been ever since.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like if I'd gone to school. I most definitely would not have ended up here. I wouldn't have met Debbie, and she has been one of the biggest influences in my life. And I definitely wouldn't have learned the lessons that I've learned over the last 5 years. My boss has alot to do with that, though not necessarily in the most positive of ways. My relationship with my boss has been... difficult... over the last few years. But this past year it's gone steadily downhill. After Emily died, I stopped caring. I couldn't get upset about anything. This job definitely is not my "passion", definitely is not what I want to be doing with my life. And while I did my best to do a good job, my heart was never fully in it. And after Emily died, there wasn't enough left of my heart to care. Perhaps if my boss was a more understanding person, the situation wouldn't have deteriorated this badly. But the combination of everything has created the perfect storm and I'm at my wits end. But this year has also brought things into sharper focus in some ways. I'm learning the balance between standing up for myself and recognizing when I'm wrong. And I'm definitely a long way from the doormat I used to be. And I've definitely had a lesson in dealing with difficult people.

My goal for the last six months has been to make it to 5 years. Partly because that means I'm vested and I'll be able to keep my employer contributions to my 401k. Not that there's much of anything in there... but every little bit helps. And part of that goal has just been to prove to myself that I can make it. After high school, all my "milestones" seem to be slipping farther and farther away.
In a very strange way, I'm proud I stuck with it this long and made it.
I even received a little gift from the company- which was completely unexpected.

Now it's time to move on. When I get back from Poland, I'm going to start looking in earnest for something else.

But for today, I'm looking back at the good moments of the last 5 years. Even though the situation with my boss casts a black shadow over most of my days, and it's sometimes hard to see the good moments - there have been so many of them. I've made friendships that will last for a lifetime. And those people are worth every snotty comment, every snide remark, every cutting e-mail my boss has thrown at me. Debbie.... Ginger... Denise...Sandy...Heather...the girls in my Bible Study group...Dave and Sue... every one of them has left a mark on my life, and I know I wouldn't be who I am without them.

I've thought that when I move on from here someday, that I'd just like to forget everything about this place. I even childishly planned to have a burn-the-business-card party on my last day. But I can't forget the changes I went through while I was here, and because I was here.
The good things are what I want to think of when I look at this little frame.

So I'm going to choose to celebrate today- celebrate 5 years worth of good, and pushing that black shadow away for today.

One of THOSE days....

Have you ever had one of those days where as soon as your feet hit the floor, you KNOW you should just turn around and go back to bed?

I started off my morning with an empty shampoo bottle. I couldn't find my favorite pair of earrings. The milk is past it's expiration date so I didn't have breakfast before I left for work. My cat is sick with another kidney infection and threw up again this morning. My only pair of clean blue socks has a hole in the toe. It's raining. My socks get soaked when I wear my favorite shoes in the rain, so I had to wear sneakers. Which completely don't match. My umbrella has a small leak. I knocked my orange juice over on my desk and it spilled all over my mousepad. I jammed my finger. My boss yelled at me. My iPod battery is almost dead and I forgot the charger.
And it's only 7:30

But you know what the kicker is? The thing that tipped this day from "bad" to "truly awful?"

Someone stole my salt shaker.

That was the final straw. It's enough to make anyone cry. Even me.

I realize that it's not really the salt shaker that I cried over. It's a combination of a week's worth of pent-up frustration, the fact that I'm so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open, the generally miserable atmosphere in this horrible office, Heather not getting the best news from the oncologist, not having anything to wear anymore because none of my clothes fit, working two jobs and still never having money, AND on top of it all- I just plain out and out miss Emily.

Wow, my life is rough isn't it? Can I BE more whiney?

I'm teetering on the edge of an all-out pity party. When your days start out bad, I wonder if it's really because it's destined to be bad, or if it's because our attitude gets out of whack and from that moment on we anticipate that everything else is going to go wrong. Kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I suppose if I really, really tried hard.... I could think of a good moment.

(silence)

Ok, so maybe I haven't had a good moment just quite yet. But I've still got the rest of the day.

But I'm really ticked about my missing salt shaker.

I mean, seriously, who steals someone's salt?

Thanks, but I think I'll take the stairs

"Melissa! I heard you're going back to Poland this summer. When do you leave?"

"August 13. I'm really excited."

"I'm happy for you. By the way, did you hear about that French plane that disappeared over the Atlantic last week?"

Gulp. Seriously. Why do people say things like that?!?

There are two things that terrify me. Elevators and flying.

I hate elevators. I avoid them at all costs. A few years back I went with a friend to a conference in DC. Our hotel room was on the 10th floor. She thought I was insane, but I took the stairs. "Lis, that's nuts. It'll take you twice as long to walk those stairs than if you just got in the elevator."
Yes, I realize this. But somethings are just not worth the fear. When I have to get in an elevator, it is all I can do to keep from breaking into a panic attack. My throat closes, my heart races, and my eyesight starts to blur around the edges. It's all I can do to remind myself to breathe. A friend had suggested that I should see someone about "getting over my irrational fear". Do you know what that entails?? They make you GET IN an elevator! And leave you there! And make it shake and do all kinds of horrid things.
God gave me two perfectly good legs. I'm perfectly content with my very rational fear. So thanks but no thanks, I'll take the stairs.

Flying isn't quite as bad, but it's close. I'm okay once I'm actually in the air. But it's the days and weeks and even months leading up to it that are insufferable. I get so anxious that I simply have to force myself not to think about it. But the thought springs up out of the blue and leaves my hands clammy and my pulse racing.

"what if, what if, what if..."

Now I KNOW the statistics. You're more likely to be in a car accident than in a plane accident. Yada, yada, yada. I bet the people on that French air plane told themselves the same thing.

"what if, what if, what if...."

Thoughts of Emily worry me constantly. What if something bad happens to me too? (knock on wood). In light of Emily's death, is it selfish to knowingly put yourself in the situation where something bad could happen? (double knock on wood).

If Emily were here, she would tell me to get over myself. And then she'd tell me that if I didn't go, I couldn't bring her back a present.

So I drive myself to distraction worrying about this for months. And as the plane is taking off, I'm making the sign of the cross and holding onto my cross necklace. (Is Catholicism genetic? The only time I do that is flying. I think that's the Irish in me coming out.) But once we're up--- I start to breathe again. I suppose I figure by then it's too late to do anything about it. Totally beyond my control. I still get nervous when I feel the plane move, but it's not a paralyzing fear that I get in the months leading up to the flight.

I'm hoping it'll be easier this year. Last year I got stuck by myself on the opposite side of the plane from our team members. With a seatmate who didn't speak English, and who took great advantage of Polish Airlines never ending supply of free Vodka. Seriously? Open bar on an airplane? Does that make ANY sense? Oy. There is nothing more unsettling than waking up to find a strange man's hand on your knee. And I discovered that there are some things that cross a language barrier with lightning speed. One of those things is a slap.
This year I made sure to get a seat with the rest of the team. So once I get to Chicago and meet up with everyone hopefully it will be easier since I'll be able to wile away the hours talking instead of fending myself off from drunk seatmates and watching American cartoons in Polish... (by the way, did you know that Donald Duck sounds exactly the same in Polish as he does in American?! )

A friend told me laughingly that it's too bad my alternative to flying isn't quite as easy as my alternative to elevators. A boat to Poland would take much, much longer. And these days the ocean seems to be infested with pirates. If I had to choose between the "what-if's" in my head and a band of pirates... I think I'll take the plane.

This same friend also found it amusing that I stress more before the flight than when I'm on it. "Lis, that's a little backwards isn't it? Most people are afraid during the flight."

Yes well.... that's me. I'm a walking abnormality.

Given the choice, I think I'd rather be a wreck for an eight hour flight than for the 8 months leading up to it. Actually, if I've got the power to choose... I'd rather not be afraid at all.

But what makes something worth the fear? I get almost as nervous about flying as I do about getting in an elevator. Now, if someone I loved was in trouble and was on the 10th floor of a building, and I was the only person who could help them..... you bet your you-know-what I'd be on that elevator quicker than you could say boo.

So something beyond yourself is kind of worth the fear.

I suppose that's what keeps me going when I start thinking about Poland. The thought that for whatever reason, this is where I feel called to go. This isn't a vacation trip for me, or a sightseeing tour. I really feel a tug on my heart when I think of those families who have been waiting so long for a house. And that makes my fears a little easier to deal with.

A little.

I don't want to become a slave to my fears. I don't want my fears to keep me from living. There are still so many places I want to see - most which require flying. And next year I'm hoping to go somewhere different with Habitat. Which also will require flying. So I'll get on my plane.

But the elevator is a different story. There are some fears that don't need to be conquered. When it comes to that.... thanks, but I'll keep taking my stairs.

What's so wonderful about me anyway?

On the same day I got the news about Heather, I was informed that I had been chosen as a "Wonderful Person and Artist of the Month".

I was completely taken by surprise, humbled, and honored.

Me? Wonderful? Whaaaat?

Terri, my artist friend, features a wonderful person and a wonderful artist of the month on her website. This month she combined them into one category, and then chose two people.

Wonderful person? Artist? Seriously? What is so wonderful about me?

That's a rhetorical question- I'm not fishing for compliments, or hoping for a bunch of responses from people saying "yes, 'Lis you are wonderful!"

That's not my point at all....

because I think self-doubt and lack of self-worth is something that is in all of us. I have a terrible time accepting compliments. I am notorious for saying something sarcastic or self- deprecating. Because deep down.. I know there's nothing really that great about me.

And this makes me laugh.

Because if someone I love was writing these very same words... I'd be coming up with a whole list of why I think they are in fact wonderful.
I can close my eyes and picture the face of someone I love. And I could write a whole blog about why I think they are wonderful.

Now Terri--- she definitely is someone wonderful. Her art... the words she writes... her blogs... they all give us a glimpse of a truly beautiful heart. It's amazing the connections you can feel, even if it's over e-mail. The words she's written to me, I carry around in my heart. I'm not sure if I completely believe them all quite yet... but I'm getting there.

We see it in others. We celebrate it in others.... but we don't want to see it in ourselves.

Even in writing about Emily... There's alot of things about her that were (are?) wonderful. Amazingly wonderful qualities that made her who she was. And yet... there were alot of things about her that just out and out made me want to wring her neck, and made me angry, and things I wished she could change.
But all in all, she was (is) wonderful because all of that is what made her who she was.

No one likes perfect people. It's incredibly hard to be "real" around someone who seemingly has it all together. It's hard to relate to someone who doesn't seem to struggle with life.

I still don't think that there is anything spectacularly wonderful about me. I know myself too well- and I know the dark and the ugly that I keep inside. I hide behind a mask I try to project to people, and all the while knowing that I really can't measure up. So wonderful, I am not.

But it makes my heart overflow to know that there are people who think I am.

And I'm thinking that right there may be the very point of it all.

(Here's a link to Terri's website.)

Childish actions, grown up regrets

For a long time I had my phone set so that when Emily called me, the ringtone that played was the Wicked Witch's theme song from the Wizard of Oz. It was childish and dumb, I know... and she of course never knew what it was... and it made me feel better. At that time anyway. It was one way of thumbing my nose at her without really hurting her feelings.
I eventually grew up and changed it to something else.

But it haunts me now. I wish I had tried harder.

Choosing the right perspective

I sat across from my friend at lunch today.

It's been ages since we had lunch together. I could tell she really wasn't all that hungry, but at least she ate.

And as I looked across at her, I was having trouble comprehending just how sick she is.

CANCER

And to look at her, you'd never even know it. Unless you looked closer and saw the slight shadows under her eyes, and noticed that the color of her skin wasn't really tan, as it appears at first glance, but actually is tinged with yellow--- a subtle sign of the hideous disease that's invaded her liver.

She has the most amazing attitude of anyone I've ever met. She's taken everything in stride, and looks at the whole situation like, "well, there's nothing I can do to change it, so I might as well go through it."

I, however, would not be nearly as strong. It took me three tries to get over to her office the other day to talk to her. Every time I stood up, I started crying. I can't even fathom the thoughts that must be playing through her mind. I know the thoughts that are running through mine, and it's not even happening to me.

And as I sat across from her, I couldn't help but feel very frightened for her. And frightened that I might lose her. That this time in a year she may not be here. Frightened for what she's going to be going through the next few months. Chemo, radiation, surgery... and then isn't it strange how the most insignificant things strike you in the midst of the most significant trials? Heather has beautiful, long, dark hair. I wondered if she'd lose it, and it made my eyes almost tear up. Last thing to be worrying about, eh?

I don't believe in the power of positive thinking- what's going to happen will happen, and no amount of happy thoughts is going to change that one little bit. Either she'll make it or she won't. Period.

So where does the whole faith thing come into play?

Big time struggle at the moment.

In my heart, I know the whole faith "thing" is what carries you through the trial. It's an inner reaction to outer circumstances beyond your control. Regardless of the outcome, I know faith is what holds you together, holds your family and friends together, it's what your entire life is based on. I know that's where her inner strength is coming from. Regardless of whether she is healed or not, I know her faith won't be shaken.
And I also know that faith only in the good times is not true faith. "Good times only" faith is standing in front of the entrance to a tunnel, and having a giant hissy fit, refusing to go in unless you can see the light at the end. Real faith is stepping forward into the dark and knowing the light is there without being able to see it.
But I guess the kicker is that life doesn't give you an option. You HAVE to go through the tunnel regardless of whether you can or can't see the light.

I know this, and I believe this. But my there are too many thoughts running through my head, and I'm having trouble hearing my heart.

My head is screaming that it's not fair, that someone should do something, that Heather should be more worried, more upset, and not so calm and serene because it's CANCER for goodness sake and it's BAD. I don't want her to be sick, I don't want her to die, I don't want... don't want... don't want.......

But once the voice in my head gets hoarse from all the yelling.... I can hear that still small voice again. Not the voice of positive thinking, but the voice of faith. There is a chance that she'll be okay. And there's a good chance that she won't. And no, my thinking isn't going to influence the outcome one way or another. Kind of like that tunnel. She's got to go through it- either fearful and frightened because she can't see the light at the end, or at peace because she knows it really is there. It's the perspective that changes the journey.

I need to hang onto that. 'Cause I, and everyone else who loves her, is heading though that tunnel with her. Might as well choose the right perspective.

Damn cancer.

Unspoken shadow

Cancer.

It's amazing the myriad of emotions one little word creates. Fear. Anguish. Horror. Sorrow. Devastation. Anger.

It even sounds ugly.

I think everyone has been touched by cancer, in some way. Family, friends, co-workers, themselves.

One of my good friends found at last week that she had a softball-sized mass on her liver. Cancer whispered in the background as she was telling me.

But you don't speak it. Not yet.

They found the mass on Thursday. By Friday morning, she had a biopsy scheduled.

When doctors hurry, you know it's not good. Cancer hovers like a shadow.

But you still don't speak it.

Blood work and biopsies and waiting.

Upbeat telephone conversation on Saturday. You focus on the positive, you talk about your faith, you try to look on the bright side. Meanwhile, cancer is laughing in the background.

But you can't say it. Saying the word makes it true.

Waiting. No news on Monday. Maybe it's not that bad. Maybe we dodged a bullet. Maybe it's just a mass. Maybe cancer lost this one.

Tuesday... still waiting. Preliminary blood work came back that the pancreas and kidneys are clear. No biopsy results, but maybe it's a good sign. No news is good news, right?

Wednesday morning. Suddenly the word is spoken. And cancer becomes a horrifying reality.

I'm reeling, to say the least. My friend is only in her early 40's. This can't be real. And if I'm reeling, I can't imagine what she's going through. Cancer has been the unspoken word haunting me since she told me about the tumor.... but I'm just the friend. I'm not the one who's got it raging through her insides. A Malignant tumor that's on her liver and spread to her gallbladder.

I didn't know what else to do, so I went to Google. I don't know alot about liver cancer, but I figured I'd better look into the worst case scenario. I'm the type of person that wants to know the worst. I can handle pretty much anything, as long as I know what to expect. Hence the disaster that my life and sanity has been this past year with Emily. Grief is anything but predictable. I turned to Google, hoping to find a measure of hope. Hoping that it's one of those types that is easily curable.

I wish I hadn't. I wish I didn't know.

Liver cancer is fast-growing, and often not detected because it's relatively symptom-less. Until the tumor gets so large that it begins to cause gastrological discomfort. And by then... well let's just say that the prognosis isn't good.

I sat staring at my computer screen trying to process the words I was seeing.

life expectancy often less than a year after diagnosis.

I couldn't put that sentence and my friend's face together. I just can't.

We talked on Saturday. My friend is one of those people that is always upbeat. She's the perfect Pollyanna. Truthfully, sometimes so much that a little of her goes a long way. But she has a heart of gold, and she put up with alot of my crap over the last year. And even though she can sometimes be... a little much at times... she's one of the truest friends I have. So all through the conversation, I'm trying not to let the worry creep into my voice, and she's the same laughing, carefree.. well, Pollyanna... that she always is. I told her that we didn't have a thing to worry about. I'd already had a loooong conversation with God that I had a whole list of people He couldn't do anything to for the next 10 years, because I simply couldn't deal with it. I laughingly told her that it was in fact all about me, and that she was going to be fine... that she had to be because I simply couldn't handle it.

We both laughed.... even though cancer hung in the air, unspoken, between us.

She'd be the first person to tell me that Google was the last place I should be turning to for a measure of hope. I know where my hope lies, and I know Who it lies with. And unfortunately, He doesn't always give the answers so that I can hear them. My knees hit the floor Thursday and I haven't gotten up yet. But it doesn't always end the way we want it to. The Relay for Life over this past weekend is evidence enough of that.

cancer

It. Is. Not. Fair.

Relay for Life

I miss you Mom-Mom. I always set out a luminaria for you at the Relay for Life. This year it hurt to circle "in memory of" instead of "in honor of" on the form.




What Cancer Cannot Do

Cancer is so limited...

It cannot cripple love
It cannot shatter hope
It cannot corrode faith
It cannot destroy peace
It cannot kill friendship
It cannot suppress memories
It cannot silence courage
It cannot invade the soul
It cannot steal eternal life
It cannot conquer the spirit.
~Author Unknown

Not quite Africa.....

I'm going back to Poland again in August. I had pretty much decided before my plane even left Krakow last year that I was going back. When Terri e-mailed me a couple weeks later asking me if I wanted to join them again, I didn't hesitate before responding with a YES.
I think it's hard to put into words what happens to you on a mission trip. It takes your pre-conceived notions and turns them upside down for one thing. When I told people I was going to Poland to help with Habitat for Humanity, I did get a few strange looks. Kind of like, if you're going on a mission trip, why Poland? It's just not quite Africa. When you hear mission, you think third world. I did the same thing. But third world kind of scares me. (Lord, if you are listening.... I don't want to go to Africa!). I like my creature comforts, and malaria and bugs and dirty water is a little more than I can deal with at the moment. And I felt kind of guilty for feeling that way, and I definitely didn't like to use the word mission in conjunction with my trip. I wasn't going to help people in extreme poverty... I wasn't going to preach the Word to people who'd never heard it.... I wasn't helping orphans... or feeding starving children. I was "just" going to Poland.

Well let me tell you about the people I met. We had a chance to spend an afternoon with one of the families that will be living in Building 8. A family of 4- Alexandra, Stanislaw, and their 2 children- Nicoleta who is 12, and Andrew, who is 2. Nicola is the sweetest little girl. Her English definitely put my Polish to shame. They took us to their flat- a one bedroom apartment. The kids slept in the bedroom, and their parents slept on a pull-out sofa in the living room/dining room. Their entire apartment could have fit into my downstairs living room. But oh, how happy they were! Their apartment was filled with books and games. No computer, no video games... none of the stuff that we tend to plug into. Nicola spoke the most English, but Alexandra knew quite a bit as well. Between Nicola, and a dictionary, we managed to laugh our way through the afternoon. Several times Alexandra would be trying to find the English word for something. She'd get flustered and start flipping through her dictionary. She'd try and describe it, and I'd suggest a word and it was the one she was searching for. Her face would light up and she'd beam at me and say "yes, yes, you understand me!" It was so precious. At one point Alexandra was trying to thank us for coming and building a house for them. She got so choked up that I don't think she could have even said anything in Polish. She held out her hands to the three of us, then folded her arms across her heart. I cried. In that moment the barriers between a spoiled American and a "poor" Polish woman fell down. Love is a language that is universal, and needs no words. She was thanking us, but I should have been thanking her. A need is a need, and what this family needed was a house. No, this wasn't a family living in poverty in Africa.

But not everyone can go to Africa. My pride was taken down a few pegs that afternoon. I was thinking that because I wasn't "sacrificing" by going to someplace like Africa, then it wasn't really worthy to be considered a mission trip. Well I learned that day that I wasn't "just" in Poland. It changed my outlook on the week ahead, and what we were there to do. And in the days that followed in the midst of some frustrating moments, I would remember Alexandra's happy, tear filled eyes, and suddenly the situation didn't seem so frustrating.

August can't get here quick enough. And just a little plug- if you'd like to consider donating to my trip--- it sure would be appreciated. Alexandra and their family's story is just one of many. This housing complex we are building is changing the lives of so many families that just need a little help.
I have a special website set up that you can donate to online, (check it out here!)and it gives a little more information about the trip, what your donation will be going to, and some information about Thrivent Builds/Habitat for Humanity. Also, if you missed it and would like to catch up through last year's blog, here is a link to that too. (Which was written in part by yours truly!) Since I was the "official" blog writer on the trip last year, I really didn't get to write alot about the week from my perspective. I don't really do well writing from a third person point of view. I'm definitely a details, feelings, me-oriented, type of writer. This year is someone else's turn to write the team blog, so I'll have time to write whatever I want on mine. Stay tuned! :)

Poland 2008, unfinished draft

(rescued from the "drafts" folder)

One thing that I don't think I really got to share was how Emily ended up being a part of my trip after all. She was so excited for me that I was going, and had all these great ideas how she was going to help me raise the money to go. Emily was not the kind of girl that liked to work hard or get dirty... but she was the girl who would give her all to help you do it. After she died, raising the $1,500.00 to go was the absolute last thing on my mind. In fact, I'd come to the conclusion that I wasn't going to go at all. I couldn't afford it, I didn't have the heart to do it. I had intended to e-mail Terri and tell her I was canceling, but I got busy at work and never got around to it. That same night, my parents sat me down and told me that they wanted to give me part of the money from Emily's life insurance to pay for the trip. Talk about not knowing what to say. And it struck me that in my haste to give up so quickly, I never even once talked that decision over with God. Never thought to leave it in His hands. Nope, I just decided on my own that I wasn't going. I'm very quick to give up when things start to look difficult. He obviously had different intentions. It amazes me how He answers prayers, even the ones we didn't know we asked.
So I never sent the e-mail to Terri, never told her that I almost cancelled on her.

Towards the end of the work week, our Habitat host Adam seemed really preoccupied and worried. There are many teams of volunteers throughout the year that work with HFH in Gliwice, but in addition to the volunteers, they also have paid Polish workers. Adam had said they weren't sure they would have enough money to pay the men the next day. Later on, a beaming Terri told me she had a special surprise for Adam. A Thrivent team typically consists of a minimum of 10 people. Part of the money we have to raise is a donation to the local Habitat affiliate. $10,000 per team. Our team was 20 people, so Thrivent decided to up the donation to $20,000. Terri had just received the offical okay to let Adam know. That extra $10,000 insured they would be able to pay the workers on time. Then came the kicker-- Terri told me that if even one person had cancelled, Thrivent wouldn't have been able to give the extra money.
Whoa.
Again, I cried. Then I told Terri how close I came to not coming, and then she cried. God managed to work through a mess inspite of myself.
I hate the phrase "everything happens for a reason". I do not believe for a moment that Emily died for a "specific reason" or a "purpose". But I do believe that He works through the most awful of circumstances. While it certainly doesn't justify or make her death any easier, it does serve as a reminder that He can bring something beautiful from a whole lot of ugly.

We painted a square on the side of our trailer and we all signed our names. Terri added one more "Anoit Emily" (Angel in Polish). It certainly was not the way we had planned, but she helped me get there after all.

Beneath the Surface....

Netflix- seriously, is the coolest thing ever. For some reason, this town cannot support a video store. In the 11 years I have lived here, there have been at least 3 different video stores that have come and gone. Blockbuster is too far to be convenient, and too expensive. We recently discovered Netflix. Unlimited movies! They send it to you, you watch it, send it back, and then... another one right away. It's seriously awesome.

Anyway, my mother and I watched the best movie last night- "The Secret Life of Bees". I read the book years ago and loved it.
It's set in South Carolina in 1964. It's so hard to wrap my mind around racism. I realize it's still an issue- but when I watch movies like this one, where there was a separate door for "colored" people... it just breaks my heart that people are so cruel. I don't understand where that mentality comes from- how you can assume an entire race of people is of a lesser worth than you because they are different. I had the same struggle as I walked through the Auschwitz concentration camp last year. I just don't understand. And I don't just mean the color of someone's skin- we do it for all kinds of things- race, nationality, gender, sexual orientation, religion, handicaps....

Moving here was a huge adjustment after 10 years in Alabama. And two years in Turkey before that. As much as I hated moving as a child, one thing I am deeply thankful for is that I think being exposed to people who were "different" gave me a deeper sense of valuing a person underneath their skin.
I have a picture that was taken at my Great Grandmother's 80th birthday party. They had hired a photographer for the day, and he brought his daughter who was about my age. I've long forgotten her name, but we really hit it off and had a blast. I was looking through our mess of old photos trying to find the pictures from that party. I found a picture that was taken of the two of us, mugging for the camera and holding balloons. I had to look twice at the photo. I didn't remember that she was black. All I had remembered was that she was so much fun to play with. I never even noticed the color of her skin.

One of my best friends when we were in Alabama always had the coolest hair. Her mom braided it into all these intricate braids and then fastened the ends with those little plastic animal barrettes. (Anyone remember those?!) Her head was a sea of braids and bright colors. I wanted my hair done like hers, and I had a fit when my mother tried to explain that my hair was different, and that it just wouldn't work. Telling me that something can't be done is just about as effective as waving a red flag in front of a bull. So I sequestered myself in the bathroom with my armory of plastic animal barrettes and proceeded to put them all over my head.
I looked absolutely ridiculous. But I refused to see the differences, that "black" hair is different from "white" hair. I looked ridiculous, yes. But maybe what we need is to be a little more ridiculous.

What happens to us as we grow up? I don't believe that we are born prejudiced.... I don't believe that it's an inborn trait to look down on someone because their skin is a different color. Or because of a certain country they came from. Or because they can't help who they fall in love with. Or because of a religion that they follow. It has to come from somewhere.... but where?

Catching up

I haven’t been keeping up with this blog as much as I would have liked to. Let me re-phrase that… I haven’t been posting entries on here as much as I would have liked to. I’ve actually been writing like crazy- and then not posting them. Partly because I’ve taken to writing on paper rather than typing on the computer. I cleaned out my purse the other day and found wads of notebook paper full of my messy scribbles. No wonder my purse was so heavy. It seems that the writing bug always strikes me at work- which is not exactly the best time to be spending time on the internet. So I jot it down quickly on paper, (all the while pretending to be working, haha) with the intention of posting it online later. But as a true procrastinator, later never seemed to come, and my purse just kept getting heavier.
I’m tired of lugging all that weight around (boy is that a metaphor!!) so I’ve tried to sort through them and make some sort of order out of a huge mess.

But the main reason I haven’t posted was because I just wasn’t sure what to say anymore. I got caught up in trying to write for “someone”, and I really wasn’t writing for me. I was writing what I thought I should be feeling, and editing out the stuff that was too heavy. I was afraid I’d written too much, that pouring out my pain and “ick” was too depressing. Narcissistic, yes? I’ve got all kinds of half-finished blog entries I never posted because I couldn’t find a positive note to end on.

I realized though that this is a journey. And those words that I wrote were a part of me at that time- sometimes not eloquent, sometimes disjointed, but always me. And re-reading some of those pain-filled entries has made me see where I was, but also how far I’ve come.

So I’ve decided to go back and post them anyway. Most of them—there are some that I just can’t quite share yet. Maybe someday, but not just yet.
I’ve posted them on the dates that I typed and saved them, just because I want to keep them in order. If you want to go back and read them… here’s the links. There’s quite a few…

Joy in the Midst of Sorrow 4-12-08
Rollercoaster 5-08-08
Time 5-12-08
Calendar Verse 5-14-08
Don’t Cry 6-4-08
Nervous breakdown 6-9-08
Penguins 6-12-08
Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day 6-13-08
Lonely 6-14-08
Pretending 6-16-08
Birthday cards and root canals 7-7-08
Too soon 7-9-08
Pieces 7-13-08
The ghost at the altar 8-4-08
Angels 9-14-08
Falling Apart 11-5-08
Missing her 1-4-09
Walls, walls, walls 1-15-09
They say 2-3-09
A quote that actually means something… 2-7-09
Picture 2-7-09
Valentine’s Day 2-13-09
The beauty of children..... 2-24-09
Hesitating and hurting. 3-1-09
Thoughts 3-3-09
Birthdays 3-2-09
11 Months 3-3-09
Stay away, it hurts too much 3-6-09
Voices, questions, struggles… 3-13-09
Choosing to remember 3-25-09
So now what do I do? 3-27-09
April 1st 4-1-09
A sand dollar and a sign 4-11-09
Celebrate 4-15-09
Emily’s Tree 4-18-09

Big Steps

It took one year and 26 days, but I finally did it. I made an appointment with a counselor and Tuesday night I went for the first session.
It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. But I’m glad that I finally did it. I reached the point where I was just so sick and tired of being so miserable. I felt like I’d hit the bottom. I had no more tears, no more prayers, no more excuses. I was finally able to admit that I needed help.
I went not expecting much. But I was surprised at how easy it was to talk. And how even after one session, I already feel a little lighter. I feel like I am going to walk through this and walk into the sunshine again. But most importantly, I was reassured that I am in fact, not crazy.
I’ve been toying with the idea of a counselor for months. And so many people were urging me to go….my pastor, a co-worker, and Lauren suggested it once or twice. I even picked up the phone several times and hung up before I finished dialing the number. I’d tell myself that I didn’t really need to go, that I’d work it out on my own.
The fact is I was just downright scared. I was afraid I would be like Emily and end up on medicine. I saw what depression did to her, and it terrified me that I was the same way. Ignorance is bliss, right?
What it boils down to is pride. Too proud to ask for help, to proud to accept help, to proud to admit I was, and am, falling apart.
So what changed my mind? I think I was slowly getting close to going. What tipped me over the edge was Laurie. While we were at the beach, I did have one “melt down day”. I found myself pouring out all kinds of things to her- things beyond what just a listening, caring ear could fix. And she didn’t try to “fix” anything. She didn’t tell me what to do, or try to have me committed. (hahaha). She listened and let me talk- but did say one thing that struck me to the core. She said “Melissa, I really wish that you would think about talking to someone. You have to be okay, because I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”
I love Lauren like a sister. She is a sister. We share a closeness and a bond that is unlike any friendship I’ve ever had. And the thought of her being as miserable about me as I am about Emily made me seriously reconsider the whole counselor thing.

(unfinished draft. Posted 9-29-09)

Emily's Tree

Emily’s sorority sisters planted a tree in her memory today. They had a ceremony at a park in Shippensburg, and they invited all of us to come. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go- for so many reasons. The sorority was such a private part of Emily’s life, I almost felt a little funny going. And deep, deep down…. I sometimes can’t help but wonder if she loved those sisters more than me, because she found something in them that I couldn’t give her. And I wonder if they know how horrible I was to her. Irrational? Yes, maybe. Paranoid? Probably. But you can’t change your feelings.

I kept going back and forth about whether I was going to go. I actually didn’t decide to go until I woke up this morning. And I am so, so glad that I went. They did an amazing job putting it together. I didn’t realize, but they’ve been trying to get permission from the Shippensburg Township to plant this tree for almost a year.

I feel somewhat ashamed of myself for being rather stereotypical.

Having never gone to college, and not being comfortable with, or having many, girls my own age, I don't get the whole sorority thing. But what I did get loud and clear was that those girls love Emily. And for that, I love them too. And they shocked me to my toes, they had a replica of the sorority pin for both my mother and me. Apparantley it's something that you can give to a mother or a blood sister. I cried my eyes out. Me, who doesn't cry. Argh.

Back at the sorority house, they have a collage of pictures of Emily that Tara made. And a shirt with her letters framed in a shadow box hanging on the wall. By the end of the morning, I felt about three inches tall. So much for stereotypes.

I laughed when Em told me she'd joined a sorority. I never thought she'd have fit in with the kind of girls that you think of when you hear sorority. I was wrong.... and I'm glad she had them in her life. Funny how Em would get soooo mad at me if I referred to anyone other than her as "my sister". Oh she'd get so pissed off. Obviously the rules were different for her, hahahaha. But that's one of the big differences between us I guess. I never minded if she had friends that she thought of as sisters. The way I see it, a girl needs all the sisters she can get. And watching those girls on Saturday, I could see that they do think of each other as sisters. And I'm glad that for all the times I wasn't the sister Em needed, she had them.

*sigh*

They chose a white dogwood tree. One of my favorites. One of the things that I hate most is that she's buried so far away. I hate not being able to go "see" her. The tree is not the same, but in a different way, it’s good to know it’s there.

Celebrate

I can’t believe that it’s the middle of April. Where does time go? The 1st has come and gone. Spring break has come and gone, and now Easter’s over….pretty soon summer too will be here and gone.

I’ve been thinking a lot about time. When I was a kid, it went by so slowly. It seemed like it was taking forever to grow up. Now I’m sitting here at 26, wishing it would slow down just a little.

I spent so many months dreading the 1st; it seems so strange that it’s over. I still don’t know what I was expecting from it. Nothing has changed, there was no magic turning point. The 1st came and went and Emily is still gone.

But yet, one thing that did change was my perspective. I think I wrote that I had been all set for one dandy of a pity-party on the 1st. I felt like I was entitled to it. I wanted people to feel sorry for me, and I wanted to let myself hurt. I think I cried all morning. If I hadn’t been so afraid of my boss, I would have asked to go home. Then that changed when I got an e-mail from my friend Kelly.
Kelly was on the Poland trip with me last year. You know how sometimes you meet someone and you just “click”? That was Kelly, Debi, and I. Those two really made the trip so much fun, and in just 10 short days, I made friendships that are lasting.
Here’s what she wrote:

Hi Lissa!

I am thinking of you and praying for you today especially. I know that you know that God is with you, but so am I, in my thoughts. I have no profound thoughts to make you feel better. I could remind you that Emily is in heaven, next to Jesus, feeling great. But, you know that already. I could tell you that it will get better with time, but I haven't been there, so I really don't know.

What I do know is that I am thinking of you. I know that you are always in my thoughts and prayers. I know that God stands with you every day and carries you through every day. I know that God cares that you are hurting and so do I. I know that you are loved!

Remember Emily today, be sad if you feel it. But, celebrate Emily also. Celebrate what she meant to you and your family. Celebrate what she accomplished in her short time with you. Celebrate the way that she changed the world. Celebrate her new life in Jesus!!!

Love you and miss you, and think of you often.

Kelly

I don’t know why what she wrote struck me the way that it did, but it put the kibosh on my pity-party. I think what I appreciated so much was that she didn’t pretend to understand where I was coming from. So instead of telling me that it will get better, etc… she just simply told me that she knew I was hurting and that she cared. But what resonated most with me was when she wrote, “Celebrate Emily. Celebrate what she meant to you and your family. Celebrate what she accomplished in her short time with you. Celebrate the way that she changed the world. Celebrate her new life in Jesus!!!”

Celebrate. It’s such a strange and unfitting choice of word. Or is it? It’s actually kind of perfect. I haven’t been celebrating much of anything this year. I’ve been too busy feeling sorry for myself, blaming everyone for not understanding the way I want them to, and just generally retreating into myself and trying to shut out the world.

It still hurts. Sometimes so much that I can’t breathe. I still miss her. I miss her presence. I miss the future that we’ll never know. I miss her dramatics. I miss the way that she turned my life upside down and inside out. I’m angry that it took her death to make me realize how many of her good qualities I refused to see. I seethe at the unfairness that there was so much left unsaid between the two of us. I just plain miss her. And I can’t imagine that will ever change.

But I need to hang onto the celebrate thing. I need to remember that letting myself become so immersed in the bitterness and grief is not a tribute to her life. Emily is gone. I can’t change that. No matter how many “what-ifs” I ask, or how many “I should have dones” or “if onlys”….no matter how many times I beat myself up for things I said and didn’t say… she’s still gone.

But what I can change is where I choose to go from here. And I can start by remembering that even though she’s not here, I can celebrate that she was.
I know I will have hard days still. Days when the sorrow hits like a ton of bricks. But she’ll never really be gone. She lives on in so many hearts and minds.
So Kelly, thank you. You’ll never know how much your words touched my heart. Its friends like you that remind me how blessed I really am.

Celebrate Life.
Celebrate Love.
Celebrate.

A sand dollar and a sign

I ended up, of course, going to South Carolina to spend spring break with Lauren and Rachel. I was kind of waffling there a month or so ago. We’d decided to go ahead and go to the beach house. Figured Laurie could hunt for a job there just as well as she could sitting at home. But as it turns out, she didn’t have to. She found out on the day before I went down that she got a job! Such a relief!

As I think I wrote before, I was really looking forward to seeing them, but in a small way dreading the trip. The memories of last year were really weighing heavy on my heart as I made that drive down.

Last year, even though I had some things that were troubling me, I was generally fairly happy. I’d needed to get away to clear my head, to bounce some stuff off of Lauren, but all in all- I was pretty much okay.

This time though, I needed to get away to try and mend the pieces of a shattered heart. In a way, it was kind of fitting after all that I was going to the place where I was last truly happy. When we got to the beach house, my eyes immediately went to the kitchen chair- that was the last place I spoke to Emily. Sitting on that chair while Lauren was, as usual, making something in the kitchen and, as usual, insisting that I didn’t need to do anything but sit and relax. With Laurie, sometimes it’s easier to just do what she tells you to do.  I think Em and I talked about what to get Mom for her birthday. And then she fussed at me because I hadn’t given her any ideas about what I wanted for my birthday. Just general chit-chat. I’m not a big phone person, so I don’t usually hang on for long. I wish now that I’d never hung up. And as I stood there, reliving that conversation from a year ago, oh how I missed her. But it didn’t hurt quite as much as I was afraid it would.

The next morning I got up early to go walk on the beach. I almost woke Laurie up to go with me, but I felt like that morning I just needed to do some walking on my own. And some talking to God. I’d been kind of ignoring Him lately.

I got to the shore line and there was not a soul on the beach. I can’t describe the feeling of seeing the ocean stretching out forever, and feeling like I was the only one there. In that moment, listening to the waves crashing, and feeling the wind tugging at my hair, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. I turned my face to the sky, and said “If only I could know that she’s okay. That’s all I need to know.”

I started walking, and had taken one or two steps when I looked down and saw a sand dollar at my feet. A whole one.

I love sand dollars. They are my favorite shells. I look for whole ones every time I go to the beach. I have a box full of pieces of broken sand dollars, but I’d never found a whole one.

Emily used to laugh at me all the time and tell me if I wanted one that badly, I could just go to the island store and buy one. But those don’t count. They probably aren’t even real- they’re probably made in China.

So when I saw this one in the sand, I picked it up and stared at it. And then I cried. Me, the one who never cries. It was whole, but the top was caked with sand and barnacles. I don’t know if I’ll be able to scrape that stuff off or not. But it doesn’t matter. It was there. It was whole. I’d asked for a sign.

I know some people may say that it’s a coincidence. But I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe with all my heart that He still finds ways to speak to us when we’re hurting, even without a voice.

And as I walked a little further, there was another one lying in the sand. Smaller, but still whole, with sand caked in the exact same spot as the first one.
2 whole ones in the span of ten minutes? I’ve searched for one for years. And the two were so much alike, yet still different. One big, one small- both bearing scars, yet still relatively whole.

Coincidence? No way. Somewhere Emily is happy and whole, washed clean of barnacles and sand. I believe that with all my heart. I asked for a sign, and I got an answer.

I was so excited to tell Lauren. I practically ran back to the house. I knew she’d get the meaning behind the story.

Later that week we walked to the other side of the island. She’d told me that morning that she’d prayed she’d find one or two herself. Guess how many we found that day. 10. All whole. Coincidence? Not a chance.

I found more healing this past week than I thought I would. And A LOT of fun. I felt- dare I say it?- happy. And more importantly, I didn’t feel guilty for being happy. Somehow, being away from the constant reminders of Emily everywhere I turn makes processing it just a little bit easier.

Last year was an ending, even though I didn’t realize it at the time. It’s a reminder of the last of life the way I knew it. But this year was a promise of a new beginning- that things will turn around….and a reminder that He does care about the details.

Sometimes He speaks so we can hear.
Sometimes He speaks through other people.
Sometimes He speaks through something as small as a shell.

April 1st

I’ve been angrier at God than I realized. Maybe angry isn’t the right word. Resentful, maybe. And yes, slightly pissed. Not because He allowed it to happen. Bad things happen all the time- the first five minutes of the nightly news tells you that much. And I’m not conceited enough to think that I should be immune to suffering. I think I’m struggling most with how it happened, the timing, and just the simple fact that I have felt so very alone for the last year.

But in all fairness, I think much of that loneliness is by my own doing. After Emily died, I shut down and kept everyone away. People can only be rebuffed so many times before they give up. I’ve been waiting for someone to come and help, and then growling when they get too close. I’ve been surly, curt, and rude- and sometimes downright mean. And I’ve justified it all because I “deserve” to be unhappy.
But I don’t want to be unhappy, not really. I’m tired of carrying around this hollow feeling in my chest. I’ve been blaming God for being distant, when in reality I’m the one who walked away.

I was a mess this morning. I was really starting to sink into a pity pit. And almost enjoying it. Because for a long time I’ve felt nothing. I want to feel something, even if it hurts.

But then I received three e-mails in a row from three of my friends I made on my trip to Poland last year- one from Terri, then one from Chuck, and finally one from Kelly.

While all three of them touched my heart, Kelly’s e-mail got to me the most- and she probably didn’t realize the impact her words would have, but what she said completely changed my perspective on today.

I have a choice. I can keep my heart closed off from everyone I love, or I can risk being open and embrace the hurt instead of allowing it to consume me. Because right now I’m slowly poisoning myself with bitterness. It clouds the way I look at everything. Embracing it and dealing with it is the only way I’m going to get through it.

I think perhaps it’s not really God I’m angry at. I think I’m just mad at me.

Tomorrow

So tomorrow is "the day". That dreaded one year mark. I feel like I want to crawl in bed and hide for the next two days. And yet I feel like I want to do something crazy as a tribute to Emily. Like go skydiving or parasailing. Pierce my nose or dye my hair blue.

Hiding in bed is not an option. And there is absolutely no way that I am going to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. And it's too cold to go parasailing. My father would have an apoplexy if I pierced my nose (and it's not really me anyway), and with my luck the blue dye wouldn't wash out of my hair.

So I'm just left with me, trying to figure out how I am going to deal with tomorrow. I don't know why it's weighing so heavy on me. It's no different than the last 364 days. I suppose because it's now the last of the "firsts". And now a lifetime without her looms ahead.

I miss her so much that sometimes it hurts to breathe.

Time

a time to dance
the time is now
dance, dance, dance away
quickly before you forget how

a time to sing
time to be heard
sing, sing, sing from your heart
it won't let you forget the words

a time to laugh
with joyous jubilee
laugh, laugh, laugh out loud
at life so funny and bittersweet

a time to cry
let tears flow free
cry, cry, cry from your soul
for all the things that cannot be

a time to heal
mending of a broken soul
heal, heal, heal the heart
though the scars will always show

a time to remember
for memories never die
remember, remember always
sweet moments of you and I

So now what do I do?

So it’s still coming. That dreaded 1 year.

Long before Emily died, I started reading care pages of kids with DIPG, which is an inoperable brain tumor that typically strikes young children. A friend of mine’s nephew died from this cancer, and through his website I started following the journeys of other kids. Many of these children have died since I started reading their web pages, and their families have continued writing in the blogs. One little girl especially stole my heart- Grace. She died in February, only 2 months before Emily. Unlike the other journals, suddenly this one was mirroring many of my own emotions. Grace’s mother’s words often expressed exactly what I was feeling. Even though the circumstances are completely different, the intensity of loss, grief, and sorrow are still the same. When she wrote on the 1 year mark for Grace, she wrote that she looked at her husband and said, “now what do we do?"

Oh, that’s exactly how I feel as the day gets closer. Now what? There is absolutely nothing different about April1st. It’s not like we can say “okay we made it here, now things are suddenly going to be better.” If anything, the 1st of April is the last of the firsts. We made it through the first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, and we’ll get through the first year. But the depressing thought is that I have to do it all over again. And again. And again.. Only the number in front changes.

What I seem to be unable to wrap my mind around is the absolute finality of it all. That it’s not all going to end on April 1st. That it’s just going to stretch into 2 years. Then 5. Then 10. Then 20. And on and on. I catch myself looking at a picture and I think “Oh my God, she’s really gone. I mean GONE.” It’s a strange kind of missing someone. Like Lauren for example. I miss her all the time. She’s my very best friend in the whole world. But it’s not something that I constantly dwell on because 1) I know I will see her again; and 2) I can pick up the phone and talk to her any time that I want. But missing Emily…it’s the kind of missing that you can’t do a thing about. It’s so much harder knowing that she’s gone forever.

The beginning of April isn’t a good time in our family. Rebecca died on April 2nd. And even though it was before I was born, in some ways I’ve always felt the shadow her death left on my parents. And then Emily died on the 1st. Add to the fact that my mother’s birthday is the 2nd and mine is the 6th just adds insult to injury. So to say that we’re dreading the beginning of April is an understatement.

But yet, I find myself laughing at the irony of the situation. Fair warning, I know not everyone appreciates my sense of irony or gallows humor. So you may want to avoid this last paragraph.

I can’t help but laugh… every birthday I’ve ever had since Emily came along, she always found some way to make it about her. There was always some kind of drama, some kind of meltdown. She hated not being the center of attention. And now? Well, she successfully managed to overshadow my day. And even though they say it gets easier with time…. the beginning of April will never be the same.

I’ll show her. From now on, I’m going to have a big party every year for my birthday. She’s not the only one in this family who loves her birthday. And yet… I’d give anything in the world if she was still here to ruin my day.

Choosing to remember

As the dreaded day gets closer, I find myself thinking more and more about Emily. As if I haven’t been thinking about her enough. I don’t know why the 1st is really any different than the last 365 days, but the closer it gets, the more it hurts.
I went away this past weekend with my Aunt Lisa and my Aunt Janet. We went on an all-weekend scrapbooking getaway at a conference center outside of Philly. It was soo good to get away- to laugh and just have a good time. Truthfully, that Friday morning I really did not want to go. Not because I was afraid that I wouldn’t have fun, but because my mood seems to change so quickly, I was afraid I’d get a sudden case of the “blues”. I didn’t want to be a downer and spoil the weekend for anyone else. Dumb, huh? But I’m so glad I got over myself and went.
I didn’t realize though when I grabbed the photos that I wanted to work with, I had picked up the pictures from Easter at the beach last year. As I looked at them, I felt sick to my stomach for a minute. I had an amazing time….but that’s also where I was the last week of Emily’s life. I looked at those pictures, taken exactly a year ago, and couldn’t believe how much things had changed. I looked at the pictures of me smiling, and it struck me how that was the last time I was truly happy. That was probably the last photo taken of me with a genuine smile. And the smiling me in the photo had no idea her world would be turned upside down just a few days from that moment.
It happened so suddenly, and without warning. There was no way I could have known when I left what was coming. But yet, I don’t think I will ever really get over not being here. Or that I let an entire week go by without talking to her. The one thing that I am so thankful for though is that at least it didn’t happen while I was there. I never would have been able to drive back.
Looking at those pictures made me realize just how quickly life can change, even in just a year. But it also makes me realize that there’s no way to go back. Like the images imprinted on that paper, the past can’t be erased. Those pictures are both salve and salt for an open wound. Those pictures captured tons of happy memories, with two of my favorite people in the world. And they’re a bitter reminder of the happiness that was taken from me. So I had a choice. I could take all those pictures from that trip and shove them in a box so the memories don’t hurt. Or I could look at them and choose to remember and hang onto the happiness that was there that week.

I choose to remember.

Voices, questions, struggles….

That little voice deep within resurfaced again today. I’ve been trying like anything to keep it stifled and quiet. But just when I really start to gear up for a whizz-bang of a pity-party….that voice rudely shows up uninvited.

“Lis, if you had the power to bring her back this instant, would you do it?”

My feathers ruffle, and I become indignant. Of course I would! What a ridiculously stupid question! I mean SERIOUSLY. I miss her! My parents miss her. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, sorority sisters….we all miss her terribly.
But that voice is persistent, and I can’t shake the question. Would I? Would I really wish her back to this? To shots and illness and constantly feeling sick? To depression and sadness and anger and pain? To anxiety and lack of self-confidence? Am I selfish enough to wish her back to all of this?

I don’t know.

I’ve been struggling with this all morning.

I believe with every fiber of my being that Emily is in Heaven. I believe that because it’s the only thing that gives me hope. Because it’s the only thing that makes sense to me. I can’t come to grips with the belief that this life is all there is, and then nothing. I have to believe that somewhere she is happy, she is healthy, and she is at peace.

So if I believe that… if that knowledge that Heaven is there waiting is true… if that’s what my entire faith is based on….shouldn’t I be rejoicing that she’s there instead of wanting her back here?

I’m so confused.

It’s hard to swallow, but the little voice that I try so hard to ignore has a point. And deep, deep, deep down I know the answer to the question. I just don’t want to bring myself to admit it.

“The Lord will be your everlasting light, and your days of sorrow will end” ~Isaiah 60:20

You know... throughout this last year I can honestly say I haven't been angry at God. But as that dreaded "1st year" mark gets closer... I'm realizing that I'm a little ticked....

I'm just not sure exactly at who....

Cookie and Beanie Moments

It's that time again. They're out looking for you. They're wiley and cunning and they know how to get you. No one is safe. And they're armed with.... cookies.
Yep. It's Girl Scout cookie time again. And sake's alive, they are everywhere. And because I've given up sweets for Lent (what was I thinking?!) I haven't been able to touch a one of them. My cousin Sarah is a Girl Scout. The little girl at church is a Girl Scout. One of my co-workers brought his little girl through the office to sell cookies. (She really made out like a bandit). They're so cute, you can't say no. I think between them all I've bought about 10 boxes. No more!

This past weekend I stopped by the local grocery store. As I was walking up, I saw a Brownie troop stationed by the door.
"Be strong." "Just say no." "You don't need anymore cookies". "You don't even know these kids, you can say no." "Don't look them in the eye." "Don't let them sense your weakness". "No, no, no, no."
Quickly I tried to squeeze in the door before they could see me.... out of the corner of my eye I saw that they were itty bitty Brownies. Probably around 6 or 7. And they were wearing beanies. Now I don't know if you're familiar with a Girl Scout beanie, but they are little fuzzy hats with a little tassle-type thing sticking up on the top. And they are the most ridiculous looking things in the world- unless you're 6. And then I made my fatal mistake- I looked at them and smiled.

"ooo, m'am would you please like to buy a box of Girl Scout cookies from us?"

Aw crap. I hesitated and they trapped me with the beanies-- that's how they lure you in. I was a Girl Scout, I should have been anticipating. I told you they were wiley creatures.

I looked down and there is this child that is too cute for words. Curly brown hair, freckles, missing front teeth, and huge brown eyes. I think they brought in a ringer especially for this event.

"Honey, I don't have any money with me...." and my feeble attempt at an excuse died in my throat as that little face fell. I swear I saw tears filling her eyes.

Who was I kidding? I was caught the second I saw those beanies.

"But wait.... I'll get some cash when I'm in the store and I'll buy a box on my way out, okay?"

The little face brightened, all traces of tears gone, and she skipped back to her table, that beanie bouncing away on her head.

And in case I had any thoughts of sneaking out, she was right there waiting for me when I came out of the store, beaming, waving, and smiling away.

I bought two boxes. It's a scam. No one can be that cute.

Emily and I were both involved in Scouts for years. My mother was a leader, a cookie mom, and a Service Area Manager (I think that's what it was). Some of the best memories from when we were kids was stuff with scouts. I loved Girl Scout cookie time. My competitive nature came out and my goal every year was to sell enough to earn two weeks free at summer camp. Mom said that in hindsight it would have been worth it to have just paid for camp instead of dealing with the hassle and headache. But I think she secretly enjoyed it.
We really lucked out that the church we attended didn't have a whole lot of kids, and we were the only Girl Scouts. When cookie time came around, it wasn't even an effort to sell them. They found us and our order form was filled. I often grumbled because Mom made us share a form and then split the total of cookies equally between us. I thought since I did most of the asking, I should get more. But looking back, I was much better off doing it her way. Emily was little than me, and alot cuter. People would have bought cookies from her just to see her smile.

I haven't thought about those Scouting years in a long time. When we moved here, older Girl Scouts really wasn't as active as it was in Alabama and we both kind of lost interest. I think Emily finally quit when she was in Junior High. I made it all the way through until I graduated, but it wasn't the same. One of my biggest regrets is that I didn't finish my gold award. (Added to a long list of other failures and regrets). But the best years were those that we were in Alabama. I looked at those little Brownies and had to smile at how much fun they were having. They're still at the age where spending a sunny Saturday afternoon selling cookies and wearing those silly beanies was fun. I reminded me of all our fun adventures in Scouts. Because mom was Emily's troop leader, I got to tag along on alot of their trips, meetings, activities, Thinking Day celebrations, camp outs.... all kinds of things. Emily was at the age where she didn't care that I was around. And I was at the age where the younger girls all thought I was still cool. I still remember how cute Emily and her two friends Aimee and Erin were.
Everything reminds me of Emily. Her memory touches just about everything these days. But for the first time in awhile, the memories that flood my mind aren't as painfully sharp. The sight of those cookies and beanies brings a smile instead of a tear.

I need more cookie and beanie moments.

Stay away, it hurts too much

Sometimes you wonder just how much sadness your heart can really take.

Another one of the Greencastle gang's friends died this Sunday. He was 20. My heart breaks for my friends--- that's the third friend that they've lost in a year.
I just don't understand. I know life is full of sadness and un-fairness.... but sometimes I wish there was a way to make sense of the senseless.

Diana wrote something in her Live Journal that struck me. I won't share her exact words because I don't have permission to do so, but she talked about keeping a distance from people as a defense mechanism- that if you keep them at arm's length, it won't hurt as much if you end up losing them too.

Whoa. That brought me up short and got me to thinking about my reactions and relationships over the last year. Have I been doing that? Keeping a wall between me and anyone who wants to get too close?

*smack*

(That was me running into the wall.)

That answers that.

I wonder if your heart can ever be broken so many times that eventually there's more scar tissue than heart. And each loss, each death, each hurt just builds up enough over time that there's too much to get beyond. The truth of the matter is that I started building that wall long before Emily died. Her death was the cement that firmed it up, but those bricks were being put in place a long time ago. I think that was the biggest problem in those last few months before she died, that I had just had enough of her anger and her bitterness and her depression that I started shutting her out so she couldn't hurt me anymore. What I realize now is that by doing that, I shut all of her out. Her hurtfulness couldn't touch me, but then again- her moments of sweetness and the "real" Emily beneath all that couldn't reach me either. And that's the guilt I've been dealing with, how nasty I was to her.
In talking to my Pastor the other night, I realized too that I've got some foundation blocks on my wall from when my friend Judy was killed about 10 years ago. Judy was the neatest woman. She had the most beautiful voice. When we lived in Alabama, I wanted to join the adult choir. I might have been in 7th grade or so. They started me off in the soprano section so I could sit with my mother, but I've got a much lower range than she does. So I ended up singing Alto with Judy. She was my choir buddy. And then she was my confirmation mentor. She never treated me like the obnoxious kid that I was. She listened alot. And I think alot of my love for music and for singing was partly because of her influence.
After we moved, her husband shot and killed her and then killed himself. I was devastated. It took almost six years before I could bring myself to sing in the choir again. I didn't realize until many years later just how much her death had affected me.
I look back and realize that it was about that time that I started really keeping people at arm's length. Oh, I had friends in high school. But no one that I could really bare my soul to.

In the last couple of years I've really become close with my cousin Lauren. But lately I've even been keeping away from her. I couldn't bear if anything happened to Lauren. So if I stay away, it won't hurt as much.

Diana really hit the nail on the head.

But there's that "on the other hand". Oh, what you miss out on by keeping people out! If I had known a year ago that Emily was going to die in less than a month, what would I have done? Would I have shut her out completely, or would I have spent every moment with her I could, sharing every secret, even though knowing how devastating it would be when she was gone?
I think it would be a hell of alot easier to have dealt with than all this lingering guilt.


I guess now I have a choice. Do I leave it there and continue to hide behind it, or start figuring out how to take it down? Do I want to take it down? It took a long time to put it up, and those bricks are awful heavy.

I think I know my answer. I just don't know if I like it.

Thoughts

I love the Harry Potter books. I think that I’ve read them all at least 100 times. I love books period, but there’s something about those stories. I get lost in the magic of it all. Now, that being said, I’m not one of those crazies that dresses up, or goes to parties, or secretly pretends to be a wizard, or tries to write my own spells. I know there is no magic train that takes you to a magic castle, and I know that there’s no such thing as wizards. But I love the escape that stories about magic provide! The only stories better than the Harry Potter books are the Chronicles of Narnia.

In one of the HP books, they describe a magical basin called a Penseive. You can pull the thoughts and memories out of your head and place them in the Penseive, especially to relieve the mind when it becomes too flooded with information. Anyone can examine the memories, kind of like a virtual diary.

Lately I have been wishing that there was such a thing. I sure could use one. These days I have way too many thoughts running through my mind. It’s getting crowded in there.

I’ve been having a lot of trouble sorting out my thoughts. One day I’m mad at the world, and don’t want to speak to anyone. Then the next day all I want is for someone to listen.

I sent a text message to Lauren one night, in a fit of loneliness, hoping that she’d call because I needed to talk to someone. When she did in fact call about 15 minutes later, I didn’t answer because I didn’t know what to say. I want someone to fix it, but how can I expect them to when what I want/need changes every 15 minutes?

One day I want reminders of Emily everywhere, and then the next I want to wipe away all traces of her. Her room is driving me nuts. I can’t stand that everything in there still looks like she’s coming back to it.

And there are times that I do want to talk, but I just don’t know what to say. And honestly, it isn’t even all “Emily stuff”- there’s a whole lot of “other” stuff that’s been buried deep in there for years. I thought I had it all pretty much under control, but Emily’s death sent everything into a tailspin. I think that’s where the Penseive would come in handy. If I could sort through all of the stuff, maybe I could begin to put the pieces back together. Right now it all just runs together.

I’m very reluctant to ask for help. I’m realizing that I have some serious control issues. I think I want help, but it’s got to be on my terms.

About 10 years or so ago, at one of Emily’s lowest points in her depression struggle, we got into a knock-down, ugly fight. I don’t even remember what started it- something dumb I am sure, but whatever it was made me snap. Emily had the quick temper- she lost it at the drop of a hat, blew up, got mad, and got over it. Me though—I stew about things. I let it fester. It takes a lot to get me to lose it, but when I do, it’s nasty. This particular fight, I’d had it with her. I screamed and threw things and acted like a lunatic. I got so angry, that I don’t even remember what happened. But I freaked my parents out enough that they insisted on taking me to a therapist. With much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I gave in and said I would go- basically just to get them off my back. Talk about a moody, sulk teenager.

This woman was horrible. Completely horrible. It was the same counselor that Emily was talking to at the time, and so she’d already heard all about how awful I was from Emily. She told me that I was making Em’s life harder, and that I needed to understand that I wasn’t the one with the illness, and that I needed to be more understanding of Emily’s “disease.” Yet again, everything was about Emily.

I felt invisible.

I went once or twice, and then refused to go again. She may have had some valid points, but all the angry 15 year old heard was that it was all my fault Emily was still depressed. And that haunted me for years.
Emily actually started seeing someone different shortly after that. Turns out she wasn’t helping Emily much either. But even though I know this particular counselor was nuts, my distrust of “head shrinks” deepened after that.

The intelligent, adult part of me realizes that that one bad experience does not mean all counselors are like that. And that it probably would really help to talk to someone. But the scared, angry, confused 15 year old part of me is still afraid that it really is all my fault.

Fear has a way of controlling you. Which isn’t a good thing when you have control issues.

So I’m thinking on the counselor thing. I’m not there yet, but I’m thinking it’s time I get over myself and stand up to some of this fear.

I may not have Harry Potter’s magic Penseive, but maybe someone else can help me sort through the mess in my head.

11 months

It's almost been a year. 11 months and two days, to be exact. Oh, if only I could go back in time to this moment one year ago and slap myself silly. I would hold onto her and never let her go. And I would sit on her and make her take her insulin. I would drag her outside and make her walk with me and the dog in the freezing cold. So many, many things I would do different, and so many things that I wish I could take back.

But unfortunately, life just doens't work that way. I haven't been angry at God throughout any of this. But I have to admit, I'm a little annoyed at Him. But I'm mad at myself.

I have a hard time forgiving myself for alot of things. Sometimes I am my own worst enemy.

*sigh*

I feel somewhat better admitting that. And I think He understands.

Giving Up the Junk

I'm not usually one to give up something for Lent. I have no willower whatsoever. I've tried many times but I think I've only ever done it twice that I made it all the way through. One time I gave up biting my fingernails. But that's really only because I was tired of my dad fussing at me and he didn't think I could do it. So that really wasn't a sacrifice, that was me being bullheaded and not liking to lose. And another time I gave up wearing my watch. Come to think of it, I did that because one day I forgot mine and was driving my mother nuts asking her what time it was every 5 minutes. It just happened to be around Lent that she dared me to go without it. So I guess that also goes in the non-sacrifice, bullheaded category too.

This year I gave up junk food. And no, not because anyone dared me, but because that's really a sacrifice for me. (And a teensy bit because I need to quit eating because none of my pants fit anymore.) It's almost the end of the first week, and I honestly didn't think it would be this difficult. I knew I ate alot of junk, but I really didn't realize just how much of it I put in my mouth in a day's time. And I'm a stress-eater, which just makes it worse. I didn't realize the many, many candy dishes people have on their desks. 15. I counted. About 6 of them contain my very favorite candy bars- Twix. (And here's an interesting fact that I wish I hadn't learned. Eating one Twix candy bar is equivelant to eating 11 pieces of bacon. Oy.) We also have an office policy that people bring donoughts in on their birthdays. (And I'm not kidding. I work with engineers. Enough said.) I swear there's been a birthday every day this week. And I really, really, REALLY wanted french fries at lunch yesterday.

I guess I really never put myself in Emily's shoes, and never realized just how hard it is to suddenly stop eating all the things you love. At least what I am doing is by choice, and it's only for six weeks. For Emily it became her new reality, and it was never going to change. There's a certain power in having control over what I am eating. I'm denying myself by choice, not because I "have" to. But for Emily who had such a need to be in control to suddenly have that taken away from her... well, I think I understand a little now why she was so damn bullheaded about what she ate. It's not an excuse, but I get it a little more why she was like that. I'm finding that I'm understanding her more and more lately about a whole lot of things. I just wish I'd figured it out sooner. I probably could have made her life a little easier if I was more understanding.

Suddenly giving up the junk for 6 weeks doesn't seem like such a big deal. I don't really need it anyway. And if nothing else, it's made me walk in my sister's shoes for a few steps. I need that once in awhile.

Now if you'll excuse me, I hear the engineers starting another "Happy Birthday" song. (Yes, they sing too. It's really obnoxious) I'm going to grab my grapes, join in the singing, and ignore the doughnuts.

Birthdays

Last year I had major issues with turning 25. (I know, I know- there's a whole slew of people reading this that are hollering at me. Stop yelling, you're hurting my ears) It's no different than complaining about turning 30. Or 40. Or 50.

But seriously, 25 was a big issue for me. I think it was just hitting that milestone. When I was in school, I can't count how many essays I had to write about where I saw myself when I was 25. It seemed like such a long time away back then. Now that I've hit it, I seem to have accomplished very little. And nothing that was in my essays.
When I was 8 I wanted to be an Olympic figure skater. Never mind that I'd never had a skating lesson in my life, that's what I wanted to be.

When I was 10 I wanted to be a concert pianist.

When I was 12 I wanted more than anything to be a horse jockey. I read my horse books over and over and over. But considering that by 12 years old I was already over 5 feet tall and waaaayyy too heavy, that was never going to happen.

When I was 15 I wanted to be a writer. I wrote stories and poems constantly. But I was always too afraid to show them. Kind of an essential part of being a writer is letting people read it.

When I was 17 I wanted to be a photographer and travel the world.

When I was 18 I wanted to be a nurse. Realized I couldn't handle the needles. Thought about seminary- don't like speaking in front of people.

When I was 21 I wished I hadn't been an idiot and had gone to college afterall.

Somewhere in there I had wanted to be married and have a couple kids by now. That possibility isn't even a speck on my horizon.

And then there I was, about to hit that magical number from the essays, and I had accomplished nothing that I'd wanted to. All in all, I was not looking forward to my 25th birthday.
And the funny thing is- I love birthdays. I love celebrating birthdays. I love decorating people's offices, birthday parties, picking out the right cards, the whole nine yards. And deep down- I even like the waiters that sing those obnoxious songs in restaurants. I see birthdays not as celebrating an age or a milestone, but celebrating a person. So I'm not sure what got my panties in a wad about turning 25. Maybe the fact that I hadn't done any of those things that I'd wanted to, and the fact that all around me my friends were getting married and having kids, really just gave me a case of the mopes. And people didn't help by throwing in "You'll be a quarter of a century old!". Yea. That helps things. Kind of like getting a black-themed party when you turn 40. Good grief.

Then Emily went and died the day before my mother's birthday, and 5 days before mine. I'd been thinking that 25 was going to be the worst birthday ever. That's the understatement of the century.

Through all of this, I've never really been angry at God. But I am slightly pissed. It was awful enough that Rebecca died on my mother's birthday. And then mine had to be only a few days after that. It was always kind of an unspoken shadow. And then Emily on the day before? My friend Debbie always says He is all about the details. He must have missed this one.

I kept saying that I'd never complain about another birthday. Emily put things into sharp perspective.

Hesitating and hurting.

Laurie wants me to come down for Spring break again this year. We’ll most likely end up going back to the beach, but things are a little up in the air, depending on her job situation. (She’s going to be laid off as of the end of March, and she’s still searching for a new job.)
On the one hand, I really, really want to go. I haven’t seen her and Rachel since July and I miss them both terribly. And I really need a break. I also love the beach, particularly Sunset Beach. It’s quiet and somewhat secluded. Mostly just houses- no hotels or condos. And this time of year is really nice- granted it’s too cold to get into the water, and too windy to lay out on the sand. But it’s perfect weather for walking along the beach, which is my favorite part of all. There’s something calming about the ocean. There’s something healing and restoring in the wind. I feel closer to God on the beach than I do anywhere else.
So. I love Laurie and Rachel. I love spending time with them. I love the beach. I need to get away. So why the hesitation?
Because I went on this exact same trip almost a year ago. And when I came back, my world fell to pieces.
That trip last year was the last time I was truly happy and whole. That week was the last time that my thoughts weren’t consumed by grief and sorrow. That week I still had a little sister. The last time I heard Emily’s voice was on the phone from the beach house.
I feel like I’ve come full circle. The year of firsts is quickly coming to and end. I can’t even begin to process how just a year ago we were planning this very same trip. And here we are again, only this time I’m not sure if the waves and wind is even remotely enough to start to heal and restore this hurting heart. I’m afraid to go and discover that God is just as distant on the beach as He’s seemed to be these last few months. I’m afraid that going and facing those ghosts of last year will be too hard and that it’ll never be the same again.
I think about my silly woes that I had last year. Frustration at work, frustration at home, frustration at church, and a lot of unresolved anger at my sister. How I’d give practically everything and anything to have those woes instead of this heartbreak.
But… in my heart of hearts, I know I’ll go. I think I need to go. And I can’t let my nightmares and hurts haunt me forever. I can’t hide from every memory that could possibly hurt. I think sometimes it has to hurt a little before it can fully heal.