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.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
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
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
Friday, March 27, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, March 13, 2009
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
“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
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, March 6, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, March 2, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
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.
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.
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