Angels?

I’m not sure if I believe in angels.

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

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

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

Maybe there are such things as angels.

Missing Emily....

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

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

And I don't make sense.

And I miss her.

Back to reality? Really? This is it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Piece....

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

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

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

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

Link to travel blog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where'd they go?

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

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

The ghost at the altar...

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

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

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

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

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

Brown thumbs and whispered prayers...

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

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

*snaps out of daydream*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Return to Sender.....

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

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

“Good afternoon, this is Melissa.”

“Melissa?”

“Yes?”

“Melissa Norman?”

“Yes?”

“Melissa, that’s really you?”

Slight pause… “yes, that’s me.”

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

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

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

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

Half an hour later, the phone rings again.

“Good afternoon, this is Melissa.”

“Melissa?” (different voice, same question)

“Yes?”

“Melissa Norman?”

Ok, major déjà vu.

“Yesss…..”

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

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

WHAT?!?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here's your sign....

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

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

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

People amuse me.

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

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

hahahahahahaha


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

measuring up

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

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

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

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

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

Temper, temper

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

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

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

Nicknames and heartache

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

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

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


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

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

I hate this. It’s just not fair.

Scary movies and getting even...

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

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

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

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

Oh… the memories.

The depths of despair....

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

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


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

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

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

A Lifeline....

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

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

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

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

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

Another letter.....

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

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

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

Passed over.... again.

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

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

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

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

Funny story

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

an interesting conversation

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

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

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

Pieces

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

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

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

Tissue Alert

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

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

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

(Front)

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

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

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

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

(Inside)

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

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


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

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

Like Diana said... Love Never Dies.

July 11, 2008

This bites.

'nuff said

Got to get out of here

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

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

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

No more movies....

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

And I have no one to go with.

Damn Emily- she messed up everything.

Missing South Carolina

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

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

What I've been thinking about....

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fears

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

Arrgh.

It's just too soon

I wish this week was over. I wish it was next week, because by then this party thing would be over. I am dreading Saturday. I don’t want to be there- I don’t want to deal with all those people. I don’t want to try and smile and pretend that I think this was a great idea. I hate it. It’s morbid. It’s weird. It’s going to be awkward. It’s too damn soon.

But what am I supposed to do? Have thrown a fit and said no? It’s obviously something that mom and dad feel that they need to do. So how selfish would I have been to have told the truth? I thought about making up an excuse to not be there--- but that would have made things worse. I hate family dynamics. But I just am dreading this stupid party. If Emily was here, we still would be having a party- and it just doesn’t seem right somehow. There would be alcohol, and Mom and Dad would constantly be on Emily’s case about her not being allowed to drink too much because of her diabetes. And Emily would be sulking because they were hovering, and sulking because it was her day and she’d be wanting to do what she wanted. I would probably be avoiding all three of them.

Now there’s going to be all that alcohol, no Emily, and me avoiding everyone.

How on earth am I going to make it through that awful day?????????

*Sigh*

I'm back from South Carolina. I got home late last night.... I miss it already. It's like I stepped out of the car, and all the worries and sadness and stress just fell right back on my shoulders. I missed my parents, but I sure didn't miss it here.

*sigh*

I miss that feeling of being happy. Will I ever be again?

birthday cards and root canals

okay, so I bought Emily a birthday card. Two actually... one funny "Happy 21st Birthday" card and a sappy sister card. Is that weird??

I don't know what I'm going to do with it. Write in it and save it? Mail it like you used to send letters to Santa?

*sigh*

I am dreading Saturday. I'd rather have a root canal. With no anesthesia. On both sides. With rusty instruments. By a dentist from an unreputable college and a questionable degree.

Breathing again

Yesterday was the first time I didn't wake up dreading facing the day. In fact, I didn't even realize yesterday was the first of the month until later in the day. I'm not sure if it bothers me more that I forgot... or that I'm relieved that I forgot.

I understand now why people move away after they've lost someone. I used to think maybe it was because they were trying to runaway and forget. (I used to think a lot of stupid things before this.) But that's not the case at all. I haven't forgotten Emily while I've been here in South Carolina. I still think about her everyday, and miss her everyday. I've already cried on poor Lauren's shoulder at least twice, and broke down on Teri when we went over to Uncle John's. But it's like... the intensity of the pain is somewhat muted here. Like someone just turned down the volume on the pain meter. There aren't reminders of her everywhere I look. There aren't reminders of her everywhere I go. When I meet and talk to people down here, Emily isn't the unspoken shadow hovering over my shoulder. I have not once gotten the pity look, and when someone asks "how are ya?", it's a whole 'nother meaning. I do miss my parents... but I do not want to go home. Maybe eventually it gets easier there too, I don't know. But what I do know is that right now, in this moment, I feel like I can breathe again.

Trading sorrow for shadows

I don’t remember a time without Emily. I know I was only 4 ½ when she was born, but I literally cannot remember what it was like without her. I have no distinct memory of when she was born… I don’t remember being resentful, mad, happy, or excited. In my mind she was just always there. Every childhood memory is intertwined with her. And honestly, even during those rough years when I was so angry with her, I don’t even remember ever wishing I was an only child. As mad as she used to make me, I never wished she wasn’t a part of my life. Yes, I wished sometimes that the situation was different, and I wished sometimes that things would somehow get easier. But I have never not wanted a sister. It’s all I’ve ever known.

And I feel so lost… I feel like I’ve lost a part of my identity. I try and write down every memory I have, but even now I know there are so many I’m forgetting. I want to capture them before I forget, because they’re all I have.

About a year ago I started following a story online. Elena Desserich was a six year old little girl that was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor in November of 2006, called a Diffused Intrinsic Pontine Glioma. (DIPG). It’s attacks the brainstem, and makes it impossible to operate on. There’s no cure, life expectancy after being diagnosed with this is between 1-2 years, and the survival rate is less than 10%. Her parents started a website after she was diagnosed. I read it every day. Some were funny, some left me in tears. My heart broke for this family I had never met. This little girl who for some reason really touched my heart. I wanted her to be the exception, I wanted her to beat that disease. But in the back of my mind, I was waiting for the inevitable post. And on August 11, 2007, 9 months after she was diagnosed, I read it. Elena had passed away. I cried and cried that day, but I didn’t fully comprehend the depths of their sorrow. They continued to write after she died, and as I read their writings in the days and weeks after, and I thought I understood. I didn’t. Now I do. It’s not the same kind of sorrow, or the same kind of loss. But it’s still sorrow.
Elena has a 5 year old sister named Gracie. A couple weeks ago, they wrote something about how she was having trouble remembering her sister. And I wonder which is worse. To lose a sister at such a young age and grow up missing what could have been…. or losing a sister and the lifetime of memories along with her? I don’t know the answer to that. Sometimes I think about this little girl and wonder if 10 years from now when she’s 15 if she will still feel the crushing loss, or will it have subsided into a memory brought to life only by pictures? Will it still be as painful for me 10 years from now when I’m 35 and have gone on with my life- without Emily?
I find myself thinking that Gracie may have gotten a worse deal than me. How much can you remember before the age of 5? I have 20 years of vivid memories, pictures, and funny stories. I won’t have to remember Emily through someone else’s stories and memories of her. But Gracie will. Maybe her sorrow will be easier to deal with as the years go by, but where I have memories of a sister, I fear Gracie will have shadows. Shadows of what could have been, and constant reminders of what she’s missing out on.

I don’t think I want to trade my sorrow for shadows….

After Emily died, and we decided to have memorial contributions sent to St. Jude’s Children’s research hospital, a few people asked “Why St. Jude’s?” Almost as if to day, “she didn’t have cancer, why didn’t you choose American Diabetes Association or something to do with diabetes?” I often replied because it was a charity that Emily believed in. Her sorority does fundraisers for St. Jude. But the truth is... for me it was because of Elena. And Kate. And JJ. And Madeline. And Maria. And Sophie. And McKenna. All these kids had DIPG. And… they all had brothers or sisters they left behind. Siblings who are far too young to be grappling with a loss of this magnitude. Kids that are far too young to be left with shadows instead of the brothers and sisters that they loved. Those kids and their brothers and sisters are why St. Jude’s. Maybe a donation made in memory of my sister can keep someone else from having to grow up with shadows instead of a sibling- and that’s why St. Jude’s. I think Emily would agree.

These are just some of the kids whose stories I've read. There are so many more. I'd never heard of this disease before. Read their stories. Then I think you'll see why St. Jude's.

Elena

Kate

Maria

Sophie

JJ

Just say no... to sweeping

Something else that’s been added to my list of things I can’t do without being reminded of Emily… sweeping the floors at Food Lion. Sound crazy? Maybe it is. But for some reason, every time I start sweeping, I think of Emily. (And no, it’s not because she loved to sweep or some weird reason like that. I don’t think that girl ever held a broom in her life.) I think it’s just because it’s such a mindless task, my mind starts to wander. I don’t really have to concentrate on what I’m doing, and my thoughts just drift to Emily. And then I can’t stop them from coming.
Kind of like this…
*swish, swish* Emily’s birthday is next month *swish, swish* Maybe I should still get her a birthday card *swish, swish* Maybe I’ll buy myself a present and just pretend I’m shopping for her *swish, swish* Presents? Christmas is not going to be fun this year. *swish, swish* I really hate myself that I stopped our tradition of our “Christmas sleepover” last year *swish, swish* I hope Mom still gets her Mary’s Angel ornament this year. *swish, swish* She won’t be there to watch me decorate the tree, and offer to help even though we both know she doesn’t really want to, and I really don’t want her to either. But she always stayed and talked to me. *swish, swish* There won’t be any finger marks in the Christmas cookie dough mom made ahead and tried to hide in the fridge *swish, swish* Okay, I really won’t miss that, that was kinda gross. *swish, swish* We’re painting my room this week, all my earthly possessions have taken over the living room. She would so be on my case about how much of a packrat I am. *swish, swish* She’d really just be waiting to see what I got rid of so she could keep it. *swish, swish* She probably wouldn’t have liked the color paint I chose. It’s not as bright and cheery as hers. *swish, swish* I wish she could see it though *swish, swish* I’m going to South Carolina next week. It was the last place I was that I was happy. Oblivious. I wish I was there now. *swish, swish* this sucks, this sucks, this sucks *swish, swish* *sniff, sniff*

So I’m going to tell them that I just can’t sweep the floors anymore, because it makes me think too much. Hm... they probably won’t go for that logic, eh?

*sigh*

Why doesn't he understand?

I am so darn tired of not being able to do anything right in my boss's eyes. No matter what I do, no matter how much I try and work on "problem areas", it is just never enough. I hate to sound paranoid, but this guy really has it in for me. When other people are noticing that he picks at me unjustly- it can't simply just be all in my head. For example, a few months ago, I got fussed at for talking too much. Okay, I made a concerted effort to limit my personal conversations. Last Friday? I was questioned why I am being "distant, unfriendly, and not speaking to anyone anymore." Are you kidding me? How do you work with someone like that????

And I think that they have honestly forgotten about Emily. One of my co-workers said I needed to sit down and talk to him and remind him that I am "going through a rough time", and ask him to be patient. One, this isn't a "rough time." A rough time is something that eventually gets better. This is not something that is going to change. Did they really expect me to bounce back after my allotted three days of bereavement? (And don't even get me started on THAT.) I shouldn't have to explain the obvious.

I'm not used to being disliked for no real reason. It's unsettling. And I can't fix it, which just drives me nuts. I wish I could quit right here and right now. And it really irritates me that when I leave here, he wins. But if I stay... I'm going to end up having a nervous breakdown.

But what really, really makes me mad is that he has me doubting my self-worth. And this has been going on since long before Emily. He almost has me believing that I am not capable. I know stuff- I know lots of stuff. And if he'd just give me a chance to prove myself, maybe he'd see that. It's time to get out of this mess. Life is too short.

Pretending

I have spent two months, 15 days and 22 1/2 hours pretending I am fine.

I am anything but.

thoughts unposted

mom and dad are home. I'm glad they're back, I was getting lonely... but at the same time I still want to be alone.

I miss Emily. It was horrible last night. I went to Sunnyway and bought junk- french bread pizzas, chips, cookies, and soda. I watched the Friend's DVDs. She should have been there!!!!
I started crying again I missed her so bad.
It's like it hits me out of nowhere, the sheer finality of it. It's in those moments that I realize... she is never coming back. I know it, and it's the harsh reality I face everyday, but I don't allow myself to really dwell on it other than the surface. But those moments come when my defenses are down, and it hits me like a ton of bricks and suddenly I can't breathe. I miss her.

and I can't even post entries like these, because this blog is read by so many family members that I can't let them see this. Not because I am ashamed of my feelings, but because I just don't think that they will understand. And I think it would hurt them, and that's the last thing I want to do.

I am censoring myself on my own blog.


(Posted 5-8-09)

Sharing a laugh

I never really realized just how much of a hermit I've become. All I ever do anymore is work. I go from my full-time job straight to my part-time job. When I'm not working, I'm doing laundry or trying to catch up on all the things I haven't had time to do. I don't really talk to people much... and I'm so very tired.

I have the whole weekend off. I need it, I need a break. And so I went to see a movie with Maria today. She works in the office at Food Lion. I had a really good time, and laughed more today than I think I have in weeks. Aside from family, obviously... there aren't many people I talk about Emily to. Maria worked with Emily, and she's been one of the few people who hasn't acted uncomfortable when I've talked about her. People at work have been supportive (my jackass boss NOT included), but it so obviously makes them uncomfortable when I talk about her. With the people at Food Lion it's different. They knew Emily... I think a good many of them just know me as Emily's sister. (which I think she got the biggest kick out of when I first started working there.) So they understand, because they knew her. Maybe it's different at Frick because they didn't know her, and therefore they just can't relate. I don't know. Oh don't get me wrong, they listen... but they give me that look. I hate that look. It's a mixture of pity and sympathy and... an underlying "I want to be supportive, but this conversation is making me uncomfortable and I really wish you'd quit talking." And God love Maria, she did not once give me the pity look. I could have hugged her.

Today was a good day simply because it was the first time since Diana left that I could bring up Emily in conversation, share a laugh with someone else who knew her, and actually feel better.

lonely

I'm lonely.

I have never been this lonely in all my life.

Here's how I spent my Friday:

Went to work.

Got yelled at by my boss.

Cried because I really believe I am doing a good job, but for some reason I just can't measure up to his expectations, and I will never, ever, be able to do anything right.

Got really, really mad because my boss made me cry.

Started to call Emily to vent. Realized halfway through.... cried again.

Called my dad and said they were being mean to me again.

Went home.

Went to the store and bought junk food.

Watched her Friend's DVD's.

Called Debbie. As usual, she didn't answer.

Left a message... not holding my breath that she will call me back.

Started to call Lauren... didn't want to bum her out.

Wanted to call Diana... couldn't remember what time it was in California, but figured she was working.

Tried to think of someone else to call.

Sadly realized there was no one else to call.

Trying to decide if I will post this or not.

Thinking maybe it wasn't such a smart idea to send this blog to so many people.

The terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

Emily, I had the worst day ever. Well, maybe the second worst day ever. Well... okay, it was just a crappy day. And I wish you were here to make me feel better. I want to tell you all about my day, and how mean my boss is, and how much I hate it there. It's Friday night... I went to the grocery store and bought chips and french bread pizzas, soda, and cookies. I have a Friend's DVD playing. I have everything but you. Mom and Dad have been out of town for two weeks. I've cooked- stuff I may have even gotten you to try. And if you were here, we'd probably have been fighting for almost all of it. And then we would have made up over chips and greasy pizza. Stayed up all night watching Friends. And it would have made my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day not seem so bad.

But instead, I ate too much, it's no fun watching Friend's alone, and that all makes my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day seem ever so much worse.

*sigh*

I hate this. Hate it. I miss you so much I can't breathe.

Penguins

I'm sitting here crying... over penguins. Yes, penguins. I checked the news online, and came across a story about an oil spill off the coast of Uruguay that has killed dozens and dozens of penguins and sea lions. I should have clicked off the story then, but I kept reading, and then looked at the pictures. Big mistake. Pictures of these beautiful creatures covered in oil washed up on the shore. Pictures of the ones still alive, completely covered in oil, looking at the camera with such a sad look in their eyes. I never knew a penguin could look so mournful. I wanted to get on a plane and fly over there and help save these poor animals. (I don't even know where Uruguay even IS.)

Because you see... even penguins remind me of Emily. I can't escape her, reminders are everywhere. It reminded me of the "Happy Feet" movie we were first in line to see. And the "March of the Penguins", that we never finished watching. And just because she thought they were so cute.

Defenseless creatures shouldn't have to suffer like those penguins are. Little sisters shouldn't die young.

Countdown to the Holiday

It's June 12th. I woke up this morning before I was fully awake and checked my cell phone. I had been dreaming about Emily and it was so real I almost believed I'd see the text message that should have been there: "One month 'til my birthday!"

It wasn't.

And it sucks.

Emily loved her birthday. She'd never really admit it, but I think she loved it even more than Christmas. Because it was all about her. Emily's birthday is July 12th. On July 13th, she started counting down to her next birthday. Throughout the year, she'd say... "8 months and 22 days until my birthday". Then is was.. "6 months and three weeks until my birthday!" Then it was.. "four months, two weeks, and 3 days until my birthday". By the time she passed the one month milestone, she was counting hours. We never said it to her face, but we always called it the National Holiday. And it irritated the snot out of me. She'd call me at work to announce how many more days until the Big Day. She was so funny, about two months away, she'd start asking what I'd gotten her for her birthday. And I always would say nothing. Over and over we played this little game. I always waited until the last minute, partly because that's just who I am, and partly because she was a horrible snoop. The last couple years I'd taken to hiding her presents in my car, because that's the one place she could not get into.

And as irritating as it could be... I miss it! I never thought I would, but I do. I miss being exasperated with her. Especially this one, the big 21. She insisted that I was going to be the one to take her for her first legal drink. Just me. Not one of her friends, not her sorority sisters, not anyone... just boring old me. She changed her mind at least 20 times about what the first drink was going to be. I don't think I ever told her how much that meant to me that of all the people who gladly would have gone with her, she wanted to go with me.

And now she's not here. We're talking about having a party on her birthday. At first I balked... it seemed kind of morbid. But over the last two months, the more I've thought about it, the more appropriate it seems. Emily loved parties. Emily loved alcohol. Emily loved her birthday. And if she knew that we were spending her day moping around crying- she'd have a gigantic hissy fit. There was never to be any crying on her day. So we'll laugh. (And we'll cry.) We'll remember Emily, and probably tell all kinds of embarrassing stories about her. (She always pretended to be mad, but I know she secretly liked hearing them retold.) We'll probably drink more than we should. And we'll make it through what is probably going to be the worst of the many Firsts without her.

So here's to the start of the countdown to the National Holiday.

Here's to you Emily.
I miss you, you little twerp.

Don't mess with me....

I’m trying so very hard not to lose my temper. I came close yesterday, twice. The first time was with my hyper-critical, extremely nosey, paranoid, tattle-tale co-worker. ( I really dislike this woman, in case you can’t tell.) She confronted me at the end of the day and wanted to know why I was being “mean” to her. She seems to have interpreted my sorrow and grieving as a personal affront to her, because I don’t “talk to her anymore.” I couldn't make her go away and leave me alone, but she finally did before I screamed at her. I managed not to, but oh.. I really wanted to tell her off. It might even have been worth getting fired over.

Then when I got home, there was yet another letter from Hagerstown Community College, congratulating Emily on her acceptance to the school and reminding her that registration was starting. We’ve called the school already and told them what happened. And we told them to stop sending stuff to Emily. So when I saw another one I was ticked. Before I could think, I had the phone in my hand and I was calling the admissions office. I managed to very politely explain to the admissions lady why I was calling. And I kept my cool- until she pulled Emily’s name up and said, “She shouldn’t be getting any more mail from us.” Grrrrrrr….. I gritted my teeth and said, “Well, we did. I just got one today.” “Oh, but she shouldn’t, we have it in our computer……” I interrupted her and said, “Lady, I don’t CARE what your computer says, I’m telling you I am holding a letter in my hand dated June 6th. We’ve called before, and the letters have got to stop!” By this time I’m not yelling, just trying to keep from crying, and mostly trying to keep myself from screaming every profane word I know at her. She apologized profusely and said she’d take care of it. She’d better. Next time, I’m going down there in person. To this poor admissions lady, she’s just a name on a computer screen. She has no idea of the pain that comes from just seeing Emily’s name in the mail. And then to open a letter congratulating her on her acceptance to a college that she’ll never attend? It’s like a sucker punch right to your very core. And I know she has no clue…but if another letter comes, by George- she’s going to find out.

(I sound a lot tougher than I really am….)

I think I’m about two steps from really losing my temper. I’m not usually a screamer. Actually, I think the times I’ve really completely lost my temper had been at Emily. She could push me to the edge so darn fast…
But I feel like the proverbial bull in a china shop. The china shop being my life, and me wanting to just completely go nuts and destroy everything I can get my hands on.

So fair warning- don’t piss me off. I’m dangerously close to screaming.

(I almost sound convincing, don't I?!?!)

But the thing is, I know that yelling at my idiotic co-worker won’t change anything other than to make an already bad situation worse. (Although Sara sent me a message on facebook and offered KDPhi's assistance as a hitman. Hitwoman? Women? whatever. It made me smile. I may take them up on it. JOKING, of course. Well, kind of....)

And I know making that admissions lady feel horrible isn’t going to make me feel better. Yelling and screaming may feel good for that moment, but when the moment is gone, all you are left with is remorse for losing it, and a very sore throat. And it won’t change that the reason why I want to scream in the first place hasn’t changed…

Emily is still gone, no matter how loudly I scream.

nervous breakdown....

if you think you're having a nervous breakdown, does it mean you really are or just overreacting? Is it something you are aware of as it's happening, or is it something you don't realize until after the fact? Because I think I'm having one.......I am actually daydreaming about what it would be like to completely lose it and have to be "put away" for a few days. Wondering if I could possibly be fired for going nuts. Not caring if I was.... thinking of blowing off working at Food Lion tonight and going home, putting on my pj's, and crawling into bed for the next week.
wanting all the stress of work and problems at church to just go away.
wondering if it's Emily I'm so upset over, my job and nasty bosses, or just a combination of everything.

I think I'm going crazy.

Stupid People

This really doesn’t have much to do with Emily, except that she would so totally understand what I mean about "stupid people".

So in addition to my job as an Admin here at lovely Johnson Controls/York Process Systems/Frick, I work part-time in the evenings at the Food Lion Deli. I think I’ve learned more about people in the 8 months I’ve been there than in the entire 5 years of working in this office. And everything I have learned can be summed up in one little sentence. “Most people are ignorant.”
There’s some kind of phenomenon that happens to a lot of people when they walk through the doors of a grocery store. They get rude. They forget that those people working at the registers and behind the counters are actually people just like them with feelings. Now I know not everyone is like this—I’ve actually met a few rather nice people. But the nasty ones by far outnumber the pleasant ones.

I’d really like to post a sign up at the deli…. but since I’d most likely be fired on the spot, I’ll just put it out here in cyberspace. :)

When you walk up to the deli counter, please do not try and talk to me and continue your conversation on your cell phone. It’s rude. If your call is that important, you shouldn’t be trying to shop and talk anyway. I will not wait on you if you are yakking on a cell phone.

When you walk up to the counter, do not look at me and say “I want some ham”, when you can see perfectly well that there are at least 6 different kinds of ham in the case in front of you.

On that note… saying “I would like…”, or “could I please have…” comes across a lot nicer than demanding “I want…”

I don’t care if you are in a hurry. It is really rude to rattle off your entire order of 20 different things, and then say “I’ll be back in 5 minutes.” Yeah, right.

Just because you are a customer does not mean you are always right.

Do not wait to tell me until after I have sliced three pounds of turkey and I am weighing on the scale that you wanted it chipped. You should have said something earlier. And it's not like you couldn't see the slicer from where you are standing.

“Please” and “thank-you” are still in the dictionary last time I looked.

I do not control the prices. Please don’t yell at me because the ham you always get has gone up 15 cents. Especially when I can see that the purse you are carrying costs more than my car.

When it is 10:00 at night, the lights are off, and you can see the broom in my hands, do not ask if the Deli is closed. Duh.

Don't tell me to smile. If I’m not smiling, it doesn’t mean that I am being rude. It means that I miss my sister and I am doing the best I can.

"Don't Cry"

"Don’t cry."

I cannot tell you how many times I have heard this over the past few months. And for those of you who know me- I’m not one to cry a lot. Well, let me rephrase that. I cry at Kodak commercials and sappy movies. Okay, I cry at Disney movies too. I’ve been known to cry over a book. That commercial they show about the shelter dogs- you know the one where Sarah McLachlan’s song “Angel” is playing? That’s enough to send me out of the room. I cry over those superficial things. But about my deepest feelings and anxieties and hurts?

No, those I keep bottled up.
(In case you haven’t picked up on it, I am a walking contradiction.)

But getting back to my point- I have not cried a lot in front of people since Emily died. So when I am finding myself in a vulnerable moment and crying, it’s devastating to hear someone tell you “Don’t cry.” And I don’t believe people mean it that way- it’s just that being a witness to someone’s intense emotional pain and distress is so overwhelming, they don’t know what to do. And because people feel powerless to help. Because face it, there isn’t a thing anyone can say to make it better. And so the first reaction is to say, “don’t cry.”

We have a Bible Study that meets here at work on Wednesdays. My friend Debbie is the one that leads the group. Currently we are doing a study by Beth Moore, “Jesus, the One and Only.” (Which is a GREAT study. They all are- this is the third one we’ve done and I’ve loved them all. I highly recommend it.) Anyway, the focus verse for the lesson was Luke 7: 13: “When the Lord saw her, His heart went out to her and He said, ‘Don’t cry.’” Now, my friend Debbie has the gift of tears. She cries with you, and she cries for you. She feels things so deeply, that the tears just flow. Usually it’s me passing her the tissue box. Well today, it was me that needed the tissues. I don’t know why that verse set me off, but I think I cried through the whole hour.
The background to this story: Jesus comes across a funeral for the only son of a widow. She never asked Christ to intercede on her behalf, nor did anyone else. It was a chance meeting, but Jesus saw her tears and felt such compassion for her, He said those words that should never be said to someone who is grieving, “Don’t cry.” Now surely He of all people ought to know better. But why is it different, you ask? Well I’m going to tell you. Jesus then touches her son, and brings him back to life. Not because of any kind of requests, or even faith on the mother’s part. But because He felt such compassion and empathy for her. That completely blows my mind. The difference is that He told her not to cry not because it made Him uncomfortable, or helpless- but the exact opposite. He knew what He was going to do. He was essentially telling her, “Don’t cry, because I am here. I am going to fix this for you.” It’s a beautiful piece of scripture.

Now I know that Emily is gone. And I know that even though God is God and can do anything, she isn’t coming back. And so I imagine that what Christ is saying to me, here and now in this time is a little different: “Don’t cry… with hopeless tears. Cry knowing that I am still here, and that you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Anniversaries

With the second month anniversary passing, I’ve been thinking a lot about those. Anniversaries. When I hear that word, the first thing I usually associate it with is a wedding. But we observe all kinds of anniversaries--- our birthdays, marriages, class reunions, years at a job. Stores will send you coupons on your birthday, and have sales celebrating their “big” milestones, such as "in business for 25 years". We have parades every year, and celebrate holidays. We have all kinds of ways of marking significant dates. But death, death is the silent anniversary. Hallmark doesn’t have a “It’s been two months and I’m thinking of you” card. (at least not yet.) For obvious reasons, there’s no party. And definitely not a parade. You don’t get a discount at your favorite store. And since it is so intensely personal, most people who are removed from the situation don’t even remember the significance of the day. You move through the day, not ignoring what it is, but at the same time not really wanting to acknowledge it.
It makes for a very lonely day.

But why? I miss Emily everyday, so why is the 1st so much harder? I found out on a Wednesday, yet I don’t dread each one with the same kind of dread that leads up to the first. And as well as dreading the 1sts of the month- I’m also dreading the other firsts; her birthday next month. The first Thanksgiving without her. The first Christmas. The first New Year. The first Easter. The first year anniversary. Maybe it’s not so much the days themselves I dread, but simply another reminder of her absence.

I keep saying life is too short. But it is. Life is too short to wait for the next anniversary. You don’t need a day to remind you to get a card for your spouse telling them you love them. You don’t need a class reunion to stay in touch with an old friend. It’d be really great if you didn’t have to wait for the 5 year anniversary of your job hire date to get another week’s vacation. Birthdays are great- but life is too short to wait a whole year to send a card telling that person you’re glad they were born.

Everyday you get up, and live, should be like an anniversary. Life is too short to wait for the big ones.

Two months

It's been two months.

I think earlier I compared grief to a rollercoaster....
Well, I’ve run out of barf bags and I'm ready to get off the ride.


I miss you Emily.