Voices, questions, struggles….

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

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

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

I don’t know.

I’ve been struggling with this all morning.

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

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

I’m so confused.

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

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

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

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

Cookie and Beanie Moments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need more cookie and beanie moments.

Stay away, it hurts too much

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

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

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

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

*smack*

(That was me running into the wall.)

That answers that.

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

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

Diana really hit the nail on the head.

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


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

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

Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I felt invisible.

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

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

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

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

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

11 months

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

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

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

*sigh*

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

Giving Up the Junk

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

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

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

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

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

Birthdays

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hesitating and hurting.

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

Coming and going....

At last night's stewardship/finance meeting, talking about the church website I've taken over:

Margie: "Melissa, how much are your costs for maintaining the website?"

Me: "Oh believe me, you definitely can't afford me!"

*laughter*

A little later on, talking about something they wanted me to bring up at the next church council meeting:

Me: "Oh! No! I don't want to ask that. Last time y'all made me ask something, they all got mad and yelled at me."

Charlie: "Melissa, are you afraid? What happened to that confident, self-assured woman we heard not more than ten minutes ago?"

Me: "Oh that. She comes and goes."

They all cracked up and laughed..... but there's a rather sobering truth in that little revelation.

And lately I think she's been going more than coming....

The beauty of children.....

I was working at Food Lion this past Saturday night. And one of the women I work with at Frick came through my line with her daughter, who's around 12 or 13 I believe. We chatted for a bit, and then they left. Earlier today, Tracy stopped by my desk and told me after they left the store Lindsey was asking who I was and how she knew me. After Emily died, Tracy sent me a gift card from one of the local garden centers. She wrote instead of sending flowers, she thought maybe I would like to get a tree or something. The card was from her whole family, and I guess Tracy must have told Lindsey that I was the one they had sent the gift card to.
Then Tracy handed me a little envelope and said that Lindsey had asked her if she thought it would be okay to make me a card:

The front:
"Answer me when I call to you, O my righteous God. Give me relief from my distress; be merciful to me and hear my prayer."
~Psalm 4:1

Inside:
"Dear Ms. Melissa,
I heard about your sister and I realize that it was a long time ago but I wanted to say I'm sorry. I hope you are doing well, and if you ever need to talk to someone you can talk to me or God. I do really hope you are feeling better."

How precious is that? That's what I love about kids. They are so sincere, and so sweet. IT's funny-- we try and "dumb down" death when we talk to kids. We paint pretty pictures of people "going to sleep" or becoming angels and we write books for kids with pretty pictures and pearly gates. But I think that kids get it better than we do. It's not that they can't cope or understand, it's that we don't know how to explain what we ourselves still can't comprehend.

I told Tracy she better give that child a big hug from me. And tell her to never lose that sweetness.

On a lighter note- I've realized that I have become old. This is the second time this week that I've been called "Miss Melissa". I could be someone's kindergarten teacher or something. I think I've turned into an adult...

Valentines Day

I wore a pink sweatshirt this morning.


I'm sure you're wondering what is so earth shattering about that.
Well, I hate Valentine's Day. Seriously- worst holiday ever. And it's not because I'm single, or bitter, or anything like that. Even when I've had a date on Valentine's Day, I've hated it. Emily did too. We both would wear black in protest. Emily tried to paint her fingernails black one year, but mom drew the line at that.

Everywhere you go is a sea of red and pink, and stupid singing animals. Singing stuffed animals at Valentine's ranks right up there with Elvis's "Blue Christmas".
To me, a hideous stuffed ape singing "Wild Thing" just doesn't say "I love you."

I had to go to Wal-Mart last night to pick up a gift for my secret sister. I forced myself to walk down The Aisle. Talk about sensory overload. I don't even think red and pink really even go together. As I was trying to find the least obnoxious card, suddenly I heard a stuffed animal go off. Then another. And another. And another one after that. I peeked around the corner and there were three teenaged girls setting off all the toys at once. Then dancing and laughing. And I suddenly missed Emily so very much. She was a button pusher. Any toy that talked, walked, sang, danced, farted, or had any kind of button- Emily pushed it. I wouldn't go to a Toy's R Us with her unless it was absolutely avoidable. And as I watched those girls, laughing and having a grand old time-- I could see Emily and her friends doing something like that.

On a holiday that's devoted to celebrating love, I'm trying so hard to remember that Love isn't supposed to die....

Picture

I look at her picture
And it still seems so unreal
A wave of pain washes over
Taking over every thing I feel

I stare at her smile
The blue green of her eyes
Try to tell myself that
Love never dies

The face of my sister
As familiar as my own
I can’t stand that she’s gone
And left me here alone

I flip through the pictures
Those moments caught in time
Sisters---
Our hearts forever entwined.

A quote that actually means something…

“Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.” ~C.S. Lewis

Of all the quotes, sayings, verses, and other platitudes I’ve read or come across in the last 10 months, this one resonates with me the most. Because it sums up grief in one brief sentence, without trying to paint a rosy picture on it. I’ve long said that people who haven’t experienced a loss shouldn’t be allowed to tell you how to think or feel. Because even though they mean well, and their hearts are in the right place, they simply do not get it.

But this quote from C.S.Lewis, written about his wife who died, hits the nail square on the head. Emily’s absence touches everything in my day to day routine. From physical reminders to memories, to even a painful awareness of something she won’t be here for. It is like the sky- it spreads over absolutely everything.

Everytime my phone rings at work signaling an outside call, there’s still that brief moment where I expect to hear her sing-songy voice on the other end “hiiiiii it’s meeeee!!” My phone hardly ever rings- she was the one who called me the most. Oh, I used to get so irritated at her. She never really wanted anything, she was bored. And it never entered her mind that just because she was bored didn’t mean the rest of the world was anxiously sitting around waiting to talk to her. I would snap and get irritated. But no matter how curt or irritated I got at her, she always called back. My heart breaks all over again when I don’t hear her voice on the other end.

I see gray Ford Focuses everywhere. I avoid driving through town unless it’s absolutely necessary, because it hurts way too much to see her car parked in Diana’s driveway. Even though the door to her bedroom is closed, it still mocks me that her stuff is still there as she left it. I wish it was gone- I can’t stand the stuff. I think of her when I smell oranges. And when I see commercials for blood sugar meters. I think of her when I come across a cute stuffed frog and when I see daisies.

I think of her when I plan for the my next trip to Poland. And the trip to Sunset Beach again over Easter. I think of her when I see a preview for a new movie. And when I walk into my office and see all the plants from her funeral that are now growing into a forest. I think of her when I see a pair of sisters- fighting, laughing, carrying on.

I don’t think I ever want to step foot into an Outback restaurant again. That was one of her favorite places. And… it was there that I realized something was wrong with her. We were on one of our dinner/movie dates- maybe about a month before she was diagnosed with diabetes. By the time our dinner arrived, she had already gone through six sodas. By the time we left, she was up to 10 and still thirsty. I knew something then wasn’t right. And for some reason, I just can’t tolerate that place anymore.

People, places, things… so much that reminds me of her. It’s constant, and yet unexpected, and I’m so unprepared for when they show up.

Her absence is everywhere, and yet she’s nowhere here.

The fish and the toilet

Dad's gi-hugant silver dollar fish died on Wednesday night. That guy's been in his tank since the beginning, so it was at least a year old, maybe older.
I can't say I ever thought of fish really having a personality, but this guy was pretty amusing. As far as fish go. And he was big, probably about the size of a closed fist.

When we were younger, we had small tanks, and when one died Em liked to have a little moment of silence as we sent our little fishy friend off to the giant fishbowl in the sky.
Okay, y'all aren't six. We flush them down the toilet, and I don't really want to think about where they go from there.

So remember how big I said this fish was?

Make a fist-- go ahead. Yep, that's a big fish.

Dad flushes him down the toilet.

I heard him flush it twice. Then a few minutes later as I was walking past the bathroom, he told me to flush the toilet again. I should have but two and two together and realized then that he wasn't entirely confident our fishy friend was... er... all the way down.

Later on that evening, I flushed the toilet. And the water didn't go all the way down.

*sigh*

So I got the plunger. Dad came and was looking over my shoulder. I should have just let him do it. I was figuring a couple good plunges would be enough to..... send him the rest of the way down.

Nope.

It came back.

Scared the crap out of me.

I think I may have shrieked and bolted out of the bathroom and ran out into the kitchen.

I could hear my father cackling as he got a plastic bag and fished Mr. Fish out of the toilet.
And cackling all the way out the door as he took Mr. Silver Dollar outside.
And laughing all the way back upstairs.

The moral of my little story? If your fish is as big as your fist...... it's not going to fit down the toilet.

They say

They say time heals all hurts
They say the grief will go away
They say so many things to try
And explain it all away.

They say you will get better
After all you are so strong
They want you to remember
That life will go on

But it doesn’t change the fact
That she is no longer here
And that with every passing moment
That just becomes more clear

Yes life does go on,
I know it so very well
But some days it’s just....
So very hard to tell

Walls, walls, walls

I’ve really put up a lot of walls in the past 11 months. And I’m just now starting to realize how confining they have become.
Two years ago, my mother got Emily and me these really awesome water color/poetry pieces. The woman who creates them calls them bonesighs. (You should check out her website. They are, and she is, awesome.) My mother had sent her a link to my blog, and she left a comment on here one day. We e-mailed back and forth, and I told her a little about Emily. She generously told me to pick out a bonesigh off of her website as a gift. So I did. The one that I chose says “live and dance and laugh, being free with your heart. for there is enough always- even when you forget” (terri). I picked that one because it reminded me of one of Emily’s favorite phrases “live, laugh, love”. It reminded me of her. I loved that first line so much, I didn’t really focus on the last part. But as I looked at it the other day, it struck me differently. “be free with your heart- for there is enough always, even when you forget.”
I have forgotten that recently, and I definitely have been anything but free with my heart. I’ve spent so much time building walls to hide my heart, to protect it from getting hurt again, that I’ve completely boxed myself in.
And now the air is getting stale, and I’m tired of my own company. I think I want to take down some of these walls, but I’m afraid it’s going to be a lot harder bringing them down than it was putting them up.
And there’s that fear that what if there really isn’t enough of your heart to give away….
I suppose that’s where the whole Faith and Trust thing comes into play.

(posted 5-8-09)

Missing her...

I really miss her. It’s strange really, it’s not always the overwhelming, gut-wrenching, heart-aching grief that’s the hardest to deal with. That is actually the easiest—you cry your eyes out, and then the storm passes. It’s the little every day things that come up that get me. Like the Pizza Hut commercial. Or when I see something cute with frogs on it. She loved frogs--- and now I seem to see them everywhere. Or when I’m having a bad day, or a lonely day and I just want to text somebody. Or when my phone at work rings and I pick it up expecting to hear her bright and oh-so-chipper “hi!” on the other end. Usually it’s because she wanted something, but I miss her needing something from me. I feel a little at loose ends some days--- and I realize that I miss being needed. I miss her rambling phone calls when she was bored. I miss her phone calls when she was angry.

Somedays it doesn’t seem real. It’s like I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that she’s gone. And I find myself at times feeling guilty--- that I should be more upset than I am. I guess that’s what they call moving on with life, but it feels like a betrayal.

A random funny memory

I saw a commercial for Pizza Hut today, and it reminded me of the summer that Emily and I went to visit my Uncle Tom and Aunt Jane. It was yeaaaarrrssss ago--- I think it was the summer before I went into 5th grade, and Emily would have been going into 1st grade. I don’t know exactly why we spent a week there---- I think mother just wanted us out of her hair for a week. Uncle Tom and Aunt Jane lived in Birmingham, and in my 11 year old eyes, they were millionaires. Their house was enormous. I think Emily kept calling it a castle, which Uncle Tom got a huge kick out of. It was a fun week--- even aside from the infamous matching plaid outfits Aunt Jane bought us. (That’s a story for another blog though.)
One night while we were there we went to Pizza Hut and a huge storm came up out of nowhere. Emily had to go to the bathroom, and insisted on going by herself because she was a “big girl”. Not ten seconds after she went in there, there was a huge BOOM of thunder and the lights went out. If you've never been in a Pizza Hut when the lights went out, let me tell you... it is DARK. And all you could hear was a piercing, blood curdling shriek coming from the bathroom. I never knew such a horrible sound could come from a six year old. I think the lights were out for all of ten seconds, and we got Emily and tried to calm her down. Of course by now she had an audience and was in her element, crying her eyes out and wailing about how she was so scared. Being 11, and being used to her dramatics, I was embarrassed at the scene she was causing and told her to quit acting like a baby. I got scolded for being “mean” to the "sweet little baby girl" and Emily got another hug and some kind of dessert pizza. Which she didn’t like because it had apples on it, so we stopped for ice cream instead.

I miss the little brat.

Good Riddance, 2008

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

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

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

Tinsel and lights, and Silent Nights

"How was your Christmas?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Piece

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

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

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

Just put some tinsel on it

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe next year will be better.

Thanksgiving

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

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

I just need to remember that...

(unfinished draft, posted 5-8-09)

Christmas Trees and Elvis Songs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Falling apart

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

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

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

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

poland 2009

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

(unfinished draft, posted 5-8-09)

Trick or Treat

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

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

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

He even cares about the cookies....

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


Thanks Aunt Pat- I love you too. :)

Hope

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom-Mom

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

Sometimes you wonder how much hurt a heart can stand.

(unfinished draft- posted 5-8-09)

Bittersweet pieces

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

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

Dated June 21,1996

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

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

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

Angels?

I’m not sure if I believe in angels.

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

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

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

Maybe there are such things as angels.

Missing Emily....

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

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

And I don't make sense.

And I miss her.

Back to reality? Really? This is it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Piece....

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

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

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

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

Link to travel blog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where'd they go?

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

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

The ghost at the altar...

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

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

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

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

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

Brown thumbs and whispered prayers...

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

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

*snaps out of daydream*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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