Three Years....and then some

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

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


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


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


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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

One More Day ~ Mary's Blog

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

One More Day

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry ~ Frozen Tundra

Frozen tundra

I’ve reached the edge

where the horizon bends

touches, then blends,

merging light with

frozen earth

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry ~ Escape

Escape

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

But Grace

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

Hello blog, it's me...

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

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

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

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

And that's not always easy.

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

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

A thousand reflections

Ships on a shallow sea

littering the ground

…losing sight of me

Reflections

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonder Why ~ 15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

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






Wonder Why

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

Courage ~ 15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

Courage
arms reaching

fingers grasping

painstakingly

breaking through

the barriers

beyond shifting sands

freedom awaits.

hearts and trees and memories

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

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

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

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

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

15 Words or Less Photo Poetry ~ Convienence

Convienence

turn a handle,

push a button

never think twice,

the water flows...

taken for granted

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


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


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


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

Inner Angst ~ 15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

Inner Angst

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

stay anyway.

Catching up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two years, and two days

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

Damn, I miss her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beauty from the Ashes

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

Beauty isn't always pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or does it?

Can there be beauty in heartache?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that is what makes me beautiful.

Complexity ~ 15 Words or Less Photo Poetry

Under the Microscope:

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

take the time
to look.

Ernie

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

FYI? That's complete crap.

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

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

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

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

Broken Pieces

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emily- I miss you.

Slow Fade ~ 15 Words or Less Poetic Challenge

Slow Fade

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

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


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

15 words or less Poetic Challenge

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

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

Suspended

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

Childhood is the Kingdom where Nobody dies

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


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

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

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

I want to go back to my childhood.

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

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

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

I miss my kingdom.

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

Light and Shadows

Present and Past

What is and What should be

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

But I still miss it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waiting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile, I'll still be sitting here.

Waiting.

Happy Birthday Heather

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

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

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

Happy Birthday Heather- I miss you.

Munchkin

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

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

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

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

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

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

*sigh*

Winter ~ Wordless Wednesday

The winter blues....

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

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

I am officially down in the dumps.

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps things will look better tomorrow.

Balancing Act

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Christmas here and gone...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Merry Christmas.

Not alone

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

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

Merry Christmas everyone.

Winter Wonderland

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

I. Am. Freezing!!

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

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

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

It's not the same without you ~ Wordless Wednesday

Heading home for Christmas

Rachel and I are leaving for Pennsylvania in the morning.

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

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

Going home is different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wintersong

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

An Alexander Kind of Day

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

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

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

None of my clothes fit anymore.

I can't afford to buy clothes that do.

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

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

Dropped a box on my toe.

I have terrible cramps. (Sorry guys..)

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

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

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

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

I'm whining.

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

Here's to tomorrow being a better day.

What happened to the joy?

I love Christmas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas trees and memories

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

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

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

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

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

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