Follow Up

Thankfully, the relatives I was worried about didn't all pass away on the same weekend, like I had feared. Thankfully, thankfully, thankfully.

My Grandmother did die today, though. Rough. It's really, really rough. I can feel the grief tight in my shoulders. I'm just waiting for myself to cry in more than micro-bursts, doing the mind-numbing things: aimless facebook browsing, listening to music a little too loud, writing... Hoping it will come on slow.

It feels like a lot has happened this year. A lot of amazingly joyful, wonderful things, and a darn good share of the sad, too.

Life--it keeps on moving.

This time I'm moving with it, instead of getting left behind.

I used to think death made me special.

     Experiencing it at a young age, that is. Both my Dad and my Grandfather, who we'd always lived with, passed away three days shy of six months from each other. A close family friend committed suicide just a few months after my Dad died. He was also my best friend's uncle. I remember trying to comfort her at the funeral as tears ran down her face, as though the loss of my father was something that gave me extra understanding. I understood the tears, but not the healing process that was to follow. I did my best, and was glad that I could be a comfort to her. The sharp memory of losing my Dad was eased as we rode from the funeral home to the cemetery, quite together in the backseat.

     For a long time, it made me feel separate from others that I'd see so much of death in such a compacted, young time of my life. It set me apart because no one else experienced what I did, the way I did. Time went on, and I met more and more people who had suffered their own losses, until I became an adult, watching other people's losses pile around me like misty skylines. Present, striking, but removed. I think I'd come to believe that since I'd had that many helpings of inundating death so early, I'd be free from any further meetings until I was, oh, surely, in my forties, at least.

     But people age, they get sick; they have to pass on at some point. In the last two years, I've lost my friend, who taught me soul-encompassing love for Christ. I've lost my Grandfather, the gruff teddy bear with a giant laugh. I've lost my Aunt Connie, an elect lady of compassion. We've lost our Step-grandma, full of smiles whenever we saw her. My paternal Grandmother has been to the hospital on and off for a few months, and now a few times in a week. My maternal Grandmother has been struggling for more than a year, with increased difficulty in the last week.

     

     Tonight? I received a text from my mother that my maternal Grandmother has had a heart attack, and it's time to say our final goodbyes. Hours later, news came that my husband's paternal Grandfather, who had Alzheimer's, has succumbed to the weakness of the flesh and breathed his last.

     Death doesn't make me special, it makes me human. It makes me feel and fear. It makes me recognize that people, especially loved ones, are not to be taken for granted. It makes me yearn to live fully before, in the distant future, I, too, follow these souls into the presence of God

     I'll admit it, I am afraid of the possibility of losing loved ones in quick succession once again. One at a time is hard enough. I'm surprised at the way my eyes wet, then dry, and wet again as I contemplate their movement onward, beyond the mortality that I know. I am afraid of being overwhelmed by grief, and also by maybe numbing myself to any of it, all at the same time. I feel what we all feel as we are faced with death--I feel everything. And feeling everything when faced with death is as unspecial as it gets.

Just Today

Sometimes I feel like a walking shadow.

Dun dun dun DUN!

First post since being married. It's about time, right? Right.

I don't have anything particular on my mind, I just have been thinking about how long it's been since I've written and have found myself with some free time tonight. So, blog post it is! :)

Something I've noticed since being married is that I'm more of a worrier than I knew myself to be, particularly about money. Wierd, since my husband makes more than me, and adding our incomes together should have alliveated my concerns. But there's this thing called the future that I'm thinking about a lot more now. Before, buying a home, having children, and retiring were far-off eventualities for after I was married. But I'm married now, so all those events are closer in a very tangible way to me. Thank goodness my husband (ok, I love saying that, :)) is able to talk sense into me when I get a bit overwhelmed and panicky. I'm so glad I chose him! And he me, for that matter, lol.

There. I have posted again. More to follow! Have a good one.

XOXOX,


Kira

Monday Morning Funeral

I attended my Aunt's funeral on Monday.

Flashes and images of that day are mixed with other funerals I've attended, and people whose funerals I wasn't able to attend. Layers of past experiences and emotion toward death crept up on me throughout the day, mixing together to the bittersweet blend of saying goodbye and moving forward. In exactly 7 days, I walk fully into a new chapter by becoming the bride of the man I love. It is all within myself: Goodbye, grief, sadness, tears--beginning, dreaming, joy, tears.

Before the service began, there was a private family prayer. Immediately following that prayer, my mother and remaining aunts stood at the same moment and walked up to the casket for a final goodbye. I counted them as they stood up, looking for comfort in the number--1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7...8? Without warning: 8 is in the casket. That's when I started to sob. The number of aunts has changed.

It's changed.

We walked into the chapel and the opening song began. Tears kept coming. A prayer, an outline of the program by her ecclesiastical leader, and then my cousins, each in their turn, began speaking.

They talked of stories I had never heard of; told tales I never knew. Soon there was laughter. Fondness more than sadness colored the room. Gratitude to have known her filled me. I felt solace overtake me, and knew that I, that all of us, will find the quietness of acceptance to heal up our tired, aching hearts.

Peace slowly bled into me. My hiccups quieted. My vision cleared. I sat up. I sat back. My muscles relaxed.

As we sang the closing hymn for the service, under the crowd came the deep rumble of my older brother's bass from four pews back, sitting next to his wife and children. In an instant, I was sitting next to him 15 years ago, just after his voice had dropped. There was an echo of the closing hymn from my Dad's funeral, which he'd sung with equal fervor.

The faces ticked by in my memory. Dad. Grandpa. Sister Palmer. Brother Burke. Beav. Sheila. Rosa. Grandpa.

Connie.

Each one has stayed with me, and as I look back, each one has strengthened me, too.

I am grateful for the miracle and fragility of mortal life. I am thankful that I have been blessed to have learned from those who went on before. I pray I will become the best of who they are.

Starlight

Loving the person who loves all the parts of me is like drinking starlight; clear and clean.

I Noticed

It's kind of magical, the sun setting as I drive, the perfect song playing.

Thank you.

Dedicated to Jayson

Jay and I will be married this spring. Although I was at first slow on the uptake (hahah!), we've had a lot of experiences where I've seen that he is right for me, and I am right for him. There are enough that I could probably dedicate a whole blog to just that subject, but one event took me completely by surprise, and I've since returned to thinking about it.

It started out simple enough: I was watching a chick flick with my roommates shortly before he proposed. I don't remember what movie it was anymore, but I had seen it more than once, a few years before. I remembered the story well and knew what was going to happen--the male lead would be heartbreakingly close to death but make a miraculous recovery, and, in the end, be able to continue life with his sweetheart. The acting was quite good, so the love story was very believable.

I was sitting there, watching it, and we got to the part where the male lead was injured. For some reason, instead of remaining detached and trusting in the happy ending I knew was coming, my mind flashed inward and imagined that Jay was the one injured and close to death--how would that feel? Could I handle not knowing what might happen to him? Would I be able to carry on without him if he didn't make it?

It was a bit of a morbid thought, and just as I was about to dismiss it, it happened: I felt my heart twinge. Intensely. There was an actual physical sensation in my chest of snapping and breaking, just at the idea of Jay going through the level of pain portrayed in the movie. And the thought of him not making it through was... Words have not been invented. I saw my mother make it through my father's death, I know I would make it somehow, but the emotion I felt--there is simply no description that would touch upon it. I'm not going to try.

Suddenly, the movie was no longer a nice story to watch for a good feeling at the end. I was right there with that fictional couple, struggling, yearning; praying for a miracle. It was real, and in the end, when everything turned out alright, my sense of relief was overwhelming. My chest untightened and I started breathing normally again. I'd been holding my breath without knowing it.

I sat there as the credits rolled, and realized something I hadn't suspected: I am different now, as is everything I will ever experience, because of Jay. Different in a good, good way. My heart has opened, not only to him, but to others who love and struggle through the challenges of life. To others, period. He has, by loving me, shown me more than I knew existed in this world. I felt a true and deep connection to the people in the movie, and felt intense compassion for their  "losses." I saw that I will feel the same sincere compassion for real people in my life forever forward, because I finally, finally understand. I understand the mystery I'd always thought I'd known. I understand love.

I've loved before, but never like this. Irrevocably, I understand what it is to love another human being. I understand what it is to need him, not for survival, but for joy. He is life, the colors in my sky, breath and sleep and sight. He opens me to drinking in life with my arms wide open, head flung back in soul-drenched joy. They are open because they are no longer mine alone, and neither is this heart which helps me hold them to the sky.

They are his.
 And I'm infinitely more than I was on my own.

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"In the morning it comes, heaven sent a hurricane

Not a trace of the sun, but I don't even run from rain

Beating out of my chest, my heart is holding on to you

From the moment I knew

From the moment I knew

You're the air in my breath, filling up my love-soaked lungs

Such a beautiful mess, intertwined and overrun

Nothing better than this, oh, and then the storm can come

You feel just like the sun

Just like the sun

And if you say

We'll be alright

I'm gonna trust you, babe

I'm gonna look in your eyes

And if you say we're gonna be alright

I'll follow you

Into

The Light."

-"The Light," Sara Bareilles