- random things my sister taught me -

Led Zeppelin is, without a doubt, the greatest rock and roll band that ever existed.

Live with intention and do things with conviction. It isn’t enough to just “let it be”. It’s much better to be a human DOING than a human BEING.

Don’t waste energy on people who drain you emotionally or mentally because no matter how hard you try, you’ll never get that energy back in return.

Friends are different than acquaintances. True friendships deserve more nurturing. Decide which of your friends you’d take a bullet for and focus the majority of your time on them.  You’ll find that the rest don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.

Everyone should read “The Velveteen Rabbit” and strive to be THAT real.

If you see a pair of shoes you like and the store has them in your size, BUY THEM! The odds are good that if you dilly-dally and go back for them later, they’ll be gone and you’ll live a life of regret.

Blue eyeshadow is never ok. Never ever.

Entertain your inner-child. Do something every day that makes you giddy and laugh out loud. It will keep you from getting old.

Grow old gracefully. Embrace your first gray hair/wrinkle as you would a really kickass scar. You earned them!

Sometimes life isn’t fair…but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be.

When you love someone, love them fiercely. The exchange rate is better.

Be brave. A lot of scary shit will happen in your life that will make you want to run for the hills, but you have to set up base camp at the bottom of the hill and stand your ground. That’s how we grow stonger.

Boys are dumb. The only boy you can trust and depend on is Dad. When you get older, look for someone who’s just like Dad and marry him.

You have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. Every last bit of you, love it!

Tune out all the bullshit you get from other people. Ultimately, your bullshit is the only bullshit that matters in the end. All that other bullshit is just…well, bullshit.

Be a lifelong learner. We can always better ourselves by learning something new, even when we think we know it all.

Happiness is not about getting what you want, it’s about wanting what you have.

- sister -

(Dave wrote this song for his sister, Jane. He said in an interview that when he and Jane were little, they thought that God put his heart in her chest and her heart in his. When she died, Dave felt like his heart went missing. I understand that feeling. Dedicating this to Robyn, on the two month anniversary of her death. You made the sun go dark just by walking away...)

Sister - Dave Matthews

Passing time with you in mind
It’s another quiet night
Feel the ground against my back
Counting stars against the black

Think about another day
Wishing I was far away
Wherever I dreamed I was
You were there with me

(Chorus)
Sister, I hear you laugh
My heart fills full up
Keep me please
Sister, when you cry
I feel your tears
Running down my face
Sister, sister, keep me

I hope you always know it’s true
I would never make it through
You could make the sun go dark
Just by walking away

Playing like we used to play
Like it would never go away
I feel you beating in my chest
I’d be dead without

(Chorus)
Sister, I hear you laugh
My heart fills full up
Keep me please
Sister, when you cry
I feel your tears
Running down my face
Sister, sister, you keep me


I hope you always know it’s true
I would never make it through
You could make the heavens fall
Just by walking away

(Chorus)
Sister, I hear you laugh
My heart fills full up
Keep me please
Sister, when you cry
I feel your tears
Running down my face
Sister, sister, you keep me

- a shout out to bobby -

I think it's cruel that I have lost two siblings at such young ages. They always say, "Lightning doesn't strike the same place twice." I could debate that to high heaven...but I won't waste energy on things I can't change about the past. So let's stick to the present. What I have learned is that grieving for a recently deceased sibling inevitably stirs up repressed grief for others who have passed on. It's almost as if grief, ANY grief, doesn't ever truly go away - it only sits and marinates in the depths of our souls. We never forget or completely heal. A month before Robyn's death, I wrote a short piece about our brother, Bobby, who passed away when I was eleven years old. Before starting this blog, it was the last thing I wrote creatively. It was such a painful story to write but something I felt I needed to do. I don't recall really grieving for my brother as a child. I was young, confused and didn't know exactly what grieving entailed. His death was something that always tormented me throughout my teenage years. In honesty, it still does. I remember finally finishing the piece and being so excited to share it with Robyn as I shared all my writing with her. But I never got the chance to. I'm a perfectionist, and I just couldn't send it to her until I knew it was flawless. She passed away while it was still in the revision stage. I should have sent it, as raw and imperfect as it was. I'm compelled to share it now. Better late than never.

Peace

I wasn’t there the night of the accident. I never knew exactly where it happened or what caused it.  I guess as a ten year old kid, logistics and hard facts didn’t matter to me. I do remember eating cereal at the kitchen table when the phone rang too early that Saturday morning. Dad lifted the receiver to his ear and said “hello” with a sort of hesitance, almost as if he knew there was going to be bad news on the other end of the line. He listened silently, all color drained from his face; he closed his eyes and lowered his head, then with a rage I could not comprehend at the time, my gentle father who never so much as raised his voice slammed his fist down on the countertop so hard that the entire house shook with fear.

What he heard: My oldest brother had been in an accident. About 3 in the morning, they suspected. His car ran off the highway and into a field somewhere in Leavenworth County. The car flipped at least 4 times. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. He was ejected through the rear windshield. He had extensive head injuries and was on life support. Come quickly.

What I heard: My heart pounding in my ears. The deafening BOOM of my dad’s fist striking wood. Dad saying in a hurried whisper ,“Stay here and wait for your mom to pick you up.” The door latching behind him. The slow sputtering then frantic roar of the engine on his old ’67 Impala. The screeching of tires as he peeled out of the driveway. The ticking of the clock.

Silence…

I sat on the swing for several hours waiting for my mom to arrive. I was unaware of the gravity of the situation, but instinctively, I felt compelled to hold vigil. With eyes closed, I said decades upon decades of the Rosary. I recited every prayer I knew, with precision, in hopes that if I said them perfectly, God might listen. I whispered “please, please, please, please” as my swing went forward, back, forward, back. Like a bird, I sang my favorite hymn into the air as an offering…

“You who dwell in the shelter of the Lord, who abide in His shadow for life, say to the Lord: ‘My refuge, my rock in whom I trust’. And He will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of his hand.”

As a young girl raised in the Catholic church, I had extreme faith in the power of prayer…
But sometimes, no matter how hard we pray, God just doesn’t answer.
My brother was in a vegetative coma for eight months.
We watched as he slowly withered away.
He died in December, 1987.
He was 20 years young.

It broke my heart.

I’ve always avoided driving down K-7 Highway. Growing up, the very thought of that particular stretch of road where my brother met his demise sent chills down my spine. Last fall, I was assigned a student teaching position at Leavenworth High School. I mapped out my route to school, desperately looking for back roads off the beaten path. They existed, but I couldn’t justify turning a 20 minute commute into an hour long venture through the country. It was time to quit hiding under the covers, to throw open the closet door and finally face the monster I had been hiding from for twenty-four years; the monster that had taken my brother’s life.

On the first day of school, I was up before dawn so that I could get an early start. I stopped at the little gas station down the street from my house for a cup of coffee. My radio was blaring. The window was down. I nervously smoked a cigarette as I headed west down Parallel Pkwy to the K-7 junction. I took a right and started making my way north toward Leavenworth County. There were no streetlights, which made the expanse of road ahead of me look extremely dark. There were trees scattered here and there, a few farmhouses, and acres upon acres of fields. In the distance I could make out the shapes of several old barns and a water tower. I started counting fence posts to occupy myself…but the battle in my mind had already begun.

My mind seemed fixated. My eyes couldn’t help but dart back and forth, searching for the site where my brother wrecked. Was it this field? Was it that embankment? Or was it here, where this tree is dead and mangled and a section of fence is missing? Where, where, where did it happen? Would I, through some divine insight, be shown the path his car took as it crashed repeatedly against the earth? Would I sense his spirit, still lingering there in the spot where his broken body had landed? I felt anxious, like something was crouching in the darkness preparing to pounce on me. A rush of panic came over me and I became increasingly scared. And then, to the east, the sun started to rise.

I pulled my car over to embrace the dawn unfolding before me. Beyond a stretch of tall grass was a pond, heavy with early morning fog. The fog seemed to dance in the air, dissipating as it rose into the sky. With each moment, the sun appeared larger and more magnificent as it peaked over the horizon. A small flock of birds glided up gracefully from the grassy field. I watched in awe as they skimmed over the pond and into the sky until they disappeared beyond the trees. All was silent and hushed. I suddenly felt at ease. It was as if God planned this moment just for me because He knew how desperately I needed it. I felt His hand on my shoulder and His love fill my heart. There was nothing lurking in the darkness for me to be afraid of. There was never anything there but peace. God showed me that.

I wasn’t there the night of the accident. I never knew exactly where it happened or what caused it. I guess as a 34 year old woman who found peace with God and trusts in His divine order, logistics and hard facts don’t matter to me.

I wasn’t there…but God was.
I find great comfort in knowing that.

 “He will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand.”

SCW April2011

- the gift -

"Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly."
 - proverb

There's a movie that I absolutely love called "Return to Me" starring David Duchovny and Minnie Driver in which Duchovny's character loses his wife in a car accident. His wife was an organ donor and Driver's character receives her heart, then writes a letter to Duchovny expressing her gratitude for the gift of life his loved one gave her. Duchovny and Driver eventually meet, but she doesn't know he's the organ donor's widow and he doesn't know she's the recipient. Her heart skips a beat whenever he's near and she doesn't quite understand why. They eventually fall in love, but when he learns that his wife's heart has made a home inside Driver's body, he freaks out and can't handle it. She runs away to Europe and the movie ends with him following her there to win her back. He places his ear to her heart, as if he's finally home. It's very touching and makes me cry every time I see it.

In one part of the movie, Duchovny receives the letter but can't bring himself to read it. He stashes it away in his pocket only to come across it later, at which point he sits on the floor and reads it with his dog, sobbing the whole time. It's a painful scene - so raw, so real. I know now how that feels firsthand.
My sister was an organ donor. I received a letter yesterday explaining the outcome of her donation. I struggled with whether or not I could open the letter...I turned it over and almost broke the seal about twenty times before finally putting it down. This morning, I opened it. I was pretty emotional and am still at a loss for words, but I'll say this - it gives me a sense of peace to know that she is, in essense, still alive. Her gift allowed others to live a better life, and I am so proud of her for that selfless act.

- songs for robyn -

These are two of the songs my father and I sang at my sister's memorial. I've never sang with such purpose before. My heart was heavy, but FULL of love. I know she was smiling, and tapping her foot.

- the end / the beginning -

Write about it! That's what everyone has said - my friends, my family, my therapist. You're a writer, that's what you do. Just write about it, journal, create, express yourself on paper as you always have and you'll feel better! I've tried to begin a hundred times and I just sit there, clumsily holding my pen, with absolutely no direction. There are no words to explain what I feel, neither spoken nor written. So where do I begin? T.S. Eliot said, "What we call the beginning is often the end. To make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." So...I guess I'll try starting there.

In two days, it will be eight weeks since my sister passed away. Eight weeks that seem like eight long years, yet at the same time, like eight short days. I have no concept of time right now because I've spent eight weeks running - from reality, from grief, from my memories, from fear, from acceptance, for my life, on fumes, on empty. My days and weeks meld together into one extended moment of chaos that resembles a thick, dark fog. It chokes me. And I can't see shit. Sometimes I lay on the floor because it's clearer down there. I feel more grounded and aware. But clarity usually brings her friends, emotion and grief, along with her to kick me while I'm down...and laying on the floor, sobbing for my dead sister, just makes me feel pitiful. So I rise back up and float away in the fog because there's comfort in consistency. There's comfort in NOT feeling.

It has been sixty-one days. Sixty-one days of not hearing her voice, of sleepless nights, of reliving her death, of missing her so much that I can't breathe, of longing - no, PINING for her. Sixty-one days of doing everything in my power to keep myself distracted, of avoiding reality, of staying out too late, of drinking too much, of pushing away the grief. Sixty-one days of NOT coping, healing or taking care of myself. Needless to say, I am tired, weak, sleep-deprived, hungover, depressed, anxious, still sad, overwhelmed and pissed off that I've wasted so much time. Eight weeks, and I'm still at square one. This person I've become isn't the real me. This life I've been living isn't mine. I have to put an end to this madness. I think I'm ready for that new "beginning", Mr. Eliot. Let it begin now.