My play opened last week. Well. Not MY play written by me, but the play I'm performing in at the moment. Its been a healing experience, this play. Despite the fact that my character is dealing with a lot of personal loss--she's kind of a Pollyana. She loves her husband unconditionally, never argues with him or does anything to make him feel less of a man i=even if it means starving to death, she thinks only good things about even the worst people and she always solves the problems...yeah...she's like person I wish I was in real life. Everyone in the cast keeps telling me "wow, you're such a nice person." No, actually, Ruth Hartmann (the character I'm portraying) is such a nice person.
People in the cast also keep mixing up me and the girl playing my little sister in the play. The drummer went up to her and said, "You know that scene where you tell your husband....(insert here what it is...no spoilers for those coming to see the show)...that is a great scene. Its really good." and she was like, "That's Lydia. I play her sister. But thank you anyway." Or I was warming up and she was in the dressing room and one of the other cast members was like "weren't you just warming up?" and she goes, "No. That would be Lydia." and even our pastor! Who KNOWS me very well went up to her and congratulated her and then realized it was not me at all. She could pass for my sister. Which is good for the play.
I have two scenes with her. In our second scene I tell her basically I'm going to take care of her. I say, "Hush. You're my sister." And it hits me everytime. This blonde haired woman--younger than me, crying out for help and "what am I gonna do?" and I tell her "everything is gonna be okay. Because we're family. And family sticks together."
Some of my Gilda's Club friends showed up on Saturday's performance. All wearing red and sitting in the front row. And G (who has also lost her sister) came up and said, "that moment when you say 'you're my sister' i just knew that was hard for you." and Alex (actor playing my sister) said the same thing. She texted me about maybe reworking the scene...saying..."what must I be doing to you?" but I assured her I was able to separate. And I am. Most of the time I am.
The thing is...in my acting, my work has always been revolved around my family. Every moment of worth I've ever had was because of some deep experience I've had with my father, my mother, or my sisters Danielle and Maura. All I have to do is see my father's face or feel my mother's body rocking me to sleep and I am transported (for lack of a better word) to a place where every thought and emotion that comes out of me while playing a scene is real, is deep, is intense and is filled with love.
My last year of school when Maura was sick, I had struggled with finding other ways into the work because I could not use my family. My father's hands, my mother's chest, my sisters smile...it all brought me to hospitals and tests and blood being drawn...and I couldn't even speak because the emotions were overwhelming. And in fact in my line of study, the sages of the theater have a strong rule of 7 years in the past. Do not use traumatic experiences until 7 years.
Which is hard when you are dealing with a character built on loss. She may be positive but her positivity was born from her reaction to a huge loss of someone very dear to her. And its hard when I have a beautiful and funny woman playing my little sister, asking me for help. 7 years is very hard.
I manage. I'm not perfect. If it hits too close to home...rather than use it, my gift shuts down. I become stone cold. No emotion. Not one type of emotion will cross my icy face and betray me because if even one line were to crease, one inch of my nose were to start stinging, I would lose my shit. And I have before. In rehearsals. Lost it. Had to Macaroni. (God bless Mark Lewis and the safe word Macaroni--means game over no more with no judgement. My director liked it so much she taught the whole cast about macaroni)
But I don't want to shortchange the production either. I wanna be there. Fully present. Give what I have to give to breath life into Ruth--this beautiful (even if she is perfect) woman I have the honor of playing. But it has been a battle of how much is too much? How far can I push myself without abusing myself? Am I raping my memories of my family just for good art? How much can I give and not have an emotional breakdown? I don't know. I don't know the answers to any of these questions. I just know I'm doing good work. I'm working and in the work I have found a lot of joy. when I'm at rehearsal or on stage I feel the most joy (even if I'm crying in a scene) it is the MOST joy I have felt in
The play is kind of like Its a Wonderful Life. Its the playwrights first full length play. Its not bad. I think she should keep working on stuff. Its got some good original music written by a fellow Houstonian as well. Its a nice show. I wish I knew what it was like from an audience perspective.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
6 months.
My heart is breaking like it was this morning. I have not been well all week. I can't make simple decisions or perform simple tasks. I feel completely helpless. I feel guilty because I'm helpless. I feel hopeless. I feel guilty and unchristian because I'm hopeless. I can't hardly get out of bed. My house is a mess. I would not be my friend if I was my friend. I'm gloomy when I'm around people. Somehow, my depression or grief or debbie-downerism or whatever it is you want to call it, always comes into the conversation. I feel people slowly trying to get away from me since I am a blackhole of misery.
Maybe its just this week.
I feel like this inside all the time, but this week I haven't been able to do anything to hide it to "overcome it" (whatever that bullshit means)
I am so angry.
I am so sad.
I am so weak.
I am so guilty because I am all these things.
I try to get better.
But I can't.
I feel bad for everyone connected with me (that is the guilty part) and yet I'm angry if they don't understand and try to help me snap out of it. I think they're squelching my grieving process.
Anger and Guilt I guess are Grief and Heartaches first cousins.
6 months Maura.
I haven't gone a day without crying yet. I miss your beautiful face so much. I watch the video Matt posted of you...of your life...the one we showed at your service. And I just cry and cry and cry and cry...is that helpful? I don't know. You tell me.
I don't know what to do. I feel stuck.
Like I'm i a hole and I can't see and I can't climb out of it. i don't know what to do.
i miss you so much. i miss you so so so so soooooooooooooooooooo much. I get the for God's glory yadda yadda yadda...but I just miss you. I just miss my little sister.
maybe i should get a boring fulltime job? maybe not. I don't know if I'd be able to focus. but is having these days off when I should audition but there are no auditions...is this healthy? gives me too much time to think.
i can't escape from my brain.
why isn't more understanding?
am I really not a good person?
I miss my sister.
I am afraid I am going nuts.
the counselor at Gilda's Club says that grief carries similar characteristics as depression. But what if someone doesn't believe in depression...like shouldn't you just be able to be happy? to move forward? to get on with your life? and I can't.
what do I do?
I feel like I'm tearing my life apart.
But I want to grieve.
But I don't know how to do it but lay in my bed and cry all day.
Isn't that a waste of time? shouldn't I be doing other things? necessary things?
I don't know.
what do I do?
I wish I could climb in a hole and become numb to everything and never feel or see or hear or taste or smell anything again.
No i don't.
that would be boring.
I'm glad I feel, see, taste, smell, hear...I just wish I didn't feel overloaded with all the emotions of the world.
I want my mom.
Maybe its just this week.
I feel like this inside all the time, but this week I haven't been able to do anything to hide it to "overcome it" (whatever that bullshit means)
I am so angry.
I am so sad.
I am so weak.
I am so guilty because I am all these things.
I try to get better.
But I can't.
I feel bad for everyone connected with me (that is the guilty part) and yet I'm angry if they don't understand and try to help me snap out of it. I think they're squelching my grieving process.
Anger and Guilt I guess are Grief and Heartaches first cousins.
6 months Maura.
I haven't gone a day without crying yet. I miss your beautiful face so much. I watch the video Matt posted of you...of your life...the one we showed at your service. And I just cry and cry and cry and cry...is that helpful? I don't know. You tell me.
I don't know what to do. I feel stuck.
Like I'm i a hole and I can't see and I can't climb out of it. i don't know what to do.
i miss you so much. i miss you so so so so soooooooooooooooooooo much. I get the for God's glory yadda yadda yadda...but I just miss you. I just miss my little sister.
maybe i should get a boring fulltime job? maybe not. I don't know if I'd be able to focus. but is having these days off when I should audition but there are no auditions...is this healthy? gives me too much time to think.
i can't escape from my brain.
why isn't more understanding?
am I really not a good person?
I miss my sister.
I am afraid I am going nuts.
the counselor at Gilda's Club says that grief carries similar characteristics as depression. But what if someone doesn't believe in depression...like shouldn't you just be able to be happy? to move forward? to get on with your life? and I can't.
what do I do?
I feel like I'm tearing my life apart.
But I want to grieve.
But I don't know how to do it but lay in my bed and cry all day.
Isn't that a waste of time? shouldn't I be doing other things? necessary things?
I don't know.
what do I do?
I wish I could climb in a hole and become numb to everything and never feel or see or hear or taste or smell anything again.
No i don't.
that would be boring.
I'm glad I feel, see, taste, smell, hear...I just wish I didn't feel overloaded with all the emotions of the world.
I want my mom.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Archives from her birthday...
They say that when you celebrate the birthday of the same age as the day you're born on, its your Golden Birthday. For example, when I turned 14 on January 14th (which is my birthday) it was my Golden Birthday and I got to have a big slumber party (when usually we were only allowed slumber parties for specific years).
Maura's Golden Birthday is today.
Or it would have been.
Or is it still?
Maura would have been 23 today--but since she's in Heaven, and there is no time in Heaven (I think...don't quote me theologically or anything, I'm not C.S. Lewis) maybe it doesn't matter.
But it matters to me.
Hmph. My dad turned on the Christian Radio Station and the DJ just said, "Today, Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009 is a day of prayer and praise."
Bet his dead sister's birthday isn't today.
Today I don't believe in anything.
That's a lie. I do. I believe in God.
But I don't believe in miracles.
I don't believe God has a "plan to prosper us and not to harm us."
I don't believe that I've heard from God I will be successful in my field.
I don't believe God can heal.
This music is torturing me.
Because I love God and I believe He is sovereign. And He is God and thats just the way it is. He is God through the good times and bad.
But I'm so sad today. I've been crying since I woke up. I can't stop thinking about her. Because today is her day. Today was always about her. "This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." "Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say Rejoice!" God, you make no sense. How am I supposed to rejoice (today above all days) when I can't even stand up from the weight of grief? That's right. The weight of grief. Not the weight of glory...grief and pain and hurt and more pain.
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
"He died on the cross, was crucified, then buried and on the third day He rose again."
Even the word death means something more to me...its more real...movies where people die...just action movies...its more real. The word is not just a strong word to use in powerful poetry or to make a joke ("Die motherfucker" "I hope you die" etc)--people throw around the word...so much...especially in the movies...but its a real word. It means a real thing. It is a real curse. OR a natural part of life. Except this doesn't feel natural. This feels unnatural. This isn't the way it was supposed to be.
Life was supposed to have ups and downs, but always with my sisters and my family at my side.
She was supposed to be healed.
She was supposed to get married and have children.
She was supposed to be at my wedding.
She was supposed to celebrate her 23rd birthday today.
Yesterday was Danielle's 30th birthday. And we couldn't throw her the huge party she deserved. We couldn't afford to take her out to the fancy restaurant she likes. We couldn't take her to Vegas like she deserves and fawn on her and celebrate her and spoil her. So, tomorrow she and I are taking a bus and I'm going with her to the casino 3 hours away and my parents are paying for 2 nights there. I can't afford much but to give her some chump change to spend how she chooses...either playing in the casino or money towards something at the spa...and me...i will lay by the pool. which will be fun--but I want to be able to do it with her...because its more fun with someone else! Its no fun by yourself. I just wish I had so much money so I could lavish it on her...give her the FULL spa treatment at the spa there...get her the too expensive facial and manicure and pedicure and massage, and take her out to the fancy restaurant in the hotel and give her spending money for the casino and souvenirs and lots and lots of alcohol and drinks so we can forget what has just happened to us and ripped our lives apart like a giant earthquake that will never close again. Its her 30th birthday and she deserves a big deal. But instead...she got a sombrero on her head and flan in her face. Damn those Mexican restaurants and what they think is funny. This is not how it should be
*****
I know I want more than I can have. I used to believe God would just provide it.
Oh yeah. I forgot. I don't believe in anything anymore.
****
This is not how life should be.
This is not how my wedding should be. My poor stressed fiancee having to do everything. Because I'm so incapable. I'm so unavailable. I can't even touch him. I can't touch anyone. I can't hug. I'm a huggy person but I can't even receive hugs. He thinks I just go through my day watching movies and shopping while he works so hard. And he does work hard. But a movie is just an escape. Its a story that covers such a large screen I can check out of my life for 2 hours. What I need is some marathong movie, like Star Wars so I can check out forever. And if I see that DAMN TRAILER for the movie "My Sister's Keeper" one more time...I will pull my eyes out!!! I took my dad to an action movie for Father's Day and this preview comes on and there we are...having to sit through it...watching a preview about a movie about our life...and its raw...its salt on our wounds...
A wedding should be filled with joy and laughter and fun. And bridal showers. And lingerie showers where you laugh and laugh and people give you all the attention and want to hear all the romantic details. And where you try on skimpy lingerie and model it for your friends so they can make inappropriate comments about what you and future husband will be doing with (well actually without) those skimpy garters and edible pantied and see through nightgowns. Our engagement should be filled with him and me and lovey-dovey moments. More of the time when he washed my feet in the bathtub because he didn't want me to put dirty feet on our new couch and less of me a helpless wreck arguing with him for no reason and falling onto the floor a weeping mess...less of the time where I can't get out of bed and face the sun...less of the crying all night long and him having to stay awake and get no sleep because he's holding me and I cry so loud he can't rest because he's worried about me.
A birthday should be filled with joy and laughter and fun. And everyone giving her the attention she deserves and celebrating the life--the 30 amazing years of her life where she has accomplished so much and become such a beautiful woman with a big heart and a kind and generous spirit. A loving woman who I look up to...and I know Maura looked up to her too. We talked about how cool Danielle is. She is our big sister. She is my big sister. And she deserves more.
Should be.
And today is another birthday. But one I can't even write about. Because its just one more person I can't give everything to. Because she's not here. And no amount of money will bring her back. And no amount of begging will bring her back. We can watch videos of her...but its not the same. The videos make me laugh and cry at the same time because I remember her.
I remember. Her humor. Her beauty. Her gentlenss and kindness. Her impishness. Her drunkeness. Her blonde hair. her brown hair, for that matter. Her blue eyes. Her beautiful smile. Her laugh. Her voice. Her beautiful, supernatural and unmatchable voice. Her sweet hands. Her chubby phases. Her skinny phases. Her big boobs. Her surgically removed smaller boobs.
The way she said my name. I love the way she said my name.
I miss the way she said my name.
Maura. its your birthday today. Its your Golden Birthday today and I celebrate you. But it is not how it should be. estou com saudades, minha linda irma. There is no joy. There is no laughter. There are only tears. estou com muitas saudades, Irma Querida. Too many tears and its very hard to breathe from the choking sobs. Irmazinha. The hole in my heart makes me heavier than I've been in days. And the sky is cloudy and sunny at the same time. Like on the day we had your service. I'm wearing your clothes. Your yellow shirt you loved. And your underwear. I know...I know...you may think its gross...but its just one pair and I washed it. You lent it to me before. Why should now be any different. Besides. All mine are dirty.
Maura
Your birthday arrived.
I woke with a start.
I felt nobody
And you weren't here.
the room was empty
and the room was dark
and I was alone
and you weren't here.
and i can only write
i can only shower
i can only wipe
these tears from my eyes.
because you aren't here.
because I can't
because i don't want to
because I shouldn't have to
keep on living without you.
Birthdays aren't the same.
Weddings aren't the same.
The power of death
is too strong
for joy.
oh Lord, if the Joy of the Lord is my strength...then I am weak. I have no more comfort. I am drowning. and I am completely and utterly miserable.
wow. that's depressing.
If I was my fiancee, I'd leave me now. I make his life stressful and miserable. He should be enjoying this time too. But he's not. He's just overwhelmed. And I am too heavy a weight. I can't carry his burdens much less share them with him. He deserves better than what I can give him. i am not who he fell in love with. That should make it okay to break any promises. i haven't held up my end of the bargain, right? He will be freer without this weight called Lydia dangling around his neck and he will be happy. He wants to be happy. he deserves it. he's worked hard for it. take your happiness. I won't stop you this time.
****
This isn't 2 hours of a story and then the lights come up and we all leave the theater.
This isn't a fucking movie. This is my life. This is my fucking life.
And I hate my life.
And I know I dramatize everything. its in my genetic make up. Its in my profession. Both of them.
When all hope is gone?
"I lift my eyes up to the mountains. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth..."
Last night, at Danielle's birthday dinner...people kept asking about the wedding...I didn't want to be rude...but I wanted them to pay attention to Danielle...for once let the spotlight be on her and not me...I hog it enough...I didn't need it last night. But Savannah, Nikki's daughter, asked me if I wanted to be an actor? I said, "I am an actor." She asked me if I was going to be famous. And Danielle answered without blinking, "She will be famous."
That's what my sister said so firmly. Its not about the fame--I don't care if I'm famous or not. who could care now? Its the fact that my big sister, my beautiful big sister, said more matter-of-factly than I ever have, without a shadow of doubt in her mind, "She will be famous." "She will be successful." Because she believes in me. Maura used to say the same thing. With the same certainty.
Maybe it does matter what God says and how He orders things. But at the end of the day, He gave me my sisters. And they believe in me. More than anybody I know. And they don't question what will happen in my life. They just know. And they say it outloud without fear or shame. They say it with pride. Proud of me.
And I am brought to my knees again because of their faith in me.
Before Maura died, I asked her if she'd prefer I went into cancer research. I could get the degree. I am smart enough and I could study and get into school no problem and I could help save the world specializing from sarcoma and i would work until I found that cure and she knew it. Or should I do movies. And she smiled and said, "Movies. Hello?" And she looked at me and said again firmly, "Movies." And I told her I'd tell her story and she smiled and nodded.
And I will tell her story. Because every word I write, every feeling I feel, every character I play will have her in it. I can't help it. She and Danielle and my mom and my dad are what my art have always been about. Because my art tells stories and I only know how to tell the story from my lens. I only know how to feel what I've experienced myself. And I have experienced them. They make my life rich. They make me overflow. And in my pain, I WILL become the BEST DAMN ACTRESS and the BEST DAMN WRITER (of males and females) this world has ever seen. Because THEY make my art live. Make no mistake, it has nothing to do with me. I'm merely the vessel. Its them that inspires anything good to come out of me. It will ALL and ALWAYS be about them. It will always be about Maura. it will always be about Danielle. It will always be about Love.
For Danielle and Maura.
Tattoed on my heart. forever.
posted by Lydia DeSouza at 10:51 AM on Jun 23, 2009
Maura's Golden Birthday is today.
Or it would have been.
Or is it still?
Maura would have been 23 today--but since she's in Heaven, and there is no time in Heaven (I think...don't quote me theologically or anything, I'm not C.S. Lewis) maybe it doesn't matter.
But it matters to me.
Hmph. My dad turned on the Christian Radio Station and the DJ just said, "Today, Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009 is a day of prayer and praise."
Bet his dead sister's birthday isn't today.
Today I don't believe in anything.
That's a lie. I do. I believe in God.
But I don't believe in miracles.
I don't believe God has a "plan to prosper us and not to harm us."
I don't believe that I've heard from God I will be successful in my field.
I don't believe God can heal.
This music is torturing me.
Because I love God and I believe He is sovereign. And He is God and thats just the way it is. He is God through the good times and bad.
But I'm so sad today. I've been crying since I woke up. I can't stop thinking about her. Because today is her day. Today was always about her. "This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." "Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say Rejoice!" God, you make no sense. How am I supposed to rejoice (today above all days) when I can't even stand up from the weight of grief? That's right. The weight of grief. Not the weight of glory...grief and pain and hurt and more pain.
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
"He died on the cross, was crucified, then buried and on the third day He rose again."
Even the word death means something more to me...its more real...movies where people die...just action movies...its more real. The word is not just a strong word to use in powerful poetry or to make a joke ("Die motherfucker" "I hope you die" etc)--people throw around the word...so much...especially in the movies...but its a real word. It means a real thing. It is a real curse. OR a natural part of life. Except this doesn't feel natural. This feels unnatural. This isn't the way it was supposed to be.
Life was supposed to have ups and downs, but always with my sisters and my family at my side.
She was supposed to be healed.
She was supposed to get married and have children.
She was supposed to be at my wedding.
She was supposed to celebrate her 23rd birthday today.
Yesterday was Danielle's 30th birthday. And we couldn't throw her the huge party she deserved. We couldn't afford to take her out to the fancy restaurant she likes. We couldn't take her to Vegas like she deserves and fawn on her and celebrate her and spoil her. So, tomorrow she and I are taking a bus and I'm going with her to the casino 3 hours away and my parents are paying for 2 nights there. I can't afford much but to give her some chump change to spend how she chooses...either playing in the casino or money towards something at the spa...and me...i will lay by the pool. which will be fun--but I want to be able to do it with her...because its more fun with someone else! Its no fun by yourself. I just wish I had so much money so I could lavish it on her...give her the FULL spa treatment at the spa there...get her the too expensive facial and manicure and pedicure and massage, and take her out to the fancy restaurant in the hotel and give her spending money for the casino and souvenirs and lots and lots of alcohol and drinks so we can forget what has just happened to us and ripped our lives apart like a giant earthquake that will never close again. Its her 30th birthday and she deserves a big deal. But instead...she got a sombrero on her head and flan in her face. Damn those Mexican restaurants and what they think is funny. This is not how it should be
*****
I know I want more than I can have. I used to believe God would just provide it.
Oh yeah. I forgot. I don't believe in anything anymore.
****
This is not how life should be.
This is not how my wedding should be. My poor stressed fiancee having to do everything. Because I'm so incapable. I'm so unavailable. I can't even touch him. I can't touch anyone. I can't hug. I'm a huggy person but I can't even receive hugs. He thinks I just go through my day watching movies and shopping while he works so hard. And he does work hard. But a movie is just an escape. Its a story that covers such a large screen I can check out of my life for 2 hours. What I need is some marathong movie, like Star Wars so I can check out forever. And if I see that DAMN TRAILER for the movie "My Sister's Keeper" one more time...I will pull my eyes out!!! I took my dad to an action movie for Father's Day and this preview comes on and there we are...having to sit through it...watching a preview about a movie about our life...and its raw...its salt on our wounds...
A wedding should be filled with joy and laughter and fun. And bridal showers. And lingerie showers where you laugh and laugh and people give you all the attention and want to hear all the romantic details. And where you try on skimpy lingerie and model it for your friends so they can make inappropriate comments about what you and future husband will be doing with (well actually without) those skimpy garters and edible pantied and see through nightgowns. Our engagement should be filled with him and me and lovey-dovey moments. More of the time when he washed my feet in the bathtub because he didn't want me to put dirty feet on our new couch and less of me a helpless wreck arguing with him for no reason and falling onto the floor a weeping mess...less of the time where I can't get out of bed and face the sun...less of the crying all night long and him having to stay awake and get no sleep because he's holding me and I cry so loud he can't rest because he's worried about me.
A birthday should be filled with joy and laughter and fun. And everyone giving her the attention she deserves and celebrating the life--the 30 amazing years of her life where she has accomplished so much and become such a beautiful woman with a big heart and a kind and generous spirit. A loving woman who I look up to...and I know Maura looked up to her too. We talked about how cool Danielle is. She is our big sister. She is my big sister. And she deserves more.
Should be.
And today is another birthday. But one I can't even write about. Because its just one more person I can't give everything to. Because she's not here. And no amount of money will bring her back. And no amount of begging will bring her back. We can watch videos of her...but its not the same. The videos make me laugh and cry at the same time because I remember her.
I remember. Her humor. Her beauty. Her gentlenss and kindness. Her impishness. Her drunkeness. Her blonde hair. her brown hair, for that matter. Her blue eyes. Her beautiful smile. Her laugh. Her voice. Her beautiful, supernatural and unmatchable voice. Her sweet hands. Her chubby phases. Her skinny phases. Her big boobs. Her surgically removed smaller boobs.
The way she said my name. I love the way she said my name.
I miss the way she said my name.
Maura. its your birthday today. Its your Golden Birthday today and I celebrate you. But it is not how it should be. estou com saudades, minha linda irma. There is no joy. There is no laughter. There are only tears. estou com muitas saudades, Irma Querida. Too many tears and its very hard to breathe from the choking sobs. Irmazinha. The hole in my heart makes me heavier than I've been in days. And the sky is cloudy and sunny at the same time. Like on the day we had your service. I'm wearing your clothes. Your yellow shirt you loved. And your underwear. I know...I know...you may think its gross...but its just one pair and I washed it. You lent it to me before. Why should now be any different. Besides. All mine are dirty.
Maura
Your birthday arrived.
I woke with a start.
I felt nobody
And you weren't here.
the room was empty
and the room was dark
and I was alone
and you weren't here.
and i can only write
i can only shower
i can only wipe
these tears from my eyes.
because you aren't here.
because I can't
because i don't want to
because I shouldn't have to
keep on living without you.
Birthdays aren't the same.
Weddings aren't the same.
The power of death
is too strong
for joy.
oh Lord, if the Joy of the Lord is my strength...then I am weak. I have no more comfort. I am drowning. and I am completely and utterly miserable.
wow. that's depressing.
If I was my fiancee, I'd leave me now. I make his life stressful and miserable. He should be enjoying this time too. But he's not. He's just overwhelmed. And I am too heavy a weight. I can't carry his burdens much less share them with him. He deserves better than what I can give him. i am not who he fell in love with. That should make it okay to break any promises. i haven't held up my end of the bargain, right? He will be freer without this weight called Lydia dangling around his neck and he will be happy. He wants to be happy. he deserves it. he's worked hard for it. take your happiness. I won't stop you this time.
****
This isn't 2 hours of a story and then the lights come up and we all leave the theater.
This isn't a fucking movie. This is my life. This is my fucking life.
And I hate my life.
And I know I dramatize everything. its in my genetic make up. Its in my profession. Both of them.
When all hope is gone?
"I lift my eyes up to the mountains. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth..."
Last night, at Danielle's birthday dinner...people kept asking about the wedding...I didn't want to be rude...but I wanted them to pay attention to Danielle...for once let the spotlight be on her and not me...I hog it enough...I didn't need it last night. But Savannah, Nikki's daughter, asked me if I wanted to be an actor? I said, "I am an actor." She asked me if I was going to be famous. And Danielle answered without blinking, "She will be famous."
That's what my sister said so firmly. Its not about the fame--I don't care if I'm famous or not. who could care now? Its the fact that my big sister, my beautiful big sister, said more matter-of-factly than I ever have, without a shadow of doubt in her mind, "She will be famous." "She will be successful." Because she believes in me. Maura used to say the same thing. With the same certainty.
Maybe it does matter what God says and how He orders things. But at the end of the day, He gave me my sisters. And they believe in me. More than anybody I know. And they don't question what will happen in my life. They just know. And they say it outloud without fear or shame. They say it with pride. Proud of me.
And I am brought to my knees again because of their faith in me.
Before Maura died, I asked her if she'd prefer I went into cancer research. I could get the degree. I am smart enough and I could study and get into school no problem and I could help save the world specializing from sarcoma and i would work until I found that cure and she knew it. Or should I do movies. And she smiled and said, "Movies. Hello?" And she looked at me and said again firmly, "Movies." And I told her I'd tell her story and she smiled and nodded.
And I will tell her story. Because every word I write, every feeling I feel, every character I play will have her in it. I can't help it. She and Danielle and my mom and my dad are what my art have always been about. Because my art tells stories and I only know how to tell the story from my lens. I only know how to feel what I've experienced myself. And I have experienced them. They make my life rich. They make me overflow. And in my pain, I WILL become the BEST DAMN ACTRESS and the BEST DAMN WRITER (of males and females) this world has ever seen. Because THEY make my art live. Make no mistake, it has nothing to do with me. I'm merely the vessel. Its them that inspires anything good to come out of me. It will ALL and ALWAYS be about them. It will always be about Maura. it will always be about Danielle. It will always be about Love.
For Danielle and Maura.
Tattoed on my heart. forever.
posted by Lydia DeSouza at 10:51 AM on Jun 23, 2009
I found this.
Thought I'd look through some old writing I keep under lock and key. I found a lot of writing from right after Maura died.
May 27th, 2009, I wrote Maura a letter:
my sweet, sweet sister,
It is not easy to write to you. Because I don't know that you'll get this letter. But maybe it is more for the living than for the dead.
I miss you so much. A week ago, you took your last breath and I had to write your obituary (the worst thing I've ever had to write and the only thing I had no words of my own for)...and I still can't think of anything else but you. I still feel like you're just on a vacation, or not home for the weekend. When in actuality, it is me on the long weekend called life. You are enjoying eternity, Paradise, probably with a huge mansion and a crown too big for your head because of all the good things you did and the incredible person that you were.
I keep having daydreams of you. Too brief, these dreams though. Just one recurring dream where I see you. And you throw your skinny little arms around me and laugh and say, "Let me show you around."
And all I can think about is that one vision I had a couple years ago...I was running down the beach. The sky was a little cloudy but not in a bad way...just like it was about to rain. And the sand was that wet sand right by the tide. In this dream, I am running on this wet sand but I'm following the footsteps to this rock formation up ahead and behind the rock formation is this great light. Light and laughter. And I start running towards it because there is so much light and so much laughter growing louder and louder. So, I reach the rock formation and behind it surrounded in all this light is a table set with 5 goblets. And all this laughter is there at this table and you are there, and Daddy and Mom are there, and Danielle is there and its like the most fun dinner ever. So much laughing and so much light.
And I think that's what it will be like when I die. I wonder where Joao is. maybe this means I die before him. Are we still married in Heaven? I don't know. I think someone asks Jesus that question but I can't remember what He said. I'll look it up.
Either way, it is something I look forward to. Seeing you again my precious, precious little sister.
Mom still cries every night. We watch episode after episode of "Friends" hoping that somehow the funny stuff will make us forget our pain, but after the episode is over we feel the grief start to rise again and it usually spills over. Until I can get the next disk of "Friends" in.
I'm planning a nice wedding. Nothing like the one in NY. It would have been too expensive anyway. I was gonna go to Hawaii, I thought that woulda been a lot of fun, but again, a lot of money to make Mom and Dad pay. Even though a vacation might do them good right now. So, I think I might do it at Uncle Mike's house. Cool huh? Small, you know...not the big wedding, but Joao never wanted that anyway, and I'd rather get married sooner than wait longer til we could afford a great big wedding. And it's not seldom that i am reminded you'da probably been up for anything. you probably woulda made this easier because you would make everyone just shut up and you'd go along with any idea I said. Especially Hawaii. =) But LA will be nice too. Better than Houston. i am scared I will die from heat in my dress though...maybe we can rent some fans or something. Hopefully I don't fall into the pool. Lots of dancing too. And a bar. =) Maybe Daddy could barbecue for the rehearsal dinner? Make it a pool party? Sounds cool huh?
I talked to Mrs. Akin, when she was refitting your yellow graduation dress to fit me for your funeral. I talked to her about getting married. And she was right. She said you would have wanted me to have the wedding I wanted. And really, I just need our whole families there (so you better come), nice weather (that's God's territory), a pretty location (Uncle Mike has that covered) and a lot of dancing...=) and Joao of course. Would be good if he was there too...=)
I am goinngi to write your movie. The one about you, and me, and Danielle. It is hard to write. To get started. But I will write it because I promised you. And because I want to. Your friend, Joni Rogers, told me some good words, that I remember to live my own life. That I don't let my life become about your death. And I think that is something you would have said too, isn't it?
But i learned so much from you. even though I'm older so it was I who should have been teaching you...I learned so much from you:
Life is short. Don't stress the small stuff.
Live every day to the most and enjoy it all.
Be kind to everyone. Absolutely everyone. And speak ill of noone.
When opportunities happen, take them. Don't let fear of what people will think or say or my own fear stop me.
Make my life about people. Because in them lie my riches.
3 Oscars. 2 Emmy's. 1 Tony. that's for you.
All the rest I'll give to Mom. =)
I love you so much. I could not have asked for a better sister. i could not have asked for a better family. And even in this most painful, horrible circumstance, you taught me to hope to the very end. And so i won't mourn like those who have no hope. because I Know that I know that I know that I will see you again, my beautiful sister. So I have hope. i love my life. I don't like my circumstances. But i'm thankful for a lot. I wish you were here.
But I still feel like you are very much here. Maybe its all the prayers people are praying for us that is bringing on all this peace. I hope they keep praying. we'll keep needing it.
Remember when you had to go buy that plunger from the hardware store while I waited in Rodolfo's bathroom because I'd stopped up the toilet and couldn't wipe properly...oh gosh...you know, he never knew why he had two plungers after that. I only wish i had been able to find the first one. Oh well.
Remember when i wouldn't go to the sex museum with you because I was too scared blah blah blah so you went by yourself and you laughed and said you were the creepy girl who was there taking pictures all by herself? Oh gosh. i wish I could do that over. I would go with you. Now I have to go and be the creepy girl myself just to make it up to you.
Remember when you offered to give me all your money you'd saved from your allowance (which was a good $500) to pay for my college tuition (which was more like $24,000 a year)?
Remember when we would take glamour shots together? oh how embarrassing.
Remember when I got engaged and I walked in the door and you jumped up and screamed and threw your arms around me and laughed and cried and was so excited? And you called Danielle who was still in Chicago and she kept complaining because no one was talking to her because she was on the phone and no one wanted to be on the phone? Poor Danielle. But she'll be at the wedding. She's been so great. We still fight but I'll try to be better about it. I am really looking forward to planning this wedding with her so we can spend good time together. Because I love her so much too and I don't think she knows how much I love her. i was always better at showing you how much I love you, but I need to show her. If you have any pull with the Big Guy...find her some really amazing hunky teddy bear to marry her and treat her like the princess she is.
I wish you coulda seen how beautiful the service was. You would have loved it. You'da cried. I know you woulda. Miss Sensitiva.
Remember when you made me sing the Ursula song with all the voices in front of all your friends? most people would think it should have been my best performance because it was literally your dying wish, but it wasn't...it was my worst...I'm sorry...i cared so much...but what made it the best, was you answering back on Ariel's part...I loved that.
Remember when you needed to sit up in bed and I would get jealous of anyone who lifted you but me? i liked that job because you would have to put your arms around my neck for me to lift you and it was like a private hug from you every time. I loved that too.
Remember when you were getting delirious, not really talking and you all of a sudden picked up both of my hands and felt around for my ring and when you found it you sighed a sigh of relief and Danielle said, "Do you know who it is?" And you nodded and said "Lydia." and went back to sleep. That meant so much to me that even when you could barely talk, you knew who I was and it seemed as if it made you comfortable knowing I was there. Knowing we were all there, but I liked that you needed me there too.
I wish I could have spent more time with you. I really do. I regret so much. And I'm so sorry for so much. But more than anything I love you so much and I miss you more than my heart can hold. it is full of tears, my heart. and it rises to my eyes and falls down and no one knows what to do or what to say and really there isn't anything to say or do. Only time.
But I will go through this time. And I will experience it all...and then when i get to heaven, I will tell you all about it. Because the one good thing is, you will neveer have to know what this feels like. So--it'll be a good story. I'll tell you when I see you again.
Until we meet again, Maura, my beloved sister, you are forever in my heart.
All my love,
Beijos,
your big sister Lydia
posted by Lydia DeSouza at 12:03 PM on May 27, 2009
May 27th, 2009, I wrote Maura a letter:
my sweet, sweet sister,
It is not easy to write to you. Because I don't know that you'll get this letter. But maybe it is more for the living than for the dead.
I miss you so much. A week ago, you took your last breath and I had to write your obituary (the worst thing I've ever had to write and the only thing I had no words of my own for)...and I still can't think of anything else but you. I still feel like you're just on a vacation, or not home for the weekend. When in actuality, it is me on the long weekend called life. You are enjoying eternity, Paradise, probably with a huge mansion and a crown too big for your head because of all the good things you did and the incredible person that you were.
I keep having daydreams of you. Too brief, these dreams though. Just one recurring dream where I see you. And you throw your skinny little arms around me and laugh and say, "Let me show you around."
And all I can think about is that one vision I had a couple years ago...I was running down the beach. The sky was a little cloudy but not in a bad way...just like it was about to rain. And the sand was that wet sand right by the tide. In this dream, I am running on this wet sand but I'm following the footsteps to this rock formation up ahead and behind the rock formation is this great light. Light and laughter. And I start running towards it because there is so much light and so much laughter growing louder and louder. So, I reach the rock formation and behind it surrounded in all this light is a table set with 5 goblets. And all this laughter is there at this table and you are there, and Daddy and Mom are there, and Danielle is there and its like the most fun dinner ever. So much laughing and so much light.
And I think that's what it will be like when I die. I wonder where Joao is. maybe this means I die before him. Are we still married in Heaven? I don't know. I think someone asks Jesus that question but I can't remember what He said. I'll look it up.
Either way, it is something I look forward to. Seeing you again my precious, precious little sister.
Mom still cries every night. We watch episode after episode of "Friends" hoping that somehow the funny stuff will make us forget our pain, but after the episode is over we feel the grief start to rise again and it usually spills over. Until I can get the next disk of "Friends" in.
I'm planning a nice wedding. Nothing like the one in NY. It would have been too expensive anyway. I was gonna go to Hawaii, I thought that woulda been a lot of fun, but again, a lot of money to make Mom and Dad pay. Even though a vacation might do them good right now. So, I think I might do it at Uncle Mike's house. Cool huh? Small, you know...not the big wedding, but Joao never wanted that anyway, and I'd rather get married sooner than wait longer til we could afford a great big wedding. And it's not seldom that i am reminded you'da probably been up for anything. you probably woulda made this easier because you would make everyone just shut up and you'd go along with any idea I said. Especially Hawaii. =) But LA will be nice too. Better than Houston. i am scared I will die from heat in my dress though...maybe we can rent some fans or something. Hopefully I don't fall into the pool. Lots of dancing too. And a bar. =) Maybe Daddy could barbecue for the rehearsal dinner? Make it a pool party? Sounds cool huh?
I talked to Mrs. Akin, when she was refitting your yellow graduation dress to fit me for your funeral. I talked to her about getting married. And she was right. She said you would have wanted me to have the wedding I wanted. And really, I just need our whole families there (so you better come), nice weather (that's God's territory), a pretty location (Uncle Mike has that covered) and a lot of dancing...=) and Joao of course. Would be good if he was there too...=)
I am goinngi to write your movie. The one about you, and me, and Danielle. It is hard to write. To get started. But I will write it because I promised you. And because I want to. Your friend, Joni Rogers, told me some good words, that I remember to live my own life. That I don't let my life become about your death. And I think that is something you would have said too, isn't it?
But i learned so much from you. even though I'm older so it was I who should have been teaching you...I learned so much from you:
Life is short. Don't stress the small stuff.
Live every day to the most and enjoy it all.
Be kind to everyone. Absolutely everyone. And speak ill of noone.
When opportunities happen, take them. Don't let fear of what people will think or say or my own fear stop me.
Make my life about people. Because in them lie my riches.
3 Oscars. 2 Emmy's. 1 Tony. that's for you.
All the rest I'll give to Mom. =)
I love you so much. I could not have asked for a better sister. i could not have asked for a better family. And even in this most painful, horrible circumstance, you taught me to hope to the very end. And so i won't mourn like those who have no hope. because I Know that I know that I know that I will see you again, my beautiful sister. So I have hope. i love my life. I don't like my circumstances. But i'm thankful for a lot. I wish you were here.
But I still feel like you are very much here. Maybe its all the prayers people are praying for us that is bringing on all this peace. I hope they keep praying. we'll keep needing it.
Remember when you had to go buy that plunger from the hardware store while I waited in Rodolfo's bathroom because I'd stopped up the toilet and couldn't wipe properly...oh gosh...you know, he never knew why he had two plungers after that. I only wish i had been able to find the first one. Oh well.
Remember when i wouldn't go to the sex museum with you because I was too scared blah blah blah so you went by yourself and you laughed and said you were the creepy girl who was there taking pictures all by herself? Oh gosh. i wish I could do that over. I would go with you. Now I have to go and be the creepy girl myself just to make it up to you.
Remember when you offered to give me all your money you'd saved from your allowance (which was a good $500) to pay for my college tuition (which was more like $24,000 a year)?
Remember when we would take glamour shots together? oh how embarrassing.
Remember when I got engaged and I walked in the door and you jumped up and screamed and threw your arms around me and laughed and cried and was so excited? And you called Danielle who was still in Chicago and she kept complaining because no one was talking to her because she was on the phone and no one wanted to be on the phone? Poor Danielle. But she'll be at the wedding. She's been so great. We still fight but I'll try to be better about it. I am really looking forward to planning this wedding with her so we can spend good time together. Because I love her so much too and I don't think she knows how much I love her. i was always better at showing you how much I love you, but I need to show her. If you have any pull with the Big Guy...find her some really amazing hunky teddy bear to marry her and treat her like the princess she is.
I wish you coulda seen how beautiful the service was. You would have loved it. You'da cried. I know you woulda. Miss Sensitiva.
Remember when you made me sing the Ursula song with all the voices in front of all your friends? most people would think it should have been my best performance because it was literally your dying wish, but it wasn't...it was my worst...I'm sorry...i cared so much...but what made it the best, was you answering back on Ariel's part...I loved that.
Remember when you needed to sit up in bed and I would get jealous of anyone who lifted you but me? i liked that job because you would have to put your arms around my neck for me to lift you and it was like a private hug from you every time. I loved that too.
Remember when you were getting delirious, not really talking and you all of a sudden picked up both of my hands and felt around for my ring and when you found it you sighed a sigh of relief and Danielle said, "Do you know who it is?" And you nodded and said "Lydia." and went back to sleep. That meant so much to me that even when you could barely talk, you knew who I was and it seemed as if it made you comfortable knowing I was there. Knowing we were all there, but I liked that you needed me there too.
I wish I could have spent more time with you. I really do. I regret so much. And I'm so sorry for so much. But more than anything I love you so much and I miss you more than my heart can hold. it is full of tears, my heart. and it rises to my eyes and falls down and no one knows what to do or what to say and really there isn't anything to say or do. Only time.
But I will go through this time. And I will experience it all...and then when i get to heaven, I will tell you all about it. Because the one good thing is, you will neveer have to know what this feels like. So--it'll be a good story. I'll tell you when I see you again.
Until we meet again, Maura, my beloved sister, you are forever in my heart.
All my love,
Beijos,
your big sister Lydia
posted by Lydia DeSouza at 12:03 PM on May 27, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
A hug from a 7 year old
I was making breakfast for Peter and Lauren. Peter wanted oatmeal, two pieces of toast (one with jelly and one with butter) and a waffle with butter and syrup. Lauren wanted an omelet with cheese and pancakes. It was their day off from school so I thought...eh...why not...they always eat quick breakfast, why not indulge on your day off? I would.
Plus, it was one of those days. One of those Maura days where the constriction in my chest gets tighter and tighter until I can cry it out (which usually take a good hour of relentless sobbing)--not something I could release while I'm supposed to be babysitting kids and pretending being an adult is the greatest thing in the world.
But everytime I look at them, I know its weird, but I see Maura. Peter's rambunctiousness and big blue eyes remind me of Maura. And the fact that he met Maura and Maura just adored him. Lauren too. Her sweet, gentle ways are also very Maura. And the way those two play together...they both will exclaim to anyone who asks that they are best friends. I mean, they fight but they'd rather spend the day together playing dress up than go to the park. It makes me miss when I was a child and Maura and I played dress up together with our baby blankets over our heads as scarves. Or still, the ever-haunting echo of her little 4-yr. old voice in my ears calling out my name, "Lydia!" and I see her blonde curls bobbing as she runs towards me. Her headband and ponytail she would insist on wearing everyday. And then she changed to just the headband. Her little hands. Seeing Peter and Lauren just reminds me of how much sometimes I just wish I could climb back through time and be in that place with my sisters again. Young, free and completely innocent, trying to catch tadpoles in the pond or pretending to go on journeys through the jungle in the house. Or when Danielle would put make up on me and Maura and then take "glamour shots" of us in our bathing suits (usually swimteam bathing suits but still)
I see these kids and I wish to God so badly that I could be there again. With my sisters. Playing. Fighting. Annoying. Giggling. Tickling. But home. In our house. On our swingset. Not worried about anything but what will we play next.
And looking back, I can wish all I want that I should have relished my childhood because now it is only--and can only be--a distant memory.
And here they are in front of me.
I had a hard conversation with my mom. I got off the phone.
I fixed the waffle and burnt the omelet a little. But I had warned her I was not the best chef.
I started to feel the tightness in my chest start to creep into my throat, up the back of my neck and into my nose.
Not here. I told myself. NOT here. NOT now. I gripped the edge of the oven and squeezed as hard as I could to keep it together because I could hear their little feet pounding into the kitchen as if on cue. How do they know when breakfast is ready and their babysitter is falling apart?
I put a smile on my face and forced the tears to stay welled up in my eyes and my mouth and jaw were squeezed tense so no emotion could betray me. We got through 30 minutes like that--they ate and talked and I let them talk as much as they want. Peter went on and on about how when he was an adult he would make all his own decisions and still live with mom and dad and never get married because he didn't want to have to live away from home. Maura used to say the exact same thing. I never did. Soon, breakfast was eaten and Peter was grabbing onto me, pulling my sleeves to go play "egyptians." Lauren came over, gently took his grip off of my arm and told him I had to clean up and to go ahead and go get dressed as a Egypt and she would get dressed as Queen HutPut (or whoever the heck it is--a female pharaoh apparently--that girl knows more about Egypt than any Egyptian I know). When Peter raced to his room, Lauren gently put her skinny little arms around me.
And she smiled and she hugged me for I don't know, about 5 minutes. Long enough for Peter to change into his Egyptian costume (his underpants) and play for a bit and then realize no one had joined him yet.
When Peter came to get her, she gave me a final squeeze. I didn't squeeze her quite so hard, her body is very small and frail, and yet her hug is strong, but still, I don't want to break her. I didn't want to let go. I wanted to hug her forever and cry and cry and cry. But she went back to dress up as the Queen she is and I cleared the breakfast dishes and sat down and wept.
And when I had my cry, I went back into their room where the Egyptian palace had been set up and announced I was Cleopatra. And we played Egyptians for about another hour and a half and then I went home.
She's 7, you know? She'll be 8 in January. But she's really incredible. She's really wonderful. She sees things and knows things not a lot of kids her age pay attention to, I think. She is having a year like I did in 5th grade.
I miss my sister. I miss her with every fiber of my being even the broken shards of glass in my heart must feel the pain.
Unexpected and Unannounced my old enemy, Grief, has shown up again. And I don't have any 7 year olds today to ease the pain if just for a moment. I just have my computer, my pictures and a dirty apartment. Well. No time like the present to clean up.
Plus, it was one of those days. One of those Maura days where the constriction in my chest gets tighter and tighter until I can cry it out (which usually take a good hour of relentless sobbing)--not something I could release while I'm supposed to be babysitting kids and pretending being an adult is the greatest thing in the world.
But everytime I look at them, I know its weird, but I see Maura. Peter's rambunctiousness and big blue eyes remind me of Maura. And the fact that he met Maura and Maura just adored him. Lauren too. Her sweet, gentle ways are also very Maura. And the way those two play together...they both will exclaim to anyone who asks that they are best friends. I mean, they fight but they'd rather spend the day together playing dress up than go to the park. It makes me miss when I was a child and Maura and I played dress up together with our baby blankets over our heads as scarves. Or still, the ever-haunting echo of her little 4-yr. old voice in my ears calling out my name, "Lydia!" and I see her blonde curls bobbing as she runs towards me. Her headband and ponytail she would insist on wearing everyday. And then she changed to just the headband. Her little hands. Seeing Peter and Lauren just reminds me of how much sometimes I just wish I could climb back through time and be in that place with my sisters again. Young, free and completely innocent, trying to catch tadpoles in the pond or pretending to go on journeys through the jungle in the house. Or when Danielle would put make up on me and Maura and then take "glamour shots" of us in our bathing suits (usually swimteam bathing suits but still)
I see these kids and I wish to God so badly that I could be there again. With my sisters. Playing. Fighting. Annoying. Giggling. Tickling. But home. In our house. On our swingset. Not worried about anything but what will we play next.
And looking back, I can wish all I want that I should have relished my childhood because now it is only--and can only be--a distant memory.
And here they are in front of me.
I had a hard conversation with my mom. I got off the phone.
I fixed the waffle and burnt the omelet a little. But I had warned her I was not the best chef.
I started to feel the tightness in my chest start to creep into my throat, up the back of my neck and into my nose.
Not here. I told myself. NOT here. NOT now. I gripped the edge of the oven and squeezed as hard as I could to keep it together because I could hear their little feet pounding into the kitchen as if on cue. How do they know when breakfast is ready and their babysitter is falling apart?
I put a smile on my face and forced the tears to stay welled up in my eyes and my mouth and jaw were squeezed tense so no emotion could betray me. We got through 30 minutes like that--they ate and talked and I let them talk as much as they want. Peter went on and on about how when he was an adult he would make all his own decisions and still live with mom and dad and never get married because he didn't want to have to live away from home. Maura used to say the exact same thing. I never did. Soon, breakfast was eaten and Peter was grabbing onto me, pulling my sleeves to go play "egyptians." Lauren came over, gently took his grip off of my arm and told him I had to clean up and to go ahead and go get dressed as a Egypt and she would get dressed as Queen HutPut (or whoever the heck it is--a female pharaoh apparently--that girl knows more about Egypt than any Egyptian I know). When Peter raced to his room, Lauren gently put her skinny little arms around me.
And she smiled and she hugged me for I don't know, about 5 minutes. Long enough for Peter to change into his Egyptian costume (his underpants) and play for a bit and then realize no one had joined him yet.
When Peter came to get her, she gave me a final squeeze. I didn't squeeze her quite so hard, her body is very small and frail, and yet her hug is strong, but still, I don't want to break her. I didn't want to let go. I wanted to hug her forever and cry and cry and cry. But she went back to dress up as the Queen she is and I cleared the breakfast dishes and sat down and wept.
And when I had my cry, I went back into their room where the Egyptian palace had been set up and announced I was Cleopatra. And we played Egyptians for about another hour and a half and then I went home.
She's 7, you know? She'll be 8 in January. But she's really incredible. She's really wonderful. She sees things and knows things not a lot of kids her age pay attention to, I think. She is having a year like I did in 5th grade.
I miss my sister. I miss her with every fiber of my being even the broken shards of glass in my heart must feel the pain.
Unexpected and Unannounced my old enemy, Grief, has shown up again. And I don't have any 7 year olds today to ease the pain if just for a moment. I just have my computer, my pictures and a dirty apartment. Well. No time like the present to clean up.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
She isn't here anymore.
I wish I could spend my whole day in my bed with the covers keeping me warm and my house would clean itself, my work would get done, my prayers would be prayed, my husband would be loved and I wouldn't have to concentrate on anything but just drift off into oblivious sleep.
I went to pray this morning. I was so tired. For no reason. I got a ton of sleep. I get a lot of sleep. But I wanna sleep all the time.
So I moved to the couch to lie down instead of sit in my prayer chair and about when I had to really get up because I would be late for work, I looked out of the window and realized I sat down to pray and hadn't prayed about anything for a whole hour and a half. And I saw the blue sky and I thought about how Maura wasn't here and I thought, "Oh great God, now I REALLY don't have the time to tackle this monster, Grief, can we just not get into it this morning?" And I pushed the monster to the back of my mind forcing myself not to think about the absence of my sister.
And it seems lately that either I stare at her picture on my desk for ages thinking, "Did she really exist? Was she even there? Did I really laugh so hard when we took those pictures? Did I really feel her beautiful thick hair in my hands as I pulled? Her soft hands as she applied makeup to my face? Did I really ever have a little sister or has it always just been me and Danielle?" And its like I'm fighting to remember that there was a time I could pick up the phone and just call her.
And I hate myself for thinking those thoughts. Like she never was.
And then the other half of the time, all I think is, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
Like this morning, I see the blue sky the exact color of her eyes and I think, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I see the boot store where I bought her grey boots last Christmas and those skinny boots sitting in the window--staring me in the face and the buttons winking as if to torment me with the thought, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I go to play rehearsal and someone makes a comment and I say, "o-o-oh" the way she used to--sortof going up and down on my voice and nasalizing it...and then I notice I sound just like her and I again the thought pounds into my brain, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
She's not here anymore.
Not since May.
And the grief is still so palpative. In fact, I'm beginning to believe there is such a thing as "grief years" much like we have "doggy years" and five months is merely "earlier today" in grief years and one year is merely "yesterday" in grief years. Because it hurts like I just saw her last breath.
And the ever persistent image of her beautiful body completely lifeless, always accompanies my old enemy Grief and his most obtrusive sentence, "Maura isn't here anymore."
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
It pounds in my head over and over and over and over and over.
And don't get me started on Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. I asked my group what they thought about the holidays, I expressed my dreaded and paralyzing anticipation of the next two months and I asked if they knew of any way to survive. And they all got quiet and finally one man spoke and he said, "Lydia, I hate to tell you this...especially since we've been saying that your anticipation of pain is always less than it actually is...during the holidays...its worse. Your anticipation is much less than it will actually be." And they all agreed! Oh crap!! I'm in for it. Because the anticipation is almost debilitating I have to force teh thought of sitting around a Thanksgiving table and not remind myself how last year each one of us sat at a table and gave thanks for Maura still being alive. And this year, I have nothing to give thanks for. And there won't be any dessert because she's not there to make the Key lime pie or the cheesecake and God help me make mashed potatoes because I just don't know how. But even my soupy mashed potatoes taste better when Maura is there to mercilessly poke fun at them.
And Christmas...If thanksgiving crumbles me, Christmas annihilates me. I hate my favorite time of the year.
Oh God, the days ahead are hard. And I am tormented with Grief. He is a constant visitor who insists that I look at this whole world You've created through his eyes and my soul feels his piercing arrow everywhere my eyes turn. Because everything beautiful, yellow, blue, teal, funny or blonde reminds me of my sister. And then it reminds me that she's not here anymore.
I went to pray this morning. I was so tired. For no reason. I got a ton of sleep. I get a lot of sleep. But I wanna sleep all the time.
So I moved to the couch to lie down instead of sit in my prayer chair and about when I had to really get up because I would be late for work, I looked out of the window and realized I sat down to pray and hadn't prayed about anything for a whole hour and a half. And I saw the blue sky and I thought about how Maura wasn't here and I thought, "Oh great God, now I REALLY don't have the time to tackle this monster, Grief, can we just not get into it this morning?" And I pushed the monster to the back of my mind forcing myself not to think about the absence of my sister.
And it seems lately that either I stare at her picture on my desk for ages thinking, "Did she really exist? Was she even there? Did I really laugh so hard when we took those pictures? Did I really feel her beautiful thick hair in my hands as I pulled? Her soft hands as she applied makeup to my face? Did I really ever have a little sister or has it always just been me and Danielle?" And its like I'm fighting to remember that there was a time I could pick up the phone and just call her.
And I hate myself for thinking those thoughts. Like she never was.
And then the other half of the time, all I think is, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
Like this morning, I see the blue sky the exact color of her eyes and I think, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I see the boot store where I bought her grey boots last Christmas and those skinny boots sitting in the window--staring me in the face and the buttons winking as if to torment me with the thought, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I go to play rehearsal and someone makes a comment and I say, "o-o-oh" the way she used to--sortof going up and down on my voice and nasalizing it...and then I notice I sound just like her and I again the thought pounds into my brain, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
She's not here anymore.
Not since May.
And the grief is still so palpative. In fact, I'm beginning to believe there is such a thing as "grief years" much like we have "doggy years" and five months is merely "earlier today" in grief years and one year is merely "yesterday" in grief years. Because it hurts like I just saw her last breath.
And the ever persistent image of her beautiful body completely lifeless, always accompanies my old enemy Grief and his most obtrusive sentence, "Maura isn't here anymore."
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
It pounds in my head over and over and over and over and over.
And don't get me started on Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. I asked my group what they thought about the holidays, I expressed my dreaded and paralyzing anticipation of the next two months and I asked if they knew of any way to survive. And they all got quiet and finally one man spoke and he said, "Lydia, I hate to tell you this...especially since we've been saying that your anticipation of pain is always less than it actually is...during the holidays...its worse. Your anticipation is much less than it will actually be." And they all agreed! Oh crap!! I'm in for it. Because the anticipation is almost debilitating I have to force teh thought of sitting around a Thanksgiving table and not remind myself how last year each one of us sat at a table and gave thanks for Maura still being alive. And this year, I have nothing to give thanks for. And there won't be any dessert because she's not there to make the Key lime pie or the cheesecake and God help me make mashed potatoes because I just don't know how. But even my soupy mashed potatoes taste better when Maura is there to mercilessly poke fun at them.
And Christmas...If thanksgiving crumbles me, Christmas annihilates me. I hate my favorite time of the year.
Oh God, the days ahead are hard. And I am tormented with Grief. He is a constant visitor who insists that I look at this whole world You've created through his eyes and my soul feels his piercing arrow everywhere my eyes turn. Because everything beautiful, yellow, blue, teal, funny or blonde reminds me of my sister. And then it reminds me that she's not here anymore.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Lazarus.
I started reading the story of Lazarus again. (John 11)
Most of what I know of Lazarus is Sunday school stuff. And one of my old foster sisters singing the Carmen version "Lazarus! Come fooooooooooooorth!" (And my mom knows exactly what I'm talking about and is probably laughing at the memory as well...heck, my mom used to have her lipsync it for a show when people came over--it was pretty entertaining. I played Lazarus coming out of the grave...there's a metaphor in there somewhere?)
But recently I haven't been feeling like Lazarus. I feel like his sisters...except cheated. And I always felt like Mary. Probably because I'd rather spend hours and hours praying, reading my Bible, talking and listening to God than clean my apartment or take care of the necessary things in life like food shopping so my husband doesn't starve or washing clothes so he doesn't walk around naked and freeze his cute little tushy off.
so I reread the story and again...Mary. There I was. (before I begin you must know a secret...I have a history of studying characters of the Bible that I particularly feel my life is paralleling. aa few years ago I got really excited because I was studying Daniel and felt like Daniel throughout the whole study...I even wished I'd been given the name Danielle instead of my sister so that I could fulfill my destiny...so I go overboard....whatever, the study was awesome and I learned a lot. Even if I'm not Danielle. And oh yeah, Maura was studying Daniel in her Bible study at the same time and we both thought that was pretty cool and would talk about it.
So, needless to say, I no longer feel like Daniel. Or Joseph. Or David. Or Solomon. I feel like Mary. A woman who loved God with her whole heart. Who forsook helping her sister in the kitchen, but sat with the men at the feet of Jesus listening to him talk. Who the minute her brother got sick, sent word to Jesus (along with her sister), with faith that Jesus would heal him. But guess what? Black on white, it says Jesus got the message and "although Jesus loved Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, he stayed where he was for the next two days." (John 11:5) And in that time, Lazarus died. Of what I don't know...but he died. And I know what that is like. I know what that is like for a sister who called the one who was her Messiah and who she believed loved her and her family and he didn't come and heal in time or any time for that matter and she had to watch him tortured with sickness and see his breath slowly leave his body and live with that sense of emptiness and hopelessness and meaninglessness. and pain beyond any human understanding. A grief that is horrifically and supernaturally oppressive. And worst of all...no more brother, no more hope...but a huge feeling of abandonment.
Not that I think God couldn't have healed Maura. I still believe God is who He is. And not that I think that God doesn't love me...I just feel abandoned and a little let down...like he didn't deliver on his word. Which turns into a sorta "alright I believe, but I'm not important enough, or deserving enough for God to really care about doing anything about my dying sister" I mean, it wasn't like it was one of my selfish requests, like--"please open a door for me in my career" or "please let the train come now so I'm not late for work even though i overslept..."
So Jesus says first "Lazarus' sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this." (vs. 4) Then later, after Laz dies, he says, okay, time to go wake him up. He's dead. Glad I wasn't there so all you fools will believe. (vs. 11-15) --("fools" obviously in the modern slang context I'm reading into it--not the "i think you're all idiots context)
So here's the good bit. The bit that makes me go, "Yeah, Mary, I get ya. I get it."
"When Martha got word that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him. But Mary stayed in the house." (vs. 20) Well, I woulda too. In fact, I have. Stayed in the house, literally and metaphorically.
I go to church every sunday...and if I'm not crying through the worship music, I'm faking it. I used to LOVE worship. I was on the worship team--technically, I still am...but last worship rehearsal I went to, I cried through the whole prayer bit as something in me started to break and then proceeded to shut down. Its easier to shut down and fake it than really sing praise...or admit that you have no desire to meet with someone you love very much but you feel completely hurt by. Maybe its anger, but I feel anger but not really a lot at God. I don't know what it is. I mean, God is God, right? Who am I? I'm nothing. I'm just someone who has walked her whole life with Him as her best friend, since I was in fifth grade and I had no other friends. This friend promised to never leave me or forsake me and up till now, I never thought He had, or would.
And I don't feel particularly forsaken either. I still know He loves me. I don't know what it is I feel...all the words that come to me are part of it but not it in a whole: disappointed? let down? rejected? betrayed? abandoned? told no? miffed? unimportant? unvaluable? I don't know what the right word is. All of these words and yet none of them at the same time.
And I bet that's how Mary felt. Because when Martha goes back and tells her Jesus wants to see her, she immediately goes. (vs. 28-29). And there's something, that I feel, is kinda cool in the fact that Jesus waits for her outside the village where Martha met him (and Martha pronounces her faith in him so beautifully, in a way that Mary doesn't--so you can't knock her for being in the kitchen...she believed in Jesus just as much as Mary...maybe even understood him better). I like that he didn't go into the village. He waited for Mary to come to him. (vs. 30) I like that He asked specifically for her. "The teacher is here and wants to see you" (vs. 28) And I wonder why He waited outside of the village. The only way I can answer is what I feel.
Like God has been waiting outside my "village" for me to come to Him. Like a perfect gentleman. Knowing that if he barged into my world with words of "Trust me" "follow me" "I love you" I would scream at him and call him a liar to his face and probably make a big scene because I am that dramatic. Because even if He said, "Maura's sickness will not end in death" (and let me tell you I believed that truth with every inch of my being--every scripture I read, every prayer I prayed was a confirmation that My God, My Friend, My Messiah, would deliver my sister and heal her from the evil, wicked cancer--too understand the let-down, you have to know how hard I believed. I never doubted. Not even the day she died. Part of me knew it was coming...even before it happened...I remember praying for healing and hearing Him in my heart say "soon." Only I thought the soon meant she would be cancer free in this world--not that "soon"--in a matter of months He would take her. Even after she died, part of me believed she would come back to life like Lazarus. But she didn't. and when they told us that they had really cremated her body...i almost couldn't believe that God still hadn't stepped in. Oh I believed. It was not because of any doubt that my sister died. And she believed in her healing as well. She was prepared for death, but even on the last days...her kidneys were shut down, the nurses were throwing out piss-pour options to see if they would work and she said, "Sure! Yeah! I mean, I'll try anything." She wasn't giving up on her faith either. So...Mary didn't go meet God. She stayed with the mourners.
I joined a breavement group. I stay home and cry for hours. I get lost in tv series or movies (anything to take my mind off it.)
But when He called her she got up immediately.
Me too. I'm happy to say.
And He's been tugging at me...read some Bible. you love the bible (because the Bible is how me and Him communicate. I like to call it the Holy Spirit Highligher where I read something and it connects to this and that, NT, OT, everything and it begins to make sense as a whole not just bits pulled out for a sermon. And I love that. And He knows that's how we talk. But I wouldn't open my Bible. And I wouldn't sing praises because I didn't want to praise him. i knew I was supposed to. Praise God through the good and the bad...well, its harder than it sounds. So what do I do? I read a little book called the "Power of a Praying Wife" and I pray for my husband in the little prayers that she writes out for me, because that is the easiest thing to do and I do want good for my husband and my marriage. But I'm not gonna bother him with any more requests or heaven forbid talk to him about how I actually feel about him and what's happened and is happening. and I'm okay that I don't have any hope. But what I forgot to consider is that "Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance." (1 Cor. 13:7) God is Love. Not me. I just love Him. So I guess sometimes I am faithful and hopeful and I will endure...just not as gracefully as God. That's why He rules the world and I don't.
So when I went to worship rehearsal and I was forced to be real with God, I was forced to admit I hadn't been really talking to him or singing to him and that the weight of the grief had knocked me to his feet and I wanted to be back praising him and I know how to sing but that my heart is fighting against itself. Because praising is supposed to be joyful and there is not one drop of joy left in this vessel--it had all been squeezed out with Maura's last breath.
But still, it was clear, the call from God. "Lydia, Jesus is here. he wants to talk to you. He's waiting outside the village for you."
"When Mary arrived and saw Jesus, she fell at his feet and said, "Lord, if only you had been here, my brother wouldn't have died." (vs. 32)
I can imagine that picture with perfect clarity. Because that's exactly where I am. Flat on my face at his feet unable to straighten up. The good thing is I'm finally at His feet as opposed to in the house...but I'm still a puddle, barely able to look up at him through blurry tears and say, "Lord, if only you had been here, my sister wouldn't have died."
The next bit though I don't get. Jesus saw her (and the other mourners) crying and He got angry or "a deep anger welled-up within him". (vs. 33) He asks where they buried him, and they tell him to follow and then he cries. Not just cries. He weeps. (vs. 35). And I could be like the people who said, "He's crying! See how much he loved him!" or the others who say, "He healed the blind surely he could have kept Maura from dying?" (vs. 36-37)
But why did Jesus cry for real? He saw them crying and He got angry and he was still angry as he arrived at the tomb! (vs. 38) WHY was he angry? Because they didn't believe in him? That doesn't sound like Jesus. He got angry when people were exploiting His Father's house (famous temple rage scene where he turns over the tables) but not when people didn't believe he would heal...ESPECIALLY Mary who has just seen her brother die! I mean, surely he understands the grief she is going through and cannot expect her to know the future that God is going to raise up her brother from the dead? It makes perfect sense to her that Jesus could have saved her brother, but he didn't. And the hurt is overwhelming. Maybe he was weeping with her, but then I ask again, WHY was he angry?
Was He angry at Death? That causes such pain and heartache in the hearts of people he loves? Was he angry at God for the way that this had to go down and people had to suffer before they could believe? Was he angry at the mourners for not believing or keeping Mary in a state of emotional mourning? Was he weeping out of being so angry? (I do that, I get so mad and frustrated tears start to pour out) But if thats the case, what was frustrating him?
I don't know. I really don't know and it bothers me that I don't know why he was angry because I feel I can't fully understand his weeping until I know why he was angry. He had human emotions...he experienced all that we did. so...I get Mary, but I don't get Jesus' reaction and maybe I want to and need to so I know what He's trying to say to me.
Anyway, Jesus then raises Lazarus from the dead. Yippee for Mary and Martha.
Mary's story doesn't end there because in the next chapter she is the one who pours expensive perfume on Jesus' feet and dries it with her hair while he's chillin with his disciples her now alive brother. I would too if Jesus had brought my sister back from the dead.
But he didn't. So will I ever get to that place like Mary where I'm at his feet giving him my most prized posessions? Not that I have anything to give him that I haven't already. I already gave him my acting, and my writing and my marriage and my family. I mean...he took Maura and I haven't lost faith in Him...I'm just ...in pain, that's all. No big deal. I'll get over it, won't I? Maybe not? I don't know.
I mean, God, you have everything already? what more do you want?
"The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and a repentant heart, O God." (Psalm 51:17)
well, I feel broken. I definitely feel repentant. Or maybe just guilty for my whining and pouring out my endless hurt but David did too and you loved him so I think you can take and you understand my heart.
Sunday we were talking about the new year coming up (like in 2 1/2 months) and one of my friends said he doesn't want this year to end. And I said, "I do. I want 2009 to be so far away from me because this has been the worst year of my life. I mean, I thought 2008 was bad, 2009 was worse." and he said, "But you got married in 2009." "True," I said, "And that was definitely a highlight-perhaps the only highlight--making it extremely necessary in such a dark year. But that joy will be much greater when the present pain of 2009 is so much more behind me." And he said, "but you have grown so much through this." (isn't that what the Bible says about 'trials and tribulations and pain' blah blah blah) and I told him honestly, that I don't feel strong or that I've grown. I feel much weaker actually. Like I've taken five giant steps backwards. I don't see myself anymore standing on a mountain in full armor with sword drawn and an army of warriors behind me ready for battle like Wonder Woman, singing praises to my God at the top of my lungs. Instead, I feel like a broken, naked woman, who's been beaten with life and has literally fallen at Jesus' feet from lack of strength to keep her standing and who is a water fountain of tears and blubbering and endless despair. How is this stronger?
And he said, "you'll look back on this and see how much you've grown." well. I'd rather have my sister than some far-away future strength, thank you very much. But nobody asked me, did they? Did He? And once again, that's because I'm not God. Because things would be different. And I can argue with myself the opposite. I can tell myself that on my knees weeping is a good place. We are made strong in our weakness. I know what I'm saying. I know the answers. I read the Book. I know--what doesn't kill ya makes you stronger--etc. but right now...it sucks. IT SUCKS BALLS. and I am not enjoying this process.
Something good is around the corner. I feel it. I don't know what it is. But I do know, it's not my sister coming back to life. Maybe its me coming back to life.
Most of what I know of Lazarus is Sunday school stuff. And one of my old foster sisters singing the Carmen version "Lazarus! Come fooooooooooooorth!" (And my mom knows exactly what I'm talking about and is probably laughing at the memory as well...heck, my mom used to have her lipsync it for a show when people came over--it was pretty entertaining. I played Lazarus coming out of the grave...there's a metaphor in there somewhere?)
But recently I haven't been feeling like Lazarus. I feel like his sisters...except cheated. And I always felt like Mary. Probably because I'd rather spend hours and hours praying, reading my Bible, talking and listening to God than clean my apartment or take care of the necessary things in life like food shopping so my husband doesn't starve or washing clothes so he doesn't walk around naked and freeze his cute little tushy off.
so I reread the story and again...Mary. There I was. (before I begin you must know a secret...I have a history of studying characters of the Bible that I particularly feel my life is paralleling. aa few years ago I got really excited because I was studying Daniel and felt like Daniel throughout the whole study...I even wished I'd been given the name Danielle instead of my sister so that I could fulfill my destiny...so I go overboard....whatever, the study was awesome and I learned a lot. Even if I'm not Danielle. And oh yeah, Maura was studying Daniel in her Bible study at the same time and we both thought that was pretty cool and would talk about it.
So, needless to say, I no longer feel like Daniel. Or Joseph. Or David. Or Solomon. I feel like Mary. A woman who loved God with her whole heart. Who forsook helping her sister in the kitchen, but sat with the men at the feet of Jesus listening to him talk. Who the minute her brother got sick, sent word to Jesus (along with her sister), with faith that Jesus would heal him. But guess what? Black on white, it says Jesus got the message and "although Jesus loved Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, he stayed where he was for the next two days." (John 11:5) And in that time, Lazarus died. Of what I don't know...but he died. And I know what that is like. I know what that is like for a sister who called the one who was her Messiah and who she believed loved her and her family and he didn't come and heal in time or any time for that matter and she had to watch him tortured with sickness and see his breath slowly leave his body and live with that sense of emptiness and hopelessness and meaninglessness. and pain beyond any human understanding. A grief that is horrifically and supernaturally oppressive. And worst of all...no more brother, no more hope...but a huge feeling of abandonment.
Not that I think God couldn't have healed Maura. I still believe God is who He is. And not that I think that God doesn't love me...I just feel abandoned and a little let down...like he didn't deliver on his word. Which turns into a sorta "alright I believe, but I'm not important enough, or deserving enough for God to really care about doing anything about my dying sister" I mean, it wasn't like it was one of my selfish requests, like--"please open a door for me in my career" or "please let the train come now so I'm not late for work even though i overslept..."
So Jesus says first "Lazarus' sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this." (vs. 4) Then later, after Laz dies, he says, okay, time to go wake him up. He's dead. Glad I wasn't there so all you fools will believe. (vs. 11-15) --("fools" obviously in the modern slang context I'm reading into it--not the "i think you're all idiots context)
So here's the good bit. The bit that makes me go, "Yeah, Mary, I get ya. I get it."
"When Martha got word that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him. But Mary stayed in the house." (vs. 20) Well, I woulda too. In fact, I have. Stayed in the house, literally and metaphorically.
I go to church every sunday...and if I'm not crying through the worship music, I'm faking it. I used to LOVE worship. I was on the worship team--technically, I still am...but last worship rehearsal I went to, I cried through the whole prayer bit as something in me started to break and then proceeded to shut down. Its easier to shut down and fake it than really sing praise...or admit that you have no desire to meet with someone you love very much but you feel completely hurt by. Maybe its anger, but I feel anger but not really a lot at God. I don't know what it is. I mean, God is God, right? Who am I? I'm nothing. I'm just someone who has walked her whole life with Him as her best friend, since I was in fifth grade and I had no other friends. This friend promised to never leave me or forsake me and up till now, I never thought He had, or would.
And I don't feel particularly forsaken either. I still know He loves me. I don't know what it is I feel...all the words that come to me are part of it but not it in a whole: disappointed? let down? rejected? betrayed? abandoned? told no? miffed? unimportant? unvaluable? I don't know what the right word is. All of these words and yet none of them at the same time.
And I bet that's how Mary felt. Because when Martha goes back and tells her Jesus wants to see her, she immediately goes. (vs. 28-29). And there's something, that I feel, is kinda cool in the fact that Jesus waits for her outside the village where Martha met him (and Martha pronounces her faith in him so beautifully, in a way that Mary doesn't--so you can't knock her for being in the kitchen...she believed in Jesus just as much as Mary...maybe even understood him better). I like that he didn't go into the village. He waited for Mary to come to him. (vs. 30) I like that He asked specifically for her. "The teacher is here and wants to see you" (vs. 28) And I wonder why He waited outside of the village. The only way I can answer is what I feel.
Like God has been waiting outside my "village" for me to come to Him. Like a perfect gentleman. Knowing that if he barged into my world with words of "Trust me" "follow me" "I love you" I would scream at him and call him a liar to his face and probably make a big scene because I am that dramatic. Because even if He said, "Maura's sickness will not end in death" (and let me tell you I believed that truth with every inch of my being--every scripture I read, every prayer I prayed was a confirmation that My God, My Friend, My Messiah, would deliver my sister and heal her from the evil, wicked cancer--too understand the let-down, you have to know how hard I believed. I never doubted. Not even the day she died. Part of me knew it was coming...even before it happened...I remember praying for healing and hearing Him in my heart say "soon." Only I thought the soon meant she would be cancer free in this world--not that "soon"--in a matter of months He would take her. Even after she died, part of me believed she would come back to life like Lazarus. But she didn't. and when they told us that they had really cremated her body...i almost couldn't believe that God still hadn't stepped in. Oh I believed. It was not because of any doubt that my sister died. And she believed in her healing as well. She was prepared for death, but even on the last days...her kidneys were shut down, the nurses were throwing out piss-pour options to see if they would work and she said, "Sure! Yeah! I mean, I'll try anything." She wasn't giving up on her faith either. So...Mary didn't go meet God. She stayed with the mourners.
I joined a breavement group. I stay home and cry for hours. I get lost in tv series or movies (anything to take my mind off it.)
But when He called her she got up immediately.
Me too. I'm happy to say.
And He's been tugging at me...read some Bible. you love the bible (because the Bible is how me and Him communicate. I like to call it the Holy Spirit Highligher where I read something and it connects to this and that, NT, OT, everything and it begins to make sense as a whole not just bits pulled out for a sermon. And I love that. And He knows that's how we talk. But I wouldn't open my Bible. And I wouldn't sing praises because I didn't want to praise him. i knew I was supposed to. Praise God through the good and the bad...well, its harder than it sounds. So what do I do? I read a little book called the "Power of a Praying Wife" and I pray for my husband in the little prayers that she writes out for me, because that is the easiest thing to do and I do want good for my husband and my marriage. But I'm not gonna bother him with any more requests or heaven forbid talk to him about how I actually feel about him and what's happened and is happening. and I'm okay that I don't have any hope. But what I forgot to consider is that "Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance." (1 Cor. 13:7) God is Love. Not me. I just love Him. So I guess sometimes I am faithful and hopeful and I will endure...just not as gracefully as God. That's why He rules the world and I don't.
So when I went to worship rehearsal and I was forced to be real with God, I was forced to admit I hadn't been really talking to him or singing to him and that the weight of the grief had knocked me to his feet and I wanted to be back praising him and I know how to sing but that my heart is fighting against itself. Because praising is supposed to be joyful and there is not one drop of joy left in this vessel--it had all been squeezed out with Maura's last breath.
But still, it was clear, the call from God. "Lydia, Jesus is here. he wants to talk to you. He's waiting outside the village for you."
"When Mary arrived and saw Jesus, she fell at his feet and said, "Lord, if only you had been here, my brother wouldn't have died." (vs. 32)
I can imagine that picture with perfect clarity. Because that's exactly where I am. Flat on my face at his feet unable to straighten up. The good thing is I'm finally at His feet as opposed to in the house...but I'm still a puddle, barely able to look up at him through blurry tears and say, "Lord, if only you had been here, my sister wouldn't have died."
The next bit though I don't get. Jesus saw her (and the other mourners) crying and He got angry or "a deep anger welled-up within him". (vs. 33) He asks where they buried him, and they tell him to follow and then he cries. Not just cries. He weeps. (vs. 35). And I could be like the people who said, "He's crying! See how much he loved him!" or the others who say, "He healed the blind surely he could have kept Maura from dying?" (vs. 36-37)
But why did Jesus cry for real? He saw them crying and He got angry and he was still angry as he arrived at the tomb! (vs. 38) WHY was he angry? Because they didn't believe in him? That doesn't sound like Jesus. He got angry when people were exploiting His Father's house (famous temple rage scene where he turns over the tables) but not when people didn't believe he would heal...ESPECIALLY Mary who has just seen her brother die! I mean, surely he understands the grief she is going through and cannot expect her to know the future that God is going to raise up her brother from the dead? It makes perfect sense to her that Jesus could have saved her brother, but he didn't. And the hurt is overwhelming. Maybe he was weeping with her, but then I ask again, WHY was he angry?
Was He angry at Death? That causes such pain and heartache in the hearts of people he loves? Was he angry at God for the way that this had to go down and people had to suffer before they could believe? Was he angry at the mourners for not believing or keeping Mary in a state of emotional mourning? Was he weeping out of being so angry? (I do that, I get so mad and frustrated tears start to pour out) But if thats the case, what was frustrating him?
I don't know. I really don't know and it bothers me that I don't know why he was angry because I feel I can't fully understand his weeping until I know why he was angry. He had human emotions...he experienced all that we did. so...I get Mary, but I don't get Jesus' reaction and maybe I want to and need to so I know what He's trying to say to me.
Anyway, Jesus then raises Lazarus from the dead. Yippee for Mary and Martha.
Mary's story doesn't end there because in the next chapter she is the one who pours expensive perfume on Jesus' feet and dries it with her hair while he's chillin with his disciples her now alive brother. I would too if Jesus had brought my sister back from the dead.
But he didn't. So will I ever get to that place like Mary where I'm at his feet giving him my most prized posessions? Not that I have anything to give him that I haven't already. I already gave him my acting, and my writing and my marriage and my family. I mean...he took Maura and I haven't lost faith in Him...I'm just ...in pain, that's all. No big deal. I'll get over it, won't I? Maybe not? I don't know.
I mean, God, you have everything already? what more do you want?
"The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and a repentant heart, O God." (Psalm 51:17)
well, I feel broken. I definitely feel repentant. Or maybe just guilty for my whining and pouring out my endless hurt but David did too and you loved him so I think you can take and you understand my heart.
Sunday we were talking about the new year coming up (like in 2 1/2 months) and one of my friends said he doesn't want this year to end. And I said, "I do. I want 2009 to be so far away from me because this has been the worst year of my life. I mean, I thought 2008 was bad, 2009 was worse." and he said, "But you got married in 2009." "True," I said, "And that was definitely a highlight-perhaps the only highlight--making it extremely necessary in such a dark year. But that joy will be much greater when the present pain of 2009 is so much more behind me." And he said, "but you have grown so much through this." (isn't that what the Bible says about 'trials and tribulations and pain' blah blah blah) and I told him honestly, that I don't feel strong or that I've grown. I feel much weaker actually. Like I've taken five giant steps backwards. I don't see myself anymore standing on a mountain in full armor with sword drawn and an army of warriors behind me ready for battle like Wonder Woman, singing praises to my God at the top of my lungs. Instead, I feel like a broken, naked woman, who's been beaten with life and has literally fallen at Jesus' feet from lack of strength to keep her standing and who is a water fountain of tears and blubbering and endless despair. How is this stronger?
And he said, "you'll look back on this and see how much you've grown." well. I'd rather have my sister than some far-away future strength, thank you very much. But nobody asked me, did they? Did He? And once again, that's because I'm not God. Because things would be different. And I can argue with myself the opposite. I can tell myself that on my knees weeping is a good place. We are made strong in our weakness. I know what I'm saying. I know the answers. I read the Book. I know--what doesn't kill ya makes you stronger--etc. but right now...it sucks. IT SUCKS BALLS. and I am not enjoying this process.
Something good is around the corner. I feel it. I don't know what it is. But I do know, it's not my sister coming back to life. Maybe its me coming back to life.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Oh Solomon!
You could write hundreds of books explaining what Solomon is talking about in Ecclesiastes and make it a lifetime study--and some have and there are more than a hundred I'm guessing. But as Solomon says himself, "Be careful, for writing books is endless and much study wears you out." (Eccl. 12:12)
But I've been studying Ecclesiastes anyway. He's pessimistically comforting in a world where I feel like I have to pretend I'm okay and not depressed. Too many people saying lately, "you're so depressed all the time. You're not like this. This isn't normal Lydia." well, it wasn't normal Lydia. but it is now. So, does that mean I get on the Zanax and float through life? when I'm holding a knife to my wrist, I'll call a doctor. But even thought I'm not scared of dying anymore, I'm still scared of needles and other sharp objects so I think we're okay.
Anyway. Solomon. The wisest man who ever lived. Wrote the proverbs and the sexy Song of Songs (or Song of Solomon--I never knew which was right) also wrote Ecclesiastes at the end of his life...when he had the whole thing to look back on. All his riches and power and intelligence and pleasure and the man had it made, okay?
And every other word in Ecclesiastes is "MEANINGLESS!" Life is meaningless! Its all Meaningless! Everything (food, women-or men!-, power, money, work, etc...) is like chasing after the wind (which is...MEANINGLESS!) So...ENJOY LIFE NOW! Be happy in your work--its fruitless otherwise. and to enjoy your work and enjoy the fruits of your labor (i.e. nice food, good clothes, fun times, wine, friendly party, things that money can buy you--money you got from your work) is a gift from God. Cool. God wants me to enjoy my life. I like that.
BUT "how meaningless to think that wealth brings happiness!" (5:10) and "Enjoy what you have rather than desiring what you don't have. Just dreaming about nice things is meaningless (his favorite word)--like chasing the wind." (6:9)
He so wonderfully is miserable. He's seen "death of good young people and the long life o wicked people..."(7:15) What??? but that's not fair!! but yes, its true because I have too. (Maura dies of cancerat age 22 and headline last week was Roman Polanski age 75 or something just now getting caught to be tried for child rape...) "the fastest runner doesn't always win the race and the strongest warrior doesn't always win the battle. the wise sometimes go hungry and the skillful are not necessarily wealthy (no duh! just think of actors and stars). And those who are educated don't always lead successful lives. It is all decided by chance, by being in the right place at the right time. People can never predict when hard times might come. Like fish caught in a net or birds in a trap, people are caught by sudden tragedy." (9:11-12)
He tears apart making your destiny happen. He says, "No one really knows what is going to happen; no one can predict the future." (10:14) and "Everything has already been decided. It was known long ago what each person would be. So there's no use arguing with God about your destiny." (6:10) But then says to enjoy your work and work hard and not be lazy because you get nothing from being lazy and you gain nothing if you work so hard and have no one to share it with. But work hard at what??
Day by day we figure it out I guess. We do our work. We enjoy our work. I work on being an actor and keep going to auditions and getting rejected and not seeing any of my dreams come true and yet I enjoy looking after Peter and Lauren as their babysitter too.
Enjoy life now, but then he says, but seek out wisdom and think about death and eternity. "Eat, drink, be merry..." but "a house of mourning is better than a house of feasting" because people who think about death and ponder life and see its shortness are being given wisdom. (7:1-4)
Wisdom for what, oh Wise one? if life is so meaningless? who cares?
Nobody. he says. But you will be judged for your actions. So live it up. But make choices wisely since life is short, pleasure is short and God is eternal.
He says (basically)
Life isn't fair.
Life is short.
Life is uncertain.
Enjoy now (things like youth when young, prosperity, etc..) because you don't know what tomorrow holds.
Its good and a gift from God to enjoy your life
But there will be times of no joy. ("There is a season for everything..." (3:1-14)
But have a future and eternal mindset because ultimately GOD will judge you for ALL your choices.
so...
Fear God. or know God...or respect God...and what do those words entail?
Obeying Him. If you respect someone, you listen to them. You take their advice. You know them, so you trust them...can you respect someone without trusting them or knowing them? Depends on how I define the word I guess. I "respect" Meryl Streep as an artist but I don't really know her. And without knowing her, how could I trust her? But Meryl Streep is not God.
God asks me to obey him.
Sounds harsh. But what are God's commands that I have to obey?
"Love the Lord, my God, with all my heart, soul and mind."
"Love my neighbor as I love myself."
"Love even my enemies," Jesus preached. I get that...Jesus was preaching something I think we all get. He lived and preached selfless love. okay.
But how can one love God with heart soul and mind if they don't know God?
And we love because He first loved us, how can we love someone, anyone if we don't know God?
Yet people who don't believe in God love other people. I have friends who I KNOW love me and they DO NOT love God if they even believe that God exists.
But we are made in the image of God. So does that mean that part of us knows how to love anyway because it was created in us?
I'm driving myself crazy now. What I wouldn't give for a conversation with Solomon.
But I've been studying Ecclesiastes anyway. He's pessimistically comforting in a world where I feel like I have to pretend I'm okay and not depressed. Too many people saying lately, "you're so depressed all the time. You're not like this. This isn't normal Lydia." well, it wasn't normal Lydia. but it is now. So, does that mean I get on the Zanax and float through life? when I'm holding a knife to my wrist, I'll call a doctor. But even thought I'm not scared of dying anymore, I'm still scared of needles and other sharp objects so I think we're okay.
Anyway. Solomon. The wisest man who ever lived. Wrote the proverbs and the sexy Song of Songs (or Song of Solomon--I never knew which was right) also wrote Ecclesiastes at the end of his life...when he had the whole thing to look back on. All his riches and power and intelligence and pleasure and the man had it made, okay?
And every other word in Ecclesiastes is "MEANINGLESS!" Life is meaningless! Its all Meaningless! Everything (food, women-or men!-, power, money, work, etc...) is like chasing after the wind (which is...MEANINGLESS!) So...ENJOY LIFE NOW! Be happy in your work--its fruitless otherwise. and to enjoy your work and enjoy the fruits of your labor (i.e. nice food, good clothes, fun times, wine, friendly party, things that money can buy you--money you got from your work) is a gift from God. Cool. God wants me to enjoy my life. I like that.
BUT "how meaningless to think that wealth brings happiness!" (5:10) and "Enjoy what you have rather than desiring what you don't have. Just dreaming about nice things is meaningless (his favorite word)--like chasing the wind." (6:9)
He so wonderfully is miserable. He's seen "death of good young people and the long life o wicked people..."(7:15) What??? but that's not fair!! but yes, its true because I have too. (Maura dies of cancerat age 22 and headline last week was Roman Polanski age 75 or something just now getting caught to be tried for child rape...) "the fastest runner doesn't always win the race and the strongest warrior doesn't always win the battle. the wise sometimes go hungry and the skillful are not necessarily wealthy (no duh! just think of actors and stars). And those who are educated don't always lead successful lives. It is all decided by chance, by being in the right place at the right time. People can never predict when hard times might come. Like fish caught in a net or birds in a trap, people are caught by sudden tragedy." (9:11-12)
He tears apart making your destiny happen. He says, "No one really knows what is going to happen; no one can predict the future." (10:14) and "Everything has already been decided. It was known long ago what each person would be. So there's no use arguing with God about your destiny." (6:10) But then says to enjoy your work and work hard and not be lazy because you get nothing from being lazy and you gain nothing if you work so hard and have no one to share it with. But work hard at what??
Day by day we figure it out I guess. We do our work. We enjoy our work. I work on being an actor and keep going to auditions and getting rejected and not seeing any of my dreams come true and yet I enjoy looking after Peter and Lauren as their babysitter too.
Enjoy life now, but then he says, but seek out wisdom and think about death and eternity. "Eat, drink, be merry..." but "a house of mourning is better than a house of feasting" because people who think about death and ponder life and see its shortness are being given wisdom. (7:1-4)
Wisdom for what, oh Wise one? if life is so meaningless? who cares?
Nobody. he says. But you will be judged for your actions. So live it up. But make choices wisely since life is short, pleasure is short and God is eternal.
He says (basically)
Life isn't fair.
Life is short.
Life is uncertain.
Enjoy now (things like youth when young, prosperity, etc..) because you don't know what tomorrow holds.
Its good and a gift from God to enjoy your life
But there will be times of no joy. ("There is a season for everything..." (3:1-14)
But have a future and eternal mindset because ultimately GOD will judge you for ALL your choices.
so...
Fear God. or know God...or respect God...and what do those words entail?
Obeying Him. If you respect someone, you listen to them. You take their advice. You know them, so you trust them...can you respect someone without trusting them or knowing them? Depends on how I define the word I guess. I "respect" Meryl Streep as an artist but I don't really know her. And without knowing her, how could I trust her? But Meryl Streep is not God.
God asks me to obey him.
Sounds harsh. But what are God's commands that I have to obey?
"Love the Lord, my God, with all my heart, soul and mind."
"Love my neighbor as I love myself."
"Love even my enemies," Jesus preached. I get that...Jesus was preaching something I think we all get. He lived and preached selfless love. okay.
But how can one love God with heart soul and mind if they don't know God?
And we love because He first loved us, how can we love someone, anyone if we don't know God?
Yet people who don't believe in God love other people. I have friends who I KNOW love me and they DO NOT love God if they even believe that God exists.
But we are made in the image of God. So does that mean that part of us knows how to love anyway because it was created in us?
I'm driving myself crazy now. What I wouldn't give for a conversation with Solomon.
Gilda's Club
I went to my first "bereavement group meeting" at Gilda's Club (the best thing I've found in NY since May).
It was good.
It was really good.
I could talk or not talk. I could listen. I could cry as much as I want. And I did. I walked in the room and I started to cry and they just looked at me and some started to cry with me. They didn't know my name, Maura's name or anything that has happened in the last 4 1/2 months, but I guess it was obvious why I was there and they cried with me. They didn't need to hug me, comfort me, offer awkward words because they didn't know what to say... They just nodded and teared up.
Turns out, I'm not the only one who has lost a sister. And each one just acknowledges it is different for everyone. Just like it is different for me and Danielle. we lost the same person but we lost two different people because she was something different and yet the same to both of us.
But yeah, the best thing was, throughout the whole night, whether I was talking, or someone else was sharing, I could cry--and really cry, and it didn't break rhythm. It wasn't avoided, nobody tried to make me 'feel better' or tried to "help" me stop crying, and nobody drew attention to it. It was normal. I was not alone in the tears. It wasn't a big deal. It just was. It was such a breath of fresh air to have no expectation of crying or not. To not have to shut myself down to avoid uncomfortableness for the other person. To not have to force my thoughts of Maura to go to the back of my mind so I can just keep it together until I get home (which I usually can't--I'm the crazy lady in the sunglasses crying on the subway now). I didn't feel like I was burdening someone. I bet I could get in a fight and bring up my dead sister and still be in the fight. Because when you bring up a death, usually people feel like they just have to shut up. But in reality, while it may explain my erratic and irrational behavior sometimes, it is no excuse for craziness.
But the best part--of the whole night--was when at the end they told me I could bring in pictures and videos if I wanted. And then one woman said she knew I had a picture of Maura on me and that they all wanted to see her. They all wanted to see the picture of my sister who they didn't know. And so I showed them one of the pictures I had of her. The one of us at Christmas 2007 (a couple months before everything went to shit) that we took on her computer when we were goofing off and pretending to be Kate and Bianca from my favorite play and she was trying to teach me to make "sexy faces" which she eventually gave up and said I just failed and couldn't be taught. She had printed a bunch of them and put four in a frame for me for Christmas last year...almost a year ago. It was the best Christmas present ever. And there were extra ones that hung around the house that didn't get selected to go in the frame and I keep those with me now. In my Bible, in my journal, wherever I go, I always have her picture on me.
One of my friends noticed that my background to my phone is a picture of my sister not my husband, or whole family together--and she kinda scorned it. Like..."You have a picture of your sister?" with the unfinished part of her sentence ringing loud in her tone (why don't you have aa picture that makes you happy? this probably isn't good for you. what does your husband think of that? why don't you have a picture of him on your phone to see everytime you look at your phone? time to move on. time to honor your husband and put him there not your dead sister. it was sad but..." and I felt guilty. But I haven't changed my phone yet.
Because I can see my husband everyday. With my own laser-corrected, perfect-vision eyes. And his voice echoes in my ears when he calls and I can touch him with my own hands and feel his warmth at night when we sleep in the same bed. But I have to look at my phone if I want to see her face and its blurry like only an image on a phone can be, and I look at it ten, twenty a hundred times a day because its less obvious than pulling out a picture from my Bible and staring at it (although sometimes I do that too and hide it in my book so it looks like I'm reading but really I'm just looking at her picture). And I thank God for my perfect vision because I can't hear her over the phone and the last time we shared a bed was so long ago I can't remember the sensation of her heat. But I can remember her smell. Its in her clothes that I wear every day. I've washed most of them, but there are a few that don't fit me but I have them and you can faintly still smell her. Maybe its more in my memory than anything else now but I still press the shirt to my nose and inhale as deeply as I can.
And these people at Gilda's Club, they think that's okay. They think that if you need to see her picture then you see her picture. And if you need to cry, then you cry. There is no judgement in that room. No need to excuse yourself or apologize. There is no need for you to pretend. There is no need for you to hold back or be ashamed and even better, when you do, we'll let it alone. We won't pity you, we'll just let you be there in the room with these other people and cry and it is happening but its not dominating anything. As if no one was crying and we're just old friends talking about life. Which we are in a way. and its wonderful. Thank God my neighbor told me about them.
We even laughed about making a book filled with "What not to say" (which I think my mom wrote about in her blog at one point). and oh it was a good laugh. here are some of my favorite from the night:
1. "it's been 7 months, you should be doing better."
(it's ONLY been 7 months is more like it)
2. "After you reach a certain age, I think you're okay with your parents dying."
(if I only had a brain...)
3. "You know, we all have to die at some point!"
(yup, and hopefully your turn is next)
4. "At least you knew it was coming and you had time to prepare. It's not like it was a car accident or anything."
(oh, well, in that case...it doesn't MATTER, you heartless Nazi.)
Actually, Maura made a list like this on facebook once--"what not to say to someone with cancer" and I think I had inspired the whole list...as she said, I WAS the list. so you know. we're all stupid sometimes.
I told them my dream. The one with Maura and the football field and the silent, trench-coated man and woman coming after Maura and me fighting them and punching them with my ring and kicking them and Maura jumps over the bleachers with me, stops and says to me while she's smiling and laughing and her hair is practically glowing blondish/whitish and her smile is so beautiful and her face so friendly, "I can't go with you Lydia."
"I can't go with you Lydia." Its amazing how haunting those words are to me.
They told me time. They were living proof of time. They told me to learn from the life that she lived and the way that she died (sounded like a lyric from Rent which I started to sing in my head--
"Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand-six-hundred minutes. Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand moments so dear.
Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand-six-hundred minutes.
how do you measure, measure a year?"
She was peaceful. Joyful. Not complaining. Living every moment. not afraid to go. but wanting to stay and be around people. It was all about love for her in the end after all.
"How about Lo-oooo-ooo-ooo--ooo-oove?"
anyone?
and now,
"Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses....let us strip off every weight..and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us by God..."
This verse makes me feel closer to Maura. Like she's there, in that cloud of witnesses, chillin' with Paul and Peter and John and Daniel and David and even Solomon. Surrounding me. Lookin at me...checkin up on me.
Its okay to look at her pictures. Its okay to remember her.
In fact. I must.
It was good.
It was really good.
I could talk or not talk. I could listen. I could cry as much as I want. And I did. I walked in the room and I started to cry and they just looked at me and some started to cry with me. They didn't know my name, Maura's name or anything that has happened in the last 4 1/2 months, but I guess it was obvious why I was there and they cried with me. They didn't need to hug me, comfort me, offer awkward words because they didn't know what to say... They just nodded and teared up.
Turns out, I'm not the only one who has lost a sister. And each one just acknowledges it is different for everyone. Just like it is different for me and Danielle. we lost the same person but we lost two different people because she was something different and yet the same to both of us.
But yeah, the best thing was, throughout the whole night, whether I was talking, or someone else was sharing, I could cry--and really cry, and it didn't break rhythm. It wasn't avoided, nobody tried to make me 'feel better' or tried to "help" me stop crying, and nobody drew attention to it. It was normal. I was not alone in the tears. It wasn't a big deal. It just was. It was such a breath of fresh air to have no expectation of crying or not. To not have to shut myself down to avoid uncomfortableness for the other person. To not have to force my thoughts of Maura to go to the back of my mind so I can just keep it together until I get home (which I usually can't--I'm the crazy lady in the sunglasses crying on the subway now). I didn't feel like I was burdening someone. I bet I could get in a fight and bring up my dead sister and still be in the fight. Because when you bring up a death, usually people feel like they just have to shut up. But in reality, while it may explain my erratic and irrational behavior sometimes, it is no excuse for craziness.
But the best part--of the whole night--was when at the end they told me I could bring in pictures and videos if I wanted. And then one woman said she knew I had a picture of Maura on me and that they all wanted to see her. They all wanted to see the picture of my sister who they didn't know. And so I showed them one of the pictures I had of her. The one of us at Christmas 2007 (a couple months before everything went to shit) that we took on her computer when we were goofing off and pretending to be Kate and Bianca from my favorite play and she was trying to teach me to make "sexy faces" which she eventually gave up and said I just failed and couldn't be taught. She had printed a bunch of them and put four in a frame for me for Christmas last year...almost a year ago. It was the best Christmas present ever. And there were extra ones that hung around the house that didn't get selected to go in the frame and I keep those with me now. In my Bible, in my journal, wherever I go, I always have her picture on me.
One of my friends noticed that my background to my phone is a picture of my sister not my husband, or whole family together--and she kinda scorned it. Like..."You have a picture of your sister?" with the unfinished part of her sentence ringing loud in her tone (why don't you have aa picture that makes you happy? this probably isn't good for you. what does your husband think of that? why don't you have a picture of him on your phone to see everytime you look at your phone? time to move on. time to honor your husband and put him there not your dead sister. it was sad but..." and I felt guilty. But I haven't changed my phone yet.
Because I can see my husband everyday. With my own laser-corrected, perfect-vision eyes. And his voice echoes in my ears when he calls and I can touch him with my own hands and feel his warmth at night when we sleep in the same bed. But I have to look at my phone if I want to see her face and its blurry like only an image on a phone can be, and I look at it ten, twenty a hundred times a day because its less obvious than pulling out a picture from my Bible and staring at it (although sometimes I do that too and hide it in my book so it looks like I'm reading but really I'm just looking at her picture). And I thank God for my perfect vision because I can't hear her over the phone and the last time we shared a bed was so long ago I can't remember the sensation of her heat. But I can remember her smell. Its in her clothes that I wear every day. I've washed most of them, but there are a few that don't fit me but I have them and you can faintly still smell her. Maybe its more in my memory than anything else now but I still press the shirt to my nose and inhale as deeply as I can.
And these people at Gilda's Club, they think that's okay. They think that if you need to see her picture then you see her picture. And if you need to cry, then you cry. There is no judgement in that room. No need to excuse yourself or apologize. There is no need for you to pretend. There is no need for you to hold back or be ashamed and even better, when you do, we'll let it alone. We won't pity you, we'll just let you be there in the room with these other people and cry and it is happening but its not dominating anything. As if no one was crying and we're just old friends talking about life. Which we are in a way. and its wonderful. Thank God my neighbor told me about them.
We even laughed about making a book filled with "What not to say" (which I think my mom wrote about in her blog at one point). and oh it was a good laugh. here are some of my favorite from the night:
1. "it's been 7 months, you should be doing better."
(it's ONLY been 7 months is more like it)
2. "After you reach a certain age, I think you're okay with your parents dying."
(if I only had a brain...)
3. "You know, we all have to die at some point!"
(yup, and hopefully your turn is next)
4. "At least you knew it was coming and you had time to prepare. It's not like it was a car accident or anything."
(oh, well, in that case...it doesn't MATTER, you heartless Nazi.)
Actually, Maura made a list like this on facebook once--"what not to say to someone with cancer" and I think I had inspired the whole list...as she said, I WAS the list. so you know. we're all stupid sometimes.
I told them my dream. The one with Maura and the football field and the silent, trench-coated man and woman coming after Maura and me fighting them and punching them with my ring and kicking them and Maura jumps over the bleachers with me, stops and says to me while she's smiling and laughing and her hair is practically glowing blondish/whitish and her smile is so beautiful and her face so friendly, "I can't go with you Lydia."
"I can't go with you Lydia." Its amazing how haunting those words are to me.
They told me time. They were living proof of time. They told me to learn from the life that she lived and the way that she died (sounded like a lyric from Rent which I started to sing in my head--
"Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand-six-hundred minutes. Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand moments so dear.
Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand-six-hundred minutes.
how do you measure, measure a year?"
She was peaceful. Joyful. Not complaining. Living every moment. not afraid to go. but wanting to stay and be around people. It was all about love for her in the end after all.
"How about Lo-oooo-ooo-ooo--ooo-oove?"
anyone?
and now,
"Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses....let us strip off every weight..and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us by God..."
This verse makes me feel closer to Maura. Like she's there, in that cloud of witnesses, chillin' with Paul and Peter and John and Daniel and David and even Solomon. Surrounding me. Lookin at me...checkin up on me.
Its okay to look at her pictures. Its okay to remember her.
In fact. I must.
Friday, October 2, 2009
why is it that I only write when I'm crying?
because I have nothing to say when I'm okay or just floating by hoping to be unnoticed and go by with out having to put in any effort.
i should live my life like William Wilburforce. My new hero.
but what thing do I have to fight for passionately when all I care to do is wallow in misery and depression?
not much.
There are ten different ways I can write Maura's story. which way? how? God, how? help me get it out.
because I have nothing to say when I'm okay or just floating by hoping to be unnoticed and go by with out having to put in any effort.
i should live my life like William Wilburforce. My new hero.
but what thing do I have to fight for passionately when all I care to do is wallow in misery and depression?
not much.
There are ten different ways I can write Maura's story. which way? how? God, how? help me get it out.
pillow fight.
Peter (the 4 & 1/2 yr. old I babysit) and I held playcushions to our stomachs as we crashed into each other and fell down laughing with each impact.
Now that I'm home my laughter has turned to sobs.
Maura and I used to put on my dad's big puffy jackets, put pillows in them to fill it out so we were like sumo wrestlers. We'd cover the tile floor of the spacious living room with couch cushions and then stand at opposite ends of the room and run at each other full force. We would do this over and over and over.
Run, smash, bounce back and fall.
Run, smash, bounce back, fall.
run smash bounce back fall
runsmashbouncebackfall
feels like my life nowadays.
run
smash
bounce back
fall.
Another time, we took my dad's big puffy jacket and maura stood in front of me as I zipped us up together. The two-armed, four-legged two-headed monster that we became was the best. and inevitably we would bounce around waving our arms up and down until we fell down in a big poof. still laughing.
why is it that the older you get, the laughter doesn't come so swiftly when you fall?
Danielle went home today too. And I miss her so much. Our apartment was small but I wish that she lived next door and my mom and dad lived below us (well, maybe three flights below us since we are on the fourth floor of a walk up and I don't wish the hike for my parents.)
If I had the perfect house, I'd have a brownstone in NYC.
Mom and Dad could have the first floor with a garden out the back for my dad and Danielle could have the second floor entirely to herself with a nice Juliet balcony. J and I would take the third floor with a circular staircase that lead to the fourth floor where our family library would be located (with wall to wall/foor to ceiling shelves loaded with every book one could ever want and a nice large chez and high backed chair with ample blankets and comfy pillows and a small table in between with a reading lamp) and Maura could live on the fifth floor--with a skylight for a roof and when she sang it would drift down the pipes all the way down to Mom and Dad so we all could hear her sing day and night.
If I had the perfect house.
we're promised a mansion in Heaven. that's what I want mine to be like. And God, don't forget the projector for J so we can all watch movies on the big screen at home.
I'm looking at my sister's picture in front of me and missing her so much. I miss her so much. I don't think life was meant to be lived this way. I miss my dad. And I miss my mom. And now I miss Danielle.
And I never wanna hear another opera for as long as I live. Ironic. but that's how I feel.
And Nicole is having a baby girl. And another wave of saudades overtakes me as I'm overjoyed for my best friend and so sad at the circle of life. The circle of life sucks. and I hate it. we should all die the same day as everyone we love so no one has to live after.
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain." (so, basically, there will be nothing left of anything of the life I'm experiencing right now.)
"All these things will be gone forever."
well good.
so come back already God. Seriously. save us from this hell I'm living in.
and thank you that I got married before you came back. so I don't have to die a virgin. That's one prayer request you answered.
too bad you didn't answer the one about making my sister well. That woulda been better.
Life sucks. I'm gonna go read Harry Potter.
Now that I'm home my laughter has turned to sobs.
Maura and I used to put on my dad's big puffy jackets, put pillows in them to fill it out so we were like sumo wrestlers. We'd cover the tile floor of the spacious living room with couch cushions and then stand at opposite ends of the room and run at each other full force. We would do this over and over and over.
Run, smash, bounce back and fall.
Run, smash, bounce back, fall.
run smash bounce back fall
runsmashbouncebackfall
feels like my life nowadays.
run
smash
bounce back
fall.
Another time, we took my dad's big puffy jacket and maura stood in front of me as I zipped us up together. The two-armed, four-legged two-headed monster that we became was the best. and inevitably we would bounce around waving our arms up and down until we fell down in a big poof. still laughing.
why is it that the older you get, the laughter doesn't come so swiftly when you fall?
Danielle went home today too. And I miss her so much. Our apartment was small but I wish that she lived next door and my mom and dad lived below us (well, maybe three flights below us since we are on the fourth floor of a walk up and I don't wish the hike for my parents.)
If I had the perfect house, I'd have a brownstone in NYC.
Mom and Dad could have the first floor with a garden out the back for my dad and Danielle could have the second floor entirely to herself with a nice Juliet balcony. J and I would take the third floor with a circular staircase that lead to the fourth floor where our family library would be located (with wall to wall/foor to ceiling shelves loaded with every book one could ever want and a nice large chez and high backed chair with ample blankets and comfy pillows and a small table in between with a reading lamp) and Maura could live on the fifth floor--with a skylight for a roof and when she sang it would drift down the pipes all the way down to Mom and Dad so we all could hear her sing day and night.
If I had the perfect house.
we're promised a mansion in Heaven. that's what I want mine to be like. And God, don't forget the projector for J so we can all watch movies on the big screen at home.
I'm looking at my sister's picture in front of me and missing her so much. I miss her so much. I don't think life was meant to be lived this way. I miss my dad. And I miss my mom. And now I miss Danielle.
And I never wanna hear another opera for as long as I live. Ironic. but that's how I feel.
And Nicole is having a baby girl. And another wave of saudades overtakes me as I'm overjoyed for my best friend and so sad at the circle of life. The circle of life sucks. and I hate it. we should all die the same day as everyone we love so no one has to live after.
"He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain." (so, basically, there will be nothing left of anything of the life I'm experiencing right now.)
"All these things will be gone forever."
well good.
so come back already God. Seriously. save us from this hell I'm living in.
and thank you that I got married before you came back. so I don't have to die a virgin. That's one prayer request you answered.
too bad you didn't answer the one about making my sister well. That woulda been better.
Life sucks. I'm gonna go read Harry Potter.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Falling Flat on my Face.
On Friday I went to an audition for a classical theater her in NY. I've done this monologue over and over and lived it and loved it and kicked butt with it. I got in there on Friday with my blue Anthropology dress and new 4 inch heels ready to kick some ass.
There was a lot of yelling, some genuine moments but mostly just a lot of sucking.
Then I get to the end where I'm announcing the Queen's death.
"...oh lords,
When I have said, cry "Woe!"--the Queen, the Queen,
the sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and vengeance for't
not dropped down yet."
--dead. stone cold. me. I was dead. emotionless. shut down. an actor's nightmare.
I said, (and I still can't believe I said this)
"Can I do this again?"
the guy looked at me skeptically like "Not really, I don't really want to spend more time on you." But he generously gave me the benefit of the doubt and let me go again.
So I started from the beginning again (the monologue is not my shortest). Except instead of calling the king a fool I was calling myself a bluthering idiot. In Shakespeare's words, of course.
It was somewhat better (if merely that I was more angry at myself) but not astoundingly so.
And I hit the line.
"...the Queen, the Queen..."
and I shut down. no emotions. stone cold heart. Inside my emotions were raging against me,
"Let me outta here!!!" they screamed. but no. My body was on lockdown completely denying everything in my head.
My arms were awkwardly raised at that moment and I saw my teal band and I stopped. And my eyes, dryest of dry, turned and my mouth opened and I said the last lines with no emotion. Nothing. Completely void of expression or anything worth hiring for your classical theater. And I think I fubbed the last couple of words too.
The guy stared at me like I was a freak. Why had I wasted his time with that? the lady smiled at me, genuinely a nice person, like Paula Abdul on American Idol and said "Thank you." I shamefully walked out of the room, humiliated, embarrassed and humbled. By far my worst audition ever.
I bolted home just in case they came out of the room and threw me out of the equity lounge...how dare I even set foot in the same area as professional actors? I considered changing my name so they never find me or remember me and maybe dying my hair so they don't recognize me if I happen to audition for either of them again--or perhaps I could just hide in my apartment for the rest of my life. Or move to Singapore. All of these options were appealing.
But, three days later, I wake up and I'm thinking about what happened in that room. I deliberately ignored the sages from my school who say never use anything traumatic unless its 7 years in the past. And I went in there, knowing my queen was Maura. She always was.
4 months and 2 days does not 7 years make. I'd mutiny against me too if I were my body. wait. I am my body. or have I separated myself from that part of me too? Become a talking head.
Drugs and alcohol never sounded so good. Some sort of escape. Sleeping for 100 years until the pain goes away maybe? but what happens when you wake up or you come down off the high? The pain is still waiting for you because it refuses to be ignored or passed over.
My best friend from Texas told me today that the world needed me (awake I assume).
Sheena told me, "I wish I knew the magical way to keep it together when the grief suffocates you. All I remember is that I had to go through it bleeding along the way."
I didn't call my church friends. I didn't want to hear the pat answers. I have them memorized anyway. I don't want to pray with anyone. Pray for me on your own time. Not with me. And don't ask me to pray for healing. I don't believe in miracles. I do believe in miracles because I believe in God. I just don't believe in miracles.
I don't make sense either.
The world needs me? Bullshit. I have nothing to offer. And that's the truth.
The truth is
I didn't leave school when Maura was sick. I stayed in NY.
the truth is
I went to Hawaii instead of going home.
the truth is
I didn't spend the last year of my little sister's life with her.
I spent it selfishly pursuing my own life.
the truth is
I never donated blood because I don't like needles
the truth is
I never shaved my head because I didn't want to be ugly without hair
the truth is
the last big, meaningful conversation we had I apologized for not being there and she started to cry and said not to say things like that. So I didn't.
and I never got absolution I guess?
and now
and I can't turn back time
and I can't change that conversation
and I can't tell her how much I love her over and over and over again
and I can't hold her
I can't give her my blood.
or my hair
and I can't forgive myself.
and I don't deserve any of this.
and I don't want any of this.
I want her. i want Maura.
I told Peter the story of when my mom pinched me and Maura at church during the Christmas service in 2007. It was before the diagnosis, and the needles and MD Anderson. We were making fun of the guy singing in front of us, "Chrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrist the Lord" in operatic voice with lots of rolled "r's" and we were poking fun of my mom for dramatically whispering the words under her breath as the priest guy read from Isaiah the verse declaring Christ's name on his birth ("Wonderful, Counselor, Almighty God...etc) and my mom pinched us to stop talking and laughing during church. And that only made it worse. we laughed so hard. So hard.
I remember giving her a bath/shower thingy in the hospital a week before...she was so bloated. She was so weak. She couldn't stand. She had to hold on to me. And I got to wash her. And I loved every minute of it. Getting to be with her for something so intimate.
Maura, I miss you so much today. Its such a sunshiny day but here I am, after work this morning, where I should be going to that Shakespeare audition (in the same room as the last disaster--oh the irony) but instead I'm holed up in my apt, sitting here in the dark with the curtains drawn and all the lights off, naked but for a towel wishing I was with you.
I should want to go to Heaven to be with Jesus but I don't. I'm only excited about Heaven because that is where you live. and I want to be with you again. and hold you and tell you I love you. And I'm sorry. And I love you. And I never want to be apart from you again. That's Heaven to me.
So God. If you get it. help me.
There was a lot of yelling, some genuine moments but mostly just a lot of sucking.
Then I get to the end where I'm announcing the Queen's death.
"...oh lords,
When I have said, cry "Woe!"--the Queen, the Queen,
the sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and vengeance for't
not dropped down yet."
--dead. stone cold. me. I was dead. emotionless. shut down. an actor's nightmare.
I said, (and I still can't believe I said this)
"Can I do this again?"
the guy looked at me skeptically like "Not really, I don't really want to spend more time on you." But he generously gave me the benefit of the doubt and let me go again.
So I started from the beginning again (the monologue is not my shortest). Except instead of calling the king a fool I was calling myself a bluthering idiot. In Shakespeare's words, of course.
It was somewhat better (if merely that I was more angry at myself) but not astoundingly so.
And I hit the line.
"...the Queen, the Queen..."
and I shut down. no emotions. stone cold heart. Inside my emotions were raging against me,
"Let me outta here!!!" they screamed. but no. My body was on lockdown completely denying everything in my head.
My arms were awkwardly raised at that moment and I saw my teal band and I stopped. And my eyes, dryest of dry, turned and my mouth opened and I said the last lines with no emotion. Nothing. Completely void of expression or anything worth hiring for your classical theater. And I think I fubbed the last couple of words too.
The guy stared at me like I was a freak. Why had I wasted his time with that? the lady smiled at me, genuinely a nice person, like Paula Abdul on American Idol and said "Thank you." I shamefully walked out of the room, humiliated, embarrassed and humbled. By far my worst audition ever.
I bolted home just in case they came out of the room and threw me out of the equity lounge...how dare I even set foot in the same area as professional actors? I considered changing my name so they never find me or remember me and maybe dying my hair so they don't recognize me if I happen to audition for either of them again--or perhaps I could just hide in my apartment for the rest of my life. Or move to Singapore. All of these options were appealing.
But, three days later, I wake up and I'm thinking about what happened in that room. I deliberately ignored the sages from my school who say never use anything traumatic unless its 7 years in the past. And I went in there, knowing my queen was Maura. She always was.
4 months and 2 days does not 7 years make. I'd mutiny against me too if I were my body. wait. I am my body. or have I separated myself from that part of me too? Become a talking head.
Drugs and alcohol never sounded so good. Some sort of escape. Sleeping for 100 years until the pain goes away maybe? but what happens when you wake up or you come down off the high? The pain is still waiting for you because it refuses to be ignored or passed over.
My best friend from Texas told me today that the world needed me (awake I assume).
Sheena told me, "I wish I knew the magical way to keep it together when the grief suffocates you. All I remember is that I had to go through it bleeding along the way."
I didn't call my church friends. I didn't want to hear the pat answers. I have them memorized anyway. I don't want to pray with anyone. Pray for me on your own time. Not with me. And don't ask me to pray for healing. I don't believe in miracles. I do believe in miracles because I believe in God. I just don't believe in miracles.
I don't make sense either.
The world needs me? Bullshit. I have nothing to offer. And that's the truth.
The truth is
I didn't leave school when Maura was sick. I stayed in NY.
the truth is
I went to Hawaii instead of going home.
the truth is
I didn't spend the last year of my little sister's life with her.
I spent it selfishly pursuing my own life.
the truth is
I never donated blood because I don't like needles
the truth is
I never shaved my head because I didn't want to be ugly without hair
the truth is
the last big, meaningful conversation we had I apologized for not being there and she started to cry and said not to say things like that. So I didn't.
and I never got absolution I guess?
and now
and I can't turn back time
and I can't change that conversation
and I can't tell her how much I love her over and over and over again
and I can't hold her
I can't give her my blood.
or my hair
and I can't forgive myself.
and I don't deserve any of this.
and I don't want any of this.
I want her. i want Maura.
I told Peter the story of when my mom pinched me and Maura at church during the Christmas service in 2007. It was before the diagnosis, and the needles and MD Anderson. We were making fun of the guy singing in front of us, "Chrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrist the Lord" in operatic voice with lots of rolled "r's" and we were poking fun of my mom for dramatically whispering the words under her breath as the priest guy read from Isaiah the verse declaring Christ's name on his birth ("Wonderful, Counselor, Almighty God...etc) and my mom pinched us to stop talking and laughing during church. And that only made it worse. we laughed so hard. So hard.
I remember giving her a bath/shower thingy in the hospital a week before...she was so bloated. She was so weak. She couldn't stand. She had to hold on to me. And I got to wash her. And I loved every minute of it. Getting to be with her for something so intimate.
Maura, I miss you so much today. Its such a sunshiny day but here I am, after work this morning, where I should be going to that Shakespeare audition (in the same room as the last disaster--oh the irony) but instead I'm holed up in my apt, sitting here in the dark with the curtains drawn and all the lights off, naked but for a towel wishing I was with you.
I should want to go to Heaven to be with Jesus but I don't. I'm only excited about Heaven because that is where you live. and I want to be with you again. and hold you and tell you I love you. And I'm sorry. And I love you. And I never want to be apart from you again. That's Heaven to me.
So God. If you get it. help me.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Red.
I got my nails painted red. My feet and my hands. Deep red. Blood red.
It looks like my hands and toes are bleeding.
Bleeding hands to match a bleeding heart.
Kinda like the sky today and how it won't stop crying. Like me today and how I can't stop crying.
I cry everyday. And when the day comes that I realize I didn't cry--I'l probably start crying. and get a French Manicure.
In other news, to keep from crying in front of the poor Chinese man doing my nails I got him to teach me mandarin. I can now say "Hello" "goodbye" "good job" "sorry" "thank you" and "You're welcome" in Mandarin. Watch out China.
It looks like my hands and toes are bleeding.
Bleeding hands to match a bleeding heart.
Kinda like the sky today and how it won't stop crying. Like me today and how I can't stop crying.
I cry everyday. And when the day comes that I realize I didn't cry--I'l probably start crying. and get a French Manicure.
In other news, to keep from crying in front of the poor Chinese man doing my nails I got him to teach me mandarin. I can now say "Hello" "goodbye" "good job" "sorry" "thank you" and "You're welcome" in Mandarin. Watch out China.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Matt
www.matthewryanweaver.blogspot.com
For Unbeweavable Tales.
Matt makes everyone laugh. He made Maura laugh all the time. And after she died, he was the only one we could count on to make even my mom laugh. with all his inappropriateness.
Don't miss his adventures in Korea. And don't miss his post about maura. That's what pushed me forward today.
For Unbeweavable Tales.
Matt makes everyone laugh. He made Maura laugh all the time. And after she died, he was the only one we could count on to make even my mom laugh. with all his inappropriateness.
Don't miss his adventures in Korea. And don't miss his post about maura. That's what pushed me forward today.
Morning rambling
"Even Death and Destruction hold no secrets from the Lord,
How much more does he know the human heart"
-Proverbs 15:11
"A glad heart makes a happy face;
a broken heart crushes the spirit."
Proverbs 15:13
My mom wrote about this undercurrent of sadness she feels all the time. Me too, Mom. Maybe it has to do with that broken heart crushing the spirit. No matter what...it doesn't fully go away.
Someone who cares for me asked me last night, "Lydia, you're always sad. Do I make you sad? Have I ruined your life? Why aren't you happy?"
A lot of people ask me that or comment on that.
"Lydia, why aren't you happy?"
"You just haven't been yourself lately."
"Are you feeling okay?" (I get that a lot)
"What's wrong?"
"Is something the matter? You haven't said a word all night."
"You don't talk anymore."
Nothing is wrong,
I feel fine
if I'm not talking--I have nothing to say
and it's no one's fault.
People try to pinpoint why i am the way that I am. Why I'm not bubbly, chipper, smiling, laughing, happy. It has nothing to do with my life...I love my life. I always have.
I miss my sister.
My little sister just died.
My heart has been broken and no one has put it back together again.
And nobody can.
A wedding won't fix it,
food won't fix it,
movies won't fix it
Only time.
And God.
As my mom said, "Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot..."
"your Word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path."
Psalm 119:105
"He knows the human heart" --He gets it. He gets it.
None of us know what the other is going through. I don't know what Matt is going through in Korea, or Adam in Tomball, or my mother, or even my older sister. We all have a different process to go through and this one is mine and the only one who gets it is God.
Why am I sad? Why can't I be happy? I'm a new bride! People expect me --hell, I expect me--to be full of joy and love and happiness. I'm letting down everyone. And my husband! He must feel like its his fault and its not. i am not who i was. I am not her and as much as I try to manufacture that girl back, I've been forced to start acting my age. no more hot pink french bikinis bouncing off the wall, unaware of the changes that have taken place in my body.
silence.
I like silence. I find things very hard to get excited about.
I used to get animated over everything...a new pencil, a delicious piece of pizza...
I think the only things I really get genuinely excited over is when I discuss theater plays or possible projects. Also God. I like philosophizing on God. A subject I can thank Marcus and Clara for opening up to me again. It felt good that day in the cafe after the conference. It felt so good to talk and think and clink together verses and ideas...like I used to do.
Part of me doesn't want to go back to used to either. This is life post Maura, remember? Its not the same. Nothing is the same or as it should be. Everything has to be different. Everyone needs to acknowledge there is a hole in the world where a beautiful life used to be. Or at least acknowledge there is a hole in my heart where a beautiful life used to be. and she still soaks up every piece of my shattered heart so I don't understand why Humpty Dumpty can't put it back together...its all made of the same material.
"A broken heart crushes the spirit."
I feel guilty for not being happy. Someone told me it was time to move on. To let go. To start living my own life, not hers. I don't think thats what I'm doing. I think I am learning to move on. But then I question myself. Should I not be writing? Would that be ignoring?
No. Just like in theater. The process is important. Probably more important than the result.
Except that I'm not comprehensive. People should read C.S. Lewis. At least he's linear. I don't know what the hell I'm saying half the time. What have i learned today? same things my head has known for 2 months.
give the process time. (and it has not been enough time. its only been 3 months and 8 days.)
when is enough time anyway?
its okay to not be happy. you don't have to pretend you are.
and people are stupid.
I didn't get married because Maura died. I got married because I was in love with a man.
But I'm not a normal bride. Deal with it. Everyone. Even you, Lydia.
I still find it weird that almost everyone who has congratulated me on my marriage says something like this:
"Congratulations! and I also want to offer my condolenses...." something is wrong with that.
Who gives a flying fuck anyway.
So, maybe I'll just be like this until Dumpty can get it together again.
I'm fine. I'm not "happy" per se. But I seek out joy where I can find it. But thats the thing. I have to ACTIVELY seek it out. I have to know what brings me joy and then draw from that well to get even just a touch of strength. And it doesn't always work. That's okay. Its like auditioning. You keep at it because you may still land a job tomorrow.
What brings me joy:
singing --so I turn on music all day long. Even now, I am listening to music. and I am going to the worship team rehearsals every thursday night. When I sing, I just sing. Nothing else.
plays --working on a project with M & P for a pilot and possibly doing Last Days of Judas Iscariot (one of my favorites!! next month)
reading my Bible--doesn't really make me all happy go lucky, but it brings peace. which is good too.
watching LOST--new achilles heel
romantic comedies
hanging out with friends who make me laugh as opposed to friends whose problems I have to deal with. I don't have the strength to be that Lydia right now. And my misery does not love company unless it is genuine joy company. like Jessica. So if you wanna hang out with me, check your problems at the door, not because I don't care, but because I care too much and I'll take it on and I don't have the strength to do that but I'll do it anyway. I just wanna laugh. Be a clown.
Dancing--still haven't got anything for that. I need Liz Dig. or some big space like jenks or something where I can play my music and be alone. thats the thing. I like to dance alone. to my own music. in my own way. I don't really like dancing with a partner.
reading Harry Potter. yes. I am allowed.
why do I feel like when I do these things I am wasting time? I am a grown up, I'm not a college student anymore, I should be productive with my life. Find a job that pays more so I can go on auditions. I shouldn't be allowed to take 'me' days. And God forbid not more than one in a row.
Whatever. Its my health.
How much more does he know the human heart"
-Proverbs 15:11
"A glad heart makes a happy face;
a broken heart crushes the spirit."
Proverbs 15:13
My mom wrote about this undercurrent of sadness she feels all the time. Me too, Mom. Maybe it has to do with that broken heart crushing the spirit. No matter what...it doesn't fully go away.
Someone who cares for me asked me last night, "Lydia, you're always sad. Do I make you sad? Have I ruined your life? Why aren't you happy?"
A lot of people ask me that or comment on that.
"Lydia, why aren't you happy?"
"You just haven't been yourself lately."
"Are you feeling okay?" (I get that a lot)
"What's wrong?"
"Is something the matter? You haven't said a word all night."
"You don't talk anymore."
Nothing is wrong,
I feel fine
if I'm not talking--I have nothing to say
and it's no one's fault.
People try to pinpoint why i am the way that I am. Why I'm not bubbly, chipper, smiling, laughing, happy. It has nothing to do with my life...I love my life. I always have.
I miss my sister.
My little sister just died.
My heart has been broken and no one has put it back together again.
And nobody can.
A wedding won't fix it,
food won't fix it,
movies won't fix it
Only time.
And God.
As my mom said, "Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot..."
"your Word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path."
Psalm 119:105
"He knows the human heart" --He gets it. He gets it.
None of us know what the other is going through. I don't know what Matt is going through in Korea, or Adam in Tomball, or my mother, or even my older sister. We all have a different process to go through and this one is mine and the only one who gets it is God.
Why am I sad? Why can't I be happy? I'm a new bride! People expect me --hell, I expect me--to be full of joy and love and happiness. I'm letting down everyone. And my husband! He must feel like its his fault and its not. i am not who i was. I am not her and as much as I try to manufacture that girl back, I've been forced to start acting my age. no more hot pink french bikinis bouncing off the wall, unaware of the changes that have taken place in my body.
silence.
I like silence. I find things very hard to get excited about.
I used to get animated over everything...a new pencil, a delicious piece of pizza...
I think the only things I really get genuinely excited over is when I discuss theater plays or possible projects. Also God. I like philosophizing on God. A subject I can thank Marcus and Clara for opening up to me again. It felt good that day in the cafe after the conference. It felt so good to talk and think and clink together verses and ideas...like I used to do.
Part of me doesn't want to go back to used to either. This is life post Maura, remember? Its not the same. Nothing is the same or as it should be. Everything has to be different. Everyone needs to acknowledge there is a hole in the world where a beautiful life used to be. Or at least acknowledge there is a hole in my heart where a beautiful life used to be. and she still soaks up every piece of my shattered heart so I don't understand why Humpty Dumpty can't put it back together...its all made of the same material.
"A broken heart crushes the spirit."
I feel guilty for not being happy. Someone told me it was time to move on. To let go. To start living my own life, not hers. I don't think thats what I'm doing. I think I am learning to move on. But then I question myself. Should I not be writing? Would that be ignoring?
No. Just like in theater. The process is important. Probably more important than the result.
Except that I'm not comprehensive. People should read C.S. Lewis. At least he's linear. I don't know what the hell I'm saying half the time. What have i learned today? same things my head has known for 2 months.
give the process time. (and it has not been enough time. its only been 3 months and 8 days.)
when is enough time anyway?
its okay to not be happy. you don't have to pretend you are.
and people are stupid.
I didn't get married because Maura died. I got married because I was in love with a man.
But I'm not a normal bride. Deal with it. Everyone. Even you, Lydia.
I still find it weird that almost everyone who has congratulated me on my marriage says something like this:
"Congratulations! and I also want to offer my condolenses...." something is wrong with that.
Who gives a flying fuck anyway.
So, maybe I'll just be like this until Dumpty can get it together again.
I'm fine. I'm not "happy" per se. But I seek out joy where I can find it. But thats the thing. I have to ACTIVELY seek it out. I have to know what brings me joy and then draw from that well to get even just a touch of strength. And it doesn't always work. That's okay. Its like auditioning. You keep at it because you may still land a job tomorrow.
What brings me joy:
singing --so I turn on music all day long. Even now, I am listening to music. and I am going to the worship team rehearsals every thursday night. When I sing, I just sing. Nothing else.
plays --working on a project with M & P for a pilot and possibly doing Last Days of Judas Iscariot (one of my favorites!! next month)
reading my Bible--doesn't really make me all happy go lucky, but it brings peace. which is good too.
watching LOST--new achilles heel
romantic comedies
hanging out with friends who make me laugh as opposed to friends whose problems I have to deal with. I don't have the strength to be that Lydia right now. And my misery does not love company unless it is genuine joy company. like Jessica. So if you wanna hang out with me, check your problems at the door, not because I don't care, but because I care too much and I'll take it on and I don't have the strength to do that but I'll do it anyway. I just wanna laugh. Be a clown.
Dancing--still haven't got anything for that. I need Liz Dig. or some big space like jenks or something where I can play my music and be alone. thats the thing. I like to dance alone. to my own music. in my own way. I don't really like dancing with a partner.
reading Harry Potter. yes. I am allowed.
why do I feel like when I do these things I am wasting time? I am a grown up, I'm not a college student anymore, I should be productive with my life. Find a job that pays more so I can go on auditions. I shouldn't be allowed to take 'me' days. And God forbid not more than one in a row.
Whatever. Its my health.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The Day She Died.
Because nobody wants to talk about it. Its morbid. Read with discretion.
I woke up at 7 am ish...I heard opera music. Chelsea was in the bed next to me in the upstairs room. People were camped out all over our house. Thats all I heard. Opera music. i knew something was wrong.
I jolted out of bed and ran downstairs. Mom, Dad, and Danielle were already around Maura's bed we'd put in the living room next to the purple flowers and the big window. Sunlight streamed in and made the house look warm. David was curled up sleeping in Danielle's big chair and I don't remember who else was there. I sat down next to my dad on Maura's right. I held her hand. It was white. really pale and her fingertips were just starting to turn a little blue. It said in the booklet that the mean nurse flung in my face to read the night before that when its close to time, the fingers and toes turn blueish because of lack of oxygen. She was breathing. But it looked as if breathing had become a chore for her. Every breath she took her mouth opened wide and her head went back as if her body was gasping for breath. She wasn't coherent. She hadn't been since Sunday. It was Tuesday.
Fact: I hate Tuesdays.
I realized why it sounded so different. So quiet. Because the only sound was that of the opera music and Maura gasping for breath. The breathing machine was turned off. The IV was detached. The only thing she was hooked up to was the pain medicine--the delaudin which was the only stuff that worked on her. Danielle pushed the button every ten minutes. She made sure her little sister wasn't feeling any pain.
Maura's body was twitching a lot now. At first it was just a finger here or a hand there. The doctor said that the pain medication would make her body twitch as it flooded her system...it was toxic actually--but it kept the pain at bay. None of us could stand when she was in pain. The slightest crinkle in her brow and we pushed the button. But by Tuesday her body was twitching a lot...system fully loaded with the drugs.
I asked why the oxygen was taken out and Mom said the nurse said that the oxygen was more for the family's comfort. It wasn't really doing anything anymore. So why have to hear the roar.
I kissed her hand. It was so soft. So small. My hands are giants compared to hers. she had little feet too. Her hands were squishy and warm. Nice to hold.
At a high note in one of the arias, her eyebrows shot up. I noticed her mouth was slightly moving...as if she was singing along to the beautiful music.
Fact: I haven't listened to opera since this day.
The nurse said she could hear everything. When the opera CD ran out, we put on Bob Marley. She loved Bob Marley. I went to find my dad's Handel's Messiah CD.
Fact: Maura loved music. And her favorite was Handel's Messiah.
I found it in his treadmill cd player. I brought it out. Time was 10ish in the morning. My dad put it on immediately and Handel's heavenly music filled our living room. I looked around and the living room was full. Amanda had come from work. Katie and Kara were there. Jessica, Adam, David, Chelsea, Luciene, Uncle Mike, Aunt Rosie, Myrna, and more...but I don't know. The living room was full of people. I looked back at Maura. She was still gasping for breath. My dad gasped and got up and put his head close to hers. And then he didn't move. He stayed there whispering in her ear. Then I noticed her breaths were getting farther and farther apart. And I remembered the booklet. About the breaths getting short right before someone dies.
And I thought, "She's alive now. God, you can save her. Please. Please save her. PleasePleasePlease."
My mom got up too and put her head by Maura's other side. Both my parents were holding her close to their hearts with their heads pressed against hers. And Danielle and Luciene started to wail. And Maura drew another breath. So I shouted at them, "She's still alive! She can hear you! Stop Crying! She doesn't like it when you cry!! She's still alive!" But they kept crying. They couldn't help it. It is too much.
The nurse got up and looked at me. I was watching her breath. She breathed. I looked at the nurse and said, "she's breathing." I held her hand. I waited. I waited.
I waited.
I waited.
I waited.
Fact: She didn't draw another breath.
Her fingers were blue, her mouth was blue and open. The nurse put her hands on my shoulders and said, "Its over."
she didn't look like Maura. She looked like a version of Maura from a bad graphic novel.
Everyone was crying. Some cried quietly, others wailed. My dad shook as he cried. I've never seen him with so much sorrow...so much weight, so much pain. And I didn't know what I hurt for more. The fact that my sister had just died or watching my parents weep uncontrollably and unconsolably.
My dad reached out over Maura's body and grabbed my mom's hand and said, "Thank you. You have been amazing. You are a good mom. You have been so wonderful."
or something like that. I can't remember the exact words. maybe my mom will.
People hugged me. I don't know who. I texted my fiancee.
The nurse told people to go into the kitchen and she and the other nurse who had just arrived cleaned Maura. My mom, older sister and myself got to stay. They used black towels to disguise the bile, blood and grossness that comes out.
Fact: I cannot stand the sight of black towels. They make me vomit.
My dad went to go get himself his blood pressure medication. No one knew that until he got back.
They put the yellow nightie my aunt had made for her on her and closed her mouth with one of those vile black towels.
People came in and said their goodbyes. and then these two men in suits put Maura in this black bag and they weren't gentle with her head. It was all distorted and I said, "Her head is crooked." but nobody heard me but the nurse and she stopped them and straightened out her head.
We followed the men out to their truck. and watched as they loaded her up and drove away. I ran back into the houe and saw the empty bed and Bianca (Maura's dog) lying on it where Maura had been.
I put my sneakers on and grabbed my IPOD and put on Lincoln Park and ran out of the house, past all the people, down the street and to the right. To go to our creek.
But I couldn't run very far. Because I couldn't breathe. I was gasping for air and sobs and the word "I..." kept coming out. Somehow I made it to the creek. I sat down on the sand cried. And cried. And cried. It felt as if I couldn't stop crying ever again in my life. My chest, where my heart is felt heavy and broken...like a heavy mass of nothingness. Like a black hole that weighed a million tons.
Fact: The weight has not lessened and has not left.
"So this is what a broken heart feels like, God." I said out loud. The sky was blue--the color of Maura's eyes blue. Not a cloud. I started talking to God out loud. I may have yelled. If I didn't, I felt like it. But probably didn't have the energy. I listened to Hillsong and prayed and cried and laid down in the sand. I didn't care.
I tried to imagine Maura in Heaven. I told God I wanted her back and I could hear in my head her voice saying, "Lydia! Are you nuts? This place is awesome! Shut up! He might listen to you and I'm not leaving!" I looked at the creek and thought, I can just go to the middle of the creek and put my head under the water and in five minutes i could be with Maura. then I thought of my parents and how they looked holding Maura and shaking with mourning. And I couldn't add another child to their list of losses.
I looked up and a white dove flew over my head. I'm not lying and I wasn't hallucinating. It sort of circled the air above me and then flew away.
Fact: Three white doves flew over my head before I left the creek. I begged for a fourth but I only saw 3. And one black bird in between the first and second.
I started to think pleasant thoughts about how much Maura would like heaven. She was probably standing in front of His throne right now, mouth open, singing in the choir for God. Or someone was showing her around. maybe Jesus himself. Maybe it was much better than being here. I wondered if she looked the same.
I started to pray to God again. softer. I told him I'm sorry for being angry. I still love Him. But I miss my sister already. And I'm not happy.
when I got up to go back home, I was sandy and sunburned. I saw butterflies on the path. Yellow butterflies. And it was as if I followed the butterflies home. It smelled so nice in the park.
Maybe God sent the yellow butterflies and the white birds just for me. I mean, they are His creatures and under His command. Actually, when I saw the blackbird, I thought...you know, I bet all the white birds are just waiting in line, hopping around going..."send me! Send me! I wanna go this time!" and the black bird was probably like, "Why doesn't anyone ever want to see a black bird? I wanna go too! Thats it, I'm going! She wants another bird, she's gonna LOVE this!" and takes off without permission to pass by where the poor girl is crying in the sand. And God probably just shrugged His shoulders and laughed and shook his head and then sent another white bird. And when the blackbird came back beaming with pride, God stroked his breast, kissed his head, and said, "Well done." And smiled at the impulsive bird who wanted to be sent too, adn the bird blushed and flew over to the new girl in heaven with blonde hair and blue eyes the color of the sky. She laughed and started to sing, an opera song. "Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Ha-le-lu-jah!..." And the black bird joined in too. And an old man turned around and said, "Hey! I know that song! You sing it beautifully. My name is George. George Handel. What's your name? For anyone with a voice like that I must know." And the blue-eyed bombshell looked at him mouth open and laughed and said, "HI! Oh my God oh my God oh my God!!!! I'm Maura. I'm new here."
I woke up at 7 am ish...I heard opera music. Chelsea was in the bed next to me in the upstairs room. People were camped out all over our house. Thats all I heard. Opera music. i knew something was wrong.
I jolted out of bed and ran downstairs. Mom, Dad, and Danielle were already around Maura's bed we'd put in the living room next to the purple flowers and the big window. Sunlight streamed in and made the house look warm. David was curled up sleeping in Danielle's big chair and I don't remember who else was there. I sat down next to my dad on Maura's right. I held her hand. It was white. really pale and her fingertips were just starting to turn a little blue. It said in the booklet that the mean nurse flung in my face to read the night before that when its close to time, the fingers and toes turn blueish because of lack of oxygen. She was breathing. But it looked as if breathing had become a chore for her. Every breath she took her mouth opened wide and her head went back as if her body was gasping for breath. She wasn't coherent. She hadn't been since Sunday. It was Tuesday.
Fact: I hate Tuesdays.
I realized why it sounded so different. So quiet. Because the only sound was that of the opera music and Maura gasping for breath. The breathing machine was turned off. The IV was detached. The only thing she was hooked up to was the pain medicine--the delaudin which was the only stuff that worked on her. Danielle pushed the button every ten minutes. She made sure her little sister wasn't feeling any pain.
Maura's body was twitching a lot now. At first it was just a finger here or a hand there. The doctor said that the pain medication would make her body twitch as it flooded her system...it was toxic actually--but it kept the pain at bay. None of us could stand when she was in pain. The slightest crinkle in her brow and we pushed the button. But by Tuesday her body was twitching a lot...system fully loaded with the drugs.
I asked why the oxygen was taken out and Mom said the nurse said that the oxygen was more for the family's comfort. It wasn't really doing anything anymore. So why have to hear the roar.
I kissed her hand. It was so soft. So small. My hands are giants compared to hers. she had little feet too. Her hands were squishy and warm. Nice to hold.
At a high note in one of the arias, her eyebrows shot up. I noticed her mouth was slightly moving...as if she was singing along to the beautiful music.
Fact: I haven't listened to opera since this day.
The nurse said she could hear everything. When the opera CD ran out, we put on Bob Marley. She loved Bob Marley. I went to find my dad's Handel's Messiah CD.
Fact: Maura loved music. And her favorite was Handel's Messiah.
I found it in his treadmill cd player. I brought it out. Time was 10ish in the morning. My dad put it on immediately and Handel's heavenly music filled our living room. I looked around and the living room was full. Amanda had come from work. Katie and Kara were there. Jessica, Adam, David, Chelsea, Luciene, Uncle Mike, Aunt Rosie, Myrna, and more...but I don't know. The living room was full of people. I looked back at Maura. She was still gasping for breath. My dad gasped and got up and put his head close to hers. And then he didn't move. He stayed there whispering in her ear. Then I noticed her breaths were getting farther and farther apart. And I remembered the booklet. About the breaths getting short right before someone dies.
And I thought, "She's alive now. God, you can save her. Please. Please save her. PleasePleasePlease."
My mom got up too and put her head by Maura's other side. Both my parents were holding her close to their hearts with their heads pressed against hers. And Danielle and Luciene started to wail. And Maura drew another breath. So I shouted at them, "She's still alive! She can hear you! Stop Crying! She doesn't like it when you cry!! She's still alive!" But they kept crying. They couldn't help it. It is too much.
The nurse got up and looked at me. I was watching her breath. She breathed. I looked at the nurse and said, "she's breathing." I held her hand. I waited. I waited.
I waited.
I waited.
I waited.
Fact: She didn't draw another breath.
Her fingers were blue, her mouth was blue and open. The nurse put her hands on my shoulders and said, "Its over."
she didn't look like Maura. She looked like a version of Maura from a bad graphic novel.
Everyone was crying. Some cried quietly, others wailed. My dad shook as he cried. I've never seen him with so much sorrow...so much weight, so much pain. And I didn't know what I hurt for more. The fact that my sister had just died or watching my parents weep uncontrollably and unconsolably.
My dad reached out over Maura's body and grabbed my mom's hand and said, "Thank you. You have been amazing. You are a good mom. You have been so wonderful."
or something like that. I can't remember the exact words. maybe my mom will.
People hugged me. I don't know who. I texted my fiancee.
The nurse told people to go into the kitchen and she and the other nurse who had just arrived cleaned Maura. My mom, older sister and myself got to stay. They used black towels to disguise the bile, blood and grossness that comes out.
Fact: I cannot stand the sight of black towels. They make me vomit.
My dad went to go get himself his blood pressure medication. No one knew that until he got back.
They put the yellow nightie my aunt had made for her on her and closed her mouth with one of those vile black towels.
People came in and said their goodbyes. and then these two men in suits put Maura in this black bag and they weren't gentle with her head. It was all distorted and I said, "Her head is crooked." but nobody heard me but the nurse and she stopped them and straightened out her head.
We followed the men out to their truck. and watched as they loaded her up and drove away. I ran back into the houe and saw the empty bed and Bianca (Maura's dog) lying on it where Maura had been.
I put my sneakers on and grabbed my IPOD and put on Lincoln Park and ran out of the house, past all the people, down the street and to the right. To go to our creek.
But I couldn't run very far. Because I couldn't breathe. I was gasping for air and sobs and the word "I..." kept coming out. Somehow I made it to the creek. I sat down on the sand cried. And cried. And cried. It felt as if I couldn't stop crying ever again in my life. My chest, where my heart is felt heavy and broken...like a heavy mass of nothingness. Like a black hole that weighed a million tons.
Fact: The weight has not lessened and has not left.
"So this is what a broken heart feels like, God." I said out loud. The sky was blue--the color of Maura's eyes blue. Not a cloud. I started talking to God out loud. I may have yelled. If I didn't, I felt like it. But probably didn't have the energy. I listened to Hillsong and prayed and cried and laid down in the sand. I didn't care.
I tried to imagine Maura in Heaven. I told God I wanted her back and I could hear in my head her voice saying, "Lydia! Are you nuts? This place is awesome! Shut up! He might listen to you and I'm not leaving!" I looked at the creek and thought, I can just go to the middle of the creek and put my head under the water and in five minutes i could be with Maura. then I thought of my parents and how they looked holding Maura and shaking with mourning. And I couldn't add another child to their list of losses.
I looked up and a white dove flew over my head. I'm not lying and I wasn't hallucinating. It sort of circled the air above me and then flew away.
Fact: Three white doves flew over my head before I left the creek. I begged for a fourth but I only saw 3. And one black bird in between the first and second.
I started to think pleasant thoughts about how much Maura would like heaven. She was probably standing in front of His throne right now, mouth open, singing in the choir for God. Or someone was showing her around. maybe Jesus himself. Maybe it was much better than being here. I wondered if she looked the same.
I started to pray to God again. softer. I told him I'm sorry for being angry. I still love Him. But I miss my sister already. And I'm not happy.
when I got up to go back home, I was sandy and sunburned. I saw butterflies on the path. Yellow butterflies. And it was as if I followed the butterflies home. It smelled so nice in the park.
Maybe God sent the yellow butterflies and the white birds just for me. I mean, they are His creatures and under His command. Actually, when I saw the blackbird, I thought...you know, I bet all the white birds are just waiting in line, hopping around going..."send me! Send me! I wanna go this time!" and the black bird was probably like, "Why doesn't anyone ever want to see a black bird? I wanna go too! Thats it, I'm going! She wants another bird, she's gonna LOVE this!" and takes off without permission to pass by where the poor girl is crying in the sand. And God probably just shrugged His shoulders and laughed and shook his head and then sent another white bird. And when the blackbird came back beaming with pride, God stroked his breast, kissed his head, and said, "Well done." And smiled at the impulsive bird who wanted to be sent too, adn the bird blushed and flew over to the new girl in heaven with blonde hair and blue eyes the color of the sky. She laughed and started to sing, an opera song. "Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Ha-le-lu-jah!..." And the black bird joined in too. And an old man turned around and said, "Hey! I know that song! You sing it beautifully. My name is George. George Handel. What's your name? For anyone with a voice like that I must know." And the blue-eyed bombshell looked at him mouth open and laughed and said, "HI! Oh my God oh my God oh my God!!!! I'm Maura. I'm new here."
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