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.

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.

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."

What this Blog is about.

Three months and 7 days ago my little sister, Maura, died of sarcoma--a rare form of cancer that attacked her mesenteric (her belly) for about a year. She fought with everything in her, up until the day she died. And she finally won on April 19, 2009. She was 22 years old. On June 23, she would have been 23. She was a beautiful (and I'm not just biased...she was stunning), loving, sweet, kind, talented opera singer. You were lucky to know her. I was lucky to be related to her. I was lucky to know she wasn't perfect.

I've tried writing about this, only to fail miserably. Even now, my computer keys get drenched with tears, but today I'm pressing on. Because I think there are others out there who have lost someone close to them. It doesn't matter if its a sister, a brother, a mother, a father, a grandfather, a child young or old, a second cousin, a best friend...living after--sucks. Sucks big sweaty bulls balls.

And there are people out there who haven't lost anyone, but they sympathize. Maybe this will help with empathy.

But if I have to live this, I have to write it. So, I will try my best to write my thoughts, my prayers, my pains, my joys--about what it means to live after. I will be honest. I will tell the truth as I am living it--and my mind changes a lot because everyday is different. Grief is a process. And I'm just at the beginning where the sorrow consumes me most of the day. So, forgive me whatever I say. I have grief-brain.

Hopefully this will help someone. Not get over it...I can't imagine that ever happening. But be able to wake up in the morning and know they're not alone. Even though the house feels empty and quiet and the phone rings and rings and no one ever answers. But you try it anyway. Or you leave facebook messages for someone who probably doesn't have a computer in Heaven. And you call little girls you babysit "Maura" instead of by their real name--oh wait, maybe that is just me. Either way, this blog is for you just as much as it is for me.