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.
Friday, October 16, 2009
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.
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