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.
Friday, October 2, 2009
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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