My play opened last week. Well. Not MY play written by me, but the play I'm performing in at the moment. Its been a healing experience, this play. Despite the fact that my character is dealing with a lot of personal loss--she's kind of a Pollyana. She loves her husband unconditionally, never argues with him or does anything to make him feel less of a man i=even if it means starving to death, she thinks only good things about even the worst people and she always solves the problems...yeah...she's like person I wish I was in real life. Everyone in the cast keeps telling me "wow, you're such a nice person." No, actually, Ruth Hartmann (the character I'm portraying) is such a nice person.
People in the cast also keep mixing up me and the girl playing my little sister in the play. The drummer went up to her and said, "You know that scene where you tell your husband....(insert here what it is...no spoilers for those coming to see the show)...that is a great scene. Its really good." and she was like, "That's Lydia. I play her sister. But thank you anyway." Or I was warming up and she was in the dressing room and one of the other cast members was like "weren't you just warming up?" and she goes, "No. That would be Lydia." and even our pastor! Who KNOWS me very well went up to her and congratulated her and then realized it was not me at all. She could pass for my sister. Which is good for the play.
I have two scenes with her. In our second scene I tell her basically I'm going to take care of her. I say, "Hush. You're my sister." And it hits me everytime. This blonde haired woman--younger than me, crying out for help and "what am I gonna do?" and I tell her "everything is gonna be okay. Because we're family. And family sticks together."
Some of my Gilda's Club friends showed up on Saturday's performance. All wearing red and sitting in the front row. And G (who has also lost her sister) came up and said, "that moment when you say 'you're my sister' i just knew that was hard for you." and Alex (actor playing my sister) said the same thing. She texted me about maybe reworking the scene...saying..."what must I be doing to you?" but I assured her I was able to separate. And I am. Most of the time I am.
The thing is...in my acting, my work has always been revolved around my family. Every moment of worth I've ever had was because of some deep experience I've had with my father, my mother, or my sisters Danielle and Maura. All I have to do is see my father's face or feel my mother's body rocking me to sleep and I am transported (for lack of a better word) to a place where every thought and emotion that comes out of me while playing a scene is real, is deep, is intense and is filled with love.
My last year of school when Maura was sick, I had struggled with finding other ways into the work because I could not use my family. My father's hands, my mother's chest, my sisters smile...it all brought me to hospitals and tests and blood being drawn...and I couldn't even speak because the emotions were overwhelming. And in fact in my line of study, the sages of the theater have a strong rule of 7 years in the past. Do not use traumatic experiences until 7 years.
Which is hard when you are dealing with a character built on loss. She may be positive but her positivity was born from her reaction to a huge loss of someone very dear to her. And its hard when I have a beautiful and funny woman playing my little sister, asking me for help. 7 years is very hard.
I manage. I'm not perfect. If it hits too close to home...rather than use it, my gift shuts down. I become stone cold. No emotion. Not one type of emotion will cross my icy face and betray me because if even one line were to crease, one inch of my nose were to start stinging, I would lose my shit. And I have before. In rehearsals. Lost it. Had to Macaroni. (God bless Mark Lewis and the safe word Macaroni--means game over no more with no judgement. My director liked it so much she taught the whole cast about macaroni)
But I don't want to shortchange the production either. I wanna be there. Fully present. Give what I have to give to breath life into Ruth--this beautiful (even if she is perfect) woman I have the honor of playing. But it has been a battle of how much is too much? How far can I push myself without abusing myself? Am I raping my memories of my family just for good art? How much can I give and not have an emotional breakdown? I don't know. I don't know the answers to any of these questions. I just know I'm doing good work. I'm working and in the work I have found a lot of joy. when I'm at rehearsal or on stage I feel the most joy (even if I'm crying in a scene) it is the MOST joy I have felt in
The play is kind of like Its a Wonderful Life. Its the playwrights first full length play. Its not bad. I think she should keep working on stuff. Its got some good original music written by a fellow Houstonian as well. Its a nice show. I wish I knew what it was like from an audience perspective.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
6 months.
My heart is breaking like it was this morning. I have not been well all week. I can't make simple decisions or perform simple tasks. I feel completely helpless. I feel guilty because I'm helpless. I feel hopeless. I feel guilty and unchristian because I'm hopeless. I can't hardly get out of bed. My house is a mess. I would not be my friend if I was my friend. I'm gloomy when I'm around people. Somehow, my depression or grief or debbie-downerism or whatever it is you want to call it, always comes into the conversation. I feel people slowly trying to get away from me since I am a blackhole of misery.
Maybe its just this week.
I feel like this inside all the time, but this week I haven't been able to do anything to hide it to "overcome it" (whatever that bullshit means)
I am so angry.
I am so sad.
I am so weak.
I am so guilty because I am all these things.
I try to get better.
But I can't.
I feel bad for everyone connected with me (that is the guilty part) and yet I'm angry if they don't understand and try to help me snap out of it. I think they're squelching my grieving process.
Anger and Guilt I guess are Grief and Heartaches first cousins.
6 months Maura.
I haven't gone a day without crying yet. I miss your beautiful face so much. I watch the video Matt posted of you...of your life...the one we showed at your service. And I just cry and cry and cry and cry...is that helpful? I don't know. You tell me.
I don't know what to do. I feel stuck.
Like I'm i a hole and I can't see and I can't climb out of it. i don't know what to do.
i miss you so much. i miss you so so so so soooooooooooooooooooo much. I get the for God's glory yadda yadda yadda...but I just miss you. I just miss my little sister.
maybe i should get a boring fulltime job? maybe not. I don't know if I'd be able to focus. but is having these days off when I should audition but there are no auditions...is this healthy? gives me too much time to think.
i can't escape from my brain.
why isn't more understanding?
am I really not a good person?
I miss my sister.
I am afraid I am going nuts.
the counselor at Gilda's Club says that grief carries similar characteristics as depression. But what if someone doesn't believe in depression...like shouldn't you just be able to be happy? to move forward? to get on with your life? and I can't.
what do I do?
I feel like I'm tearing my life apart.
But I want to grieve.
But I don't know how to do it but lay in my bed and cry all day.
Isn't that a waste of time? shouldn't I be doing other things? necessary things?
I don't know.
what do I do?
I wish I could climb in a hole and become numb to everything and never feel or see or hear or taste or smell anything again.
No i don't.
that would be boring.
I'm glad I feel, see, taste, smell, hear...I just wish I didn't feel overloaded with all the emotions of the world.
I want my mom.
Maybe its just this week.
I feel like this inside all the time, but this week I haven't been able to do anything to hide it to "overcome it" (whatever that bullshit means)
I am so angry.
I am so sad.
I am so weak.
I am so guilty because I am all these things.
I try to get better.
But I can't.
I feel bad for everyone connected with me (that is the guilty part) and yet I'm angry if they don't understand and try to help me snap out of it. I think they're squelching my grieving process.
Anger and Guilt I guess are Grief and Heartaches first cousins.
6 months Maura.
I haven't gone a day without crying yet. I miss your beautiful face so much. I watch the video Matt posted of you...of your life...the one we showed at your service. And I just cry and cry and cry and cry...is that helpful? I don't know. You tell me.
I don't know what to do. I feel stuck.
Like I'm i a hole and I can't see and I can't climb out of it. i don't know what to do.
i miss you so much. i miss you so so so so soooooooooooooooooooo much. I get the for God's glory yadda yadda yadda...but I just miss you. I just miss my little sister.
maybe i should get a boring fulltime job? maybe not. I don't know if I'd be able to focus. but is having these days off when I should audition but there are no auditions...is this healthy? gives me too much time to think.
i can't escape from my brain.
why isn't more understanding?
am I really not a good person?
I miss my sister.
I am afraid I am going nuts.
the counselor at Gilda's Club says that grief carries similar characteristics as depression. But what if someone doesn't believe in depression...like shouldn't you just be able to be happy? to move forward? to get on with your life? and I can't.
what do I do?
I feel like I'm tearing my life apart.
But I want to grieve.
But I don't know how to do it but lay in my bed and cry all day.
Isn't that a waste of time? shouldn't I be doing other things? necessary things?
I don't know.
what do I do?
I wish I could climb in a hole and become numb to everything and never feel or see or hear or taste or smell anything again.
No i don't.
that would be boring.
I'm glad I feel, see, taste, smell, hear...I just wish I didn't feel overloaded with all the emotions of the world.
I want my mom.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Archives from her birthday...
They say that when you celebrate the birthday of the same age as the day you're born on, its your Golden Birthday. For example, when I turned 14 on January 14th (which is my birthday) it was my Golden Birthday and I got to have a big slumber party (when usually we were only allowed slumber parties for specific years).
Maura's Golden Birthday is today.
Or it would have been.
Or is it still?
Maura would have been 23 today--but since she's in Heaven, and there is no time in Heaven (I think...don't quote me theologically or anything, I'm not C.S. Lewis) maybe it doesn't matter.
But it matters to me.
Hmph. My dad turned on the Christian Radio Station and the DJ just said, "Today, Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009 is a day of prayer and praise."
Bet his dead sister's birthday isn't today.
Today I don't believe in anything.
That's a lie. I do. I believe in God.
But I don't believe in miracles.
I don't believe God has a "plan to prosper us and not to harm us."
I don't believe that I've heard from God I will be successful in my field.
I don't believe God can heal.
This music is torturing me.
Because I love God and I believe He is sovereign. And He is God and thats just the way it is. He is God through the good times and bad.
But I'm so sad today. I've been crying since I woke up. I can't stop thinking about her. Because today is her day. Today was always about her. "This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." "Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say Rejoice!" God, you make no sense. How am I supposed to rejoice (today above all days) when I can't even stand up from the weight of grief? That's right. The weight of grief. Not the weight of glory...grief and pain and hurt and more pain.
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
"He died on the cross, was crucified, then buried and on the third day He rose again."
Even the word death means something more to me...its more real...movies where people die...just action movies...its more real. The word is not just a strong word to use in powerful poetry or to make a joke ("Die motherfucker" "I hope you die" etc)--people throw around the word...so much...especially in the movies...but its a real word. It means a real thing. It is a real curse. OR a natural part of life. Except this doesn't feel natural. This feels unnatural. This isn't the way it was supposed to be.
Life was supposed to have ups and downs, but always with my sisters and my family at my side.
She was supposed to be healed.
She was supposed to get married and have children.
She was supposed to be at my wedding.
She was supposed to celebrate her 23rd birthday today.
Yesterday was Danielle's 30th birthday. And we couldn't throw her the huge party she deserved. We couldn't afford to take her out to the fancy restaurant she likes. We couldn't take her to Vegas like she deserves and fawn on her and celebrate her and spoil her. So, tomorrow she and I are taking a bus and I'm going with her to the casino 3 hours away and my parents are paying for 2 nights there. I can't afford much but to give her some chump change to spend how she chooses...either playing in the casino or money towards something at the spa...and me...i will lay by the pool. which will be fun--but I want to be able to do it with her...because its more fun with someone else! Its no fun by yourself. I just wish I had so much money so I could lavish it on her...give her the FULL spa treatment at the spa there...get her the too expensive facial and manicure and pedicure and massage, and take her out to the fancy restaurant in the hotel and give her spending money for the casino and souvenirs and lots and lots of alcohol and drinks so we can forget what has just happened to us and ripped our lives apart like a giant earthquake that will never close again. Its her 30th birthday and she deserves a big deal. But instead...she got a sombrero on her head and flan in her face. Damn those Mexican restaurants and what they think is funny. This is not how it should be
*****
I know I want more than I can have. I used to believe God would just provide it.
Oh yeah. I forgot. I don't believe in anything anymore.
****
This is not how life should be.
This is not how my wedding should be. My poor stressed fiancee having to do everything. Because I'm so incapable. I'm so unavailable. I can't even touch him. I can't touch anyone. I can't hug. I'm a huggy person but I can't even receive hugs. He thinks I just go through my day watching movies and shopping while he works so hard. And he does work hard. But a movie is just an escape. Its a story that covers such a large screen I can check out of my life for 2 hours. What I need is some marathong movie, like Star Wars so I can check out forever. And if I see that DAMN TRAILER for the movie "My Sister's Keeper" one more time...I will pull my eyes out!!! I took my dad to an action movie for Father's Day and this preview comes on and there we are...having to sit through it...watching a preview about a movie about our life...and its raw...its salt on our wounds...
A wedding should be filled with joy and laughter and fun. And bridal showers. And lingerie showers where you laugh and laugh and people give you all the attention and want to hear all the romantic details. And where you try on skimpy lingerie and model it for your friends so they can make inappropriate comments about what you and future husband will be doing with (well actually without) those skimpy garters and edible pantied and see through nightgowns. Our engagement should be filled with him and me and lovey-dovey moments. More of the time when he washed my feet in the bathtub because he didn't want me to put dirty feet on our new couch and less of me a helpless wreck arguing with him for no reason and falling onto the floor a weeping mess...less of the time where I can't get out of bed and face the sun...less of the crying all night long and him having to stay awake and get no sleep because he's holding me and I cry so loud he can't rest because he's worried about me.
A birthday should be filled with joy and laughter and fun. And everyone giving her the attention she deserves and celebrating the life--the 30 amazing years of her life where she has accomplished so much and become such a beautiful woman with a big heart and a kind and generous spirit. A loving woman who I look up to...and I know Maura looked up to her too. We talked about how cool Danielle is. She is our big sister. She is my big sister. And she deserves more.
Should be.
And today is another birthday. But one I can't even write about. Because its just one more person I can't give everything to. Because she's not here. And no amount of money will bring her back. And no amount of begging will bring her back. We can watch videos of her...but its not the same. The videos make me laugh and cry at the same time because I remember her.
I remember. Her humor. Her beauty. Her gentlenss and kindness. Her impishness. Her drunkeness. Her blonde hair. her brown hair, for that matter. Her blue eyes. Her beautiful smile. Her laugh. Her voice. Her beautiful, supernatural and unmatchable voice. Her sweet hands. Her chubby phases. Her skinny phases. Her big boobs. Her surgically removed smaller boobs.
The way she said my name. I love the way she said my name.
I miss the way she said my name.
Maura. its your birthday today. Its your Golden Birthday today and I celebrate you. But it is not how it should be. estou com saudades, minha linda irma. There is no joy. There is no laughter. There are only tears. estou com muitas saudades, Irma Querida. Too many tears and its very hard to breathe from the choking sobs. Irmazinha. The hole in my heart makes me heavier than I've been in days. And the sky is cloudy and sunny at the same time. Like on the day we had your service. I'm wearing your clothes. Your yellow shirt you loved. And your underwear. I know...I know...you may think its gross...but its just one pair and I washed it. You lent it to me before. Why should now be any different. Besides. All mine are dirty.
Maura
Your birthday arrived.
I woke with a start.
I felt nobody
And you weren't here.
the room was empty
and the room was dark
and I was alone
and you weren't here.
and i can only write
i can only shower
i can only wipe
these tears from my eyes.
because you aren't here.
because I can't
because i don't want to
because I shouldn't have to
keep on living without you.
Birthdays aren't the same.
Weddings aren't the same.
The power of death
is too strong
for joy.
oh Lord, if the Joy of the Lord is my strength...then I am weak. I have no more comfort. I am drowning. and I am completely and utterly miserable.
wow. that's depressing.
If I was my fiancee, I'd leave me now. I make his life stressful and miserable. He should be enjoying this time too. But he's not. He's just overwhelmed. And I am too heavy a weight. I can't carry his burdens much less share them with him. He deserves better than what I can give him. i am not who he fell in love with. That should make it okay to break any promises. i haven't held up my end of the bargain, right? He will be freer without this weight called Lydia dangling around his neck and he will be happy. He wants to be happy. he deserves it. he's worked hard for it. take your happiness. I won't stop you this time.
****
This isn't 2 hours of a story and then the lights come up and we all leave the theater.
This isn't a fucking movie. This is my life. This is my fucking life.
And I hate my life.
And I know I dramatize everything. its in my genetic make up. Its in my profession. Both of them.
When all hope is gone?
"I lift my eyes up to the mountains. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth..."
Last night, at Danielle's birthday dinner...people kept asking about the wedding...I didn't want to be rude...but I wanted them to pay attention to Danielle...for once let the spotlight be on her and not me...I hog it enough...I didn't need it last night. But Savannah, Nikki's daughter, asked me if I wanted to be an actor? I said, "I am an actor." She asked me if I was going to be famous. And Danielle answered without blinking, "She will be famous."
That's what my sister said so firmly. Its not about the fame--I don't care if I'm famous or not. who could care now? Its the fact that my big sister, my beautiful big sister, said more matter-of-factly than I ever have, without a shadow of doubt in her mind, "She will be famous." "She will be successful." Because she believes in me. Maura used to say the same thing. With the same certainty.
Maybe it does matter what God says and how He orders things. But at the end of the day, He gave me my sisters. And they believe in me. More than anybody I know. And they don't question what will happen in my life. They just know. And they say it outloud without fear or shame. They say it with pride. Proud of me.
And I am brought to my knees again because of their faith in me.
Before Maura died, I asked her if she'd prefer I went into cancer research. I could get the degree. I am smart enough and I could study and get into school no problem and I could help save the world specializing from sarcoma and i would work until I found that cure and she knew it. Or should I do movies. And she smiled and said, "Movies. Hello?" And she looked at me and said again firmly, "Movies." And I told her I'd tell her story and she smiled and nodded.
And I will tell her story. Because every word I write, every feeling I feel, every character I play will have her in it. I can't help it. She and Danielle and my mom and my dad are what my art have always been about. Because my art tells stories and I only know how to tell the story from my lens. I only know how to feel what I've experienced myself. And I have experienced them. They make my life rich. They make me overflow. And in my pain, I WILL become the BEST DAMN ACTRESS and the BEST DAMN WRITER (of males and females) this world has ever seen. Because THEY make my art live. Make no mistake, it has nothing to do with me. I'm merely the vessel. Its them that inspires anything good to come out of me. It will ALL and ALWAYS be about them. It will always be about Maura. it will always be about Danielle. It will always be about Love.
For Danielle and Maura.
Tattoed on my heart. forever.
posted by Lydia DeSouza at 10:51 AM on Jun 23, 2009
Maura's Golden Birthday is today.
Or it would have been.
Or is it still?
Maura would have been 23 today--but since she's in Heaven, and there is no time in Heaven (I think...don't quote me theologically or anything, I'm not C.S. Lewis) maybe it doesn't matter.
But it matters to me.
Hmph. My dad turned on the Christian Radio Station and the DJ just said, "Today, Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009 is a day of prayer and praise."
Bet his dead sister's birthday isn't today.
Today I don't believe in anything.
That's a lie. I do. I believe in God.
But I don't believe in miracles.
I don't believe God has a "plan to prosper us and not to harm us."
I don't believe that I've heard from God I will be successful in my field.
I don't believe God can heal.
This music is torturing me.
Because I love God and I believe He is sovereign. And He is God and thats just the way it is. He is God through the good times and bad.
But I'm so sad today. I've been crying since I woke up. I can't stop thinking about her. Because today is her day. Today was always about her. "This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." "Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say Rejoice!" God, you make no sense. How am I supposed to rejoice (today above all days) when I can't even stand up from the weight of grief? That's right. The weight of grief. Not the weight of glory...grief and pain and hurt and more pain.
"I will never leave you nor forsake you."
"He died on the cross, was crucified, then buried and on the third day He rose again."
Even the word death means something more to me...its more real...movies where people die...just action movies...its more real. The word is not just a strong word to use in powerful poetry or to make a joke ("Die motherfucker" "I hope you die" etc)--people throw around the word...so much...especially in the movies...but its a real word. It means a real thing. It is a real curse. OR a natural part of life. Except this doesn't feel natural. This feels unnatural. This isn't the way it was supposed to be.
Life was supposed to have ups and downs, but always with my sisters and my family at my side.
She was supposed to be healed.
She was supposed to get married and have children.
She was supposed to be at my wedding.
She was supposed to celebrate her 23rd birthday today.
Yesterday was Danielle's 30th birthday. And we couldn't throw her the huge party she deserved. We couldn't afford to take her out to the fancy restaurant she likes. We couldn't take her to Vegas like she deserves and fawn on her and celebrate her and spoil her. So, tomorrow she and I are taking a bus and I'm going with her to the casino 3 hours away and my parents are paying for 2 nights there. I can't afford much but to give her some chump change to spend how she chooses...either playing in the casino or money towards something at the spa...and me...i will lay by the pool. which will be fun--but I want to be able to do it with her...because its more fun with someone else! Its no fun by yourself. I just wish I had so much money so I could lavish it on her...give her the FULL spa treatment at the spa there...get her the too expensive facial and manicure and pedicure and massage, and take her out to the fancy restaurant in the hotel and give her spending money for the casino and souvenirs and lots and lots of alcohol and drinks so we can forget what has just happened to us and ripped our lives apart like a giant earthquake that will never close again. Its her 30th birthday and she deserves a big deal. But instead...she got a sombrero on her head and flan in her face. Damn those Mexican restaurants and what they think is funny. This is not how it should be
*****
I know I want more than I can have. I used to believe God would just provide it.
Oh yeah. I forgot. I don't believe in anything anymore.
****
This is not how life should be.
This is not how my wedding should be. My poor stressed fiancee having to do everything. Because I'm so incapable. I'm so unavailable. I can't even touch him. I can't touch anyone. I can't hug. I'm a huggy person but I can't even receive hugs. He thinks I just go through my day watching movies and shopping while he works so hard. And he does work hard. But a movie is just an escape. Its a story that covers such a large screen I can check out of my life for 2 hours. What I need is some marathong movie, like Star Wars so I can check out forever. And if I see that DAMN TRAILER for the movie "My Sister's Keeper" one more time...I will pull my eyes out!!! I took my dad to an action movie for Father's Day and this preview comes on and there we are...having to sit through it...watching a preview about a movie about our life...and its raw...its salt on our wounds...
A wedding should be filled with joy and laughter and fun. And bridal showers. And lingerie showers where you laugh and laugh and people give you all the attention and want to hear all the romantic details. And where you try on skimpy lingerie and model it for your friends so they can make inappropriate comments about what you and future husband will be doing with (well actually without) those skimpy garters and edible pantied and see through nightgowns. Our engagement should be filled with him and me and lovey-dovey moments. More of the time when he washed my feet in the bathtub because he didn't want me to put dirty feet on our new couch and less of me a helpless wreck arguing with him for no reason and falling onto the floor a weeping mess...less of the time where I can't get out of bed and face the sun...less of the crying all night long and him having to stay awake and get no sleep because he's holding me and I cry so loud he can't rest because he's worried about me.
A birthday should be filled with joy and laughter and fun. And everyone giving her the attention she deserves and celebrating the life--the 30 amazing years of her life where she has accomplished so much and become such a beautiful woman with a big heart and a kind and generous spirit. A loving woman who I look up to...and I know Maura looked up to her too. We talked about how cool Danielle is. She is our big sister. She is my big sister. And she deserves more.
Should be.
And today is another birthday. But one I can't even write about. Because its just one more person I can't give everything to. Because she's not here. And no amount of money will bring her back. And no amount of begging will bring her back. We can watch videos of her...but its not the same. The videos make me laugh and cry at the same time because I remember her.
I remember. Her humor. Her beauty. Her gentlenss and kindness. Her impishness. Her drunkeness. Her blonde hair. her brown hair, for that matter. Her blue eyes. Her beautiful smile. Her laugh. Her voice. Her beautiful, supernatural and unmatchable voice. Her sweet hands. Her chubby phases. Her skinny phases. Her big boobs. Her surgically removed smaller boobs.
The way she said my name. I love the way she said my name.
I miss the way she said my name.
Maura. its your birthday today. Its your Golden Birthday today and I celebrate you. But it is not how it should be. estou com saudades, minha linda irma. There is no joy. There is no laughter. There are only tears. estou com muitas saudades, Irma Querida. Too many tears and its very hard to breathe from the choking sobs. Irmazinha. The hole in my heart makes me heavier than I've been in days. And the sky is cloudy and sunny at the same time. Like on the day we had your service. I'm wearing your clothes. Your yellow shirt you loved. And your underwear. I know...I know...you may think its gross...but its just one pair and I washed it. You lent it to me before. Why should now be any different. Besides. All mine are dirty.
Maura
Your birthday arrived.
I woke with a start.
I felt nobody
And you weren't here.
the room was empty
and the room was dark
and I was alone
and you weren't here.
and i can only write
i can only shower
i can only wipe
these tears from my eyes.
because you aren't here.
because I can't
because i don't want to
because I shouldn't have to
keep on living without you.
Birthdays aren't the same.
Weddings aren't the same.
The power of death
is too strong
for joy.
oh Lord, if the Joy of the Lord is my strength...then I am weak. I have no more comfort. I am drowning. and I am completely and utterly miserable.
wow. that's depressing.
If I was my fiancee, I'd leave me now. I make his life stressful and miserable. He should be enjoying this time too. But he's not. He's just overwhelmed. And I am too heavy a weight. I can't carry his burdens much less share them with him. He deserves better than what I can give him. i am not who he fell in love with. That should make it okay to break any promises. i haven't held up my end of the bargain, right? He will be freer without this weight called Lydia dangling around his neck and he will be happy. He wants to be happy. he deserves it. he's worked hard for it. take your happiness. I won't stop you this time.
****
This isn't 2 hours of a story and then the lights come up and we all leave the theater.
This isn't a fucking movie. This is my life. This is my fucking life.
And I hate my life.
And I know I dramatize everything. its in my genetic make up. Its in my profession. Both of them.
When all hope is gone?
"I lift my eyes up to the mountains. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth..."
Last night, at Danielle's birthday dinner...people kept asking about the wedding...I didn't want to be rude...but I wanted them to pay attention to Danielle...for once let the spotlight be on her and not me...I hog it enough...I didn't need it last night. But Savannah, Nikki's daughter, asked me if I wanted to be an actor? I said, "I am an actor." She asked me if I was going to be famous. And Danielle answered without blinking, "She will be famous."
That's what my sister said so firmly. Its not about the fame--I don't care if I'm famous or not. who could care now? Its the fact that my big sister, my beautiful big sister, said more matter-of-factly than I ever have, without a shadow of doubt in her mind, "She will be famous." "She will be successful." Because she believes in me. Maura used to say the same thing. With the same certainty.
Maybe it does matter what God says and how He orders things. But at the end of the day, He gave me my sisters. And they believe in me. More than anybody I know. And they don't question what will happen in my life. They just know. And they say it outloud without fear or shame. They say it with pride. Proud of me.
And I am brought to my knees again because of their faith in me.
Before Maura died, I asked her if she'd prefer I went into cancer research. I could get the degree. I am smart enough and I could study and get into school no problem and I could help save the world specializing from sarcoma and i would work until I found that cure and she knew it. Or should I do movies. And she smiled and said, "Movies. Hello?" And she looked at me and said again firmly, "Movies." And I told her I'd tell her story and she smiled and nodded.
And I will tell her story. Because every word I write, every feeling I feel, every character I play will have her in it. I can't help it. She and Danielle and my mom and my dad are what my art have always been about. Because my art tells stories and I only know how to tell the story from my lens. I only know how to feel what I've experienced myself. And I have experienced them. They make my life rich. They make me overflow. And in my pain, I WILL become the BEST DAMN ACTRESS and the BEST DAMN WRITER (of males and females) this world has ever seen. Because THEY make my art live. Make no mistake, it has nothing to do with me. I'm merely the vessel. Its them that inspires anything good to come out of me. It will ALL and ALWAYS be about them. It will always be about Maura. it will always be about Danielle. It will always be about Love.
For Danielle and Maura.
Tattoed on my heart. forever.
posted by Lydia DeSouza at 10:51 AM on Jun 23, 2009
I found this.
Thought I'd look through some old writing I keep under lock and key. I found a lot of writing from right after Maura died.
May 27th, 2009, I wrote Maura a letter:
my sweet, sweet sister,
It is not easy to write to you. Because I don't know that you'll get this letter. But maybe it is more for the living than for the dead.
I miss you so much. A week ago, you took your last breath and I had to write your obituary (the worst thing I've ever had to write and the only thing I had no words of my own for)...and I still can't think of anything else but you. I still feel like you're just on a vacation, or not home for the weekend. When in actuality, it is me on the long weekend called life. You are enjoying eternity, Paradise, probably with a huge mansion and a crown too big for your head because of all the good things you did and the incredible person that you were.
I keep having daydreams of you. Too brief, these dreams though. Just one recurring dream where I see you. And you throw your skinny little arms around me and laugh and say, "Let me show you around."
And all I can think about is that one vision I had a couple years ago...I was running down the beach. The sky was a little cloudy but not in a bad way...just like it was about to rain. And the sand was that wet sand right by the tide. In this dream, I am running on this wet sand but I'm following the footsteps to this rock formation up ahead and behind the rock formation is this great light. Light and laughter. And I start running towards it because there is so much light and so much laughter growing louder and louder. So, I reach the rock formation and behind it surrounded in all this light is a table set with 5 goblets. And all this laughter is there at this table and you are there, and Daddy and Mom are there, and Danielle is there and its like the most fun dinner ever. So much laughing and so much light.
And I think that's what it will be like when I die. I wonder where Joao is. maybe this means I die before him. Are we still married in Heaven? I don't know. I think someone asks Jesus that question but I can't remember what He said. I'll look it up.
Either way, it is something I look forward to. Seeing you again my precious, precious little sister.
Mom still cries every night. We watch episode after episode of "Friends" hoping that somehow the funny stuff will make us forget our pain, but after the episode is over we feel the grief start to rise again and it usually spills over. Until I can get the next disk of "Friends" in.
I'm planning a nice wedding. Nothing like the one in NY. It would have been too expensive anyway. I was gonna go to Hawaii, I thought that woulda been a lot of fun, but again, a lot of money to make Mom and Dad pay. Even though a vacation might do them good right now. So, I think I might do it at Uncle Mike's house. Cool huh? Small, you know...not the big wedding, but Joao never wanted that anyway, and I'd rather get married sooner than wait longer til we could afford a great big wedding. And it's not seldom that i am reminded you'da probably been up for anything. you probably woulda made this easier because you would make everyone just shut up and you'd go along with any idea I said. Especially Hawaii. =) But LA will be nice too. Better than Houston. i am scared I will die from heat in my dress though...maybe we can rent some fans or something. Hopefully I don't fall into the pool. Lots of dancing too. And a bar. =) Maybe Daddy could barbecue for the rehearsal dinner? Make it a pool party? Sounds cool huh?
I talked to Mrs. Akin, when she was refitting your yellow graduation dress to fit me for your funeral. I talked to her about getting married. And she was right. She said you would have wanted me to have the wedding I wanted. And really, I just need our whole families there (so you better come), nice weather (that's God's territory), a pretty location (Uncle Mike has that covered) and a lot of dancing...=) and Joao of course. Would be good if he was there too...=)
I am goinngi to write your movie. The one about you, and me, and Danielle. It is hard to write. To get started. But I will write it because I promised you. And because I want to. Your friend, Joni Rogers, told me some good words, that I remember to live my own life. That I don't let my life become about your death. And I think that is something you would have said too, isn't it?
But i learned so much from you. even though I'm older so it was I who should have been teaching you...I learned so much from you:
Life is short. Don't stress the small stuff.
Live every day to the most and enjoy it all.
Be kind to everyone. Absolutely everyone. And speak ill of noone.
When opportunities happen, take them. Don't let fear of what people will think or say or my own fear stop me.
Make my life about people. Because in them lie my riches.
3 Oscars. 2 Emmy's. 1 Tony. that's for you.
All the rest I'll give to Mom. =)
I love you so much. I could not have asked for a better sister. i could not have asked for a better family. And even in this most painful, horrible circumstance, you taught me to hope to the very end. And so i won't mourn like those who have no hope. because I Know that I know that I know that I will see you again, my beautiful sister. So I have hope. i love my life. I don't like my circumstances. But i'm thankful for a lot. I wish you were here.
But I still feel like you are very much here. Maybe its all the prayers people are praying for us that is bringing on all this peace. I hope they keep praying. we'll keep needing it.
Remember when you had to go buy that plunger from the hardware store while I waited in Rodolfo's bathroom because I'd stopped up the toilet and couldn't wipe properly...oh gosh...you know, he never knew why he had two plungers after that. I only wish i had been able to find the first one. Oh well.
Remember when i wouldn't go to the sex museum with you because I was too scared blah blah blah so you went by yourself and you laughed and said you were the creepy girl who was there taking pictures all by herself? Oh gosh. i wish I could do that over. I would go with you. Now I have to go and be the creepy girl myself just to make it up to you.
Remember when you offered to give me all your money you'd saved from your allowance (which was a good $500) to pay for my college tuition (which was more like $24,000 a year)?
Remember when we would take glamour shots together? oh how embarrassing.
Remember when I got engaged and I walked in the door and you jumped up and screamed and threw your arms around me and laughed and cried and was so excited? And you called Danielle who was still in Chicago and she kept complaining because no one was talking to her because she was on the phone and no one wanted to be on the phone? Poor Danielle. But she'll be at the wedding. She's been so great. We still fight but I'll try to be better about it. I am really looking forward to planning this wedding with her so we can spend good time together. Because I love her so much too and I don't think she knows how much I love her. i was always better at showing you how much I love you, but I need to show her. If you have any pull with the Big Guy...find her some really amazing hunky teddy bear to marry her and treat her like the princess she is.
I wish you coulda seen how beautiful the service was. You would have loved it. You'da cried. I know you woulda. Miss Sensitiva.
Remember when you made me sing the Ursula song with all the voices in front of all your friends? most people would think it should have been my best performance because it was literally your dying wish, but it wasn't...it was my worst...I'm sorry...i cared so much...but what made it the best, was you answering back on Ariel's part...I loved that.
Remember when you needed to sit up in bed and I would get jealous of anyone who lifted you but me? i liked that job because you would have to put your arms around my neck for me to lift you and it was like a private hug from you every time. I loved that too.
Remember when you were getting delirious, not really talking and you all of a sudden picked up both of my hands and felt around for my ring and when you found it you sighed a sigh of relief and Danielle said, "Do you know who it is?" And you nodded and said "Lydia." and went back to sleep. That meant so much to me that even when you could barely talk, you knew who I was and it seemed as if it made you comfortable knowing I was there. Knowing we were all there, but I liked that you needed me there too.
I wish I could have spent more time with you. I really do. I regret so much. And I'm so sorry for so much. But more than anything I love you so much and I miss you more than my heart can hold. it is full of tears, my heart. and it rises to my eyes and falls down and no one knows what to do or what to say and really there isn't anything to say or do. Only time.
But I will go through this time. And I will experience it all...and then when i get to heaven, I will tell you all about it. Because the one good thing is, you will neveer have to know what this feels like. So--it'll be a good story. I'll tell you when I see you again.
Until we meet again, Maura, my beloved sister, you are forever in my heart.
All my love,
Beijos,
your big sister Lydia
posted by Lydia DeSouza at 12:03 PM on May 27, 2009
May 27th, 2009, I wrote Maura a letter:
my sweet, sweet sister,
It is not easy to write to you. Because I don't know that you'll get this letter. But maybe it is more for the living than for the dead.
I miss you so much. A week ago, you took your last breath and I had to write your obituary (the worst thing I've ever had to write and the only thing I had no words of my own for)...and I still can't think of anything else but you. I still feel like you're just on a vacation, or not home for the weekend. When in actuality, it is me on the long weekend called life. You are enjoying eternity, Paradise, probably with a huge mansion and a crown too big for your head because of all the good things you did and the incredible person that you were.
I keep having daydreams of you. Too brief, these dreams though. Just one recurring dream where I see you. And you throw your skinny little arms around me and laugh and say, "Let me show you around."
And all I can think about is that one vision I had a couple years ago...I was running down the beach. The sky was a little cloudy but not in a bad way...just like it was about to rain. And the sand was that wet sand right by the tide. In this dream, I am running on this wet sand but I'm following the footsteps to this rock formation up ahead and behind the rock formation is this great light. Light and laughter. And I start running towards it because there is so much light and so much laughter growing louder and louder. So, I reach the rock formation and behind it surrounded in all this light is a table set with 5 goblets. And all this laughter is there at this table and you are there, and Daddy and Mom are there, and Danielle is there and its like the most fun dinner ever. So much laughing and so much light.
And I think that's what it will be like when I die. I wonder where Joao is. maybe this means I die before him. Are we still married in Heaven? I don't know. I think someone asks Jesus that question but I can't remember what He said. I'll look it up.
Either way, it is something I look forward to. Seeing you again my precious, precious little sister.
Mom still cries every night. We watch episode after episode of "Friends" hoping that somehow the funny stuff will make us forget our pain, but after the episode is over we feel the grief start to rise again and it usually spills over. Until I can get the next disk of "Friends" in.
I'm planning a nice wedding. Nothing like the one in NY. It would have been too expensive anyway. I was gonna go to Hawaii, I thought that woulda been a lot of fun, but again, a lot of money to make Mom and Dad pay. Even though a vacation might do them good right now. So, I think I might do it at Uncle Mike's house. Cool huh? Small, you know...not the big wedding, but Joao never wanted that anyway, and I'd rather get married sooner than wait longer til we could afford a great big wedding. And it's not seldom that i am reminded you'da probably been up for anything. you probably woulda made this easier because you would make everyone just shut up and you'd go along with any idea I said. Especially Hawaii. =) But LA will be nice too. Better than Houston. i am scared I will die from heat in my dress though...maybe we can rent some fans or something. Hopefully I don't fall into the pool. Lots of dancing too. And a bar. =) Maybe Daddy could barbecue for the rehearsal dinner? Make it a pool party? Sounds cool huh?
I talked to Mrs. Akin, when she was refitting your yellow graduation dress to fit me for your funeral. I talked to her about getting married. And she was right. She said you would have wanted me to have the wedding I wanted. And really, I just need our whole families there (so you better come), nice weather (that's God's territory), a pretty location (Uncle Mike has that covered) and a lot of dancing...=) and Joao of course. Would be good if he was there too...=)
I am goinngi to write your movie. The one about you, and me, and Danielle. It is hard to write. To get started. But I will write it because I promised you. And because I want to. Your friend, Joni Rogers, told me some good words, that I remember to live my own life. That I don't let my life become about your death. And I think that is something you would have said too, isn't it?
But i learned so much from you. even though I'm older so it was I who should have been teaching you...I learned so much from you:
Life is short. Don't stress the small stuff.
Live every day to the most and enjoy it all.
Be kind to everyone. Absolutely everyone. And speak ill of noone.
When opportunities happen, take them. Don't let fear of what people will think or say or my own fear stop me.
Make my life about people. Because in them lie my riches.
3 Oscars. 2 Emmy's. 1 Tony. that's for you.
All the rest I'll give to Mom. =)
I love you so much. I could not have asked for a better sister. i could not have asked for a better family. And even in this most painful, horrible circumstance, you taught me to hope to the very end. And so i won't mourn like those who have no hope. because I Know that I know that I know that I will see you again, my beautiful sister. So I have hope. i love my life. I don't like my circumstances. But i'm thankful for a lot. I wish you were here.
But I still feel like you are very much here. Maybe its all the prayers people are praying for us that is bringing on all this peace. I hope they keep praying. we'll keep needing it.
Remember when you had to go buy that plunger from the hardware store while I waited in Rodolfo's bathroom because I'd stopped up the toilet and couldn't wipe properly...oh gosh...you know, he never knew why he had two plungers after that. I only wish i had been able to find the first one. Oh well.
Remember when i wouldn't go to the sex museum with you because I was too scared blah blah blah so you went by yourself and you laughed and said you were the creepy girl who was there taking pictures all by herself? Oh gosh. i wish I could do that over. I would go with you. Now I have to go and be the creepy girl myself just to make it up to you.
Remember when you offered to give me all your money you'd saved from your allowance (which was a good $500) to pay for my college tuition (which was more like $24,000 a year)?
Remember when we would take glamour shots together? oh how embarrassing.
Remember when I got engaged and I walked in the door and you jumped up and screamed and threw your arms around me and laughed and cried and was so excited? And you called Danielle who was still in Chicago and she kept complaining because no one was talking to her because she was on the phone and no one wanted to be on the phone? Poor Danielle. But she'll be at the wedding. She's been so great. We still fight but I'll try to be better about it. I am really looking forward to planning this wedding with her so we can spend good time together. Because I love her so much too and I don't think she knows how much I love her. i was always better at showing you how much I love you, but I need to show her. If you have any pull with the Big Guy...find her some really amazing hunky teddy bear to marry her and treat her like the princess she is.
I wish you coulda seen how beautiful the service was. You would have loved it. You'da cried. I know you woulda. Miss Sensitiva.
Remember when you made me sing the Ursula song with all the voices in front of all your friends? most people would think it should have been my best performance because it was literally your dying wish, but it wasn't...it was my worst...I'm sorry...i cared so much...but what made it the best, was you answering back on Ariel's part...I loved that.
Remember when you needed to sit up in bed and I would get jealous of anyone who lifted you but me? i liked that job because you would have to put your arms around my neck for me to lift you and it was like a private hug from you every time. I loved that too.
Remember when you were getting delirious, not really talking and you all of a sudden picked up both of my hands and felt around for my ring and when you found it you sighed a sigh of relief and Danielle said, "Do you know who it is?" And you nodded and said "Lydia." and went back to sleep. That meant so much to me that even when you could barely talk, you knew who I was and it seemed as if it made you comfortable knowing I was there. Knowing we were all there, but I liked that you needed me there too.
I wish I could have spent more time with you. I really do. I regret so much. And I'm so sorry for so much. But more than anything I love you so much and I miss you more than my heart can hold. it is full of tears, my heart. and it rises to my eyes and falls down and no one knows what to do or what to say and really there isn't anything to say or do. Only time.
But I will go through this time. And I will experience it all...and then when i get to heaven, I will tell you all about it. Because the one good thing is, you will neveer have to know what this feels like. So--it'll be a good story. I'll tell you when I see you again.
Until we meet again, Maura, my beloved sister, you are forever in my heart.
All my love,
Beijos,
your big sister Lydia
posted by Lydia DeSouza at 12:03 PM on May 27, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
A hug from a 7 year old
I was making breakfast for Peter and Lauren. Peter wanted oatmeal, two pieces of toast (one with jelly and one with butter) and a waffle with butter and syrup. Lauren wanted an omelet with cheese and pancakes. It was their day off from school so I thought...eh...why not...they always eat quick breakfast, why not indulge on your day off? I would.
Plus, it was one of those days. One of those Maura days where the constriction in my chest gets tighter and tighter until I can cry it out (which usually take a good hour of relentless sobbing)--not something I could release while I'm supposed to be babysitting kids and pretending being an adult is the greatest thing in the world.
But everytime I look at them, I know its weird, but I see Maura. Peter's rambunctiousness and big blue eyes remind me of Maura. And the fact that he met Maura and Maura just adored him. Lauren too. Her sweet, gentle ways are also very Maura. And the way those two play together...they both will exclaim to anyone who asks that they are best friends. I mean, they fight but they'd rather spend the day together playing dress up than go to the park. It makes me miss when I was a child and Maura and I played dress up together with our baby blankets over our heads as scarves. Or still, the ever-haunting echo of her little 4-yr. old voice in my ears calling out my name, "Lydia!" and I see her blonde curls bobbing as she runs towards me. Her headband and ponytail she would insist on wearing everyday. And then she changed to just the headband. Her little hands. Seeing Peter and Lauren just reminds me of how much sometimes I just wish I could climb back through time and be in that place with my sisters again. Young, free and completely innocent, trying to catch tadpoles in the pond or pretending to go on journeys through the jungle in the house. Or when Danielle would put make up on me and Maura and then take "glamour shots" of us in our bathing suits (usually swimteam bathing suits but still)
I see these kids and I wish to God so badly that I could be there again. With my sisters. Playing. Fighting. Annoying. Giggling. Tickling. But home. In our house. On our swingset. Not worried about anything but what will we play next.
And looking back, I can wish all I want that I should have relished my childhood because now it is only--and can only be--a distant memory.
And here they are in front of me.
I had a hard conversation with my mom. I got off the phone.
I fixed the waffle and burnt the omelet a little. But I had warned her I was not the best chef.
I started to feel the tightness in my chest start to creep into my throat, up the back of my neck and into my nose.
Not here. I told myself. NOT here. NOT now. I gripped the edge of the oven and squeezed as hard as I could to keep it together because I could hear their little feet pounding into the kitchen as if on cue. How do they know when breakfast is ready and their babysitter is falling apart?
I put a smile on my face and forced the tears to stay welled up in my eyes and my mouth and jaw were squeezed tense so no emotion could betray me. We got through 30 minutes like that--they ate and talked and I let them talk as much as they want. Peter went on and on about how when he was an adult he would make all his own decisions and still live with mom and dad and never get married because he didn't want to have to live away from home. Maura used to say the exact same thing. I never did. Soon, breakfast was eaten and Peter was grabbing onto me, pulling my sleeves to go play "egyptians." Lauren came over, gently took his grip off of my arm and told him I had to clean up and to go ahead and go get dressed as a Egypt and she would get dressed as Queen HutPut (or whoever the heck it is--a female pharaoh apparently--that girl knows more about Egypt than any Egyptian I know). When Peter raced to his room, Lauren gently put her skinny little arms around me.
And she smiled and she hugged me for I don't know, about 5 minutes. Long enough for Peter to change into his Egyptian costume (his underpants) and play for a bit and then realize no one had joined him yet.
When Peter came to get her, she gave me a final squeeze. I didn't squeeze her quite so hard, her body is very small and frail, and yet her hug is strong, but still, I don't want to break her. I didn't want to let go. I wanted to hug her forever and cry and cry and cry. But she went back to dress up as the Queen she is and I cleared the breakfast dishes and sat down and wept.
And when I had my cry, I went back into their room where the Egyptian palace had been set up and announced I was Cleopatra. And we played Egyptians for about another hour and a half and then I went home.
She's 7, you know? She'll be 8 in January. But she's really incredible. She's really wonderful. She sees things and knows things not a lot of kids her age pay attention to, I think. She is having a year like I did in 5th grade.
I miss my sister. I miss her with every fiber of my being even the broken shards of glass in my heart must feel the pain.
Unexpected and Unannounced my old enemy, Grief, has shown up again. And I don't have any 7 year olds today to ease the pain if just for a moment. I just have my computer, my pictures and a dirty apartment. Well. No time like the present to clean up.
Plus, it was one of those days. One of those Maura days where the constriction in my chest gets tighter and tighter until I can cry it out (which usually take a good hour of relentless sobbing)--not something I could release while I'm supposed to be babysitting kids and pretending being an adult is the greatest thing in the world.
But everytime I look at them, I know its weird, but I see Maura. Peter's rambunctiousness and big blue eyes remind me of Maura. And the fact that he met Maura and Maura just adored him. Lauren too. Her sweet, gentle ways are also very Maura. And the way those two play together...they both will exclaim to anyone who asks that they are best friends. I mean, they fight but they'd rather spend the day together playing dress up than go to the park. It makes me miss when I was a child and Maura and I played dress up together with our baby blankets over our heads as scarves. Or still, the ever-haunting echo of her little 4-yr. old voice in my ears calling out my name, "Lydia!" and I see her blonde curls bobbing as she runs towards me. Her headband and ponytail she would insist on wearing everyday. And then she changed to just the headband. Her little hands. Seeing Peter and Lauren just reminds me of how much sometimes I just wish I could climb back through time and be in that place with my sisters again. Young, free and completely innocent, trying to catch tadpoles in the pond or pretending to go on journeys through the jungle in the house. Or when Danielle would put make up on me and Maura and then take "glamour shots" of us in our bathing suits (usually swimteam bathing suits but still)
I see these kids and I wish to God so badly that I could be there again. With my sisters. Playing. Fighting. Annoying. Giggling. Tickling. But home. In our house. On our swingset. Not worried about anything but what will we play next.
And looking back, I can wish all I want that I should have relished my childhood because now it is only--and can only be--a distant memory.
And here they are in front of me.
I had a hard conversation with my mom. I got off the phone.
I fixed the waffle and burnt the omelet a little. But I had warned her I was not the best chef.
I started to feel the tightness in my chest start to creep into my throat, up the back of my neck and into my nose.
Not here. I told myself. NOT here. NOT now. I gripped the edge of the oven and squeezed as hard as I could to keep it together because I could hear their little feet pounding into the kitchen as if on cue. How do they know when breakfast is ready and their babysitter is falling apart?
I put a smile on my face and forced the tears to stay welled up in my eyes and my mouth and jaw were squeezed tense so no emotion could betray me. We got through 30 minutes like that--they ate and talked and I let them talk as much as they want. Peter went on and on about how when he was an adult he would make all his own decisions and still live with mom and dad and never get married because he didn't want to have to live away from home. Maura used to say the exact same thing. I never did. Soon, breakfast was eaten and Peter was grabbing onto me, pulling my sleeves to go play "egyptians." Lauren came over, gently took his grip off of my arm and told him I had to clean up and to go ahead and go get dressed as a Egypt and she would get dressed as Queen HutPut (or whoever the heck it is--a female pharaoh apparently--that girl knows more about Egypt than any Egyptian I know). When Peter raced to his room, Lauren gently put her skinny little arms around me.
And she smiled and she hugged me for I don't know, about 5 minutes. Long enough for Peter to change into his Egyptian costume (his underpants) and play for a bit and then realize no one had joined him yet.
When Peter came to get her, she gave me a final squeeze. I didn't squeeze her quite so hard, her body is very small and frail, and yet her hug is strong, but still, I don't want to break her. I didn't want to let go. I wanted to hug her forever and cry and cry and cry. But she went back to dress up as the Queen she is and I cleared the breakfast dishes and sat down and wept.
And when I had my cry, I went back into their room where the Egyptian palace had been set up and announced I was Cleopatra. And we played Egyptians for about another hour and a half and then I went home.
She's 7, you know? She'll be 8 in January. But she's really incredible. She's really wonderful. She sees things and knows things not a lot of kids her age pay attention to, I think. She is having a year like I did in 5th grade.
I miss my sister. I miss her with every fiber of my being even the broken shards of glass in my heart must feel the pain.
Unexpected and Unannounced my old enemy, Grief, has shown up again. And I don't have any 7 year olds today to ease the pain if just for a moment. I just have my computer, my pictures and a dirty apartment. Well. No time like the present to clean up.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
She isn't here anymore.
I wish I could spend my whole day in my bed with the covers keeping me warm and my house would clean itself, my work would get done, my prayers would be prayed, my husband would be loved and I wouldn't have to concentrate on anything but just drift off into oblivious sleep.
I went to pray this morning. I was so tired. For no reason. I got a ton of sleep. I get a lot of sleep. But I wanna sleep all the time.
So I moved to the couch to lie down instead of sit in my prayer chair and about when I had to really get up because I would be late for work, I looked out of the window and realized I sat down to pray and hadn't prayed about anything for a whole hour and a half. And I saw the blue sky and I thought about how Maura wasn't here and I thought, "Oh great God, now I REALLY don't have the time to tackle this monster, Grief, can we just not get into it this morning?" And I pushed the monster to the back of my mind forcing myself not to think about the absence of my sister.
And it seems lately that either I stare at her picture on my desk for ages thinking, "Did she really exist? Was she even there? Did I really laugh so hard when we took those pictures? Did I really feel her beautiful thick hair in my hands as I pulled? Her soft hands as she applied makeup to my face? Did I really ever have a little sister or has it always just been me and Danielle?" And its like I'm fighting to remember that there was a time I could pick up the phone and just call her.
And I hate myself for thinking those thoughts. Like she never was.
And then the other half of the time, all I think is, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
Like this morning, I see the blue sky the exact color of her eyes and I think, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I see the boot store where I bought her grey boots last Christmas and those skinny boots sitting in the window--staring me in the face and the buttons winking as if to torment me with the thought, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I go to play rehearsal and someone makes a comment and I say, "o-o-oh" the way she used to--sortof going up and down on my voice and nasalizing it...and then I notice I sound just like her and I again the thought pounds into my brain, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
She's not here anymore.
Not since May.
And the grief is still so palpative. In fact, I'm beginning to believe there is such a thing as "grief years" much like we have "doggy years" and five months is merely "earlier today" in grief years and one year is merely "yesterday" in grief years. Because it hurts like I just saw her last breath.
And the ever persistent image of her beautiful body completely lifeless, always accompanies my old enemy Grief and his most obtrusive sentence, "Maura isn't here anymore."
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
It pounds in my head over and over and over and over and over.
And don't get me started on Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. I asked my group what they thought about the holidays, I expressed my dreaded and paralyzing anticipation of the next two months and I asked if they knew of any way to survive. And they all got quiet and finally one man spoke and he said, "Lydia, I hate to tell you this...especially since we've been saying that your anticipation of pain is always less than it actually is...during the holidays...its worse. Your anticipation is much less than it will actually be." And they all agreed! Oh crap!! I'm in for it. Because the anticipation is almost debilitating I have to force teh thought of sitting around a Thanksgiving table and not remind myself how last year each one of us sat at a table and gave thanks for Maura still being alive. And this year, I have nothing to give thanks for. And there won't be any dessert because she's not there to make the Key lime pie or the cheesecake and God help me make mashed potatoes because I just don't know how. But even my soupy mashed potatoes taste better when Maura is there to mercilessly poke fun at them.
And Christmas...If thanksgiving crumbles me, Christmas annihilates me. I hate my favorite time of the year.
Oh God, the days ahead are hard. And I am tormented with Grief. He is a constant visitor who insists that I look at this whole world You've created through his eyes and my soul feels his piercing arrow everywhere my eyes turn. Because everything beautiful, yellow, blue, teal, funny or blonde reminds me of my sister. And then it reminds me that she's not here anymore.
I went to pray this morning. I was so tired. For no reason. I got a ton of sleep. I get a lot of sleep. But I wanna sleep all the time.
So I moved to the couch to lie down instead of sit in my prayer chair and about when I had to really get up because I would be late for work, I looked out of the window and realized I sat down to pray and hadn't prayed about anything for a whole hour and a half. And I saw the blue sky and I thought about how Maura wasn't here and I thought, "Oh great God, now I REALLY don't have the time to tackle this monster, Grief, can we just not get into it this morning?" And I pushed the monster to the back of my mind forcing myself not to think about the absence of my sister.
And it seems lately that either I stare at her picture on my desk for ages thinking, "Did she really exist? Was she even there? Did I really laugh so hard when we took those pictures? Did I really feel her beautiful thick hair in my hands as I pulled? Her soft hands as she applied makeup to my face? Did I really ever have a little sister or has it always just been me and Danielle?" And its like I'm fighting to remember that there was a time I could pick up the phone and just call her.
And I hate myself for thinking those thoughts. Like she never was.
And then the other half of the time, all I think is, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
Like this morning, I see the blue sky the exact color of her eyes and I think, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I see the boot store where I bought her grey boots last Christmas and those skinny boots sitting in the window--staring me in the face and the buttons winking as if to torment me with the thought, "And Maura isn't here anymore." I go to play rehearsal and someone makes a comment and I say, "o-o-oh" the way she used to--sortof going up and down on my voice and nasalizing it...and then I notice I sound just like her and I again the thought pounds into my brain, "And Maura isn't here anymore."
She's not here anymore.
Not since May.
And the grief is still so palpative. In fact, I'm beginning to believe there is such a thing as "grief years" much like we have "doggy years" and five months is merely "earlier today" in grief years and one year is merely "yesterday" in grief years. Because it hurts like I just saw her last breath.
And the ever persistent image of her beautiful body completely lifeless, always accompanies my old enemy Grief and his most obtrusive sentence, "Maura isn't here anymore."
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
She isn't here anymore.
It pounds in my head over and over and over and over and over.
And don't get me started on Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. I asked my group what they thought about the holidays, I expressed my dreaded and paralyzing anticipation of the next two months and I asked if they knew of any way to survive. And they all got quiet and finally one man spoke and he said, "Lydia, I hate to tell you this...especially since we've been saying that your anticipation of pain is always less than it actually is...during the holidays...its worse. Your anticipation is much less than it will actually be." And they all agreed! Oh crap!! I'm in for it. Because the anticipation is almost debilitating I have to force teh thought of sitting around a Thanksgiving table and not remind myself how last year each one of us sat at a table and gave thanks for Maura still being alive. And this year, I have nothing to give thanks for. And there won't be any dessert because she's not there to make the Key lime pie or the cheesecake and God help me make mashed potatoes because I just don't know how. But even my soupy mashed potatoes taste better when Maura is there to mercilessly poke fun at them.
And Christmas...If thanksgiving crumbles me, Christmas annihilates me. I hate my favorite time of the year.
Oh God, the days ahead are hard. And I am tormented with Grief. He is a constant visitor who insists that I look at this whole world You've created through his eyes and my soul feels his piercing arrow everywhere my eyes turn. Because everything beautiful, yellow, blue, teal, funny or blonde reminds me of my sister. And then it reminds me that she's not here anymore.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Lazarus.
I started reading the story of Lazarus again. (John 11)
Most of what I know of Lazarus is Sunday school stuff. And one of my old foster sisters singing the Carmen version "Lazarus! Come fooooooooooooorth!" (And my mom knows exactly what I'm talking about and is probably laughing at the memory as well...heck, my mom used to have her lipsync it for a show when people came over--it was pretty entertaining. I played Lazarus coming out of the grave...there's a metaphor in there somewhere?)
But recently I haven't been feeling like Lazarus. I feel like his sisters...except cheated. And I always felt like Mary. Probably because I'd rather spend hours and hours praying, reading my Bible, talking and listening to God than clean my apartment or take care of the necessary things in life like food shopping so my husband doesn't starve or washing clothes so he doesn't walk around naked and freeze his cute little tushy off.
so I reread the story and again...Mary. There I was. (before I begin you must know a secret...I have a history of studying characters of the Bible that I particularly feel my life is paralleling. aa few years ago I got really excited because I was studying Daniel and felt like Daniel throughout the whole study...I even wished I'd been given the name Danielle instead of my sister so that I could fulfill my destiny...so I go overboard....whatever, the study was awesome and I learned a lot. Even if I'm not Danielle. And oh yeah, Maura was studying Daniel in her Bible study at the same time and we both thought that was pretty cool and would talk about it.
So, needless to say, I no longer feel like Daniel. Or Joseph. Or David. Or Solomon. I feel like Mary. A woman who loved God with her whole heart. Who forsook helping her sister in the kitchen, but sat with the men at the feet of Jesus listening to him talk. Who the minute her brother got sick, sent word to Jesus (along with her sister), with faith that Jesus would heal him. But guess what? Black on white, it says Jesus got the message and "although Jesus loved Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, he stayed where he was for the next two days." (John 11:5) And in that time, Lazarus died. Of what I don't know...but he died. And I know what that is like. I know what that is like for a sister who called the one who was her Messiah and who she believed loved her and her family and he didn't come and heal in time or any time for that matter and she had to watch him tortured with sickness and see his breath slowly leave his body and live with that sense of emptiness and hopelessness and meaninglessness. and pain beyond any human understanding. A grief that is horrifically and supernaturally oppressive. And worst of all...no more brother, no more hope...but a huge feeling of abandonment.
Not that I think God couldn't have healed Maura. I still believe God is who He is. And not that I think that God doesn't love me...I just feel abandoned and a little let down...like he didn't deliver on his word. Which turns into a sorta "alright I believe, but I'm not important enough, or deserving enough for God to really care about doing anything about my dying sister" I mean, it wasn't like it was one of my selfish requests, like--"please open a door for me in my career" or "please let the train come now so I'm not late for work even though i overslept..."
So Jesus says first "Lazarus' sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this." (vs. 4) Then later, after Laz dies, he says, okay, time to go wake him up. He's dead. Glad I wasn't there so all you fools will believe. (vs. 11-15) --("fools" obviously in the modern slang context I'm reading into it--not the "i think you're all idiots context)
So here's the good bit. The bit that makes me go, "Yeah, Mary, I get ya. I get it."
"When Martha got word that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him. But Mary stayed in the house." (vs. 20) Well, I woulda too. In fact, I have. Stayed in the house, literally and metaphorically.
I go to church every sunday...and if I'm not crying through the worship music, I'm faking it. I used to LOVE worship. I was on the worship team--technically, I still am...but last worship rehearsal I went to, I cried through the whole prayer bit as something in me started to break and then proceeded to shut down. Its easier to shut down and fake it than really sing praise...or admit that you have no desire to meet with someone you love very much but you feel completely hurt by. Maybe its anger, but I feel anger but not really a lot at God. I don't know what it is. I mean, God is God, right? Who am I? I'm nothing. I'm just someone who has walked her whole life with Him as her best friend, since I was in fifth grade and I had no other friends. This friend promised to never leave me or forsake me and up till now, I never thought He had, or would.
And I don't feel particularly forsaken either. I still know He loves me. I don't know what it is I feel...all the words that come to me are part of it but not it in a whole: disappointed? let down? rejected? betrayed? abandoned? told no? miffed? unimportant? unvaluable? I don't know what the right word is. All of these words and yet none of them at the same time.
And I bet that's how Mary felt. Because when Martha goes back and tells her Jesus wants to see her, she immediately goes. (vs. 28-29). And there's something, that I feel, is kinda cool in the fact that Jesus waits for her outside the village where Martha met him (and Martha pronounces her faith in him so beautifully, in a way that Mary doesn't--so you can't knock her for being in the kitchen...she believed in Jesus just as much as Mary...maybe even understood him better). I like that he didn't go into the village. He waited for Mary to come to him. (vs. 30) I like that He asked specifically for her. "The teacher is here and wants to see you" (vs. 28) And I wonder why He waited outside of the village. The only way I can answer is what I feel.
Like God has been waiting outside my "village" for me to come to Him. Like a perfect gentleman. Knowing that if he barged into my world with words of "Trust me" "follow me" "I love you" I would scream at him and call him a liar to his face and probably make a big scene because I am that dramatic. Because even if He said, "Maura's sickness will not end in death" (and let me tell you I believed that truth with every inch of my being--every scripture I read, every prayer I prayed was a confirmation that My God, My Friend, My Messiah, would deliver my sister and heal her from the evil, wicked cancer--too understand the let-down, you have to know how hard I believed. I never doubted. Not even the day she died. Part of me knew it was coming...even before it happened...I remember praying for healing and hearing Him in my heart say "soon." Only I thought the soon meant she would be cancer free in this world--not that "soon"--in a matter of months He would take her. Even after she died, part of me believed she would come back to life like Lazarus. But she didn't. and when they told us that they had really cremated her body...i almost couldn't believe that God still hadn't stepped in. Oh I believed. It was not because of any doubt that my sister died. And she believed in her healing as well. She was prepared for death, but even on the last days...her kidneys were shut down, the nurses were throwing out piss-pour options to see if they would work and she said, "Sure! Yeah! I mean, I'll try anything." She wasn't giving up on her faith either. So...Mary didn't go meet God. She stayed with the mourners.
I joined a breavement group. I stay home and cry for hours. I get lost in tv series or movies (anything to take my mind off it.)
But when He called her she got up immediately.
Me too. I'm happy to say.
And He's been tugging at me...read some Bible. you love the bible (because the Bible is how me and Him communicate. I like to call it the Holy Spirit Highligher where I read something and it connects to this and that, NT, OT, everything and it begins to make sense as a whole not just bits pulled out for a sermon. And I love that. And He knows that's how we talk. But I wouldn't open my Bible. And I wouldn't sing praises because I didn't want to praise him. i knew I was supposed to. Praise God through the good and the bad...well, its harder than it sounds. So what do I do? I read a little book called the "Power of a Praying Wife" and I pray for my husband in the little prayers that she writes out for me, because that is the easiest thing to do and I do want good for my husband and my marriage. But I'm not gonna bother him with any more requests or heaven forbid talk to him about how I actually feel about him and what's happened and is happening. and I'm okay that I don't have any hope. But what I forgot to consider is that "Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance." (1 Cor. 13:7) God is Love. Not me. I just love Him. So I guess sometimes I am faithful and hopeful and I will endure...just not as gracefully as God. That's why He rules the world and I don't.
So when I went to worship rehearsal and I was forced to be real with God, I was forced to admit I hadn't been really talking to him or singing to him and that the weight of the grief had knocked me to his feet and I wanted to be back praising him and I know how to sing but that my heart is fighting against itself. Because praising is supposed to be joyful and there is not one drop of joy left in this vessel--it had all been squeezed out with Maura's last breath.
But still, it was clear, the call from God. "Lydia, Jesus is here. he wants to talk to you. He's waiting outside the village for you."
"When Mary arrived and saw Jesus, she fell at his feet and said, "Lord, if only you had been here, my brother wouldn't have died." (vs. 32)
I can imagine that picture with perfect clarity. Because that's exactly where I am. Flat on my face at his feet unable to straighten up. The good thing is I'm finally at His feet as opposed to in the house...but I'm still a puddle, barely able to look up at him through blurry tears and say, "Lord, if only you had been here, my sister wouldn't have died."
The next bit though I don't get. Jesus saw her (and the other mourners) crying and He got angry or "a deep anger welled-up within him". (vs. 33) He asks where they buried him, and they tell him to follow and then he cries. Not just cries. He weeps. (vs. 35). And I could be like the people who said, "He's crying! See how much he loved him!" or the others who say, "He healed the blind surely he could have kept Maura from dying?" (vs. 36-37)
But why did Jesus cry for real? He saw them crying and He got angry and he was still angry as he arrived at the tomb! (vs. 38) WHY was he angry? Because they didn't believe in him? That doesn't sound like Jesus. He got angry when people were exploiting His Father's house (famous temple rage scene where he turns over the tables) but not when people didn't believe he would heal...ESPECIALLY Mary who has just seen her brother die! I mean, surely he understands the grief she is going through and cannot expect her to know the future that God is going to raise up her brother from the dead? It makes perfect sense to her that Jesus could have saved her brother, but he didn't. And the hurt is overwhelming. Maybe he was weeping with her, but then I ask again, WHY was he angry?
Was He angry at Death? That causes such pain and heartache in the hearts of people he loves? Was he angry at God for the way that this had to go down and people had to suffer before they could believe? Was he angry at the mourners for not believing or keeping Mary in a state of emotional mourning? Was he weeping out of being so angry? (I do that, I get so mad and frustrated tears start to pour out) But if thats the case, what was frustrating him?
I don't know. I really don't know and it bothers me that I don't know why he was angry because I feel I can't fully understand his weeping until I know why he was angry. He had human emotions...he experienced all that we did. so...I get Mary, but I don't get Jesus' reaction and maybe I want to and need to so I know what He's trying to say to me.
Anyway, Jesus then raises Lazarus from the dead. Yippee for Mary and Martha.
Mary's story doesn't end there because in the next chapter she is the one who pours expensive perfume on Jesus' feet and dries it with her hair while he's chillin with his disciples her now alive brother. I would too if Jesus had brought my sister back from the dead.
But he didn't. So will I ever get to that place like Mary where I'm at his feet giving him my most prized posessions? Not that I have anything to give him that I haven't already. I already gave him my acting, and my writing and my marriage and my family. I mean...he took Maura and I haven't lost faith in Him...I'm just ...in pain, that's all. No big deal. I'll get over it, won't I? Maybe not? I don't know.
I mean, God, you have everything already? what more do you want?
"The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and a repentant heart, O God." (Psalm 51:17)
well, I feel broken. I definitely feel repentant. Or maybe just guilty for my whining and pouring out my endless hurt but David did too and you loved him so I think you can take and you understand my heart.
Sunday we were talking about the new year coming up (like in 2 1/2 months) and one of my friends said he doesn't want this year to end. And I said, "I do. I want 2009 to be so far away from me because this has been the worst year of my life. I mean, I thought 2008 was bad, 2009 was worse." and he said, "But you got married in 2009." "True," I said, "And that was definitely a highlight-perhaps the only highlight--making it extremely necessary in such a dark year. But that joy will be much greater when the present pain of 2009 is so much more behind me." And he said, "but you have grown so much through this." (isn't that what the Bible says about 'trials and tribulations and pain' blah blah blah) and I told him honestly, that I don't feel strong or that I've grown. I feel much weaker actually. Like I've taken five giant steps backwards. I don't see myself anymore standing on a mountain in full armor with sword drawn and an army of warriors behind me ready for battle like Wonder Woman, singing praises to my God at the top of my lungs. Instead, I feel like a broken, naked woman, who's been beaten with life and has literally fallen at Jesus' feet from lack of strength to keep her standing and who is a water fountain of tears and blubbering and endless despair. How is this stronger?
And he said, "you'll look back on this and see how much you've grown." well. I'd rather have my sister than some far-away future strength, thank you very much. But nobody asked me, did they? Did He? And once again, that's because I'm not God. Because things would be different. And I can argue with myself the opposite. I can tell myself that on my knees weeping is a good place. We are made strong in our weakness. I know what I'm saying. I know the answers. I read the Book. I know--what doesn't kill ya makes you stronger--etc. but right now...it sucks. IT SUCKS BALLS. and I am not enjoying this process.
Something good is around the corner. I feel it. I don't know what it is. But I do know, it's not my sister coming back to life. Maybe its me coming back to life.
Most of what I know of Lazarus is Sunday school stuff. And one of my old foster sisters singing the Carmen version "Lazarus! Come fooooooooooooorth!" (And my mom knows exactly what I'm talking about and is probably laughing at the memory as well...heck, my mom used to have her lipsync it for a show when people came over--it was pretty entertaining. I played Lazarus coming out of the grave...there's a metaphor in there somewhere?)
But recently I haven't been feeling like Lazarus. I feel like his sisters...except cheated. And I always felt like Mary. Probably because I'd rather spend hours and hours praying, reading my Bible, talking and listening to God than clean my apartment or take care of the necessary things in life like food shopping so my husband doesn't starve or washing clothes so he doesn't walk around naked and freeze his cute little tushy off.
so I reread the story and again...Mary. There I was. (before I begin you must know a secret...I have a history of studying characters of the Bible that I particularly feel my life is paralleling. aa few years ago I got really excited because I was studying Daniel and felt like Daniel throughout the whole study...I even wished I'd been given the name Danielle instead of my sister so that I could fulfill my destiny...so I go overboard....whatever, the study was awesome and I learned a lot. Even if I'm not Danielle. And oh yeah, Maura was studying Daniel in her Bible study at the same time and we both thought that was pretty cool and would talk about it.
So, needless to say, I no longer feel like Daniel. Or Joseph. Or David. Or Solomon. I feel like Mary. A woman who loved God with her whole heart. Who forsook helping her sister in the kitchen, but sat with the men at the feet of Jesus listening to him talk. Who the minute her brother got sick, sent word to Jesus (along with her sister), with faith that Jesus would heal him. But guess what? Black on white, it says Jesus got the message and "although Jesus loved Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, he stayed where he was for the next two days." (John 11:5) And in that time, Lazarus died. Of what I don't know...but he died. And I know what that is like. I know what that is like for a sister who called the one who was her Messiah and who she believed loved her and her family and he didn't come and heal in time or any time for that matter and she had to watch him tortured with sickness and see his breath slowly leave his body and live with that sense of emptiness and hopelessness and meaninglessness. and pain beyond any human understanding. A grief that is horrifically and supernaturally oppressive. And worst of all...no more brother, no more hope...but a huge feeling of abandonment.
Not that I think God couldn't have healed Maura. I still believe God is who He is. And not that I think that God doesn't love me...I just feel abandoned and a little let down...like he didn't deliver on his word. Which turns into a sorta "alright I believe, but I'm not important enough, or deserving enough for God to really care about doing anything about my dying sister" I mean, it wasn't like it was one of my selfish requests, like--"please open a door for me in my career" or "please let the train come now so I'm not late for work even though i overslept..."
So Jesus says first "Lazarus' sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this." (vs. 4) Then later, after Laz dies, he says, okay, time to go wake him up. He's dead. Glad I wasn't there so all you fools will believe. (vs. 11-15) --("fools" obviously in the modern slang context I'm reading into it--not the "i think you're all idiots context)
So here's the good bit. The bit that makes me go, "Yeah, Mary, I get ya. I get it."
"When Martha got word that Jesus was coming, she went to meet him. But Mary stayed in the house." (vs. 20) Well, I woulda too. In fact, I have. Stayed in the house, literally and metaphorically.
I go to church every sunday...and if I'm not crying through the worship music, I'm faking it. I used to LOVE worship. I was on the worship team--technically, I still am...but last worship rehearsal I went to, I cried through the whole prayer bit as something in me started to break and then proceeded to shut down. Its easier to shut down and fake it than really sing praise...or admit that you have no desire to meet with someone you love very much but you feel completely hurt by. Maybe its anger, but I feel anger but not really a lot at God. I don't know what it is. I mean, God is God, right? Who am I? I'm nothing. I'm just someone who has walked her whole life with Him as her best friend, since I was in fifth grade and I had no other friends. This friend promised to never leave me or forsake me and up till now, I never thought He had, or would.
And I don't feel particularly forsaken either. I still know He loves me. I don't know what it is I feel...all the words that come to me are part of it but not it in a whole: disappointed? let down? rejected? betrayed? abandoned? told no? miffed? unimportant? unvaluable? I don't know what the right word is. All of these words and yet none of them at the same time.
And I bet that's how Mary felt. Because when Martha goes back and tells her Jesus wants to see her, she immediately goes. (vs. 28-29). And there's something, that I feel, is kinda cool in the fact that Jesus waits for her outside the village where Martha met him (and Martha pronounces her faith in him so beautifully, in a way that Mary doesn't--so you can't knock her for being in the kitchen...she believed in Jesus just as much as Mary...maybe even understood him better). I like that he didn't go into the village. He waited for Mary to come to him. (vs. 30) I like that He asked specifically for her. "The teacher is here and wants to see you" (vs. 28) And I wonder why He waited outside of the village. The only way I can answer is what I feel.
Like God has been waiting outside my "village" for me to come to Him. Like a perfect gentleman. Knowing that if he barged into my world with words of "Trust me" "follow me" "I love you" I would scream at him and call him a liar to his face and probably make a big scene because I am that dramatic. Because even if He said, "Maura's sickness will not end in death" (and let me tell you I believed that truth with every inch of my being--every scripture I read, every prayer I prayed was a confirmation that My God, My Friend, My Messiah, would deliver my sister and heal her from the evil, wicked cancer--too understand the let-down, you have to know how hard I believed. I never doubted. Not even the day she died. Part of me knew it was coming...even before it happened...I remember praying for healing and hearing Him in my heart say "soon." Only I thought the soon meant she would be cancer free in this world--not that "soon"--in a matter of months He would take her. Even after she died, part of me believed she would come back to life like Lazarus. But she didn't. and when they told us that they had really cremated her body...i almost couldn't believe that God still hadn't stepped in. Oh I believed. It was not because of any doubt that my sister died. And she believed in her healing as well. She was prepared for death, but even on the last days...her kidneys were shut down, the nurses were throwing out piss-pour options to see if they would work and she said, "Sure! Yeah! I mean, I'll try anything." She wasn't giving up on her faith either. So...Mary didn't go meet God. She stayed with the mourners.
I joined a breavement group. I stay home and cry for hours. I get lost in tv series or movies (anything to take my mind off it.)
But when He called her she got up immediately.
Me too. I'm happy to say.
And He's been tugging at me...read some Bible. you love the bible (because the Bible is how me and Him communicate. I like to call it the Holy Spirit Highligher where I read something and it connects to this and that, NT, OT, everything and it begins to make sense as a whole not just bits pulled out for a sermon. And I love that. And He knows that's how we talk. But I wouldn't open my Bible. And I wouldn't sing praises because I didn't want to praise him. i knew I was supposed to. Praise God through the good and the bad...well, its harder than it sounds. So what do I do? I read a little book called the "Power of a Praying Wife" and I pray for my husband in the little prayers that she writes out for me, because that is the easiest thing to do and I do want good for my husband and my marriage. But I'm not gonna bother him with any more requests or heaven forbid talk to him about how I actually feel about him and what's happened and is happening. and I'm okay that I don't have any hope. But what I forgot to consider is that "Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance." (1 Cor. 13:7) God is Love. Not me. I just love Him. So I guess sometimes I am faithful and hopeful and I will endure...just not as gracefully as God. That's why He rules the world and I don't.
So when I went to worship rehearsal and I was forced to be real with God, I was forced to admit I hadn't been really talking to him or singing to him and that the weight of the grief had knocked me to his feet and I wanted to be back praising him and I know how to sing but that my heart is fighting against itself. Because praising is supposed to be joyful and there is not one drop of joy left in this vessel--it had all been squeezed out with Maura's last breath.
But still, it was clear, the call from God. "Lydia, Jesus is here. he wants to talk to you. He's waiting outside the village for you."
"When Mary arrived and saw Jesus, she fell at his feet and said, "Lord, if only you had been here, my brother wouldn't have died." (vs. 32)
I can imagine that picture with perfect clarity. Because that's exactly where I am. Flat on my face at his feet unable to straighten up. The good thing is I'm finally at His feet as opposed to in the house...but I'm still a puddle, barely able to look up at him through blurry tears and say, "Lord, if only you had been here, my sister wouldn't have died."
The next bit though I don't get. Jesus saw her (and the other mourners) crying and He got angry or "a deep anger welled-up within him". (vs. 33) He asks where they buried him, and they tell him to follow and then he cries. Not just cries. He weeps. (vs. 35). And I could be like the people who said, "He's crying! See how much he loved him!" or the others who say, "He healed the blind surely he could have kept Maura from dying?" (vs. 36-37)
But why did Jesus cry for real? He saw them crying and He got angry and he was still angry as he arrived at the tomb! (vs. 38) WHY was he angry? Because they didn't believe in him? That doesn't sound like Jesus. He got angry when people were exploiting His Father's house (famous temple rage scene where he turns over the tables) but not when people didn't believe he would heal...ESPECIALLY Mary who has just seen her brother die! I mean, surely he understands the grief she is going through and cannot expect her to know the future that God is going to raise up her brother from the dead? It makes perfect sense to her that Jesus could have saved her brother, but he didn't. And the hurt is overwhelming. Maybe he was weeping with her, but then I ask again, WHY was he angry?
Was He angry at Death? That causes such pain and heartache in the hearts of people he loves? Was he angry at God for the way that this had to go down and people had to suffer before they could believe? Was he angry at the mourners for not believing or keeping Mary in a state of emotional mourning? Was he weeping out of being so angry? (I do that, I get so mad and frustrated tears start to pour out) But if thats the case, what was frustrating him?
I don't know. I really don't know and it bothers me that I don't know why he was angry because I feel I can't fully understand his weeping until I know why he was angry. He had human emotions...he experienced all that we did. so...I get Mary, but I don't get Jesus' reaction and maybe I want to and need to so I know what He's trying to say to me.
Anyway, Jesus then raises Lazarus from the dead. Yippee for Mary and Martha.
Mary's story doesn't end there because in the next chapter she is the one who pours expensive perfume on Jesus' feet and dries it with her hair while he's chillin with his disciples her now alive brother. I would too if Jesus had brought my sister back from the dead.
But he didn't. So will I ever get to that place like Mary where I'm at his feet giving him my most prized posessions? Not that I have anything to give him that I haven't already. I already gave him my acting, and my writing and my marriage and my family. I mean...he took Maura and I haven't lost faith in Him...I'm just ...in pain, that's all. No big deal. I'll get over it, won't I? Maybe not? I don't know.
I mean, God, you have everything already? what more do you want?
"The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and a repentant heart, O God." (Psalm 51:17)
well, I feel broken. I definitely feel repentant. Or maybe just guilty for my whining and pouring out my endless hurt but David did too and you loved him so I think you can take and you understand my heart.
Sunday we were talking about the new year coming up (like in 2 1/2 months) and one of my friends said he doesn't want this year to end. And I said, "I do. I want 2009 to be so far away from me because this has been the worst year of my life. I mean, I thought 2008 was bad, 2009 was worse." and he said, "But you got married in 2009." "True," I said, "And that was definitely a highlight-perhaps the only highlight--making it extremely necessary in such a dark year. But that joy will be much greater when the present pain of 2009 is so much more behind me." And he said, "but you have grown so much through this." (isn't that what the Bible says about 'trials and tribulations and pain' blah blah blah) and I told him honestly, that I don't feel strong or that I've grown. I feel much weaker actually. Like I've taken five giant steps backwards. I don't see myself anymore standing on a mountain in full armor with sword drawn and an army of warriors behind me ready for battle like Wonder Woman, singing praises to my God at the top of my lungs. Instead, I feel like a broken, naked woman, who's been beaten with life and has literally fallen at Jesus' feet from lack of strength to keep her standing and who is a water fountain of tears and blubbering and endless despair. How is this stronger?
And he said, "you'll look back on this and see how much you've grown." well. I'd rather have my sister than some far-away future strength, thank you very much. But nobody asked me, did they? Did He? And once again, that's because I'm not God. Because things would be different. And I can argue with myself the opposite. I can tell myself that on my knees weeping is a good place. We are made strong in our weakness. I know what I'm saying. I know the answers. I read the Book. I know--what doesn't kill ya makes you stronger--etc. but right now...it sucks. IT SUCKS BALLS. and I am not enjoying this process.
Something good is around the corner. I feel it. I don't know what it is. But I do know, it's not my sister coming back to life. Maybe its me coming back to life.
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