There wasn't a creature stirring...

Two years ago you asked me for a pea coat for Christmas. I got you that pea coat, a grey one, from Old Navy. You loved it and wore it everywhere. You were wearing that coat the night that you died, it was stripped from you at the hospital and disappointingly enough, I cannot recall what happened to it after that.

I sat in church this evening and grinned recalling last year's church service. You made fun of my shoes, calling them "inappropriate for the occasion". We sat on either side of our mom during the service and sat there giggling our way through every Christmas song because of mom's insistence on trying to pretend to be part of an opera. Afterwards we all came back to my house and while I was baking some cookies, you and mom found The Sound of Music playing on TV. One of my fondest Christmas memories will always be the sound of you and mom belting out "I am 16 going on 17" in what can only be described as a very special "Kiessling" rendition of a classic song. Jared rolled his eyes and I joined in, and then we laughed hysterical. They say that scent is the strongest receptor for memory, but the sound of your voices will always ring true in my heart.

You showed up Christmas morning excited to see what Santa had left in your stocking. I thought it was hilarious that I had lovingly stuffed it with coal, a used candle, and a miniature sweater. It was that very day that we went to our family gathering at our grandmother's house and exchanged our last words to each other....and they weren't pretty. However, that wasn't the first Christmas that ended with us fighting. I remembered a Christmas several year ago, one of our first in Savannah, in which you asked for a Dane Cook CD. I searched high and low and finally found one. However, when you unwrapped it on Christmas day you quickly informed me that it wasn't the right one and that I needed to go exchange it for the correct one. Outraged and irritated, a heated argument that consisted of me calling you an ungrateful brat and you telling me that I don't do anything right ensued. It ended with me telling you to leave. A month later you called me asking if I wanted to go see a movie, as if nothing happened.

Christmas was your favorite time of the year, although you thought your birthday should be a national holiday, Christmas actually is. There was something about your personality that you could find the good in anything bad but it was as though Christmas was the one time of the year that everyone else felt the same, which instantly brought a more annoying projection of your joy.

I went to the Memorial Garden behind the church and left a flower for you before church tonight. While I have stood in that very spot lots of times before, it was the first time that I stood there and felt joy, the same annoying projection of joy that you brought to me for the last 19 years. And I did not shed a tear.

So while there isn't a creature stirring tonight there is less noise, loud voices, and singing and I know that holidays, birthdays, and other events will come and go in our lives and they will never be the same, for the first time tonight, I felt like we would be okay. I felt your irradiating joy and that it is a good feeling.

So Merry Christmas little sister, while it is not the same without you, I know that you have the best seat in the house for your favorite time of the year, and someday we will celebrate together again.

.

Election Day...

Bad news...Ron Paul did not win....

Perhaps it is good that you did not have to witness the uprising on Facebook, as friends were made and some lost, this morning when the nation awoke to a re-elected President Obama, although you probably would have shrugged your shoulders and went on with your day.

For the rest of us, it was an impressive display of a nation completely torn in half and one that will never be the same.

I participated in early voting this year, as it was that I was working 12 of the 24 hours of the day yesterday and knew that there would be no way that I could make it to the polls. But as I stood in line while the long ago retiree took my information sheet and asked for my ID, I thought not of the amazing upheaval that was involved in today, but more of your extreme passion to exercise your American freedom. Before you died you had marked on your calendar at your dad's house Tuesday, March 6th, 2012 as your very first "Voting Day". You died 3 days before you were able to exercise that right. So Vince and I went to the polls during the March 6th Preliminaries and voted for you. We wrote in your candidate, Ron Paul, a silly but necessary gesture to your memory. The calendar at your dad's house still holds that "Voting Day" mark, but now, many months later, a very different outcome. You didn't care what anyone thought about your choice in President and you didn't listen to reason, but that is exactly what this country's foundation was built on, the love of the freedom of choice. And I couldn't help but beam with pride when I heard you, very nonchalantly, voicing your reasoning in the choice.

I like to think that everyone thinks as though I do, learning to take life in little strides with baby steps, but unfortunately with so little knowledge of how quickly that can be taken from someone, how could I actually expect that?

You were so expectant on the unknown and so willing to take on the new challenges with stride. I can only hope that as a nation we can do the same. If one 'small voice' can make that much noise perhaps everyone else will listen. We can all hope. So while the nation lull in the wake of the presidential election, I will lull in the wake of the amazing hope that your memory gives me every day. And hopefully we can all do the same and grasp every day with the same hope and love for life.

I did not vote for President Obama and went armed into the polls with the knowledge that I would not vote for him, but it means nothing to anyone else my personal reasons for doing so. And THAT is the American way.

A day so important that my amazing baby sister marked on her innocent calendar on her first year of eligible voting but was unfortunate enough to not be able to participate in, really puts everything into perspective for me. It gave me the drive to make sure that my voice was heard, and really, at the end of the day, that is all that matters.

Who can really tell whether you were just being goofy or you were dead set on your choice for very "important" reasons, but who really cares...

While you did not sway my vote one way or the other, and for those of you that really knew us, know that we often went in opposite directions, you did sway my reasons for heading to the poll at all. You were so excited to believe that you were making a difference and that your voice was heard on the larger stage, so excited for the future and the life ahead of you. You had an insatiable hunger for the life that you were going to live and the life you were going to lead that you actually wrote the day of voting for the preliminaries on your calendar.

If only we could all be that motivated and excited about the lives ahead of us, regardless of the outcome....

I saw this quote by John Quincy Adams and thought about you: "Always vote for principle, though you may vote alone, you may cherish the sweetest reflection that your vote is never lost."

Happy Birthday!

So here we are...on this, your birthday weekend.

I had to work all day on your actual birthday, which was lucky for me as I was able to keep my mind distracted from what would have been a day all about you. I sat in my car for just a few moments and quietly said "Happy Birthday" to you before heading in for a long 13 hour shift. Except for a few moments of down time in which I would glance at my phone to see the well wishes and sentiments of friends and family, it was a relatively "easy" day that came and went as quickly as you had.

It was when I got in my car at about 9:00 pm to go home and turned up the radio that your memory hit me with full force. The new Kesha song "Die Young" was blaring. It was almost as though I was staring at one of those glaring "Open" signs outside of a late night diner. Mom and I had just talked about believing in signs and, there, staring me in the face was, not only one of your favorite singers, but her newest song about dying young....so much for the uneventful day.

Mom's day went much differently than my own, but she definitely had a better story. Sandy met her at Ingles to go to lunch for your birthday and her own but requested that she drive. She drove mom over to the church and grabbed some roses out of the car to help celebrate your birthday. As they walked back to the Memorial Garden at the church to lovingly place the roses, mom told her about your story with roses. When you were about 9 years old you were in a local production of Annie, playing the prestigious part of "Orphan Girl #4", you were the only one of the production to NOT receive any roses at the end of the production. This was a mishap of mass proportions that you did not fail to remind mom of for years to come..."You never got me roses when I was Annie!" So one day, many years later, mom went and bought you roses, laid them on your bed, and said, "There, these are for Annie!" So as Sandy intently listened to mom tell this story they arrived at the Memorial Garden and upon entering Sandy noticed that a bush, not far from your "coordinates" was blooming...what appeared to be a single red rose.

The next day mom went to church as usual. After the service she went out, as is the tradition, to the Memorial Garden to say "Hey" and noticed that not only the roses that were placed there by her and Sandy, but also two balloons. Father Scott informed her that your Aunt Lynn, had requested balloons put out there for you.

I thought about your birthdays and sadly couldn't really remember anything that stood out to me from all of the years previous, except for last year, which can only be categorized as a disaster, but I assumed this was due to our large age gap. I wish I could have remembered more and perhaps things will come to me as the years pass. I do remember you, much like myself, dragging your birthday out for the entire month of October, which always annoyed and impressed me all at the same time.

With that being said, Happy Birthday, little sister! I hope you enjoy your month, you deserve it!

So the cow jumped over the moon...

I've been thinking of you a lot lately.

Tonight I was staring at the moon through the slats of that rickety old fence that we put up and I couldn't quite see the entirety of the moon. It was annoying. So I found myself trying to look through each slat to get a better view.

This year has proved nothing more than a thorn in my side...and one in others as well, and we are all wondering what we will come out on the end with....perhaps you know the answer.

I remember the way that you were always so perceptive and intuitive to everything around you. You would always point out things that I never would have noticed. Be it a stray animal on the side of the road or a homeless person outside of a seedy gas station on the wrong side of the tracks in Savannah, you would always stop and wonder.

Since you've been gone I have found myself trying to be more perceptive, taking the time to stop and think about the actions I take and the words that I share.

A friend of mine, one that you know pretty well, got some rough news today, as you may know. This gave me a twinge of hate towards this year, but then I thought about how you would probably criticize me for being too emotionally involved and to SNAP OUT OF IT! But then you would reflect on the human emotions that you were so gracefully given (ones that I lack) and reflect on the pain that could be expected to follow. You had an amazing ability to precept what was going to happen and you were equipped with an uncanny skill of having human compassion. You were always so much better than me at that...perhaps my better half.

So after some time, I decided to try to get a better view of the moon. I took the human emotions and moved them to a higher ground, which you would have done. "So just walk around it, Holly", is what you always said when something frustrating was impeding my way. So I walked around that annoying fence and look what was seen...

Hard to believe it has been as long has been...I sure do miss arguing pointlessness with you.

Take care and I love you....

Patience is a virtue?

I was making an uneventful trip through Walmart the other day and on my way to the pet aisle I passed the 'scent' aisle. It was in the passing that I got a little choked up in the throat through a memory of you. I was remembering the time that we had taken a trip to Walmart, unplanned, but I had coupons for a very specific Febreeze candle. Upon arriving at this aisle to locate the appropriate candle, you decided to take control. you would pick up a candle and say, "Oh, this one smells nice". I would reply, "Chelsea, that is a Gain candle, I don't have a coupon for that one". This went on for about 25 minutes, you picking up the wrong brand and attempting to talk me into purchasing it, and me discouraging the brand that you chose because that was not what the coupon was for. After a number of minutes and extreme boredom setting in on you, you looked up and said, "So what is it that you are looking for?", I replied, "They say that 'Patience is a virtue', Chelsea". You then, in the glory that made you who you are, asked me who "they" was.

This brought me to a cross roads in my life because for the first time I didn't know the answer. I still to this day cannot answer this question.

As you already know, Daddy Al (our maternal grandfather) has left this world and joined you in the next. He left this world on 9/9/12 at 6:05 am. While this for me * trying to be completely honest, gave me some relief, as he was suffering, it brought new light to our family. It was during some altercations with family members over some REALLY dumb stuff that I realized how important the "Patience is a virtue" quote really is, because I have officially been to that point and back. It has made me realize that death really does 'bring out the best in everyone' and has made me realize that my place in this world really means nothing. There were so many times that I wish that I had you with me to take a ride in the car and talk about how crazy everyone else is and how normal we are (;), knowing good and well that that is so far from the truth. I miss you.

You were so great at making me feel completely normal in the fact that perhaps our family was nuts in their thoughts and reassuring me that everything would eventually work its way out. I'm not sure that our family knew of our connection because of our blatant display of dislike towards each other in public, but it was implied during one of these heated conversations that because we were "on the outs" during your death that it would not impact me at all. How false and far from the truth that could be.

Sophie asked during the funeral service for Daddy Al where he was. Her mother replied that he was in heaven with Aunt Chelsea. I looked to her and said, "And she is probably hating not being able to get away with everything she wants to because Daddy Al is there to keep a watchful eye on her".

I giggle to myself about that everyday. I liked to pretend that after 'burying' my 19 year old sister that there would be little else that could effect me in that way, again to be proven wrong because death is one in its own and there is little that can be done about its effects. We hope that we can be strong when we need to be and weak when we are alone. Although I have recently brought to my knees in a moment of strength and brought to praise in a moment of weakness...

So when you have given all that you can and feel that you can't give anymore and you feel yourself breaking, is patience a virtue or a burden...let me know if you figure that out. I guess I will learn to practice what I preach...

I know the Walmart 'scent' aisle will never be the same and neither will family gatherings without two beautiful and unwavering souls present but I can hope that you are there, by my side, regardless of how we left things between us, helping me along the way. Car trips will never be the same without you and something I apparently didn't say enough while you were with me but I love you!! I love you! I love you!

* I try to maintain my honesty in my feelings for the sake that somewhere, somehow, I am helping others, however I also try to maintain dignity for those involved in these stories/memories. Be patient with me.

Moving out or moving on?

Today marks the five month mark since you left us. It is impossibly hard to imagine that we have gone nearly half a full year without your sparkle and panache in our lives.

Coincidentally enough, I am writing to you today from my laptop sitting on top of a moving box in our mother's home, on the day that we pack up the house that you shared with her in Savannah in preparation for what, I can only hope, will be a much needed bright new future for her in Cleveland.

Vince and I started the journey down here yesterday evening, in an adventure that took us about 45 more minutes to complete than necessary due to some wrong turns, seedy neighborhoods of middle Georgia, and one very stubborn train impeding our progress. He had argued before we left that we should take the straight and narrow path through Atlanta; that this route would surely get us there quicker. Fortunately, I was driving so I set the course on my GPS and off we went on back road adventure. Though the route said that we should arrive at our destination within five hours, it did not take into account that, even with a GPS guiding the way, I had little to no sense of direction and we soon found ourselves weaving through small side streets in some "questionable" neighborhoods with some even more "questionable" residents. We did however, marvel at how no matter how uninhabited or economically strained these small backwoods town were that everyone of them had a Dollar General. We were still making good time when we hit a road block in the small town of Sandersville, shortly after Vince had pointed out the fact that this must have been a more "well-off" town due to it's grand Family Dollar, when a train stopped, dead in it's tracks, lay between us and the road to Savannah. My determination to beat the GPS time of arrival and my impatience won over and we quickly found ourselves trying desperately to find a way around the train. When, after 25 minutes of 'site-seeing' the local scenery of dark alleys, some beautifully challenged homes, and some locals carrying some adult beverages in paper bags, we considered defeat. After about 5 more minutes of waiting for the train to move, we discovered that all of the cars that were pulling up behind us were taking a hidden left turn instead of waiting, curious, we followed one of these vehicles and discovered that less than 12 feet from where we were sitting was a bridge going over the train tracks...boy did we fill stupid. We laughed at how unintelligent we were and I thought of all of the times that we had similar experiences together and how you were probably laughing right along with us. We indeed took the road less traveled.

When we arrived at mom's house, around midnight, we both decided to go quickly to bed for some much needed sleep. Vince took the couch and I took the stairs to your bedroom, unsure of what to expect. Brandie came over last weekend and packed up your room for mom, unable to do it herself. Her and Garrett took all of your clothes and some other miscellaneous items to the local Goodwill in hopes that some girl getting ready for back to school clothes could make good use of your uniforms. Your room up to this point had remained untouched, a shrine of sorts to the last time that you inhabited it. The scene that I arrived on was much different with boxes scattering the room and bare walls where your posters and pictures had once hung.Your closets were empty, with only a few lone hangers still in place. Deflated and a little relief was what first came over me. I didn't dwell on it long and quickly found my head on your pillow.

While unloading the shed today, of the thousands of Christmas decorations that mom has collected over the years, I was remembering the time that you went out there to get something, perhaps for the beach, and got stung by quite a few yellow jackets. They came up from the ground and surprised you. Mom called me laughing and told me of the story and continued laughing while she descried how swollen you had gotten from the stings. She gave you some Benedryl to help....

While I feel like her moving is a finality of your being gone, I am hopeful for her future. I can only hope that our family can piece itself back together; that we can find peace in a tragic year and learn to accept each other once again. Your 'other' room will be gone but I can hope that she will find a more permanent room in her heart for you and learn that you aren't found in 'things' but more in the memories of you. I write this blog for precisely that reason.

I've heard a lot about how God is 'testing us' and would never give us more than what we can handle, I guess this year has made us the strongest family ever, something that I have felt in my heart for my entire life. While I will miss Savannah as a place I set roots and much of our family followed, its nice to see mom take the leap of faith, it gives me hope for us yet.

I will miss the pictures on your wall, the bulletin board filled with sentiments from your friends, and the amazing treasures I would consistently find in your room on visits, I know that I know you and I will never forget the amazing person that you were. This has given us, as a family, a new beginning of sorts, and you will be with us every step of the way. So while I know that mom is moving out I know that we will never 'move on' from our loss of you, I know that you fill every moment of our movements through life...

Your strange talent

It was during an amazing down pour and thunderstorm last Saturday that your terrific habits and quirky ways were brought to the forefront of my mind once again.

Jared and I, minus our mini me, decided to take the canoe out early to a local lake in Suches, GA. We stayed out enjoying some fishing and swimming for a few hours but saw the onset of a nasty looking storm approaching, so we quickly loaded up the boat and headed home. The sky opened up on us on our trip back down the mountain and we narrowly escaped having to delay our boat unload at home by a matter of minutes, as the storm was in hot pursuit of us. I'm not sure if it was the late evening before (childless), the early morning activities, or the simple battering of rain down on our roof that made me feel the exhaustion roll in, but no matter I decided to take a nap for the first time in a really long time.

As I laid my head down the thunder outside started to clap with the fury, so I lay awake thinking of you for a while. Your insane ability to sleep until 11:00 am and then take a four hour nap at 6:00 pm was the first thing I thought of. I used to question you all the time on your inability to maintain a normal sleep pattern and you would always reply, "Because I am not old, like you". As though being old  disqualified you from having a life after the sun went down.

Your daily routine quite literally consists of sleeping until 11:00, 10:00 if you could smell breakfast wafting from my house, getting up and eating, convincing some unsuspecting relative or friend to go on a wild shopping excursion in which you would never by anything, and then promptly after asking where we were going to eat dinner, the infamous announcement of your impending departure for an evening of napping. After your four hour 'rest' from such a grueling day, it was to Twitter, Facebook, or texting to find out what was going on that evening, and then off to start your 'day'. It was uncanny at how clockwork you were. It was a little strange how you could be sitting there talking and then out of the blue announce, "Okay it is time for my nap". Bizarre.

It was during a recent conversation with our brother Vince in which he was kind enough to help me to understand the habitual meanderings of 'kids these days', as if I am really that old! His explanation was not a whole lot more substantial than your own and consisted of, "Because it just makes sense to nap late then go out at a 'normal' time". Kids these days.

So when I laid down to take a nap last Saturday, during the most perfect of napping weather, and started thinking of you, I thought, "Nope, not quite right, I am about six hours earlier than her schedule." But I figured you might be proud that I was at least 'giving it a try' anyway.

You will always be the napping queen in my mind (well, second to mom), but I figured in Heaven you probably don't really need them. Knowing you though, you probably take them anyway because your most amazing talent was sleeping at any time, any where, under any circumstances...even up there.

All dogs go to heaven

A patient told me at work the other day that the pain in his foot was equivalent to that of child birth. I laughed at this statement and quickly asked him if he had ever experienced child birth. He had not. But the more that I thought about that statement, the more that I thought about how I don't really remember the pain of child birth. While I know that it was painful, I can't remember the exact pain. Do you know what I mean? And I believe that the reason that we don't remember the exact pain is so that we will eventually want to have more kids because if you could remember the pain, you certainly wouldn't want to experience it again.

Child birth pain is not like that of the pain that you experience when you lose someone that means so much to you; that is pain that I can remember and carry with me everyday. 

As you probably already know, we had to put Onyx down the other day. While his heart and mind were still strong as ever, his body had begun to work against him. I can say, without a doubt, that was one of the hardest things that I have ever had to do. There is something so heart wrenching with having to say good bye to a life long friend that has done nothing but love so unconditionally. Especially one as amazing and true as him. I told Jared, after we were done burying him, that I was so tired of feeling this way, as the pain crept back with full force. And then I prayed for peace....

As I sat there, on the cold, tile floor holding his head while the vet injected the anesthesia I was immediately brought back to night that we were called to the hospital the night that you died. When I received the devastating news, I fell to the floor; a tile floor not dissimilar from that of the one in the vet's office. Another common factor was the devastation that I felt in those two moments. He went peacefully, although it took a while for the drugs to take his life due to his strong heart and his insatiable will to live for us. Not unlike your own death, we were told that you didn't feel anything due to your prolonged unconsciousness. This statement to me, in hindsight, seems humorous. I know it is what doctors and veterinarians are told to say, "They didn't suffer or feel anything", but how is that fact supposed to make me feel better about the fact that I now have to go into the world minus a large chunk of my heart. Perhaps I am just too selfish. 

As soon as we got home from the vet, I went immediately to Onyx's food bowls and dumped what little food was left in it in the trash can and then washed them out. I picked up his filthy, dusty, hairy bed and stuffed in the corner to be dealt with later, when the pain subsided. Its as though I thought in my mind that if I got rid of the reminders that the lump in my throat and the sickness in my stomach would also go away. 

Though I didn't do the same for you, I do remember the first time that mom and I ventured into your room at your dad's house, it was about 5 days after you had passed. Mom had wanted to collect a few items of yours to take back with her. We laughed about the fact that there was a bra at the top of the stairs right when you walked into the loft, oh how you loved your bras. Later we discovered a pretty impressive collection of bras stuffed in a drawer. You would go to restaurants and "order" the free items, such as bread or chips and salsa and beg for gas money, but you must have had at least $800 in bras up there! As we looked around, I imagined what you were doing before you left the night that you died. Your room was a disaster and I was slightly terrified of what might be lurking up there but as I shuffled through your unkempt and wildly piled bed spread and sheets, I discovered the book "The Hunger Games" and I remember feeling so saddened because you had only made it to page 42 and I just know you would have loved those books. Beside the book was a trail of crumbs that led straight to the two boxes of Girl Scout cookies that Reagan had given you not more than a week before. Samoas. It was when mom pointed out that you had an amazing pile of pajamas that I got the idea to make the quilt. So after collecting the pairs that I wanted to use and a few t shirts that I remembered you by, I shuffled through the books on your book shelf. It was a strange collection of "Captain Underpants", Nicholas Sparks books, and like twelve dictionaries...okay not twelve. I took your copy of "Little Women" because I always used to say that our relationship was so like that of Jo's and Amee's in the book; that and we both loved that movie. It was during another trip a few weeks later to your room that I couldn't bear the look of it any more, that and I was rightly concerned that if not picked up that those cookies would eventually attract any number of unwanted house guests, so I reluctantly cleaned it up. I put your dirty clothes in the hamper, arranged you desk, untangled your sheets and brushed the crumbs from your bed. After I was done I looked around and said out loud "Chelsea is going to strike me down with lightening for cleaning this room." I have not returned to your room since. I'm not even sure that it is a conscious decision that I haven't, I just haven't.

Onyx July 12, 1999-July 17, 2012

As we buried Onyx, near the playground where he would so loyally sit and watch Reagan, I thought about how you would always call him "Uno" for two reasons: 1) because you said that he looked like an "Uno" not an "Onyx" (even though, mind you, he was a BLACK lab) and 2) because you changed his name years ago (in your head) because he was your dog and you always took care of him (this was, of course the biggest load of BS). I would always yell at you not to call him that because such a small brain could get easily confused. 

So as I said good bye to yet another family member the other night, I told Onyx to tell you hello and to make sure to tell you that his name was Onyx. The sad thing is that even if he did tell you, you probably greeted him with the name that you bestowed upon him so many years ago, "Uno". 

I like to think that he got a new pair of legs to run with and you got your "Uno" to keep you company until we can all be together again. 

Show him the ropes.

It’s been 120 days. Or 122 to be exact. And it hasn’t been any easier to cope with moments of shear panic and pain scattered among them.

It was during a conversation with a very close friend, whose father had just been given a week to live, that all of those moments of pain, shock, and torment over your loss began to flood back over me. She asked me if it got worse before it got better. Without a moment’s pause or hesitation I told her I could not begin to tell her how true that was. I also told her that she will hear two of the most enormous lies in the days and weeks that would surely follow the most devastating moment in her life. While both are often told without consciousness to the fact that they are lies, the first is “I know how you feel…” and the second is “time will heal your pain”. The first statement takes the form of a lie due to the fact that there is no possible way that anyone, in that moment, could ever know how you feel. While they may have experienced some semblance of the pain that you feel it is my experience that everyone’s dealing with death is all very different. And the second is a lie because time does not heal it, it just makes it easier to bare.

So when my friend, saddened and heartbroken, asked me if it gets worse before it gets better, how I am supposed to tell her that the pain she is about to experience is going to be the worse she has ever experienced. How can I tell her that what she is about to experience will be the worst pain and most devastating moment of life that she will ever know? How do you tell her that when you think that you can’t cry anymore and when you feel like there is nothing left inside of you, you find yourself wincing in pain? How could I tell this friend, in what, at the moment was her most tragic time of her short life, that she will soon feel like digging her own grave, crawling in, and burying herself with what was left her spirit? That while life continues on around her it will feel as though she has lost a piece of hers and at times, when she is alone and it is quite, that she will actually make herself believe that she can hear her heart shattering into a million pieces, literally? How could I prepare her for the hardest journey that she will ever experience and tell her that her life will be forever changed? That she is about to start a journey, that feels never-ending? How could I tell her that no matter what I say or do or whatever help, condolences, and warm wishes that those that pass her will give, nothing will make it any easier bear? That no matter what, she will feel like the burden is hers to bear alone? I couldn’t. So I didn’t. I just told her that, yes, it gets much worse before it gets better. I told her that the burden is not hers alone, that she is surrounded by love and we are all here to take that journey with her, something I have learned, humbly, in the four months since you left us. I told her that my heart breaks with her but that it is okay to fall apart because she has so many people that love her that will divide the load and carry it for her.

Unfortunately, she did not have to wait long for that moment. Her father, Tim Wade, lost his valiant and harrowing battle with cancer today. It was in that moment, when I got the devastating news that I thought back to the moment that Vince and I ran into the Emergency Room at 2:00 in the morning, one stormy, Friday night, thinking that we had all of the time in the world with you, only to happen upon your dad coming out with the answers written all over his face. I felt that feeling again when it feels like a mac truck hits you in the stomach and all of the emotions run over you all at once and you open your eyes only to discover that you are keeled over, on your knees, heaving the life out your soul. My thoughts went to the thought of wet towel dumped, accidently, into a pool, and you pick it up to ring it out. It isn’t the towels fault that it is dripping wet, why does it have to be twisted into unforgiving knots over and over again? I thought to my friend and how she might be feeling in that very moment when the waves of nausea come intermittently with waves of physical pain and unexpected insanity, and I felt it too. How I wish I could take it from her.

Whether it is a tragic, one car accident, on a rainy Friday night, or a long, heroic battle with cancer, death is never something experienced exactly the same by any two people and is never easy to take in by the living. We are the ones left behind to suffer in agony. The only piece of advice that I could extend to my friend was that, somehow, someway, she will come out on the other side in the end, and she will have only her fond memories and her time with him to help her carry her through. And somehow, it will. It will be the small things that mean the most, like me with the memories of you and the rain, or riding in the car and song that you would belt out to comes on, a favorite food, or in your case foods. Those will be the moments that will hurt the most but be cherished the longest. 

Tim Wade was an amazing man, but you were an amazing person too, and your life was ended too soon as well. That just goes to show that God has EXCELLENT taste. I was a lucky person to get to know him and for that I have to give a little tribute to one of my fondest memories of him. It was at a crucial time in my young, impressionable life right before I got my driver’s license. My mom had purchased my car a month before I actually got my license and I was feeling indestructible one evening. So Ann, Leann, and I concocted a plan to tell all of our parents that we were going out with the other’s parents driving us. I then took the keys and drove to each person’s house and picked them up, Ann first, then Leann. When I arrived at Leann’s house, Ann and I went in to greet her dad and family. I still to this day am not sure what set him off to our plan but he immediately knew something was up. He asked me if he could come out to the car and say hey to my mom, “he hadn’t seen her in a while”. Our “quick thinking” went into diverting mode and quickly told him, as we were scurrying out the door that we were in a hurry and to get going. The next day at school, I was called to the counselor’s office, having been the “good kid” in my family, I started hyperventilating. As I walked down the hall, sweat in my palms, I kept trying to think of what it was that I had done wrong. When I rounded the corner to find the White County Sherriff’s Deputy standing, very official, outside the counselor’s door, I started peeing myself. With pee running down my leg (not really), I sat in the chair and the sheriff asked me if I knew why I had been called to speak with him. I didn’t. He then proceeded with the story of being called “anonymously” by a concerned community resident that I had been driving around without a license. Shocked into disbelief and curious as to how he would have known, I lied and said that was false. He gave me one chance to tell the truth. Okay, I did. He let me off with a warning but told me he would his eye on me. Later on, while discussing who could have ratted us out and recounting the evening, we came to the conclusion that it had to have been Tim. Many years later, I asked him. He chuckled, and with his eyes squinted and the reflection of the light in his glasses, he replied, “Well someone had to teach you a lesson? It worked, didn’t it?” Only Tim had succeeded in doing what my mother, still to this day, has failed miserably at…bested me.

I take comfort in his passing knowing that you will “show him the ropes” up there. I will never understand why things happen the way that they do, but I guess I don’t have to. You have both left huge holes in the lives of those that your lives have touched, but you have also left an amazing impact that will never be forgotten. 


                                                 Tim Wade 12/30/64-07/05/2012

An Open Letter to the Soul..

Have you ever felt so mad that your skin crawls? Felt so mucky that it is hard to put a smile on your face and even fake it? Felt so bogged down by life that the only thing you end up feeling in the end is numb?

I do. Every day.

          I have spent my life on the pride that I have been raised in a household that was celebrated with self expression and the ability to take up for yourself. I was raised in a philanthropical family that cared deeply in the community in which we surrounded ourselves with, but were also told to celebrate our independence. We were raised to believe in what was right, as you remember, but with a sense of great humility. So how were we to know how to balance this gift? To our parents the importance of knowing who we are balanced with a sense of great gratitude and love was of great importance; in theory, an amazing achievement; in life, not probable. So how were we to know where the balance of a gift and the love of a talent were to meet?

         

         My bossiness has been well documented along with virtues, but what has come of my amazing ability to love? I know I have plenty of it to go around; but where did it go? Everyone celebrates and congratulates my ability to lead and the “take charge” attitude that was instilled in me as a child, but where did my imaginative and compassionate talent, a greatly praised talent when I was younger, go? If you find it, can you please promptly return it?

          I know exactly the day and time that all of the ability to care left me: March 3^rd, 2012 at about 2:00 am. Does this make me a bad person? I hope not. I can only hope that after a severe bout with anger, resentment, and life that I can return to the human that I once was, before Chelsea died, or, better known as: BCD.

         To those of you that have been injured or harmed on my tirade for personal realization and the lack of resilience that I have shown, just know, that I have suffered, and that I can only claim “human”! The pain that my family and I will have to carry with us, for the rest of our time on earth, will be life long, and therefore our resilience will have to prove the same. Pray that we have the strength. Please know that my hurtful words and unkind looks are not emotions that I have control over at this point and I plead insanity! No really, I am trying to recover in the only way that I know possible.  Please know that what I have said or acted upon isn’t me, more than it is a shell of the person that I once was.

          

          Let me explain: when you have felt your worse, your sickest, most down, multiply that by 1000. Now multiply that by 1000. And you are alone, with no one to talk to and the idea that world is completely against you, and there is no one to share these sentiments to. That is where I am and have been. The biggest hole you could dig for yourself, covered with cement. Though the idea of a light at the end of the tunnel sounds amazing, I need night goggles to find a glimpse of that light. The worst part is that I have been blessed with the amazing pressure of everyone that surrounds me. Within the first 10 minutes of learning of Chelsea’s death I was expected to accept, entertain, and maintain the well-being of my entire family, all the while suffering a tremendous loss of which I didn’t have 3 seconds to process on my own. 3:00 am came quick every night for me thereafter and sleep has become somewhat of a miracle in my mind since. Taking care of a loving mother, a lost grandmother, and a step dad with a broken heart, along with the several aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, friends, and distant family, along with trying to care for the niece of the deceased and a loving husband, all while trying to make sure that you yourself ate and slept enough….well, it’s impossible. Notice who came last on that list.

         I am not making excuses for my inexcusable behavior the last few months, or my inability to filter my thoughts into more educated or respected words, I am simply asking for forgiveness for imperfections that I have no control over at this point. I can do little more than beg at this point, an unbecoming trait in me that I know is tiring. Please know that all of my bad habits (ALL) are inexcusable, but know that I am human, just as you, but that I will strive to create a more harmonious tactic in my judgments, words, and actions. Everyone experiences loss in their life, and ones that are more tremendous than the one I have experienced, I just can't seem to get it together the way most people do. Words are my only comfort. 

     
Please know that my insensate banter, my sarcastic comments, and my harsh sentiments are not a reflection of who I am, or used to be, but, unfortunately, who I have become. "But this to shall pass". Right?

         Chelsea was an enormous part of my life and the anger has settled in and made a home in my heart, which neither she nor I would appreciate. Please bear with me while I work to cleanse that hate, hurt, and anger from my heart. I will try very hard to choose my words and actions from thus forth because Chelsea wouldn't want it this way.

So if I seem covered, painful, spiteful, jealous, and alone....or just wanting to be alone, I am. There is nothing, I have realized, that I can do to relieve it. This is a pain that I must bear on my own. My nerves, words, feelings, and life are on exposed for everyone to see and hear. I write this blog for the hope to save feelings and with the hope to heal another's wounds...I hurt. There I said it. I hurt! The weight that I carry daily will never subside, I know that now, please, please, please be patient.

And besides, how do you learn to say goodbye to a piece of your heart? Please forgive and bear.

A Symbol of You

It has been a crazy last couple of weeks, so I haven’t been able to write to you in a while. I have been working on planning a 10 year reunion, a baby shower, your niece’s birthday party, playing on a softball team, and somehow managed to fit in a full course load of college classes. Someone asked me last week where I find the time for everything and I think I replied with “I’m a control freak, so I like being in control.” But to be honest, being busy keeps me from having to reconcile my feelings. So it wasn’t until a very close friend told me about her father, who has been battling cancer for quite some time that he had been readmitted to the hospital due to several complications, that I finally took the time to stop and allow myself to think of you. Not that you are ever far from my mind, but I guess I always looked at it like people die, we grieve, and then we are somehow, someway supposed to pick up the pieces of our broken lives and move on. I keep thinking that eventually, people will get tired of hearing me talk about you, or that they will start to wonder ‘what’s really going on’ with me, and the next thing I know I am ‘Lyndsey Lohan’ and everyone is encouraging me to go to rehab or to seek some sort of professional help. Ha! You once had a Lyndsey Lohan moment…but we will leave that for another day. It was on the day of the sad news of my friend’s father that I realized how badly I really miss you and that pain will never go away. That even after the hectic schedule, the endless studying, and the constant running around, that the void that you left is still there and more illuminating than ever.

Mom’s birthday was last week and we, Garrett’s family and mine, decided to give her something that would be a beautiful reminder of not only you, but all of us that love her, and perhaps bring her a little peace in the meantime. It’s one of those ‘Pandora’ bracelets, and I use the word Pandora lightly because it is not a “real” Pandora, but more a knock off, but beautiful none the same. We got her five starter beads with the intention of adding to it for years to come. We got the obvious pearl bead because it is the birthstone for the month of June, a family tree to symbolize our family, and a grandma bead (that I am pretty sure you would have made fun of because it sounds old), even though the girls call her Grammie. The other three had more to do with you than anything else. An angel for obvious reasons, a scallop shell because that seems to have become one of your ‘symbols’, and the ever present Fleur di lis. The only hiccup in this amazing gift was that she received it the day before the 90 day ‘anniversary’ (I like to think of anniversaries as celebrations and do not like them being used to commemorate someone’s tragic demise) of your death.

It is truly amazing that the very tattoos that I used to make fun of you so badly for have become the very thing that people have begun to use to keep you ever present. I used to tell you how gaudy your fleur di lis tattoo was and the fact that you put it on your left wrist was awful; “displaying your tackiness to the world” is what I used to tell you. The scallop shell you had on your thigh/hip area which would have been an acceptable area of coverage for most people but for someone that wore shorts that looked like underwear, it was almost always on display. Now I cherish these two symbols with all of my heart. I find them and see them everywhere too. The other day I was putting some stuff of Reagan’s away in her room and she has a picture of you, a small wallet sized picture, the one of you at the beach, on her bookshelf next to her bed and after staring at it for a minute or two I turned around and moved over to her TV stand and there, next to her TV, was a random scallop shell that I had never seen before. I found one in the floor of your closet the day I took mom back Savannah, the Friday after you died. I often see scallop shells and fleur di lis all over the place and at first I thought maybe it was like when you are thinking of buying something that you kind of want and you start seeing it all over the place, but I know better now.

I used to ask you why you decided on a fleur di lis and mock you for being silly because you weren’t even French. You could never give me a straight answer and you would simply shrug your shoulders and reply “I dunno, I just felt like it”, but then quickly scold me for my own horrible tattoo decision that I had gotten when I was 17. So out of curiosity I looked up what it was that they Fleur di lis stood for and according to Wkipedia (yes I know): In French, fleur di lis literally means “lily flower”, but has become a symbol of royalty because of its use on crowns and scepters, and also in religion to symbolize the Virgin Mary and the Holy Trinity. I like it.

The thing is that your tattoos have become quite the celebrity. I think they give people a little something to hold onto to help cope and perhaps keep you close to their hearts. And when I say that they are everywhere, they are everywhere. Your tattoos have become quite popular, sadly though, I see it as comparable to an artist’s paintings being worth more after they are dead or a musician’s music skyrocketing to the top of the charts after an overdose (bad analogy). But I guess to me it doesn’t matter the reason, as long as they remember. 

Because while the craziness of life will go on, you will never be far from my thoughts and even closer to my heart.