A poem I read today

It's all I have to bring today – This, and my heart beside – This, and my heart, and all the fields – And all the meadows wide – Be sure you count – should I forget Some one the sum could tell – This, and my heart, and all the Bees Which in the Clover dwell. by Emily Dickinson

come home

the past few weeks haven't turned out the way I had planned in my mind. Last Friday my father was admitted to the hospital and has been in the hospital ever since. He is okay, but he needs surgery on Monday. Monday is Dec. 22nd. Three days before Christmas. We don't have a tree, we have no decorations. it's not that I thought it would be much different since my brother died I figured we just wouldn't go through the motions of a "normal" Christmas, however I never thought it would be like this. 

I am not yet done with my christmas shopping and haven't mailed my cards. The motivation is gone and I think I'm just done with the celebration of Christmas that typically happens. I love Christmas for what it originally meant. I love the fact that God's son was born to Mary in a lowly stable in Bethlehem. I love that a star guided shepherds and three kings to kneel at his hay bed. I love that Jesus loves me so much to died on a Roman cross for me. 

I think that many people might find it odd that I haven't turned away from my faith. I actually find it hard to believe myself. After my grandfather died, I never turned my back to God, but I stopped listening. I had to explore. I had to figure things out. I tried yoga, I read about Judaism, I invested in some Kabbalah books and wore a red string. Yet, all roads led me  back to my methodist church. It was the only thing that ever felt right. The only thing that fit. It's like finding the perfect outfit, or like as a child you have a favorite dress that you just can't live without. You wait for it to be washed and dive into the dryer to find it. 

After my brother's death, my pastor told me I could be angry with God, and that it was okay. I think it is okay. It hurts really deep, and I still have moments where I am deeply angry at God--why couldn't he have made my brother take a different road, or stay longer at work that night, or leave earlier. Why couldn't he have had me think to call my brother, and maybe had delayed his drive home. All this longing becomes a weight that bears down upon my lungs and hampers my breathing. 

So I carry on. I try to move forward and make sense out of what I can wrap my head around and leave for later what I cannot. There are so many times when I wish my brother would just come home. How I long to hear his foot steps upon the cellar steps, loud-fast-strong. The sigh in his breath. His insistence on sitting on the right hand side of the couch with his legs out-using the "not broken" tray table. 

and a single tear rolling down my cheek reminds me that what I am writing really did happen. And I am waiting for my father to come home.

solace

This morning was spent at church. A very busy morning indeed at church. At 9:30 I had Sunday school and then the service, which was quite long, and then I had coffee hour. 

During the service we decorated the church. Prior to the beginning of the service the Pastor asked the youth and me to set up the nativity scene, during a certain song in the service. The above picture is Mary. I always find these figurines very interesting. 

Again, today I was approached by a woman who said she has been thinking about me and again said that it must be hard for me because of the holidays. I could tell that she was genuine. She does care, but again isn't quite sure how to approach me. 

My brother stopped attending church after high school. I think partly because he was always going out on Saturday nights and partly because he spent almost a year and a half in Florida. When he was younger and when I was younger we went every week. We were part of Sunday School, plays, visitations and everything else. Most recently, he helped me set up the tables and chairs for the Easter morning breakfast. 

When I was little, Sunday afternoons were spent at my grandmother's house eating egg salad sandwiches and playing cards. As I grew older my brother began spending more and more time with my grandparents--in my place. He and my grandfather were very close. They had a special bond that I think only male relatives can share. My brother was fascinated with everything military and my grandfather loved his enthusiasm. But I stray.

This is the second Sunday in Advent. The candle of peace was lit today. I began reading the grief book again, last night before bed. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. I read the chapter on Solitude. It is an unfortunate paradox that a person grieving seeks solace in being alone. This chapter called out to me, and reminded me of what exactly I have been doing these last few months. Yes, I have been going out occasionally; to dinner with a friend, to an event with my cousin, but I have not once sought out a friend directly and did something fun. I have watched Season 1-4 of The Office on dvd about two times now, some episodes more than twice. I have watched movies alone, I go shopping alone. Something just feels really right about being alone right now. I think because I hate uttering words that have to do with grief or dying or death or my brother. Its not because it hurts to do so-although it really does. It just seems all too much to say out loud. I feel myself becoming annoyed with people who ask about my brother. Something I show it, and sometimes I don't. Again, it is not directed at the person asking, but at the emotion it makes me feel. 

I am going to go and begin baking my cookies for the cookie-swap at work. I'll post pictures and the recipe. Also, tonight I am going to a lessons and carols service. Hopefully I'll take some cool pictures. 

what dreams may come

This is my new necklace. I've been wearing it for at least two months. I use to wear a simple gold cross that my grandmother bought me. You might think that I've abandoned the cross because I'm questioning my faith because of events in my life. However, I've found that it simply doesn't represent me at this moment in my life. This is a labyrinth pendant, which I bought, in June, at the Annual conference for my church. I bought it from a gentleman from Israel. He was selling a whole bunch of items from Jerusalem and the surrounding area. I picked this up and was instantly drawn to it, for its simplicity. It is silver and on the back has a notation engraved "Chartres Labyrinth Chartres, France"

I feel like I am walking around inside a labyrinth. Its odd though, because I can go days without feeling sad-almost like I'm close to some sort of "normal." Then, one day, I wake up and my chest begins to heave and I feel the weight of the lost all over again, or I am walking through a super market and my whole body becomes flush and I realize my brother's dead. The worst though, honestly, is driving home from work, believing that miraculously my brother didn't die and is at home and this whole thing is a mistake. Throughout the month of August I would drive home from work as fast as I could, somehow believing that he was going to be there. This subsided for a while, but this past week I find myself feeling the same way. 

Christmas is fast approaching. I've been semi-lazy with my shopping. It's a very odd feeling.  A few people have approached me, I'm sure with the best intentions, and said "The holidays must be hard for you, because of what happened." I'm trying to be understanding of people who simply have no clue what to say to me. I understand, if situations were reverse I honestly wouldn't know what to say. But seriously, every single day that I open my eyes and breathe is hard. I hate to be trite, but every breath I take hurts with sadness. So I find before me two choices: to stay in bed, curled in the fetal position, drowning in my tears or to wake up every morning and survive the wicked world.

"The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd." Hamlet - Shakespeare