Laughter from beneath the leaves

It is fall. Autumn has always been my favorite season. The leaves on the trees turn a rich warm orange, red and yellow and spiral down to the earth below. I love walking through piles of leaves that have blown over a sidewalk. I love walking underneath trees while the leaves fall. I love the smell of the damp leaves, and feeling the mist on my face. I love wrapping myself up in a sweater or an extra blanket to keep cozy and keep the cold out. 

When I was younger my parents would buy the bright orange leaves bags with black carved pumpkin faces printed on them. On a nice Saturday afternoon my brother and I, along with help from our parents, would rake the leaves and fill the bags. Of course we would rake all the leaves into giant piles in the front yard and instead of filling the bags we'd run through the leaves, or jump into the pile. I remember throwing bunches of leaves up over my head and sitting amongst the leaves.

There are pictures, in a photo album, of my brother and I playing in the leaves. When I look at those pictures, they are memorized in my head, I can hear the laughter of my brother. The small laughter of a four year old boy echos in my mind and all I can do is smile. 

So autumn, the season of change, the change from growing, and new life into a period of quiet death and wait, is my favorite. It is a season of transition. It is a time of year while looking at the multicolored leaves when I remember long walks in the woods with my brother and father, it is the time of year when I remember stacking wood in piles with my Great Uncle, while my brother tried to help, it is the time of year when I remember the laughter of raking leaves with my little brother. 

ouch...wrestling hurts

My daily devotional today is the scripture from Genesis where Jacob wrestles with God. All night he wrestles with a man, and does not give in. Simply re-reading this passage a few times I think of this in terms of my own struggle. I've stayed up countless nights wrestling with my emotions. I've cried until it hurt to produce tears. I've cried until I stopped breathing for a few seconds. However hard I've struggled with my emotions at night, I survived until the morning. I've either stayed up or woken up to the light of the dawn. 

Jacob survives the night, is blessed and renamed by God and ultimately reconciles with his brother Esau after all the wrong. The idea of wrestling with God is something that goes beyond simply crying for me. I am still angry with God. There are moments when I feel the anger more, when I feel the distance. I cannot see a time when I will be okay with the death of my brother in relation to how I see God. There will always be tension. I am willing to live in that tension. I trust God that he will not fail me. I trust in God that even during this period of me wrestling that he still loves me unconditionally. Maybe it's not this simple.

Yesterday's devotion, the first in my book of 365 devotions, was about reconciliation. It is a fitting topic and something I've been thinking about recently. I feel the separation between myself and God. I feel it sometimes very deeply in my core. I yearn for the closeness I once felt. I want to be held in his hands again, or feel like I'm being held in his hands again. Yet the anger I still feel about my brother's death inhibits my relationship with God. It inhibits my full attention to the workings of God in my life. I am blessed. I am a child of God. I am loved. But in the midst of all that, in the midst of loving God, my brother died. 

we are all just dust...

A week before the anniversary of my brother's death I decided that I simply could not sit home and cry. I could not remember my brother by doing nothing. I needed to get out of my house, get out of the state, get out of my world and do something. The only one of his friends that I spoke to regularly, Jessie, had spoken to me about my plans for the anniversary a few weeks prior so she was the first one I proposed my idea to. She was instantly on board and within four days we had figured most of the plans out. 

On Sunday, August 2nd I drove down to NYC to pick Jessie up and we began our journey. We planned on driving to Florida, a place my brother lived for a year and a half. This journey was not about Florida. It was about getting away. 

The night before I left my father and I spoke about the other plan I had for the Florida trip. When my brother and I spoke while he was in Florida, he always spoke of Cocoa Beach. He posted photos of Cocoa Beach on myspace and after he returned home still spoke of this beach. It is with this knowledge that I made my mind up that I would spread some of his ashes on the beach and in the ocean. Although growing up my family never vacationed at the ocean, the thought of my brother's ashes floating in the ocean, spreading out across the world, made sense. 

The morning, on the day I was leaving, my father transfered some of my brother's ashes into a small heart shaped tin, and another small container. He handed them both to me and I placed them both in my car. 

The tin and container stayed in the car the entire road trip down to Florida. Jessie and I hardly remembered they were in there. We arrived in Florida on the 4th of August. At 8:04 pm we were eating dinner with my family friends at their house, which was also where we were staying. I remember thinking: I made it one year, I am still in one piece. It took us until Saturday to get to Cocoa Beach. It was a beautiful summer day. Hot sun, and a bit of a breeze. The ocean expanded out to the horizon, flat and endless. We were there all day before I removed the small tin container from my backpack and opened it gently. Silently I took a small pinch of ashes and sprinkled it gently on the sand. My fingers were stained. The ashes invading my fingerprints. As I sprinkled more into the sand, and ran my hands deep within the mounds of sand around me, mixing everything together, tears ran from my eyes, streaming down my checks. In silence I took a handful of ashes and walked to the edge of the ocean. I remember hearing children laughing, voices of parents, of couples. I remember the cool water lapping at my toes, the waves moving quicker in and out. I walked until my knees were emerged in the water and plunged my hands into the ocean. The water washed my hands as I opened them up, releasing my brother's ashes into the sea. I stood and looked towards the endless expanse of space in front of me. 

Our road trip was fun and tiring, adventurous and boring, sad and ultimately happy. 

a new beginning

On August 22nd, 2009 I moved to Washington DC. On August 22nd, I moved out of my parent's house, well all of my stuff is still there, and that is still my official residence. On August 22nd, I decided that seminary, graduate school, was the next step on the journey. 

After my brother's death making concrete plans never worked. I couldn't think of anything past a few days. I couldn't plan an activity more than four days away. I had wanted to go to seminary before his death. I remember sitting on the side porch of my house on a summer evening in July, 2008, less than a month before he died, talking about visiting Washington DC. I even asked him if he wanted to come with me. I remember him smiling at me and saying "As long as you drive." We never spoke of him visiting the school again with me, but it was definitely a possibility. I kept that conversation in mind when just three months after his death I decided that I was going to apply to attend that seminary. 

There is a part of me that didn't want to leave home. Home was where my brother knew I was. Home was the last place my brother slept. Home was the place where my brother was returned to after work. Home held memories of my brother's life that could never be replicated. Home is safe. Home is secure. Yet, that conversation reminded me that Brian knew what I was planning. He knew the future I was trying to secure for myself. So that if I left for seminary, my brother would know where to find me. 

After securing recommendations from the appropriate people, at the very last minute, I rushed to the post office the day before the application was due and overnighted the application to the seminary. I called the next day to make sure it was received and that I would still be considered for the merit scholarships. I had taken a step forward, and I just needed to wait. 

Weeks past and I received an invitation to the merit scholarship weekend and a week later I received the congratulations letter welcoming me to Wesley Theological Seminary. I remember the mixture of fear and joy upon reading the accepting words. This was something I had hoped for, and something I wanted, deep down inside. I just needed to figure everything else out.

The summer presented itself with many firsts. After I quit my job in mid-July I had the first summer vacation in five years, and in August was the first anniversary of my brother's death. Sometimes I can't believe its been over a year since he died. I remember it vividly, but I have come to realize that no matter how many years pass I will always remember the moments of that night like they just happened: that memory will never fade. 

So, on a rainy night in the nation's capital, I sit on my dorm size twin bed and think. I have piles of reading to accomplish, but somehow my mind wanders to the moment when I decided to tell my brother of my plans to attend seminary. I search my mind for the picture of his face that night that I know is stored somewhere in my memory. I search for the sound of his voice and close my eyes thinking maybe, just maybe I'd hear his laugh. 

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.