Three different people. Three different encounters.
First, a friend I've known for years. We haven't always had the closest relationship, but this year we've become very good friends. I love hearing her dreams, hopes, fears, and frustrations. She accepts my advice as well as my general complaints about the world. We need each other, and we mutually help each other. I am very grateful for our relationship. Today, as we shared a bagel at Panera, I realized how much I'll miss her next year, and I was strengthened in my resolve to keep in touch with her.
Second, another friend I've known for years. We were close earlier this year and before that. She got a boyfriend, and you know how it goes. We drifted. Significantly. I don't blame him. I understand it's the way of things. Recently, it's as though our relationship is barely holding together. Tonight, I realized it won't last past graduation. She hurt me in a very careless way. And while I can understand and rationalize all I want, the fact remains: I am no longer important in her life, nor she in mine.
Third, someone I've known for some time. I fell for him over a year ago. He broke my heart, found out about it, and has been distant ever since. In all honesty, it's fine. I realized today that I have nothing to feel for him. Not love, not bitterness, but not really friendship either.
Three relationships: one thriving, one dying, one dead. It seems all my relationships are in one state or another. Few are thriving; many of them are dying. And I'm floundering, trying to figure out what to do about it. Should I even do anything about it? Should I recusitate the dying? Mourn the dead?
Seems to be the questions that are leaving me in this overwhelming state of unsettling confusion.
Pozzo: "I don't seem to be able... to depart."
Estragon: "Such is life."
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Grief
I hate April 19th.
Over the years, I've never really known how to handle 4/19. For a while, I told people about it. Mentioned it during prayer requests at school. "Could you please pray for my family..." But then I began to notice the awkward silence that hit the room as soon as I spoke. So I stopped. Maybe an off-hand comment to a friend. "Yeah, can you believe it will be __ years since..." More silence. I generally can't talk to mom about it. Just makes her sad, though I know my bringing it up wouldn't be the first time it's crossed her mind.
Today, like every year for the past ten years, I didn't really know how to handle it. It was in the back of my mind all day. Honestly, I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to be around people, just listening and enjoying the distraction. But it seemed everywhere I went, they left. So I tried to take a nap. That only gave me more time to dwell on it.
I played my flute. I've been doing a lot of that lately. It was different today, though. I played through a song full of vibrato, carrying a beautiful sadness with each note. It wasn't perfect, but I put so much heart and emotion into it, I physically shook after I played the final fermata.
Then came my monologue during rehearsal. I was fine up until "... And the mystery of death." And when I said, "Somehow, sometimes, things are just as they should be." I had very little conviction. Sometimes things are wrong. They aren't just as they should be. They hurt.
I told no one. No one asked me if anything was wrong, or if something was bothering me. Seems I'm a better actress than I realized.
But now, I want someone to know. So, reader, April 19th, the anniversary of my dad's death, is a hard day for me.
10 years without him and I still haven't figured out how to deal with it.
Over the years, I've never really known how to handle 4/19. For a while, I told people about it. Mentioned it during prayer requests at school. "Could you please pray for my family..." But then I began to notice the awkward silence that hit the room as soon as I spoke. So I stopped. Maybe an off-hand comment to a friend. "Yeah, can you believe it will be __ years since..." More silence. I generally can't talk to mom about it. Just makes her sad, though I know my bringing it up wouldn't be the first time it's crossed her mind.
Today, like every year for the past ten years, I didn't really know how to handle it. It was in the back of my mind all day. Honestly, I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to be around people, just listening and enjoying the distraction. But it seemed everywhere I went, they left. So I tried to take a nap. That only gave me more time to dwell on it.
I played my flute. I've been doing a lot of that lately. It was different today, though. I played through a song full of vibrato, carrying a beautiful sadness with each note. It wasn't perfect, but I put so much heart and emotion into it, I physically shook after I played the final fermata.
Then came my monologue during rehearsal. I was fine up until "... And the mystery of death." And when I said, "Somehow, sometimes, things are just as they should be." I had very little conviction. Sometimes things are wrong. They aren't just as they should be. They hurt.
I told no one. No one asked me if anything was wrong, or if something was bothering me. Seems I'm a better actress than I realized.
But now, I want someone to know. So, reader, April 19th, the anniversary of my dad's death, is a hard day for me.
10 years without him and I still haven't figured out how to deal with it.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Blue
When I was a little girl, I had this blue dress. I loved it, for one reason and one reason only: it slightly resembled a dress worn by Belle in Beauty and the Beast. Picture: the busy day of a small town in the French countryside. Belle gracefully skims through near mis-haps while having her head buried in a book. The song she sings describes her craving for adventure, her want for more than her normal life. I, an impressionable child of four, grabbed my thickest book and, wandering around my living room, participated in the scene. And so, I felt exceptionally special whenever I got to wear this blue dress. I felt like her, like a princess, ready to run around, read books, and fall in love.
As happens with most things in life, I outgrew the dress. Mom stored it on the top shelf of my closet, just out of reach (even when I stood on my wooden child-safe stool). I was, as you can imagine, very upset at my loss. The blue dress... I could see it. It was mine. But I couldn't wear it anymore.
Today, I wore another blue dress. One I like very much. I get compliments on it, I like the a-line cut, and the color very closely resembles the Belle dress. And, to be completely honest, I feel somewhat like I felt as a child.
But I am not the little girl who spun around her couch, singing happily. Not anymore. It seems I have grown up. I have new things to think about, cry about, laugh about. And I have no idea how that happened. I'm not entirely sure I appreciate it.
Sure, there are benefits. I can reach the top shelf in my closet now.
Today, in the new blue dress, I realized that not only have I changed, but so have those around me. And they will continue to do so, as will I. I've understood for some time now that they will not be a part of my daily life, but it was only today that I realized I will not be a part of theirs. I won't know their newest crisis, nor their newest joy. I won't be the ears for their complants, nor the arms for their hugs.
In forty or so days, I will wear another blue gown. And I will be a different person then than I am now: a high school graduate, if nothing else.
I will graduate from their school... must I graduate from their lives as well?
As happens with most things in life, I outgrew the dress. Mom stored it on the top shelf of my closet, just out of reach (even when I stood on my wooden child-safe stool). I was, as you can imagine, very upset at my loss. The blue dress... I could see it. It was mine. But I couldn't wear it anymore.
Today, I wore another blue dress. One I like very much. I get compliments on it, I like the a-line cut, and the color very closely resembles the Belle dress. And, to be completely honest, I feel somewhat like I felt as a child.
But I am not the little girl who spun around her couch, singing happily. Not anymore. It seems I have grown up. I have new things to think about, cry about, laugh about. And I have no idea how that happened. I'm not entirely sure I appreciate it.
Sure, there are benefits. I can reach the top shelf in my closet now.
Today, in the new blue dress, I realized that not only have I changed, but so have those around me. And they will continue to do so, as will I. I've understood for some time now that they will not be a part of my daily life, but it was only today that I realized I will not be a part of theirs. I won't know their newest crisis, nor their newest joy. I won't be the ears for their complants, nor the arms for their hugs.
In forty or so days, I will wear another blue gown. And I will be a different person then than I am now: a high school graduate, if nothing else.
I will graduate from their school... must I graduate from their lives as well?
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Spring At Last
Amazed... there's no other word for me right now.
I know it's absolutely corny, but the illustration holds true: I've experienced an autumn of change. I've been through a winter of pain, doubt, and confusion. But here I am, at the promised spring of peace. All the stuff before had to happen, otherwise I never would have made it. The old leaves had to change colors, die and drop on the ground, or the tree would never have know the beauty of new growth.
I know where I'm going next year. Even though it wasn't what I expected or even wanted at first, I know, without a doubt, that it is where God wants me. And I am so pleased to be wrapped up in the will of God, finally in the right place, with peace-filled assurance. And - here's the greatest part - He has made me glad! I am so excited about next year. Finally! I have a destination, a purpose, a place that God has chosen for me, his daughter... to give me a hope and a future.
"See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come..." - Song of Solomon 2:11-12
You give me hope, and hope it gives me life
You touch my heavy heart, and when you do you make it light
As I exhale I hear your voice
And I answer you, though I hardly make a noise
And from my lips the words I choose to say
Seem pathetic, but it's fallen man's praise
Because I love you
Oh God, I love you
And life is now worth living
If only because of you
And when they say that I'm dead and gone
It won't be further from the truth
I know it's absolutely corny, but the illustration holds true: I've experienced an autumn of change. I've been through a winter of pain, doubt, and confusion. But here I am, at the promised spring of peace. All the stuff before had to happen, otherwise I never would have made it. The old leaves had to change colors, die and drop on the ground, or the tree would never have know the beauty of new growth.
I know where I'm going next year. Even though it wasn't what I expected or even wanted at first, I know, without a doubt, that it is where God wants me. And I am so pleased to be wrapped up in the will of God, finally in the right place, with peace-filled assurance. And - here's the greatest part - He has made me glad! I am so excited about next year. Finally! I have a destination, a purpose, a place that God has chosen for me, his daughter... to give me a hope and a future.
"See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come..." - Song of Solomon 2:11-12
You give me hope, and hope it gives me life
You touch my heavy heart, and when you do you make it light
As I exhale I hear your voice
And I answer you, though I hardly make a noise
And from my lips the words I choose to say
Seem pathetic, but it's fallen man's praise
Because I love you
Oh God, I love you
And life is now worth living
If only because of you
And when they say that I'm dead and gone
It won't be further from the truth
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