Past, Present, and/or Future

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."

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.

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?

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

Like a Child

I volunteered in my church's nursery this morning, or, as I affectionately (and perhaps more aptly) refer to it, "nursery duty." Funny. Nothing can take your mind off your problems like a bunch of little kids, all clamoring for your attention.

Everytime I'm in the nursery on a Sunday morning, I'm allowed to witness what I call "separation disillusionment." The baby arrives, happy in its parent's arms. Then, it is passed on to a smiling volunteer, such as myself, ready to cater to its every whims. This transaction is normal and very necessary. Does the baby think so? No. It proceeds to ruin the volunteer's ear drums, far past the damage done by her daily ipod use. All the baby knows is the utter loss of normalcy. And no, it's not about to listen to the calm reasoning of "It's ok, they'll be back."

Turns out, the effect of a limited perspective is quite detrimental - to the one misunderstanding and the one being misunderstood.

Babies are extremely dependent, needy creatures. They can do nothing on their own. Even when signs of progress are being made, such as chewing cheerios without choking or toddling around without crashing into furniture, they still must be watched constantly. Even their beds resemble prison. You can't trust them to their own devices. They don't get it yet: what life is or how extremely fragile and unprepared they are for it.

It's a frustrating job, being their caretaker for an hour every month. The leaks, the bad attitudes, the understandable narcissism. Even though you have every right to give up and walk out, you don't. Because, as strange as it may be, their little offering of love, be it in a smile, a laugh, or an earnest invitation to play with them, is impossible to refuse. And you love them back. See, you don't walk in and expect to find adults. You know they're babies, and you accept all the crap (literally and figuratively) that comes along with it.

"Have faith like a child." he says. Well, turns out I am one.

First Day of Spring

The weather was perfect today. I drove to my grandparents' house using the long way, just enjoying the warm sun shining through my open windows, listening to the right CD, going goodness-only-knows-per-hour, observing the cherry trees as they steal the spotlight from the Bradford pears. I went down my favorite road, the one that has that steep hill and if you go down it fast enough, you get that anti-gravity feeling in the pit of your stomach, like on roller coasters.

I used to love driving. It was my escape, a time where I could think without interruption or sing without self-consciousness. Now, thanks to my aversion to punctuality, the time I spend driving is tense and distracted: a means to an end.

But today, driving was driving again. And I needed the head-clearing.

I haven't understood certain emotions, feelings, thoughts I've had lately. As I blazed through the familiar paths in my car, I began to get it.

I realized that I will be replaced. I will head off to college, and new people (or things) will come up where I used to be. I will not be my friends' ears, nor will I be their ride. I will not be the one to play the flute solo next year in band. I will not plan See You At the Pole 2007. The hard part, though, is that even though I will not be there, everything will continue. Without me.

And so, I am jealous, of the friends my friends will make in their freshman classes, of the girl who is second chair flute right now, of the current juniors who will plan Homecoming 08. But jealousy is not becoming on a young lady, nor is it something I am used to.

65 days until graduation... where's the brake pedal?

Flat Tire

There was a nail stuck in my tire today. It was wedged pretty deep in the tread. The tire is intact and will be saved with a little patching. It had leaked badly, though, gauging less than 10 on the pressure reader. I was driving around for a while on the wall of the tire, because it had so little air.

The thing is, I had no idea. I would have kept on driving. Thankfully, a couple at my school noticed. When they told me my tire was low and that I needed to get some air, I must have given them the most hopeless, distraught look, because they quickly took me to the Citgo and taught me how to fill up my tires with 75 cent air, which they helped pay for because I was out of quarters.

Never in my life have I felt so helpless. I didn't even know how to fill up my tires, much less notice that the one was so low.

I kept thinking, If Dad were here, he could help me. He would've taught me. He wouldn't have let me get my license without knowing this stuff.

And the more I thought that, the more overwhelmed I became at the gaping hole in my life that he has left. Things I will never be taught unless someone else comes along and teaches them to me. Things I will never do that many people do on a daily basis. A man that I will never know past a vague impression, yet whom I still fully love. It seems I am missing out, to the point that I am sorrowfully feeling the deep effects of my loss, realizing its emotional as well as physical consequences.

Tomorrow night, there will be yet another show he will miss. In a few months, he will not rejoice with me over my college decision. Come May, he will not attend my high school graduation. In the fall, he will not load up his car with my pathetic pile of worldly goods and deliver it and me to the aforementioned college. He will not want to beat up every male who shows an interest in me. He will not meet his son-in-law or his grand kids. He will not walk me down the aisle or sit in the hospital waiting room, bursting with pride while going crazy with worry.

And I am sad.