Remember Me

“You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”  ~Anne Lamott

I first met her in a little primary Sunday school class. I was the new kid from Florida and in a Kansas town that merited being the center of attention; at least for the first day. Unlike me, she loved attention, and quickly determined to make me and my sisters her friends.

I don’t remember what drew me to her first. Her red hair and personality were equally fiery. I do know that I was enthralled to find someone with more freckles than me.

We really had little in common. I was the oldest of three girls, quiet and serious, often with my nose in a book.  She an only child (well the only child still at home), admittingly spoiled and used to getting her way. She loved parties, singing and chatting.

We were an unlikely pair, but we both had freckles and the same birthday month, so of course we just had to be friends. And that’s a big deal when you’re nine you know.

The next six years probably flew by to our parents, but to us, it seemed forever. We shared fun times, secrets and dreams...those years where we went from little girl to young woman. We watched each other grow not just outwardly, but on the inside as well.

So many memories I could share. And over time I shall. 

But while creating those memories never in a million years did we imagine this ending. Never did we realize as we were growing up together we were also growing apart.

Over the years she and I always lived within an hour of each other, yet busyness and the cares of life caused us to appear oceans apart. Now we are world’s apart and as the reminder of her death begins to sting again I ask those dreaded “What if’s?” and “Why’s?”

Regret is tortuous, guilt can maim…so instead I must lay it all at my creator’s feet and trust the silence, knowing in his time answers may come. And if not, he himself is always the answer, forever our comforter.

Tonight was her memorial service. I expected some sort of closure but none came. In fact the service was extra short and it seemed everyone was to afraid to speak. I wanted to scream. Wanted to yell at everyone. Why isn’t anyone telling her story? Why isn’t anyone singing her song? Why? Why? Why?

Yet nothing. There had to be something…something more than the tears around me. Something more than this deafening, uncomfortable silence. Then a finger pointed back at me…reminding me that I too did nothing but sit. I who had shared so many childhood memories also did nothing but stare. Waiting for another to say what I would not, or could not.

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”  ~C.S. Lewis

Oh how I wish I had been brave enough to speak tonight. For there were so many stories for me and others to share...but there I sat...shocked, dumbfounded, confused. Still not really believing any of this.

No relationship is perfect, all come with some element of pain...Yes I do regret that we lost touch over the years and wonder why our paths diverged. But I'm thankful for those early years shared, the memories that will always be a part of me.

Not sure why most of us chose not to speak at the service, part of mine was no doubt fear. But I now believe that the silence probably said more than any of us could have.

The more I thought about that awkward silence the more I heard her speak to me.  Life is more than a party. One day the music, the voices, the laughter will be gone. One day the lights go out and you are left alone.

What happens then?

And as I listen to one of the songs played at her memorial service..."When I Call On Jesus"...I am reminded that there is more to this life.

We can get so busy living that dying doesn’t cross our mind. Not until it happens to someone close. Someone who is part of who we are. Part of our history. Part of our heart. And it is with this death of my childhood friend, that another part of me died this month. But it is also with this death that I felt a sort of rebirth.

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Hope. New beginnings. A chance to make things right with those I still have near. A chance to draw closer to my creator, my savior and dearest friend. Another chance to fulfill the purpose he planned for me.

None of us are promised tomorrow. No matter health, age, or circumstance. With the loss of this friend I am reminded to live intentionally, to live each day as if it were my last, and to treat those around me as if it may be theirs.   

If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting? ~Stephen Levine

Missing In Action

“I wanted to tell her everything, maybe if I'd been able to, we could have lived differently, maybe I'd be there with you now instead of here. Maybe... if I'd said, 'I'm so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything,' maybe that would have made the impossible possible. Maybe, but I couldn't do it, I had buried too much too deeply inside me. And here I am, instead of there.”                                                                                                                    

~Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

When you find her, please let me know.

The “her” I used to be that is. She has been MIA for quite some time and lately I’ve been missing her desperately.

I’ve been told that I think deeply and love deeply. Yes this is true, or should I say was true, for as of late, I am finding that the child like trust I carried for so long has dissolved to cynicism and doubt. I have built a wall of protection and almost dare anyone to step anywhere close.

I’ve evolved but I’m not necessarily proud to say that.

I miss the loving person I used to be. I would look in the mirror and like, even love what I saw. The trusting girl who smiled and helped anyone who crossed her path. The girl who wanted to save the world. To make her world a better place.

She would smile back at me. A real smile.

This 'me' smiles too but somehow it’s not the same. Whether real or not, always behind these eyes (those which used to dance) are these which look cautiously now, sometimes even fearfully about, here and there…questioning, wondering...who should I fear?…who are the sheep and who are wolves?

I can not tell, and wonder if it even matters for I have been bitten by both.

Once you’ve felt those fangs of death sear into your heart, can you ever feel safe again? I’m told yes, but the flight and fight instinct in me refuses to take any chances so most moments of happiness are robbed by the fear that being too happy means tomorrow I shall cry; that tomorrow I shall lose it all once again.

The last ten years I’ve lost some significant relationships. Some have been a vital part of my past, my history, those who helped make me who I was. Grandparents, cousins, friends.

Many who have crossed my path, and if even but briefly made such a powerful impact on my life, that when I lost them, I felt I couldn’t go on…yet somehow I did. Some I lost to death, others to life (circumstances such as moving, busyness, rejection or stupid choices.)

And now this month…just shy of our shared birthday month, I lost my childhood best friend. She was one of those who had ‘moved’ away due to circumstances of life and had recently returned. As she begin to reach my way to rekindle our lost friendship I felt a stir of excitement of what used to be and what could be.

But my fear of being hurt kept me from totally reaching back. Instead, as she reached, I pulled back, farther and farther. Maybe next week, maybe next month…when I’m better. When I’m trusting. When I know your motive is not to hurt me.

And then came that dreadful call. The one that made me realize how selfish fear can be. She was gone they said. She had been dying and I had missed reading what she was trying to tell me. I was so afraid of rejection that I had rejected her. Was so caught up in my losses and pain that I had not been aware of hers.

The ‘me’ I used to be would have recognized her pain. Would have known and cared that she was needing me. Would not have thought twice about her motives. In the process of protecting my self, I lost that gift I used to cherish, the perception of seeing when others were hurting. 

Ironically I allowed the fear of loss to actually bring me such.

Men go to far greater lengths to avoid what they fear than to obtain what they desire. ~Dan Brown 

So if you find her...yes, that 'me' I used to be...please let her know where I am...living halfway down Pity Street,  hidden behind a wall built of guilt, shame and fear. 

Oh, and be sure to tell her to hurry back to help me tear it down…for I’m ready to move on. I'm ready for action. Ready to dance. Ready to love. Ready to start making a difference, albeit but little.

For I'm realizing that I can’t help save a world when I’m too focused on 'Me.'                         But then again I'm sure she’s known that all along.

Dedicated to all those I have 'danced' with in this life. 

Thank you my dear friend, Peggy Price, for the reminder 

that I should 'dance' and not hide behind walls of fear. 

~Friends Forever RIP

       “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”    

                                                                 ~C.S.Lewis  The Four Loves

Words To Be

Today I wondered why I didn’t write yesterday and pondered if any writing should appear tomorrow.

The words within beg me to release them. Yes, I hear them even now. Or do I beg for them to be released but know not how? When I hear them, I write not, yet when I bid, they come not. I fear them or do they fear me?

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Oh fear…this dream-killer associate of mine barged in first as an unwanted guest and now refuses to leave. How I’ve grown  accustomed to such presence that I no longer bid it to go. Not wanting to hurt its feelings, I allow it to crush all my mine...my confidence in others, success and me. "What will they say?" fear taunts while attempting to make me forget the call of my words. Yet tonight they scream.

Still no release. I dare not let these words go free until they line up just perfectly. Why? Such an easy task others assume, but as I turn on the faucet to the source I freeze. Do I fear the process, the work of arranging and re-arranging, or consequences of such release?

Will the ink I choose tarnish the ivory white? Is a spot free page more beautiful than a faulty one? The artist must agree to mess to truly create. Still this I need to learn.

Directing water with no boundaries it seems. Flow they must but in the right direction and with perfect time. Boundaries I must seek for such creativity to flow. Perhaps I fear the flood. Will freeing them release a part of my self I am not ready for the world to see?

Only a trickle of words here and there I give, and that is not enough. Not enough to quench such thirst.

The only way to bid away such fear or insane expectation is to find a muse, an inspiration. And so I shall seek wisdom from the 'creator' of creativity, the 'word' who placed the words inside of me…the only one who can speak ‘let there be’ and it is….

May these words Lord, when finally set free, be those approved by mostly thee. 

Making my soul accomplice there 


Unto the flame my heart hath lit, 


Then will the verse forever wear-- 


Time cannot bend the line which God hath writ. 



~Henry David Thoreau