Closing Doors

As if I needed further proof that Christ knows better than I do, his fingerprints have been all over my career path. Literally two days before my mom passed away, a job opportunity fell through which I had been pursuing for months and was virtually a done deal. I am now incredibly grateful for the day that I was able to pack my bags and go home to be with my Dad without worrying about a return date. For weeks I wrestled with the decision about whether to move back to Alpharetta for good, or return to Nashville. Ultimately I came back to a conversation my Mom and I had about six months after I moved away. She made me promise that if something happened to her or my Dad I wouldn't move back to care of them. My parents have always been ultra supportive of my adventures, and I knew that she would never want me to move home out of obligation. That conversation gave me permission and freedom. I stayed in Alpharetta for two months, returning to Nashville when I felt like both me and Dad were ready. I came back and my life seemed like a blank canvas. Finding my place in this world without my Mom's guidance has been very difficult. I began to feel a sense of urgency that I never had before. The first thing I did was return to school to work towards finally finishing my degree. Next on my list was employment. I was done just working for a paycheck or a neat title on business cards. God led me back to kids. These kids are different though. They're troubled, or "high risk". I don't look like the majority of the teens that I work with on a daily basis. I do however have something significant in common with a lot them. Many of them come from single parent households. Once kids hear my story or find out that I've also lost a parent, we share a bond. Grief is an isolating emotion, but its also a shared experience. My heart is more resilient from what I've been through. My kids have gone through things in a short 13 years that many people won't experience in a lifetime. I think that my story gives my kids hope. I've never been so sure of anything as I am about the fact that these kids are where my heart lies. As much as we pray for God to open doors for opportunities, the doors that He closes can be just as vital.

Fire

The more I've dwelled on this idea of equating grief with fire, the more I have needed to find out about it. Fire was used symbolically and literally throughout the Bible. Christ manifested Himself as a burning bush to Moses. God is described as an 'all consuming fire'. Fire was required to make sacrifices and offerings. For most of my life I was fearful of fire and viewed it solely as a force of destruction. It has an entirely different meaning to me now. It represents renewal. Reshaping. Refining. I've always loved watching glass blowers. The way that the glass melts and is then manipulated into something entirely different is fascinating. Glass is not maleable until it has come in contact with intense heat. Before the day my mom passed away I would classify my heart as hard. Decisions and choices were only about what I thought would serve me the best. My perspective was finite. Enduring the intense heat and pain that followed in the year after my mom's death softened my heart and my will. Everything that I had to hide behind and continue to distract myself from God's whispering was systematically taken away. With each event I would think, "ok, this is it. My heart can't possibly take anymore." The fire became hotter and melted away the things keeping me from becoming who I was created to be. Forest fires are allowed to burn at times because they allow for new growth later. I'm afraid of who I would be now if I hadn't experienced the fire. I'm so thankful that Jesus loves us enough that He uses evil for good and makes everything new.

The uncertainty of later

I heard a quote today that immediately struck me. "There may not be a later". Throughout my day I mentally go through the tasks at hand, and then categorize what needs to be done now and what can be done later. Now, if later doesn't come and my laundry basket is still full or I didn't get the mail, I don't think it will affect anyone's life. But this truth should be paramount when it comes to relationships. We are not guaranteed our next breath. When I talked to my mom briefly as she boarded her ship in Seattle, I had no idea it would be our last conversation. I think if we all experienced a sense of urgency more when it comes to relationships, we would send a quick text, mail a card, return a phone call, make dinner plans, follow through on a promise, resolve an argument. Regret is a nearly impossible emotion to get over. The past cannot be redone. A few days after my mom's memorial service, I received a post card that she had sent to me from Seattle. Now, if I had gotten someone a postcard while on vacation, I would have most certainly not actually mailed it until after I returned home (if even then). My mom didn't though. She made the extra effort to fill it out and send it the day she bought it. I can't express the significance of that act. That postcard might as well be gold to me. I hope that one of my last actions while here on earth is for someone else. My mom felt that urgency and almost always lived everyday as if there wouldn't be a later.

Numb

I now realize that when tragedy occurs, God very mercifully numbs our heart to a certain extent. If we felt the full weight of loss immediately after it happened, I don't know how many of us could get thru the days that follow. These are the days full of funeral arrangements, casseroles, visitors, phone calls, cards and flowers. There are at least 1,000 things that have to be done and checked off the list. This isn't the time to hide in bed all day. For us, this was also the period of time when supports systems for both my father and I began to take shape. I spent hours at my parents' house each day with my dad going thru files, making phone calls, sorting thru my mom's things, following up on emails, teaching him to do laundry, taking care of the cat. At the end of these emotionally exhausting days, I immediately went to my friends. Every night we all ended up at Jenny's house. Katy stocked the house with chips and dip, wine, and jelly bellies. This became my safe haven. After depleting what little emotional resources I had all day long, I went to them and they filled me back up. I also never slept alone for that first 10 days. Somebody was always with me, talking to me until I drifted off to sleep. Those moments with them are so precious to me, and really were the only thing that I had to look forward to at the time. I remember reading them my eulogy the night before my mom's memorial service and they gave me the reassurance and courage that I needed to get up and give it the next day. There was an unspoken agreement between my friends that nobody went to bed every night until I was ready. I didn't grow up with siblings, but it has become very clear to me that God brought each of these friends into my life in order to be there for me when I truly needed them. My mom loved my friends! I really think in her mind, they were all her kids. The thing she loved and cherished the most about them was the way they loved me. I really think my mom knew that if she ever left me on this earth, it would be ok because she would leave me in their hands. They were my anchors, and if they hadn't been there in those days when I was so numb and just getting thru each task at hand, I would have drifted further and further away.

A Tribute

My journey through the fire began on the morning of September 9th, 2008. On my parents 35th anniversary cruise to Alaska, my mom suffered a brain stem stroke aboard the ship while at sea. I woke up that morning to consecutive phone calls from my friend Amye. In my sleepy haze, I didn't think anything about it and ignored her calls, more annoyed than concerned. After this, my room mate Abby came in to see if I was awake and said Amye had called her as well and was on her way over. At this point, I developed a pit in my stomach. I honestly didn't know who it pertained to, but I knew bad news was coming. Sweet Amye had to be the one to tell me that something had happened to my mom, and according to my dad, it didn't sound like she was going to come back from it. I still can't fathom what she was going through, knowing this information and having to be the one to tell me. My dad knew best though, and I'm forever grateful that I didn't receive that news through a phone call while I was all alone. The rest of that day was a haze of phone calls, checking flights to Alaska, and then making arrangements for my dad's return.

The first time that God really showed Himself in this process was that night. After the news of my mom's death, friends were in their cars driving from Alpharetta and Knoxville to Nashville. Jim and Amye's house became the meeting point for everyone. Ten of my very closest friends all ended up there, and after eating for the first time that day (mexican of course), we ended up in the Harrison's backyard and an amazing thing happened. We laughed. We spent hours genuinely, wholeheartedly laughing. Of course, there had been tears all day. But, that night, we weren't avoiding reality or distracting ourselves. Being with each other brought reminiscing and stories that produced tears of laughter. I knew that my mom would have loved nothing more than to know that my amazing friends were building my support system and bringing me joy in the midst of my pain. My mom loved the sound of laughter more than anyone I know, so that night was a perfect tribute to her.

Introduction

After the murder of her son, Camille Cosby characterized grief by explaining, "everyone has to walk through the fire at some time, and we have to walk right through it." As someone who has dealt with grief over the course of the last year and a half, that quote struck me. The truth in that statement is so profound. We may not all experience the joys of raising a child, the despair of a dead-end career, the solitude of singleness, the freedom of wealth, or the hopelessness of bankruptcy. However, at some point, we will all lose someone we love. This is the fire. We have no choice but to walk right through it.

The purpose of this blog is to give hope. Every person's journey is different, and mine may not be spectacular to someone else. To me though, knowing where my heart was at the beginning of my journey, and seeing where it has come, is nothing short of spectacular. This transformation happened solely through the unconditional love and hope found in my Savior. My prayer is that somebody will find something that they can relate to and find hope in by witnessing where God has brought me and the work He continues to do. Grief can be a very isolating emotion. It often times feels as though nobody truly understands how you feel. Simply finding that my thoughts, feelings, and emotions were shared by other people, was a huge source of comfort for me. I hope this can be a place for others on the journey to find solace. It is also a testament to my amazing friends, who really are more like family. When I say I don't know where I would be without them, I mean that very literally. They've brought me back from the darkness more than once, and have held my hand through every step of this journey.