Well
… it's June 28 which means tomorrow is the day. One year since my
dear friend died. One year since that evening I sat next to her in
the Hospice room and held her hand as the breath left her body. One
year since I sat on the floor next to my bed, head spinning, heart
hurting wondering if I would ever sleep again. I know that
anniversaries like this can mean different things for different
people. For me it means a lot because that day means so much to me.
In her final weeks Laura and I got closer than ever before in our
relationship. Sitting next to her on her final day as her lifelong
friends and loved ones said goodbye I felt incredibly privileged to
be a part of her story.
Everything
has reminded me that this day is coming. As the last snow thawed and
the trees bloomed I knew it was coming. Vacation Bible School,
Annual Conference, feeling summer sun, these are the things I was
doing last year around this time and all of these things remind me of
my talks with her, my heart ache, my prayers, my goodbye. But I
wasn't dreading this day. In fact I was kind of looking forward to
it. Sometimes I just want to get lost in remembering. Sometimes as
I unload the dishwasher I put on a song I listened to on my way back
from a visit with her and get lost in the memory, the feeling. As
much as it hurts I enjoy the connection I still feel to her. But
then I am called back to the moment by one of my children or a phone
call or daily life. I have looked forward to a set aside time to get
lost in the feelings, cling to the memories and reflect on what it
all means. The church I currently attend has a Wednesday Eucharist
service. I have arranged childcare so that I can go tomorrow because
that is the best way I know to feel connected to the saints.
I
also decided to write this blog. I don't blog as much as I thought I
would when I started it. Honestly she was the person who suggested I
blog and encouraged me. I just don't feel like opening my heart and
sharing knowing that she won't be the first person to “like” it
or share it or comment on it. Her model of open sharing, brutal …
or maybe “brutiful” honesty, witnessing and comforting inspired
me to write. So because it's still one way in which I feel connected
to her, I decided to blog today. And share some brutiful honesty.
Inspired by her I will be vulnerable and real and overshare.
On
All Saint's Sunday I had her name put in the bulletin in the list of
loved ones lost. I grabbed a white carnation and prayed her name
onto it. When I went up for Communion I placed it in the basket
along with the others as you were supposed to do. Then, the whole
rest of the service I kept looking back at it. I wanted it back. I
did not want to leave it there. I found myself thinking “I can
just go get it after the service, no one will notice.” I knew how
strange that was and that it probably pointed to something in my
grieving process but whatever, I wanted it back. I did not want to
let go of that white carnation. That tangible thing that represented
my intangible feelings and thoughts and memories. Reason and
appearance won me over though and I left it … reluctantly.
Another
confession: I was devastated when her Facebook page was gone. All of
her comments, likes, messages gone. All of her pictures gone. Our
friendship wasn't one where we went out a lot and took pictures. It
was more of a Bible study and deep conversation relationship. I
loved scrolling through her Facebook photos and feeling like she was
still here. But that's the thing … she isn't still here. After
some days I realized that not having her Facebook presence was
actually an important part of my letting go. Every day I quickly
clicked on my “on this day” Facebook feed to find her comments
and likes, and in a way it allowed me to hold on to her. But I
needed to let go. It was time.
That
happened right before I packed up and moved across the country. And
here is the truth, I feel just as close to her memory here as I did
in Ohio. I was afraid that physical distance might fade the memories
but it did not. In the vast blue skies, the endless views and
mountainous scenery I feel her presence just as I did at sea level.
Thank God.
More
honesty: I was nervous to go to my annual check up because I knew the doctor
would do a breast exam. I remember standing in my dining room when
Laura called to tell me she felt a lump. “You are young, you are
healthy, it could be nothing” I said. It wasn't. In my dark
moments I selfishly make the experience about my own fears and
insecurities. But that is not how I want to feel connected to her.
That does not honor her memory. She always reminded me not to worry.
So many of her blog posts were about the importance of faith and
letting go of worry. I can't stay in that dark place. I think the
fear and doubt is natural, but you can't stay there. She very much
wanted good to come from her pain, her experiences and her death.
That is part of why she shared it so openly. So I will push away the
dark moments and let the light of her faith and courage shine on
them.
A
couple months ago I pulled out my Book of Worship to work on a
wedding and a piece of paper fell out of it. It was the funeral
planning form I filled out with Laura. I remember that evening.
Sitting on the couch across from her and alternating between laughter
and tears as we talked. I turned over the paper and saw on the back
some notes. I asked her “what do you want people to know?” The
first thing she said was “tell my kids about me.” So now you
know.
In
an effort to conclude this disjointed post- a word of hope. One year
ago I sat there in the dark on the floor next to my bed. I just
couldn't go in. Too many thoughts swirling, too much to take in …
sleep seemed impossible. But it did come. I slept and the sun came
up and June 30 arrived. A new day. Maybe that's the blessing of an
anniversary like this. June 29 will not last forever. Grief is like
a boat on a stormy sea. It will settle and at some point land comes
into view. So just hold on. Hold on to the memories, the love, the
wisdom and the connection. Laura's family and closest friends have
been an amazing model of what it looks like to grieve deeply but with
hope and gratitude for the time shared. So on this first anniversary
I will do my best to honor her and cherish the memories. I will say
an extra prayer for the three monsters, the bearded man and
beautiful. I will make sure I eat some junk food, cuddle my
monsters, be honest with myself and others and love abundantly.
Because that's the best way I can think to honor my dear friend.
