Yesterday...
I seemed to have lost my energy for the day by the time I got out of the shower at 6:30, and it was just about all I could do to throw on clothes, the grubbiest pair of overalls you've ever seen, with a ratty t-shirt. Heck, I told myself, me and my puffy red eyes aren't exactly going to win any beauty pageants today anyways. Classes were fine, nothing to write home about. I had a sorta raw feeling about me though. I kept having the urge to say the most stupid, inappropriate things, for no apparent reason. Fortunately, I kept them to myself, and just giggled like a moron through half the class. (tee hee...irritable bowel syndrome, also known as "cranky ass." Seriously, what is wrong with me? How old am I?!?)
On my way home, I was having a petit mal seizure (which, as I learned today, is relatively common, and harmless) staring off into space, or rather, at the bumper of the car ahead of me at a traffic light. I finally noticed the lone sticker on the car. It was sort of a take-off on the "got milk?" thing, and (I assume the car was driven by an African-american woman) this one said "got a sister?" I literally spoke out loud "Oh come ON! Now that's just mean! Must we rub it in?!?"

Today...
I think I'm having myself a big old pity party. I feel like I'm just a pouty little kid, kicking and screaming my way through all of this. There is this one song that has really spoken to me, but in an especially poignant way today. I bought this album recently, in a pretty random way. I heard a song on the radio, without knowing who the artist was. After a bit of googling, I found the dude, Paul Alan, and his album on sale for a whopping $.99. I bought it, and listened to the song I wanted to hear, and then just let the album play. One song, a bit later, sounded cool, so I stopped to actually listen, and pull out the insert, and did a bit more hunting on fan websites for info. Turns out, the song, called Sarah, was written for his friend, who had lost her sister to suicide. Weird, eh, that I would buy the exact album that would speak to me this way. Anyhow, it isn't really a touchy-feely, I-feel-so-bad-for-you kinda song. It's actually a bit more on the "get-it-together" side. Here's a part that gets to me:

Sarah, don't be so sad
She wouldn't want it that way...

She's gone too soon,
And the blame's on you.
Is that what you're thinking?
So you crucify,
It's your sacrifice.
If you throw your heart away
It will make up for that night.
Is that what you're thinking? Sarah-
Is that what you're thinking?

She's already got a Savior

And so that is what I feel like a part of me is doing lately, feeling like if I deny myself any joy, or love, or trust again, maybe it somehow makes up for how I let her down.

Please don't feel like you need to comment on that, and tell me Laurie's suicide is not my fault, just to reassure me. I am certainly not taking the entire blame upon myself, but it would be dishonest of me not to acknowledge that I feel guilt. I don't believe that I personally pushed her over that edge, and I don't know for sure that anyone did, but I can't help but feel sorry for not being there when she needed someone. It isn't something I said or did that makes me feel guilty, but all the things I didn't say and do...

So a few moments ago, I spoke with a reporter from the Daily Herald. She is doing an article on the Out of the Darkness walk for next week, since May 4-10 is National Suicide Awareness week. She wanted to have a personal story for her article, and well, I happen to have one. (duh)

It was kinda weird, trying to sum up everything all at once. She asked about Laurie, and about her death life, and such, and asked why we want to participate in the walk. Honestly, I can't recall exactly what I said. Something about making the community aware of how huge suicide really is, and wanting to help others who are suicidal, or are surviving a suicide.

After I hung up, that's when it hit me. I am surviving a suicide. I have no idea how, but I am surviving it. I thought about how bizarre this is, in so many ways. Like how I am finally learning how to refer to Laur in the past tense. I'm not sure why it has taken me so long, or why it feels like a big deal, but it does.

I keep having this feeling like the answer to all of this is right around the corner. Like it's all going to make sense, and it won't be just about the grief anymore. Logically and realistically, I know this isn't likely, but the " all just hanging out there" feeling is growing a bit cumbersome. I just want a direction to take this all in... I'm getting weary of wandering aimlessly in my own brain, feeling unsure of myself and how I am doing, really. There are moments when I feel like I am sure I'll be just fine, and moments that I can't breathe because of sadness and fear.

Fear. That's a hard one to wrestle with. Fear that I'll never get over this. Fear that I'll forget her. Fear that I'll lose someone else today. Fear that I am doing this all wrong, and I'm missing something, and when I realize it I'll flip out.

Fear that nobody hears me, and I'm just talking to myself now, all the time.

Twenty years of stuff...

Twenty years. I got to know Laurie for 20 years. On one hand, that's a lot. Many, many, many people did not get to know her for even half as many. There are plenty of people that I am grieving for, because they only got to see the last year or so of all that made her life what it was. That makes me so sad.

It makes me think of this vase that Laurie bought for me in Mexico. When she first sent it to me, I thought it was beautiful, and cherished it just because. When she got home, and came to visit one day, she told me that there was a woman in Queretaro that she knew who was a very talented artist, but very poor, and Laurie had paid her to make it for me. She told me that for a few weeks, every time she would visit with this woman, she saw a bit more of it come together. It was made from a coca-cola bottle, with cement and pieces of broken tiles, a mosiac. I'm holding it in my hand right now, thinking how much more the vase means to me because I know where it came from, and how it touched Laurie to see it when it was just a work in progress.

When I read through all of Laurie's journals, I am just blown away by the process it was for her to become the woman she was. Her words, thousands upon thousands upon thousands...there is a depth to her faith and maturity there, it boggles my mind. I always knew, because I could see it in her life, that she was thoroughly passionate about her number one priority, her relationship with God. But to see it all on paper, her prayers on each and every one of the pages, words that she never really meant for anyone to read until now. Just her and God, in this relationship that is just astonishing. Her struggles were still very much human ones, and she made it perfectly clear that she knew humans had, and would always fail her, but she never waivered on Him. I read the depth of her spiritual journey, and her words to God, and see her faith there, and I pray that I can grow even half the amount of passion she had.

I wonder, then, about that passion, and how her death plays into it. The uncontainable joy written on those private pages not so many years ago, and yet, somehow, in the end, there was so much pain in her heart that it wasn't even worth living anymore. The pain of her life here on earth becoming so unbearable that the only thing left to do was to go running back to the source of her true joy.

Twenty years. So many years that I got to be with her, but not nearly enough.

I got to see her grow up, but I'll never see her grow old.

Garden of Eden

If there had been a video camera in my backyard today, I might be $10,000 richer. To one who would just see me on America's Funniest Home Videos, I must have looked crazy.

It started off normal enough. I was out in the garden, admiring the tulips, enjoying the sun, listening to my kids happily riding bikes in the front yard. There were (as usual) quite a few weeds, so I started pulling. Of course, everyone knows what happens when you garden...your mind starts a-going. And a-going my mind was. I was thinking of lots of things...

• How much I miss Laurie.
• How sad I was when I couldn't help but cry in the dumb bathroom at Wrigley the other day.
• How much my heart aches in that physical way.
• How broken I feel at having to give that speech at her funeral, instead of her wedding like I had started planning the very day she got engaged.
• How crushed I am that my kids are done spending time with her, and most likely will not remember her.
• How jealous I am that she doesn't have to suffer like this anymore.
• How frustrated I am that there are people who cross the line into saying hurtful, shallow, selfish things, even now, in the hardest times of our lives.
• How bitter I am that I don't even know one full side of my family, and they don't know me.
• How angry I am that I feel so empty and hopeless.
• How enraged I am that I have to keep doing the day-to-day crap, even though the joy has been sucked away.
• How furious I am that the earth keeps spinning.

Furious is the key word. By then, the rage in me had taken over, and if you had seen me, you might have thought that it was the weeds that had personally killed my sister. I was yanking them out, and throwing them at the fence with fury. I literally screamed at them, telling them to go to hell and get out of my f-ing garden. I was sweating, and breathing hard, and had muddy smears on my face where I had wiped away my furious tears. I broke, and fell to my knees, and wept.

This sucks. I did not ask for this, I do not want this, and I am so grossly enraged by the fact that there is not a damn thing I can do about it.

I will grieve, and I will cry, and I will tear the crap out of my garden, but not one little bit of it will change the fact that I am now a different person, and it was not my choice to change.

Laurie took her life, and now it is ripping mine to shreds. Maybe that's God's will, that he will teach me something that I may never have known another way. I'm sure he has a plan for me, but right now, I am so jaded and destroyed that I can't see the weeds from the tulips.

My sister

Dear Laurie.
I miss you. I am sad, and angry, and tired, and I can't sleep. I love you, and right now, I hate you. Well, maybe not "hate" you, but I am so broken, and beside myself with loneliness, I just can't get over it. I miss you so much, yet I can't seem to get past how unabashedly angry I am at you. Perhaps, were someone to read this, they might not understand, or feel the same, but they did not lose their Munch, their baby sister, the one that understood the "tepee" or the "pink wristband" They don't understand how tonight, at Joe and Libby's wedding reception, I was dancing for you. I wore your flip flops, and imagined that you were there too, and that the fun I was having was for both of us. But now that I am sitting here alone, I am quite aware that you were not there. You're far away now, as much as you are in my heart. You're dancing with a much higher purpose now, as you dance for our Lord, and truly party down with Him. Don't get me wrong, I am happy for you, but as the song "Homesick" by MercyMe says, "the reason that I'm broken, the reason that I cry, is how long must I wait to be with you." I am not weeping right now for you, but simply and selfishly, I cry for me. I want to tell you about the anti-theft plunger, and the uterus story, I want to sing the Black Eyed Peas song with you again, and hear you say in your best nasal-y voice "where's my siiis-terrr?" I want to hear one of us ask Mom "se habla espanol" and crack up when she responds "Habla espanol." I have a lifetime full of memories, Munch, and I still want them to be with you. I just want the future back.

Laurie, I am mad at you.
I love you, sister.

There is this woman I know...

She's amazing. I've known her a really, really long time, and she knocks my socks off. She has such an uncanny ability to see people's hearts, mine included, and be with you during whatever you're going though. I've gone through a whole lot in my life, and she's seen me through all of it. I pushed away from God for a good chunk of my adult life, and she simply prayed me through it. When I opened back up to His heart, she was the first to rejoice it. Since then, she has been a rock for me. Spiritually, she has guided me, and taught me so much. Personally, I don't think I could make it a day without hearing her encouraging words. I love how much she loves and builds into my kids. Not a single day passes that they don't ask when we can see her, or to call her, or talk about her. They have some pretty cool memories with her, especially Denver, the child we call "Mapquest." Even though we live 45 minutes away from her, he can tell you each and every turn to make to get to her house! Every Easter they look forward to coloring eggs with her, too. She has her own Promiselnd ID so she can (and does) help me get the kids on Sunday at church. She was with me for the births of my first two babies, and has been so unbelievably supportive as I make my way through nursing school. She was my inspiration to go into nursing, she had always told me she would have liked to be a nurse. Recently, during my OR rotation in clinical, I got to hold a freshly plucked uterus during a hysterectomy, and even in that moment, I was thinking about how I could not wait to get home to call her and tell her about it, I knew she would be just as excited as I was! She literally prays for me on exam days, and even helped me modify my scrubs, since she is a sewing whiz! She taught me to sew years ago, which I really enjoy (even though I don't actually have the time these days!) and when I started sewing and selling my own cloth diapers, she even helped me cut fabric into the wee hours of the night! She is so generous with her time and resources to me. With me in school more than full time, and my husband working his butt off in the restaurant industry, our finances have been very tight many times, and she has been so gracious to help. In fact, she and her husband recently bought us a new car, when our 17 year old Toyota wasn't working out for us anymore (Go ahead, try to fit three carseats in the back of a Toyota Corolla!) And her time, boy, I can't even count the number of times we have needed a babysitter and she volunteered before I could even ask! Overnights, middle of a weekday, "business" or pleasure, she has had my back in the childcare department literally hundreds of times. She has saved me from losing my sanity, both in a figurative and literal way. During the darkest days of my life, just after I had lost my Dad, but before I returned home, when I myself was contemplating suicide, it was a simple note from her, delivered during one of her many visits to me when I was waitressing at TGIFriday's, that started the process of turning around. Simple, left on her table, along with the payment, written on a cocktail napkin. "We love you, and are praying for you. Remember, our door is always open." I'm not sure why, but that night, after I finished working, I decided to go to her house instead of the place I lived. It wasn't that my thoughts had changed, just that I felt like stopping over. As it turns out, I never went back, except to pick up my belongings. I heard God in her words to me, and let Him turn me back around.
In this process of losing Laurie, she has meant so much to me. We have prayed together, cried together, laughed together, talked stuff through, been broken and weak and hysterical together. She has inspired me with her grace, and compassion, and absolutely beautiful soul. I love how honest she is about her heart, and how willing she is to share that with all the people around her. I love the fact that she will tell anyone that she gets it from God, whatever it is inside her that makes her so strong. I am blown away when I think of the deep and wrenching heartaches she has suffered through in her life, and still grown each time, into a more beautiful, faithful, inspiring, gentle, compassionate, giving, hope-filled woman. I can only pray to be grown into a woman such as she, and believe me, I pray for it every day, right after I pray for her.




Mom, I love you. You are...beyond words. Thank you for everything that you have been, everything that you are, and everything you will be. Thank you for bringing me to God, and showing me in real-time what He can do with just a single life.

PS If all, all, all the Mommys in the whole world were lined up, single file, in a huge line, I'd walk and walk and walk until I found you. Then I'd pick you up, swing you around, and take you home (for a glass of wine, we are grown-ups now, after all!)

Sometimes, footie pajamas are just the thing to make you feel better... 

I've been thinking a lot about my siblings today. Sure, I can't get Laurie out of my brain, but mostly, I've been letting my mind ponder all the coolness that is Greg, Chris and Kristin.

Greg, my brilliant oldest brother. I love the way his brain works. He always remembers the most random things, in unreal detail! It cracks me up how he can tell you all about something that occured 25 years ago as if it just happened this morning. And he is such a cool Dad. I love the fact that his girls are so much older than my kids, but he still makes it important to him to relate to me and my role as a mom, and the stuff I am going through. I love hearing about the stuff in his life, whether it is his family, or his cycling, or his church. Our relationship is growing, and changing a lot these days, and it's cool. Even though we are so far apart in age, and geographically, I don't know that I have ever felt closer to him, and I love it!

Christopher, my brother the rennaisance man! I love that he is so talented, and passionate about so many different things, but still so humble. His sense of humor is so much like mine, he makes me laugh so hard it hurts. I love the way he is so smart, I can call him to ask for help on a million different things, from how to work my PDA, to the best way to deep-fry a turkey. And our kids have so much fun together, it's so cool. Chris has such a wild, fun side to him, he can make even the hardest times bearable. And yet, he is so good at tackling the practical stuff, too. He has helped me figure out the nitty gritty on everything from financial junk to babysitters. I love the wealth of knowledge, as well as the range of fun stories that is Chris.

Kristin, my gorgeous little sister. I love everything about her! I love that we can have serious heart-talks, and pick each other's brains really deeply, and then turn around and giggle like little girls. She and I have some awesome memories together, and it makes me smile so huge when I think of them. I love that she is so passionate about my kids, much more than just an aunt to them. She gets in there to play twister, or dolls, and loves them so hard. She is such an awesome encourager. The boost I get from her telling me that I am doing a good job is so important to me. It is so cool to me that even though we are in different stages of life in some ways, she makes it a point to really relate, and stay up to date on my heart. She loves me (and always has) so unconditionally, and I rely on her so much for that. I can't get over how much my heart swells when I think of how proud I am to be her sister. She is such an amazing girl, with a huge heart, that gets bigger everyday.

I miss Laurie so much, and I don't know that I'll ever stop. I don't think I could get through this without my brothers and sister. They are so incredible, and I need them.