othersomethings.com

I’ve been to a lot of funerals. A LOT.

Some aren’t so bad. Funerals for the elderly are easy.

Funerals for the young are hard.

There is a fine line you find yourself walking, between knowing (in the case of those who know God) that the mourning is temporary and their fulfillment in Christ is complete…and the other side, of knowing/feeling that the life that person was living was cut off abruptly, with so much left undone. I’ve felt this one too many times. Once is too many. 3, 4, 5 times…too many.

The levels of hurt are profound, and seem to amplify, as new wounds are added to old ones. Any time someone is removed from your life, for whatever reason, there is some hurt. Removed because they died…there really just aren’t words.

I think in this instance, the pain absolutely is personal. But even more, knowing first hand the grief my aunt, uncle, and cousins are feeling, and the road that is ahead of them, is what hurts more. It is as though their hearts are withstanding an unprecedented earthquake, and the aftershocks keep coming. And coming. And coming.

A firm foundation will hold them fast. They will not crumble, they will not fall. But the trembling earth will still be felt. For many years to come.

My heart aches for them.

I don’t think they read my blog. But either way…I love you Boville family, and I know exactly how to pray for you. I am, and I will. And if you ever want to know what the road looks like a few years from now, just ask. I wish I had someone to ask, and I didn’t. But you do, so feel free.

See you later, Michael.

The past few weeks have felt like a valley. The kind you just have to walk through. I really wish the uphill climbs would return, because I need them. I need the exertion. The hopefulness. The promise that seeing the peak and knowing there’s an “other side” brings.

I feel like I’ve been in limbo for two weeks now, with this not-baby thing. It’s hard to trust God, with all of it. It’s hard not to cry. And it’s also hard to cry. So weird. I feel stuck in a state of “about to cry but I know I won’t really”. If only I could watch like, a really sad movie. That’d probably do it.

All of our bills are way beyond past due. Never known that to be stress free.

Our homeowners insurance got screwed up. (so mad about that. Local incompetent company.)

And today I bought groceries at walmart and when I got home, I realized I’d left one of the bags at the store. That never happens. And I hate when that happens. It costs more to go back to Destin to get it than it does to repurchase what was in that bag.

Griping aside, I KNOW there is hope. I don’t see it right this second, but I know it exists. It is there on Wednesday. And Monday. And next month, and next year. Which is next month. Never mind.

The step I’m on is ugly and dark. But the step ahead will be illuminated. I trust in Him with all my heart. And the next step, He directs.

And we did have one small victory today – Ella overcame her fear of playgrounds. Yay!

I haven’t written anything on here in some time, and the reason is simple. I’ve had one thing on my mind, and it wasn’t public knowledge yet.

Today the Dr. told me that “one thing” was no more, and so I think silence, while golden should be broken. Besides, I always find healing when I just write it down. Don’t know why that is.

I looked at the ultrasound screen and it was obvious. I asked the tech “is everything fine?” and her evasive answer was enough that I knew, and I told Shannon who had no idea what he was supposed to be looking at, and I just knew. And I held it together. And the Dr. came in and said all the stuff she has to say, and was nice and helpful, and I held it together. I walked back through the waiting room with all the glowing hopeful moms, and held it together.

The ride home, not so much.

We were talking about names last night, laughing, and really enjoying the moment. I said a few girl names I’d had in mind and Shannon liked the first one immediately. I thought that would never happen! It was good.

And now this morning it’s not.

I’ve been here before. It sucks. It is easily on my list of last things I would ever wish on anyone ever, and certainly not “again.”

My heart is heavy, but I’m still thankful. Days like tomorrow’s holiday force the thankful thoughts whether you want them or not. And I am thankful, and blessed, and I know it and keep telling Him so.

Anyway, I think we’ll be back to “normal” soon enough.

Thanks for listening.

I’m starting to write this post several weeks before I will post it. Partly because I’m already thinking about it before it gets here. And partly because…I really have to think. Hard. About what needs to be said on this day.

6 years ago today, my brother died. For those who don’t know, he was 12. It was horrific. For those who do know, thank you for reading this anyway and allowing me to continue the intricate process of healing.

I wrote about it with more detail than I can now recall here…(that entry is NOT for the faint of heart) and filled a few entries with the The things I wrote then… shortly after the event. I knew the memories would fade, and I knew I needed to remember long after I was able. And recording things was…so important. I’m glad I did. And then there are tidbits like this:

“Better”

The funeral was last night.

I made it without crying until my mom made the kids put roses in the casket and say our own goodbyes.

The service itself was amazing.

Everyone actually feels better. It’s weird, but it contained all the closure that funerals are supposed to have. Probably because it’s all over now, and we can get on with learning how to live again. But seriously…I think everyone feels better on some level.

The funeral home did a terrible job with his face…the make up was unbearable. I thought about complaining, but then I realized…it was actually better that way because it just drove home the point that THAT wasn’t Alan. Just his body. Alan would never look like that, and it helped especially with all the kids.
I’ve never seen so many kids at a funeral. It seems like the whole neighborhood came. All the kids alan played with. And all the family, of course. Kids from church and from school groups….They had a chance to say something during the service too, and that was really neat. To hear what the other kids thought of Alan.

Yeah. I feel better. The hurt and confusion is still there, of course. But I feel free to move on and learn how to deal with it. I don’t have to keep hugging people and pretending I care about their sympathy. I don’t have to feel on edge, or like I have to meet people’s expectations.

There is healing. Now it can come.

There are two kinds of deaths, I’ve discovered. One is slower, a process, almost a natural course of events. Even if it’s only weeks, when you have warning, it feels different. The other is the sudden death. The only way I can describe an unexpected death is “traumatic.”

When my grandfather died, 4 years ago, we knew it was coming. It was relatively fast, but we had a few months warning. Time to put things in perspective, and process ahead of time the ramifications of a world without him.

With my brother…one moment the world was normal. The next moment, the ground was gone.

It has taken years, and is still being processed…what it means that he isn’t here anymore.

I never cried before that day. In my teen and adult years, tears just weren’t a part of my repertoire, and I could probably count on my hands the time I’d cried. I was stoic. Not given to emotion. Not interested in displays or drama.

That changed in seconds though.

If I ever took up acting, I would be able to do crying scenes like nobodies business. You know how they say “Think of your childhood pet, when you’re dog died” etc or something sad and you can cry? Really, all I have to think about is one moment, one aspect of that day, one little emotion I felt then or since, and I can command a waterworks. I feel it in my chest, the heaviness, the suffocation, and tears well up instantly.

I hate that.

“There is healing. Now it can come.”

I wrote that six years ago. At the time, the concept of being a whole person again seemed impossible, but I knew people did it.

I think I understand now, a little better…the healing does come. But it isn’t complete, and likely won’t be until…well…heaven.

A few times a year…today, his birthday, christmas, etc. these thoughts surface from the deep of my consciousness and the light shines brighter on these things I really don’t want to think about and emotions I want to forget, and feelings I would prefer not to feel.

And I think about the other people thinking the exact same things, like my mom, or my brothers, or my dad…and I know they’re dealing with it the best way they can too.