Grow.

I've been thinking a lot over the past few days. A lot. So much so that I haven't slept much--which I don't recommend. My mind has been racing on all sorts of subjects. I've been thinking about what I want to write next, I've been worrying about life, I've been excited about life. I've been a lot of things. One of the realizations I came to is that your mind is a dangerous tool. People handle grief in different ways. Some people can't get out of bed, some people never fully cope and simply move on. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Some people find it relieving to talk to a counselor, some people internalize their feelings. I may have experienced profound loss in a close proximity, but I am no expert on grieving. If anything I feel weak. My mind is my best asset and my worst enemy. I love learning, I love academics, and I love promoting knowledge. But I let my mind wander so badly and so deeply that I can convince myself of anything.

I've been thinking a great deal about growing up and when you become a "grown up." I think when you're in high school, you can't wait to be a grown up. Out of your parents' house, making your own money. No one to tell you what to do. I was never one of those kids. I was perfectly fine spending time with my parents and my siblings on the weekend. I had no desire to go to parties or live a life that took my away from my parents. They weren't smothering, they didn't hover. They were just fun. I think once they realized that we were pretty okay contributions to society they decided it was okay to loosen their grip a bit. I don't think my dad was ever going to stop "teaching" us, but home was never a place that I wanted to leave. My entire first year of college, for multiple reasons, I couldn't wait to go home on Fridays and I hated leaving on Sundays. I did eventually find a family at school, but I never lost that feeling of being pulled towards home. So, I never wanted to "grow up" and move away.I went to college and grad school, but now I'm back in this house. So when did I become a grown up?

I think my parents did a good job of letting us become individuals and make our own decisions. Neither of my parents questioned my decision to major in English in college. Even when I questioned my decision. They let me make decisions. But I don't think that's when I grew up. I think I grew up when I stopped seeing my parents as invincible. When I stopped looking so much at my own "problems" and saw my parents as emotional, real beings I grew up. I saw my mom's tears, and I saw her hair fall out. 4 times. I sat with her when she was getting treatment, I cried with her each time it failed. I stopped worrying about my life and feared for hers. I feared for life without her. I don't know when it happened, but at some point in those 5 years I decided that if I could just love her enough and protect her enough that she would be okay. But with each failed treatment I saw her spirit--and mine slowly fade away. I couldn't love her cancer away. I never lost my little kid mentality that she would get better. If I was good enough and smart enough and wanted it badly enough then she would get better. But she didn't. All of my protecting didn't work.

So I spent the next year and a half healing. Or coping. Or adapting. I'm not quite sure exactly what I was doing, but I was living. I laughed. I loved. And once again I found myself protecting those around me. I would never try to fill my mom's shoes--that's an impossible task, but I made sure I was there for my sisters when they needed laughter, advice, guidance. And I protected my dad. Like I've said before, I made it my mission to help him be happy. He often would tell me, "Kari, I had a mom. I don't need another." He was still my dad. I went to him for wisdom, truth, and guidance. I leaned on him for support. But I saw his sadness too. I knew he thought he was ripped off. He was supposed to be moving into a new phase of life where it would be just him and mom again. But he couldn't love her cancer away either. I never thought, "Poor Dad." But I wanted his happiness. I wanted my mom here to be with him. I lost my mom, but he lost the love of his life. They weren't perfect, but she was the only girl he ever loved. I have different emotions with my dad's death because it was so different. I didn't have a chance to save him. I didn't have a chance to love his heart attack away.

So after all this, how do I know I'm a grown up? I don't have a job (I'm working on it!), I live at home, and I don't have the things most people think qualify you as a grown up. But I know how to love. I know how to live in love in spite of loss. I can mend. I think love makes you a grown up. When you realize that there is loss in this world. There is sadness and tragedy that you cannot control. But you can control love. My dad always said, "You can choose to be happy or you can choose to not be happy." I feel like a grown up when I choose to be happy. I worry and I stress and I make myself sick with anxiety sometimes, but I can choose to be happy. I choose love over sadness. Sadness will come. Loss will come. But love comes too. There are days when I feel like that lost little kid who wants to pull the covers over her head and yell for her mommy. But I don't have a mommy. But I have her love. And I have my Dad's love. No monster under my bed stands a chance against me when I feel empowered by that love.