Defining Completion

     For the last few weeks I have started a few blog posts and then either got too busy to finish them or didn't really have as much to say as I thought. I don’t start out with the intention of wanting to send a message or revolutionize someone’s thinking—usually my posts start one way and then end up another without me even realizing it. I was going to post my thoughts on our recent roller coaster into home ownership but I felt like I was just venting. I was going to dedicate a post to my dad on his birthday last month, but everyone already knows how great he was. And then, I read something. I read it a few weeks ago and it has been staying with me ever since. I’m not sure if it has stuck with me in a good or bad way, but it has me thinking.

     A few weeks ago I read something that, in so many words, was a description from a woman who said that her husband didn't complete her. She loved her husband, but said that many other things completed her: community, friends, faith, etc. This is not a critique of that reading. As a writer I know first-hand that everyone is certainly entitled to their own beliefs and I applaud anyone who has the courage to put themselves and their writing out there for the world to see. However, I don’t have to necessarily agree with the writing either. That’s the beauty of words and thoughts. I haven’t really followed up since, but I believe this reading was highly lauded and received, but it has stuck with me enough these past few weeks because I beg to differ. I would argue that a husband or partner does, in fact, complete you. I’m not talking about Reneé Zellweger completion in Jerry Maguire. I’m talking about completion in an imperfect, messy, wonderful marriage. A level of completion and partnership and marriage that I can only pray Anth and I might someday achieve. Naturally, I’m talking about my parents.

     My parents were married for 30 years before my mom passed away. 30 years. I have been married for a year and a half. I can’t imagine the author of that article has been married 30 years. If sickness and sadness had not derailed the plans, my parents would be working on their 34^th year of marriage. I only knew my parents’ marriage for 23 years—that means that for 7 years—over 6 times the amount I have been married, they were together. They had memories before me. They had fights before me. Including dating, they had over a decade of love before little ol’ me ever came along. That’s a lot of numbers, but my point is that it creates history. It creates memories. It creates love. Most of all, it is the groundwork for completion. I try to be pretty independent. I spend over half of my fall travelling for work and spending nights away from my husband, and, for the most part, I get by pretty okay. I’m not saying completion means that you get sad when you’re away from your partner or you’re happier when together—every healthy marriage has that. Completion, from what I witnessed, is the buildup of memories, trials, tears, happiness—the buildup of life, over such a great amount of time. I imagine that if my dad read that piece he would have been pretty pissed. My dad needed my mom so much—not to lay out his clothes or make him dinner—my dad needed my mom’s warmth and spirit and companionship and love so very badly that when she was gone, his heart was irrevocably broken. He was, in effect, incomplete. Every day for over 30 years my dad woke up to my mom. Later on when she couldn't deal with his snoring (which he would deny to this day) they would sometimes wake up in different places, but every morning they saw each other for over 30 years. I have woken up to Anthony for 17 months. Months! I’m not taking away from my marriage or any other marriage, but when you compare months to years, it’s apples and oranges. For over 30 years, my parents leaned on each other, struggled with each other, and built a life together.

     Whether you are a reader of the Bible or a believer in its’ teachings, I would say that most people are looking for completion. Maybe they just don’t know it. You can be strong and independent and intelligent and still be looking for completion. Completion is not a weakness. It’s a compliment. We are called to be in community, to embrace family and friendships, but if you have lain your head down at night for 30 years next to one person and then all of the sudden you lay your head down and that person is no longer there, then try and tell me it’s not completion. When my mom was sick, family could comfort her but they couldn't complete her. When my mom was at her weakest, my brother and sisters and I went home from the hospital to sleep at night. My dad didn't.  My dad slept (really, I doubt he slept any) on a chair next to her bed because he couldn't bear to be apart from her. He didn't want sleep anywhere else but next to her. That’s completion. That’s not saying he didn't enjoy being around people or love our family, but he needed to be by her. He needed to comfort her. To fix her. He needed her to complete him. And when we lost her battle, he slowly became more incomplete. He lasted a little over a year without her before his heart finally, officially broke. Yeah, he had high blood pressure, but we all know his heart was broken.  His kids couldn't fix his heart. His community couldn't fix his heart. Only that sweet girl he married 30 years before could heal his heart, and she was gone. That’s completion.

     Man, this post has been sadder than I expected. See, this is a prime example of how my writing always takes me on more twists and turns than I intended. It is sad. What happened to my parents is sad. Heart-breaking.  Gut-wrenching. But above all of that, it should be celebrated. Not their death, but their life. I started my relationship when both of my parents were alive and (what we thought) healthy. I witnessed a lot of ups and downs with those two crazy kids, but my foundation of love and respect and kindness in a marriage was formed from my parents. I didn't expect Anth to come into my life when and how he did. I was good on my own. I have some pretty kick ass friends and family, but he brought and continually brings something to my life that no one else can. He can be the person he is because he is a steadfast man of faith and belief and our marriage covenant is founded in Christ. I’m the lucky girl who gets to see life through his eyes (which trust me are WAY different than mine!) and that completes me. They say you end up marrying someone like your dad, and I couldn't think of anything better. My dad was my ultimate protector. He was my mom’s protector. I might be biased, but she had great kids, sweet brothers, and an unshakable faith; yet her faith and my dad’s love are what completed her. A girl could do a lot worse than marrying someone who completes her. Maybe that’s just my opinion, though. 

Birthdays and Tuesdays

Today is my sweet momma’s birthday. I always feel odd saying that. Do you celebrate birthdays when someone is gone? Do you celebrate anything when someone is gone? I haven’t written in a while, but, as always, I have been thinking. I was telling Anthony the other day how the middle of June used to be so packed full of celebrating in our family. My parents anniversary, Father’s Day, and momma’s birthday typically all fell within a few days of each other. Now that they are gone, how are we supposed to take these days? Should we bake a cake like we would have? We could. Should we spend the day crying? If we want. Should we smile a little and remember how special those days were? Of course. Here’s the thing. There is no guide book on how to live your life after loss. There isn’t a governing body who decides when it’s time to stop crying and start living. In the years (wow, years) since we lost mom, I have encountered friends and family members who have also lost someone they love and have had many different reactions. And that’s all okay. The way that I try and live my life and let people know (only if they ask) is that you are entitled to feel however you want to feel whenever you want to feel it.

Often times I hesitate to post again because I feel like I say the same thing over and over. Choose to be happy. Remember the past. Do this. Do that. And then I get mad at myself because I think, “You’ve already said that. Nobody wants to hear a sermon from you.” But then I decide that the reason I started writing was so that I might be a help to one single person who is struggling. One person who might be crying herself to sleep at night with the fear of the future. One person who might be wondering how to talk to a friend dealing with loss. If one person reads this and is comforted, then I will keep writing. Really, I will probably keep writing regardless. That’s another thing that I have realized. Life does begin again after you lose someone you love, but then again, life never stopped when you lost them. It just changed—forever. Your world is so surreal in the days and weeks following loss that it does feel like you are in an alternate universe. You deal with the immediate influx of cards and casseroles, but those fade. People return to their homes and to their lives. You are a thought to them, and perhaps a prayer at night, but and the end of the day, you (and your brother and sisters) are left to return to a life without that person—and figure out whatever that’s supposed to look like. What I have learned is that every person is different. Every family is different.  

In all honesty, I spent Father’s Day pulling weeds. That sounds awful, but that’s my point. I think I have said it before but there is no day that hurts less or feels better. I miss my parents all the time. What is odd is that I miss different things at different times. Today, momma’s birthday, I miss sitting on the porch after baseball and softball games and singing happy birthday to her.  But I don’t think that that makes me any more sad. It’s just a different kind of day. And I will smile and laugh today. I have smiled and laughed today.  Every day is the same, but that doesn’t mean that every day is sad.

I’ve tried to reconcile the idea of how I can miss my parents every day but not be sad every day. And I really don’t have an answer. Honestly, part of it I chalk up to grace and realize that in the years since our incredible sadness, only the grace of God could truly heal my heart. But I’m not healed. Not yet, at least. I still have questions and fears. And worries. Oh man do I have worries. Somewhere along the line I hope to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. The scars that I bear are deep and painful. I think I’ve talked before about how death robs you of happiness. Well, it tries. It is an everyday battle. But if I made a list (as I am so fond of my lists) of all of the goodness we have experienced, it is a prime example that love wins. That we are choosing happiness. We have celebrated a wedding (woo!), 4 graduations, new jobs, new chapters in life, and hopefully a new house soon. That’s a lot of happy. And as I was sitting in each of those (standing for the wedding), my mind always drifts to my parents. It’s hard to keep it anywhere else. Sitting next to parents proudly snapping pictures and watching father’s walk daughters down the aisle, I will always think of my parents; even though I yearn for them, I smile at these times now. I feel happy because my parents are there. They were there in my tears as I watched my beautiful baby sisters graduate, they were beside me in the heart of my bold big brother as I clutched his arm and walked towards my future husband. They are in the smile of that same husband as we tour houses and figure out this life thing together. They aren’t here beside me, but they are everywhere around me. I wish that I could bake my momma a cake today. I wish I could have reminded my poppa to send her flowers on their anniversary. But most of all, I wish to make them proud. And I know that they don’t need to be on the other end of a phone call to be proud. So, today is a Tuesday. Today is my momma’s birthday. I will celebrate today just as I celebrated on Sunday. Sunday just happened to also be Father’s Day. Some days have more specific meaning but every day since they have been gone is equally special. That seems like a horrible sentence, but they have been special because they are precious. They are precious because the five of us (and I hope those closest to us) have lived each day to make them proud and to be happy. We strive to find joy in each other’s company and excitement in each other’s futures. The world is a dark and scary place. I know that better than most; but because of that—maybe in spite of that, I know the good that people are capable of. I know the happiness that is achievable and, most of all, the grace that extends over all. 

Reflections.

I had a feeling the emotions of today and especially tomorrow would lead to a blog post. No matter how much I say I won't, I keep finding my thoughts drifting back to one year ago. "Okay, at this time last year this was happening." Even though tomorrow is officially one year since we lost Dad, I really don't think the emotion changes between today and tomorrow. And there is emotion. There has to be. Yes it is just another day without him--just like Father's Day, his birthday, and Christmas. Those are special days too, but I miss him with my whole heart every day. It doesn't ever change. I miss our Monday thrift store shopping for wedding vases. I miss the excitement I felt as 11:30 rolled around and I knew I would be hearing the garage door open and "Hooty-who!" yelled up the stairs. I miss giving him a kiss after he had just gulped water and being grossed out by his wet mustache. Oh, that ugly mustache! I miss him covering his teeth when he was laughing big. I miss the support I felt from him and the reassurance that the right job was waiting for me. I so wish I could just let him know that, once again, he was right. I ended up right where I should be--at home in Waynesburg. He would be so happy and so proud. I got a sweet email from a student and my first thought was, "I know he would be so proud." He would say, "See all that worrying and everything worked out." I miss my sweet Poppa today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. The pain doesn't ever leave. You just have to hope that the joy you feel in life triumphs over the pain; and most days I think it does.
As I will undoubtedly continue to reflect over the next few days about one year ago, I hope I also can reflect on all of the good. My little bio on here says that I can't wait to marry the most amazing man--and I did! The overwhelming joy and love I felt on my wedding day is a feeling that no amount of grief can ever touch. The power of love continually beats the sting of sorrow any day. I wore the dress that I know my mom would have loved and I was walked down the aisle by the world's most most amazing big brother--a brother who makes our parent's memory shine through. That's love. Not sadness. We are taking on this life together. We are in this eyes and hearts opened to all that we can. I also wrote of "trying to break into the higher education world" and I did! I absolutely love my job. The feeling that you get working with college students, future college students and their parents is incredible. One year ago, my future in higher education looked bleak. I didn't know where I would be and what I would do. Now I have returned home and am continually reminded of the promise of our future. There is a lot of sadness in the world. There are troubles every single day. There are unthinkable acts of crime and tragedy. But among and above all of that, there is good. There is love.

I lost both of my parents within a year and a half of each other. As of tomorrow, my dad has been gone for a year. In that year there have been changes. There would have been changes even if he was still here. As someone who runs kicking and screaming away from change, I have begrudgingly come to accept that it will always happen. One year ago I was not as scarred as I am today. One year ago I was not as scared of the future as I am today. One year ago I thought my dad was shaking off a cold. One year ago tomorrow, my heart was ripped open. But one year ago today, I don't think I knew how to love quite like I do today. Unconditionally. Whole-heartedly. I don't know how to stop bad things from happening. I don't know how to make sure everyone is safe all the time. I can't know that. But I do know how to love. I have a lot of emotions. Sadness is the easiest emotion to welcome into our hearts, but joy is the most rewarding.

The has been the hardest year of my life. The year after we lost my mom was equally as hard, but navigating life without both parents is gut-wrenching. In that same thought, this has also been the most joyous year of my life. The most deep down, heart-filling, joyful year. We celebrated our wedding, my brother's PhD and subsequent graduation, and time spent growing and healing together. How can that be? How can your heart be broken and full at the same time? I don't have answers. I don't have a magical antecdote that allows me to mourn and smile all at the same time. It seems insane. What happened to us isn't fair. No children (no matter how old we get, we will always be their children) should lose both of their parents so young. But we did. We didn't get a say. No one does. I shouldn't want to get out of bed. I should be angry. I should be sick to my stomach from crying. I have every right to. But (most days) I do get out of bed and I'm not angry. Most days my head doesn't hurt from crying. We live in a dark and sinful world. We live in a world where anger, hate, and sadness trump joy and love. But I don't want to live in that world. I don't want to be afraid. I want the love of my parents to shine through me each day. Most importantly, I want to love of Christ to be my guide.

I struggle a lot when people say "This is all part of God's plan." I tend to think that people stick to that when things are going their way or as a cop out when they don't want to challenge themselves to be better. Really, it's God's plan that my mom would die of cancer and my dad would die of a heart attack? I can't buy into that. We live in a fallen world. We live in a world that needs Christ so badly. The world that we live in lets sadness win. The world that we are called to live in, however, lets love win. Love wins. Easy as that. Right? Hopefully. When people say things are all part of God's plan I know they mean well, but I wish that I could question it a bit more. I don't think that God's plan is to have us endure tragedy and suffering. Not directly. I think that, through grace, we are given the ability to forgive, to encourage, and to love. I should be jaded to the idea of love, but I'm not. I refuse to believe in the ineptitude of love. Christ loved us so purely that he gave His life for our sins. Who am I to not love my neighbor? Who am I to not listen to someone's story and be moved? Who am I to not embrace joy and love? I think that God's "plan" for me is to live in His love. If that means showing my scars and revealing my pain in hopes of prevailing love, then that is what I must do. The loss of my parents does not define me. The sting of their death does not consume me. The pride in their life and the awe of their love drives me. I want to be the type of person that makes you feel good after talking with me. If my gift is listening, talking, and advising then I want to treasure that gift. My prayer is that I can strive for genuine love for people. For genuine desire to be someone that makes you smile. I have a lot in my life that can make me cry, but I have way more that will make me smile. I try not to worry about the future (it's tough!) and think about where we might be one year from now. I never thought one year ago that this is where I would be, but here I am.

I want my parents to be proud of me. I know they are proud of me. They are proud of all of us. Our hearts are irrevocably broken, but broken or whole, they are filled with live. How can we survive without our parents? With love. With joy. We can choose to focus on the hole that has been left, or we can fill it with laughter and warm memories. We can create new memories with them in our hearts. We can make the people we love and the people we see feel the warmth and joy that he all share.

We can choose to be happy or we can choose to not be happy. Funny how things keep coming back to that.