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.

Choose.

I don't know if it is the gloomy weather or the dreary season of winter approaching, but sometimes I really miss my parents. Okay, all the time I really miss my parents. I miss my momma's smile and her ability to make any situation better. I miss her crazy antics and the big grin she would give after being silly. I miss calling her Betty Boop after her hair came back the first time super curly. I miss dreaming about the future with her while we were both wordlessly terrified that there was no future. I miss my dad's advice (never thought I would say that). I miss his hugs and I even miss his wet mustache kisses that he would give after chugging water. I miss him cheering for the Steelers and muting the tv and even the radio. I miss tickling him and making him laugh to the point where he couldn't take it. Sometimes it's easier to pretend that my parents are a phone call away instead of reminding myself that they are gone. Both of them. Not at once. No, we right when we started to heal, we lost my dad. Maybe we weren't as healed as we thought. I think because of that my wounds may never heal. I often try to analyze my thoughts and my feelings. Maybe it's being married to a counselor, but I'm always to trying to figure out what is "wrong" with me. Why can't I shake the feeling that we aren't done with our sadness? That we aren't done with loss. And tragedy. Why am I constantly worrying about events that I'm sure are going to happen but are still in the future? The only answer is that I am broken. I am wounded. My scars have been ripped open so many times that I fear they will never heal. That I will never heal. Writing that down seems a lot more real than the thoughts I push out of my mind every day. I am afraid that I won't heal. I am afraid that the first step I take towards healing will be the first step towards the next great sadness in my life. Sometimes I feel like such a coward and such a phony for seeming happy.

But here's the catch. I am happy. Honestly. I feel split into two with my emotions because how can you love your life and everyone in it so passionately and so completely but be bracing yourself for tragedy at the same time? My dad would say it's simple. You choose. I choose. "You can choose to be happy or you can choose to not be happy." I heard it a million times growing up. And I ignored it. I told him, "Okay Dad I'll try," but I was lying. Not purposely. But deep down, by telling my dad I would choose to be happy, I was lying to him. I really tried to be happy after my mom died. I tried to heal. Planning a wedding is a great reason to be happy. I loved every minute of being engaged and enjoying that time in our life. And when my dad died and my heart was ripped open again, happy was the last thing I ever thought I would feel. And I struggled. Obviously I still struggle. But I did get happy again. A cautious happy. An "I'm happy now but I'm bracing for tragedy" happy. Who knew that emotion could be so complicated. So many times when I do or say something (especially when it's crazy) I see my mom or my dad's reaction. If I told my dad that I struggle to make happiness simple, he would want to slap me. My mom might agree. I get a lot of my crazy thoughts from her. My dad would tell me to look around, see who I'm surrounded by, and be happy. Simply happy. And he's right. Right now, I am sad. I am nostalgic. I am yearning for my parents. But mostly, I am happy.

I've been trying lately to get back to that notion of being simply happy. I keep a picture of our family from our wedding on my desk at work. When I look at it, I feel happiness. I don't feel like my parents should be there or something is missing. Really, they should have been there. Something (some people) are missing. But that's not what I feel. I feel pride and I feel warmth. I've said it all along in this blog, but happiness is love. It doesn't matter if it is love in the present or love from memories. That's why my dad thought it could be so simple. If you are surrounded by people you love, why wouldn't you be happy? There is no love in worry. There is no love in dread. It is so easy for our hearts to be clouded with so many other emotions that we forget about love. It's always there waiting for us to come back. We focus on worry, on dread, on sadness, on jealousy that we forget about love. That's why happiness is a choice. It's the easiest emotion to feel but the hardest emotion to obtain. And that's because we don't seek it out. We don't make happiness a priority. We, me especially, let worry and sadness take over because they don't take any work. Who is going to put effort into worrying? It just comes naturally. At least for me. As I reflect on the time spent without my parents, I used to feel guilty for my happiness. For our happiness. But the happiness comes so easily because of our love. Our wedding was happy because of the incredible amount of love we were surrounded with. There was sadness. That's always there. I'm not saying that you have to be one emotion or the other. I think that my sadness with always be there. I'm working at it, but maybe my worry will always be there. The point that I need to remember is that my happiness wins. Love wins. Our family is happy. We celebrate graduations and birthdays and have parties with our friends because we choose love. We choose to talk about our parents and laugh because we choose love. We get sad and we cry together, but love wins.

If people ever wonder how we are able to be so happy after such sadness it's because of love. Because of the love our parents had for each other and for us. No family is perfect, but our parents loved so fiercely that it is burned into our hearts and our lives. No amount of sadness over death will ever touch that love. That happiness. So Dad, I guess I do choose to be happy. I choose to live in the love and light provided by my parents and shared with the four of us. The five of us now. The past few parties that we have had for various celebrations, I've tried to take the time to look around at all the love. Our incredible families. And our friends. Our people. Who we turned to for comfort and who we surround ourselves with for happiness. Never underestimate the power of a smile. The days will come that you let sadness or fear or worry surround you. But remember this, choose to be happy. It seems simple. It is simple. We just let silly things like our mind get in the way of our heart.

Share.

I've been feeling the tug lately to post. As usual, lots of thoughts have been bouncing around in my head as far as what to write. I've thought about what we've celebrated in the last few months, countered that with what we've mourned in the last few years, and reached one conclusion. I am blessed with the ability to share all of that. I feel like I have been given the gift of words. Of speaking. Of writing. Of sharing. I have been through a lot. And because of that, I have had a lot to share. Shoot, it's the reason I started writing in the first place. But where would I be...where would anyone be, without the gift of language? Think about how many times a day you use words. I know it's a crazy thought, but think about it. I am in a profession where speaking and writing are main components. How many times a day do you say hello to someone? How many times a day do you send a text or an email? Do we really think about how intentional we are being with our words? They may seem meaningless or fruitless words, but, in my experience, words can have a profound effect on someone.

The thought that has been swishing around in my head lately is, "How intentional am I with my words?" You never know the power of a simple "Hello" or a asking someone how they are and genuinely being interested in the answer. Our lives have become so inundated with words that I'm afraid they've lost their gusto. I know that not every conversation or interaction you have with a person in a day will be life-altering, but how many of them can? How many times does a person walk away from a conversation with you thinking how genuine you are? The power of words and language is immeasurable. Someone (not in my office) was a little rude to me today and I thought, "Ugh. I did nothing wrong. Why treat someone like that?" And I think that's one of our problems. When we get short or snippy with someone (and I know I do it too) we don't realize the impact it could have. Life is not perfect. It is not always shiny and happy. Sometimes you really don't feel like smiling and being friendly. Sometimes you want to cry and be angry and shout. That's all part of the beautiful gift of language. The hard part is to choose to use this gift to be genuine and not to be hurtful.

When I think about all that our little family of 5 has been through and what we've been able to celebrate, I am astounded. Sometimes I'm afraid that we have had too much good in the last few months and that the tide will change. It's a crippling fear that I have to actively choose to suppress. And then I think, "Damnit, we've had enough sadness over the past two years. We deserve this!" See, even in your mind, words and thoughts are always present. I've been detailing my journey through engagement, mourning, marriage, and all things in between. I've been able to use the gift of words to share my pain, my excitement, my fears, and my heart. It is such a vulnerable, freeing, heart breaking, blessed gift that I believe I've been given. I've said all along that I don't write for sympathy. I don't write for "fans." I write because it's what I feel called to do. I never realized that before. If my words and my thoughts can resonate with someone or make them smile or understand grief a little better, then my gift is being used how, maybe, God intended.

I love nothing more than to talk. And to share about my life. Sometimes I think I am funny, but mostly I think, and hope, that I am genuine. It is my prayer that I can share what I have been through and the feelings I have had throughout and have someone feel that I did so out of a true desire to share. I know a lot of keychains and Hallmark cards claim it, but I really did have the World's Best Mom. And the World's Best Dad. Okay, maybe I'm a tad biased, but I was loved unconditionally, whole-heartedly, unabashedly, for 20+ years. And I still feel that love. I feel that love because of the memories I have--because of the values I have--because of the love I have to share. That love manifests itself in my stories and in my writing. I only have memories now. I only have "was" and "were" in my stories. I don't have present tense stories about my parents' love. But my past tense is so real and so genuine that it gets me through the days when I yearn for the present tense. I lament the future, so I cling to what I have. I have crazy stories and antecdotes. I have mannerisms and qualities. I have love. That doesn't go away when a person does. I can talk about my parents for hours. For days.

 Sometimes when the five of us are together (okay a lot of the time) I picture my parents in heaven watching us. If I close my eyes, I can pretend they're going to sit down for dinner or call us in to watch Jeopardy. But mostly, I wonder what they're like in heaven. I wonder what it will be like. I wonder what they feel. I just wonder. When I tell people that my husband and I live with different variations of siblings (sometimes one sister, sometimes both, sometimes a brother, sometimes all of us) I feel a little pang of jealousy towards couples who get to be just the two of them. I wonder if we're missing any big moments not living just the two of us. But right now, that's not our life. Our life is together. The two of us--with my family. Our family. It is cathartic to sit around the table and talk and sing and laugh as a family. Right now, we're meant to have this time together. We're meant to heal with each other. I feel the closest to my parents when we are all together. When I watch my sisters. When I listen as my brother speaks. I feel our parents. Deep in my heart, I feel their warmth. Memories are not stale. The beauty of words and sharing is that you get to relive so much happiness. And everyone tells a story differently. I remember moments from childhood that my brother doesn't. When we talk it's like we're right back there. That's the power of words.

As I'm reflecting on my thoughts, once again, I feel like a lot of the same themes come out in my writing. I know I talk a ton about love and being genuine, and I pray that's the type of person I am. I am a child of Jeff and Lori--godly, courageous, world-class people who both tragically died. But I am first and foremost a child of God. Because of the love of Christ I am able to continually feel my parent's love. I am able to put my thoughts into words and share them. Because my parents instilled kindness and goodness in me, I pray that I am able to look a person in the eye and have them feel that warmth. I have very high expectations. I've lost friends because of that. I guess I'm just a simple person who believes in the power of kindness. The power of kindness in words and deeds. Because just like faith without works is dead, words without feeling are dead. Every person, on their worst day and in their darkest hour, deserves love and is capable of giving love. Throughout celebrations and triumphs, tragedy and stumbles, love never fails. The ability to put love into words and thoughts is a gift. Love God. Love people. Love yourself. And don't underestimate the power of a genuine conversation.

Define.

First of all, I must apologize for my crazy lack of posting. I keep thinking that I need to, but just like always, life seems to take over. Also, I've been in a sort of dry spell as far as what I'm feeling. This isn't a bad thing, though. I've been adjusting to life as a married, working woman and so far I have no complaints! I waited for my dream man and married him. I didn't know it at the time, but I really think I was waiting for my dream job. And I'm feeling like that's where I am. I am ready to work and I am ready to live this life. I've been reflecting a lot on how both of these came to be, but I still keep thinking, "I really don't have anything to say right now on my blog." Much of this blog has been based on my life without my parents--adjusting, living, loving and planning a wedding. Well, I had my wedding and I seem adjusted. So, now what? I'm not sad or overwhelmed or going through something major in my life, so what do I share? Do I share? Then, naturally for me, I started doing more thinking.

I realized that, at times, I let my sadness define me. I let my experiences define me. The sadness is part of who I am, as odd as that sounds, but it doesn't define me. I tend to slip into the role of "the girl who lost her parents" too quickly. First and foremost I am a child of God. I am a steward for Christ. Would anybody know that if they talked to me? I hope so. I hope that more people who meet me know me for my love for Christ and my love for people more than they know how sad I am that I lost my parents. I hope that for those reading this I have been able to communicate love. Love is what defines me. When meeting with prospective students, I often ask them to tell me a little bit about themselves. And I've started to wonder, what would I say if they asked me the same? I'm sure I would say I'm a newlywed, I just graduated with my Masters, and so on. I probably wouldn't mention the loss of my parents, but I'm sure it would be something on my mind. But is that really who I am? In the conventional sense, yes. This isn't some existential crisis. I'm not pondering the meaning of life, but I am taking a deeper look at what defines me. After some thought, I would say love. But love doesn't define me. It releases me. It allows me to heal. It allows me to forgive. It allows me to grow. It allows me to be. The love that I have for Christ frees me. The love that I have for my husband fulfills me. The love that I have for my brother and my sisters warms me. I am not defined by my loss. I am not defined by the fact that I planned a wedding without my mom and didn't have my dad walk me down the aisle. Those were sad, but they happened. I can't change them. I miss my parents every day, but that doesn't define me. The love that I have for my parents emboldens me. So it really is a double-edged sword; can you imagine if someone asked me to tell them about myself and I went into all of that? How do you decide what defines you?

I think it's my hope and my prayer that I can use my experiences to help others. I hope that someone might read this and know that there is goodness in this world. Bad things can happen, but there is still so much good. God is good. People are good. I would lie if I said that there are moments when I am terrified of what might happen next. It's a reflex when you've endured so much tragedy. And sometimes that fear consumes me. Sometimes I let the fear of the unknown, the fear of future tragedy define me. Sadly, I am sometimes defined by "what ifs?" It's hard not to be. I look at my high school graduation pictures and think, "That girl had no idea what the next 5-7 years of her life would be." So it's hard to not look at wedding pictures and imagine all of the terrible things that can happen. Letting fear define you is debilitating.

When you let fear define you, even the most irrational thoughts seem rational. Of course someone else you love will get sick because one person already did. Of course there will be tragedy because there already has been so much. How do you conquer this? I really don't have any answers. I think that's where the title of my first blog comes to fruition. You can't forget to breathe. You decide what defines you. You decide what frees you. If you let anger into your heart, it will define you. If you let fear into you mind, it will define you. My dad always told me that I could choose to be happy or I could choose to not be happy. I never thought I'd say it, but he was right. Let joy into your heart. Let forgiveness into your heart. Be hopeful. Be grateful. It's scarier to be all of those, but it's so much more fulfilling. Be the person that others want to be around. You decide what defines you. I'm not the only person in the world to have lost both her parents (there are 3 others like me in my family alone). Whatever your cross to bear, hold your head high. There is good in this world. People will surprise you if you let them into your heart. When we open our hearts and open our minds, we make ourselves vulnerable and available for pain. But we also make ourselves available to love. Choose to be happy. Choose to love others. I hope that after someone meets me, even if they find out about my sadness, they are overwhelmed by my love. My passion. My thirst for life. It's sometimes easier said than done. A lot of times, I am angry. I am sad. I am fearful. But most of all, I am hopeful. I am hopeful for a day with no more pain, a day filled with unending love. Until that day, I will choose to live my life with compassion, with grace, with love. I will never know two people as graceful and warm as my parents, and I hope I carry their grace with me.

Don't let what happens to you define you. My tragedy is my tragedy. It is a part of me, but maybe it doesn't have to be the bad part. I can choose to let it be the part that reminds me to be graceful and reminds me to be thankful. I long for my family to include my parents, but it doesn't. And it won't ever again. That's a sad blunt truth, but it doesn't have to be debilitating. I have the love of my parents deep within my soul. I would love to call my mom on my way home from work, but instead I spend a few moments in prayer and feel close to her. People, sadly, leave you. They fight like hell to stay, but sometimes it's out of their hands. But love never leaves. 1 Corinthians 13 is a super popular verse, especially for weddings, but when you really look at it, it's hard to do those things on our own. Love is patient--I can get impatient. Love is kind-- I try, but I'm sure I'm not always....it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. How powerful. Love, through Christ, is all of these things. Always. I don't know anyone who can say that. Love has to be incredibly powerful to be able to be all of that. Let this love into your heart. Let yourself trust, allow yourself to hope, and above all else, let love help you persevere.

Dream.

I know that it has been a very long time since my last post, but I am back from my pre and post-wedding hiatus. The wedding has come and gone and now I am settling into being a married woman. It still is so crazy to me that you spend so long planning for your wedding day and thinking it is never going to arrive and then it comes and goes so quickly! I just want to go back and relive it all again. Just once. Okay, maybe more than once. In between all of the transitions that have been happening I have started feeling that draw back towards writing here. I think today of all day's seems very fitting to get back into the swing of things.

Today, well what's left of it, is my Momma's birthday. I use present tense because even though she is gone, her life should still be celebrated in the present. We didn't make her a cake and celebrate but we also didn't spend the day lying in bed. I think we were somewhere in between. It has been two birthdays that we have had to spend without her. Today as I was reflecting on her birthday and the many birthdays that we did get to share, I started really realizing what all has been happening in this crazy life. There are so many blessings all around, and I know that they started with my Momma. And my Poppa. Yesterday was also Father's Day, and I think I feel about it the same way that I do about birthdays. Since Mom has been gone, I  have never really gotten too choked up on those days. As cheesy as it sounds, every day in our house was Mother's Day or Father's Day. I have no regrets with either of my parents and I know that both of them felt my overflowing love. So on days like yesterday, it's just another day to miss them. Missing someone never goes away but it also doesn't increase or decrease depending on how many Hallmark cards are purchased. But I am getting away from my point.

Thinking about the past year of wedding planning and the culmination of our wedding, naturally, leads me to think about my Mom. I've written a bit about planning a wedding without her, and that's also not what I want this post to be about. I am so proud of the way we honored both of my parents at the wedding. There were tears but there was also laughter. And that's exactly what I wanted. Maybe not the tears, but I wanted laughter. I wanted simplicity. Elegance. I didn't want to be confined to a banquet hall. In my mind, I deconstructed a traditional wedding reception and rebuilt my own. I always have to find a way to be difficult! I could write for hours about the beauty of our wedding, but I'll save that for anyone who wants to talk in person. My point, and what I've been reflecting a great deal on, is that I never settled. Throughout the whole wedding planning process, I refused to settle. I think that refusal came from my Mom. There was never a dream too big or a goal too great for her. I really think she would have wanted chandeliers or something even more glitzy at the reception. She taught me to refuse to settle. She taught me to run towards my dreams. If I could give advice to any future brides it would be that. Refuse to settle. I'm not saying have an extravagant wedding that will break the bank (I also can provide great DIY wedding tips, but that's also for another day) but what I am saying is have the wedding of your dreams. Don't let anyone tell you that something isn't doable. There were some parts of my wedding that seemed tricky to execute. I had an amazing day-of wedding coordinator in my brother and his band of friends, but I wasn't willing to settle on the vision that I had for our wedding. I wasn't stressed very much during wedding planning. I was planning a day centered around joy and love, so what is there to stress about? However, I would sometimes get frustrated when I thought that being practical was going to overrule dreaming. That frustration was also magnified by the fact that I didn't have my Mom by my side daring me to dream. My mom would have said, "Yes, go for it! We'll figure it out and make it work." That mentality is one of the biggest traits I've taken from my Mom. I am a dreamer. And that is another piece of advice that I would give. Don't let the fear of dreaming stand in the way of seeing that dream come to reality. I am proof of that. I had a vision for my wedding last year and I knew what it would take to see it through. And I don't regret one thing. I wish I could plan a wedding every year. It gets a little hectic the weeks leading up to the wedding, but what a wonderful "problem" to have. I wish there were more hours in the day to plan my wedding!

Learning to never settle is something that I have carried with me and will continue to do so in my life. When I graduated in December, I really struggled with being unemployed. Here I was with this advanced degree, all polished and ready to go, with no job. I had a few promising interviews, but nothing fruitful. I think I was hardest on myself. Throughout that time, my Dad was the driving force in not letting me settle. He wouldn't let me apply for random jobs not in my field because he knew that the right job would present itself. I was not very patient, but he constantly remind me that whatever job I ended up with would be worth the wait. Just like my Mom, my Dad had faith in my dreams. Some parents think that you need to stand on your own two feet and figure out how to survive on your own, but my parents weren't like that. Not in the traditional ways. I never doubted that I could move home after college. Or graduate school. My parents knew my dreams and knew what I was working towards. They knew I wasn't coming home to sleep the day away and eat all their food. They let me come home so that I could chase my dreams in a place surrounded by love. It wasn't always rainbows and butterflies. I had bills and knew I needed to pay for things, but my parents knew that what I was waiting for and working towards would be worth it The right job is worth the wait. The right person is worth the wait. The perfect wedding is worth the work. Dreaming is worth it.

My husband (I could write Anthony, but it was way more fun to type "husband"!) started out as my first real boyfriend. There were one or two boys before him, but none of them really count. Not when you look at what he was as my boyfriend. Or if you look at the fact that he almost wasn't my anything. Now he's my everything. Funny how life is. I'll spare the story (and Anthony's dramatic rendition that we broke up even when we weren't technically dating) but the main point is that it was my mom who made me give him a chance. She had just found out that her cancer was back, and I was trying to let her think about something other than what the road ahead looked like. I told her about this boy I liked, but life was too crazy to date him. She then proceeded to yell at me and tell me that this could be what I was waiting for and I shouldn't blow it! My mom knew even then that it had the potential to be something really special. She wanted me to wait for someone exactly like him. And when she saw me getting in my own way, she stepped in and told me to see what and who was right in front of me.

I know that this post has been all over the place. I blame the million things going on in my head and in my life and that I'm a little rusty with my writing. I started out today thinking about my Mom and how she taught me to dream. She taught me to refuse to settle. That's how I approached wedding planning without her by my side. She would have wanted me to have the perfect wedding and I did. It wasn't too hard to dream because I do have amazing people surrounding me and who helped to create my dream, but I was prepared to do it on my own. She knew that Anthony is who I was waiting for, and man was she right. My Dad knew that there was a job out there worth waiting for and I'm working on that one too. If you take anything from my rambling it's this: "Never settle for anything less than butterflies." Have the wedding you've dreamed of your whole life. Wait for the boy who gives you butterflies. See the life you want, be genuine to people along the way, and go after it. My parents did and I think I will too.