Monday, February 21, 2011, was to be simply another bright and brisk morning that began with no signs nor warning of the destruction that was on a collision course aimed at all I ever knew.
No alarm bells sounding to alert me of the unthinkable that was to become my forever truth… that lie in wait.
At times, I often wonder lost in reflection of those early days, how? How is it possible that a day seemingly as ordinary as any other, can transform itself into the day that stops time?
How can so much pain be inflicted by a single unwanted and undeserving minute ? Giving the next fourteen hundred and thirty-nine minutes the power to sear an unwanted fate?
For once death had my brother in its sights, and Joe and his life began to slip away into darkness so did mine. As he was letting go of living with his unnoticed and increasingly labored gasps. Death simultaneously began scribbling erratically upon my life. It used an ink laced with agony, torment and tragedy and stained the pages of my history, for never can they be erased.
An ordinary Monday became infamously the day that changed me forever and cast me into a role I never wanted to play. A sister without her brother, her life’s witness and constant companion, trapped now perpetually between tears and pain.
I grew up with my family intact while so many of my friend’s parents had divorced. I had always known I was loved and in turn I truly loved my parents. My two brothers and I grew up the best of friends and although I know better, our childhood seemed almost enchanted.
We had a wonderful home, which provided a foundation of love and laughter, one others seemed to envy. However, we saw ourselves as an ordinary family with an ordinary and most common life. Yet, having been the one who lived it and lost it, I assure anyone of this, what made it magical was the two young boys I shared it with. For we lived and laughed together in a life untouched by hardship, oblivious to sadness and ignorantly unaware of loss.
In those days life was a pond smooth and stagnant, and flawless as that of glass. Until without warning and in an instant boring and normal were gone. The day had come without reason or warning. The day in which the universe cruelly tossed a stone, haphazardly landing in our quite pond and destroying the gift of it stillness forever.
A gift I never fully had time to feel, to cherish, to be grateful for, and its absence has left me treading water and drowning daily in its unforgiving relentless wake.
The continual disruption comes and goes in waves. Ring after ring rippling outwardly from the first moment of impact and shakes my soul to its core and alters me and carries me slightly further. Further, from what once was and all that now will never be.
For the shore, I long to reach, allowing me to emerge from the sea of my despair and return “home” no longer exists. There is no map, no directions in which will ever lead me to finding my way back.
Imagine a snow globe and what is within can be described as perfectly imperfect. Our family’s Camelot. However, for the past two years, six months, and nineteen days the ground has not stopped shaking in my upside down world. The snow continues to flurry and fall without any signs of stopping, concealing our Camelot not only from the outside but from inside as well.
Snowflakes like daggers chip away at my heart, flashbacks of our life together. Who were we when we woke all under the same roof to each new sunrise and the limitless possibilities that were ours for the taking? Longing to scream through the thick and tempered glass, yet my voice won’t carry, and the people living their Camelot, the one we once were, have no way of knowing that each morning we all woke up together, we had more than anything we will ever know again.
I can no longer remember the way I felt when I was the young girl playing with the little blonde haired boy, connected to him at the hip. For those children live now only within memories. Memories that no longer feel like mine. I play them over and over and yet try as I may I fear I have lost my connection to past, severed by the truth of my present.
I become ill when I admit the ease in which I was able to take that life for granted . How could I have ever known that boring and normal were anything and everything, I would one day spend my eternity now wishing for.
Why did we not drift off to dream under each starry night sky deliriously grateful for the absolute perfection of that quiet house? Why were we not more aware of the love we shared, built intricately upon and around each of us? The foundation of all we ever knew sleeping peacefully, tucked within the four bedrooms of our home. When the life I was naive enough to take for granted was mine.
I panicked in the days immediately following the death of my brother. Living in a perpetual state of heart-wrenching panic. For my life and my family had become unrecognizable. The only certainty was the continually snow storm that showed no sign of letting up, distorting the view of our Camelot. A storm I feared would never stop and the beauty of our life would never be clearly seen again.
“It is not the messenger, nor their words…its the meaning of the collective without the influence of our subconscious mind.” seh
This morning I woke up to a message sent through Facebook in an attempt to hurt me, written by someone who needed to inflict that pain as she foolishly trying to make herself hurt less. I must admit at first I was hurt, I felt defensive and the angry desire to fire back. In most situations I try daily to live my life without ego or the need to be right and prove another wrong and, well you get the idea. However, this particular girl is to me as Kryptonite is to Superman. Every interaction is a fight to the hurt the other more to prove things that in reality and in my soul never needed to be addressed in the first place. So after the last play is made from both sides, regardless of the win…I feel almost dirty and ashamed for having even engaged in the battle. Ultimately, I end up “pissed that I am pissed.”
That being told, this morning was no different for as I read her words and the fight began to grow within. I immediately shut out the world . I can no longer feel the sunshine coming in through the curtains. I no longer see the sweet two-year old peacefully dreaming, curled up alongside me. I no longer smell the coffee, which serves as my daily dose each morning of hope and faith of all that lies ahead. I can no longer hear the faint buzz of my husband as he sands his most recent labor of love, restoring an old desk for me to write upon. No! In as instant all the love and light that surrounds me and flows through me is locked up and turned off. I am consumed with the negative energy that has crept inside my room as I slept and lay waiting for me to wake. Energy I have to admit I provided the medium for it to find me.
The next twenty minutes play out as they always do, the same emotions, the same tears the same disgusting casting of stones and wicked words thrown as daggers to each of our hearts. It is while I am in the heat of this most recent war that the sleeping baby awakes, bounds off the bed and while I am to preoccupied with writing words reflecting my heart’s pain to fire back, my daughter grabs my coffee cup from yesterday. A cup left from my sheer exhaustion and consumption of the writing I have as of late been trying to get done, that I had lazily left upon my nightstand. What does she do? What any two-year old who trying to direct the attention of her mom to her rather than her cellphone, and with purpose and intent slowly dumps the coffee onto the bedroom carpet.
To me in this moment I feel depleted of everything. I have begun another day fighting a war that doesn’t need to be fought but I can’t stop. I have allowed my daughter to wake up not to kisses and smiles but my tears and frustration and her offense being two and loving me.
It is just after I ran downstairs, handing off my daughter to my husband who is in the midst of his own project ( for me) and run out the back door that my phone rings.
I don’t answer because I particularly want to talk to anyone in that moment but because I know in doing so, I will somehow fix the mess of the morning and find the beauty to begin the day again and stay the course. I answer and from the first exchange of words, as I am asked, “what are you doing?” I confess and admit the silly toxic behavior that I had moments before been a willing participant of and admit all that I should be doing. I reply, “I am in a war of words with Lindsey and overwhelmed with Calley and I am already over this day.”
I hear nothing, so I then say, “what I should be doing is greeting the day with a quiet cup of coffee, kissing and loving on my daughter, tell my husband how thankful I am for his all his hard work he has put into my desk. I should be beyond excited and feel accomplished about the daily writing and steps I have taken in the past weeks towards my life’s biggest dream. I should be smiling and grateful for it all, for all of it is love and all of it reaffirms the blessings of my life.
The conversation continues and like a tennis match and inspiration and truth is the ball we volley back and forth for the next thirty minutes and at the end she thanks me for always knowing and showing her what is important and how to find and hold on to her inner peace and live from love and not fear and insecurity. I think wow, she gives me more credit than perhaps I deserve for the person I was acting as from the time I got up to the moment I answered the phone was certainly not inspirational, knowledgeable, or enlightening. Yet, after our conversation and the peace of speaking to a common soul who not with words spoken with the authority of I know better, or for the purpose to correct or redirect. Rather words that reflect the goodness within us individually radiating off our true souls and like a diamond when it catches the sun’s rays it created prisms of light casting off in all directions.
I hang up the phone and I feel remorse for the moment of weakness when I allowed negative energy to take over the day and forsake the beauty of its potential for things I know better and things I can not change regardless of the fight. Reminding myself sometimes fighting the good fight is most successful when we refuse to fight at all. For some wars are require our attention and are won when we take action, however we must always be equally aware that some are won by refusing to give an issue or a person attention and despite our ego and our pain refraining from any action at all.
I am not perfect nor ever strive to be, but I do try to learn from mistakes and from the situations that don’t feel authentic to my soul or cause me to give in to behaviors I have learned are not conducive to a healthy, happy or loving life. Each day is a lesson and some days are lessons testing the ones we deem ourselves to have already passed. Sometimes we show ourselves we truly have grown and sometimes we must accept that we still have some work to do.
I hope to have many days filled with many lessons always aware of them all, willingly and readily seeking them and humbly accepting of who I have always been, and who I want to become. Always searching for the inspirations, personal growth and the accumulation of knowledge understanding something have to be learned the hard way. However, there is good in every bad and bad in every good the trick to sort it all out from a place of love and you’ll see your world and yourself in it with all the purpose and beauty that is intended for and is within us all.
“If A,B,C, and D don’t work flip and reverse it!” GAW