Cement blocks

What is real? What is true? What is right? These are questions I frequently ask myself. I ask these questions when I'm extremely happy and when I'm hysterically crying. There are days that I'm so happy and thankful to be alive. There are days that I go about my life and live it proudly for myself and my mom. And then there are days like today. Days like today I struggle to make it out of bed. I struggle through the motions of every day life - showering, eating and achieving. Some of these "struggle" days are bearable and others are just not. I often think I'd provide a good show for storm chasers. I feel like I have a tornado inside of me. I have homework, family responsibilities and obligations to my friends that keep piling up. All of these things and people swirl around my head and it's impossible to find a starting point. Much like a tornado, the speed at which these things spiral out of control is unreal and scary. After a tornado there's typically a chilling calm that spreads across the land. I don't know if that will be the case after my tornado is over, but that's all I can hope for at this point. I mean, things worked out for Dorthy in the Wizard of Oz so maybe I'll be alright too. Right about now I'm wishing I had some sparkly red shoes to click together and say "There's no place like Home". But when I think about 'home' I think about that cliche phrase of "Home is where the heart is". Well, what happens if your heart is in Heaven? Is that my home? And if that's the case, I won't be home for a very long while. The tornado inside of me won't cease because I lack motivation. Instead of meeting people half way, I expect them to invite themselves over and do everything for me. But that's not the way life or people work. Nobody can fix the storm brewing inside of me - no therapist or pastor or exotic healer. This is a storm I've got to control myself.

Sitting at a stop light tonight I started crying. I have no idea why the tears were pouring out of my eyes, but something must have triggered my emotions and I let loose. Through my tears I looked over at a sign on the side of the road. It said "Heaven is for real". I immediately thought about how stupid that sign was - everyone knows Heaven is real. I began to think about how sad I was that my mom was gone and how badly I wanted to run home, swing open the front door and attack her with a hug. I started thinking about how happy she probably would be to hug me and love me and vent about her day. I thought about how much she meant to me and how much influence she's had on my life. But then my thoughts shifted back to that stupid sign and I began to think about how happy she probably was to be in Heaven. I thought about how happy she was to be reunited with her mom and her maker. I thought about how she was probably riding shot gun in my car. Then I started to laugh because I envisioned her freaking out about my tears and how I couldn't drive well if I couldn't see the road. It brought me back to learning how to drive. My mom hated taking my sister and I driving. She would drive us to a parking lot with nothing in sight and allow us to drive in circles until we were bored. I was a fabulous parking lot driver with lots of hours logged, but had never seen the streets. She always said that my dad could risk his life riding with us and that she was content in the parking lot. There was one time I messed up while in the parking lot. She had me park at a space with a cement block in the front. I pulled in perfectly and began to mess with the radio. Of course, my mom freaked out and told me I shouldn't multitask. As you can imagine, this sparked quite the elevated voice match of "don't you touch that" and "I'm going to touch every button in this car". I thought I put the car in reverse to back out of the spot and park somewhere else, but much to our surprise I drove right over the cement block on the ground. My mom and I both immediately stopped yelling at each other and sat there in disbelief about what just happened. My car was halfway onto the grassy median for at least five minutes before either of us found the correct words to say. She asked if I was okay and I said I wanted to switch seats. We both got out of the car. I was trying to avoid eye contact because I knew I would get the mom daggers. The ones that say "I told you so" and "you're a disappointment". But as I was coming around the back of the car I felt a warm embrace. My mom just hugged me and said "I'm sorry, let's forget it". We both got back in the car and drove home - we never talked about that experience again.

My mom had a way with words. My dad was talking to me the other day about how my mom was the perfect +1 to any function. She was a social butterfly floating about the room drawing connections out of thin air and providing perfect networking trails. My dad confessed that one of his promotions at the Newport News Shipyard was attributed to my mom's positive and calming spirit. Apparently she met the boss of the company and had great conversation with his wife - Monday morning my dad was promoted! She made every event so special and wonderful just by being herself. Growing up my parents used to entertain a lot, and they were professionals at it too! We had so many dinner parties with fancy plates and cloth napkins. She always made a dish called Shrimp Bien Bien because her mother made it for company too. This shrimp dish has large shrimp, rice and lots of butter making it a very decedent dish. Earlier in the summer she made this particular dish because I had invited a boy over that I wanted to impress. Knowing that food was the key to my heart, I figured it would be the key to his too. We all sat down to eat this special meal when he leaned over to me and said "how do you eat this"? I looked at the plate horrified and wondering the same thing. My mom had made the casserole and left the shrimp tails on the shrimp. Caroline saw us eyeing our plates and began to laugh out-loud. My mom then realized what had happened and said "everybody loves finger food - dig in"! As I sat there mortified that we were fisting a casserole into our faces, I realized that life's too short not to laugh at your mistakes. And I also realized that if this boy decided he didn't like me over shrimp tails in a casserole, he wasn't the one for me anyway.

Words allow us to understand, communicate, question, and voice our opinions. Words allow us to make sense of what is happening within us and around us. The Bible has lots of words in it. Some of these words are consoling and others are startling, but they're words meant to convey a point. Jesus had many things he needed to convey to the world. His greatest message was that of love. I often am desperate to find love. I'm desperate to feel love. Many people love me, but it's not the love I want. I want love from my mom. Before she passed, in my final 15 minutes we must have exchanged at least 20 "I love yous". At the time I was crying and almost shouting that I loved her and she would respond immediately. I know her love is still with me, but it's often so hard to find when she's out of sight. Grief is a funny thing. In an hour I can feel about thirty different kinds of emotions. I know my mom is in a better place - I wanted her to pass when she did. She was miserable and her fight was over. Moments before she passed I was sitting in a waiting room praying, begging for mercy. Five minutes after I uttered "We'll be okay, you can let her go" my dad walked into the room and uttered two words I never expected or wanted to hear, "she's gone". When I think about her cancer my brain flashes back to all the momentous occasions: watching her seize, seeing the tumor on the monitor, greeting her at lake taylor, home health delivering the bed, ringing the bell signifying the end of radiation, her homecoming, celebrating holidays and special family days in a hospital so we could all be together - the list goes on and on. My point is, nobody understands what it's like to be me. Nobody can or will ever understand the grief and the struggles I face every single day. I don't expect anyone to and I would never wish this upon anyone. These days I look to God. I don't look to Him cause I'm supposed to or because it's expected. I look to Him because He knows I'm mad and upset. He knows I'm hurt and grieving. He knows that eventually I'll be okay. He doesn't expect any less of me at this time. And even though I can't see Him or hear Him, I know He's there. I know Heaven is real and I know I ran over a cement block in the parking lot of Kempsville Middle School and I know that at some point the storm inside of me will stop. It might take a while, but God's gonna love me through it.

Dear God,
Thank you for loving me even when I don't feel worthy. Thank you for the gift of family and friends. Thank you for words and their ability to express feelings and emotions. Thank you for the gift of writing. Thank you for cement blocks in parking lots and seemingly stupid script on roadway signs. Thank you for calling me as your own. Help me find purpose in my life here and help me see it through. Amen.