All I can say.

Dear Bailey,

At three years old, I was granted the greatest role of my entire life. At the time I was unaware of its implications and the true severity of this honor God had given me, but nonetheless I became the older sister of a blonde haired, green eyed little girl. You came into my life quietly, and remained that way most of the time. You were sweet, and passive, and happy to do whatever I wanted. And you did. We would play tea party for hours, but only if I got to pour the tea. We could play pretend for days, but I had to assign the parts. And you normally ended up as a tree or the male. Yet after all this abuse you still found a way to absolutely adore me and rarely had any problems with any of my stipulations. Maybe you didn’t know better. Maybe I was intimidating or convincing. Or maybe you just understood that loving me, was more important than beating me. But those things were small. No harm done there. We were children. We lived in light and danced in happiness. But things changed. Teenage years came around and the light turned to dark and confusion was the only thing dancing and I became a person you didn’t recognize. A person you couldn’t possibly have been proud of. A person you were ridiculed to even be associated with. But with a strength I will never understand, you managed to love me through it. You could spend a day at school filled with people trashing my name and telling you dreadful things about me, but you could still come home and lay on my bed, and ask me about MY day. You believed in me, when very little had the ability to do so. And then I came back. The light wins, victory is ours and we are reunited again. For a little while. But then someone needed you more. For whatever reason you were called away from this earth and for the first time in our lives, we were separated. But I persevered. And here we are a year later and the light is still prevailing. And when I think of these things, I can’t help but feel like I have heard a form of this story before. There seemed to be another man that loved those that didn’t deserve his love. A man that was ridiculed for his seemingly immoral company. A man that believed in those that no one else could. A man that was taken from this earth to serve his higher purpose elsewhere. And it completely baffles me that my entire life I looked for Jesus. I looked for a living breathing person that I could see Jesus in. And as I was searching, God continued to throw the answer in my face. I asked you to move over so I could see past you and continue looking for this outstanding example. But you were right there. YOU were what God was trying to show me.
There are no words for this day. There is no way to form thoughts around the dread and anxiety that comes with this date. You my dear, may never understand the tremendous impact you had on this earth. Even if I were able to tell you, you would not believe me. Sometimes we play the “if it had been me” game, but I have found such comfort in knowing that God planned this perfectly. Your voice, even in death, is so much louder than mine. And I tried my entire life to be loud. But that wasn’t the point, was it? Because while I was putting on a show and trying to PROVE who I was, you were just quietly living it out. And that’s what made the difference. You didn’t need a stage or a flashy song, you were happy to humbly serve your God in your way. And that’s the real lesson here. The loudest voice, the moving leaders, and the most effective examples are quite simply, the sincere.  The Christians that are willing to live out their lives humbly, and possibly without any credit at all.
You need to know that I am fine. In fact, I am the lucky one. I got a chance to spend 15 years of my life with the greatest person this world has seen in a long time, and I even had the honor of calling her my sister and my best friend. I know I will always miss you. And this will hurt in years to come. I will want you at my wedding, and that is not possible. I will want you to be an aunt to my children, but that cannot happen. I will need you when our parents die, but you cannot be here. I will want you to grow old with me, but that is also out of reach. And I wont lie to you and tell you I wont cry. There will be days that I am angry, and days that I am happy. Sometimes I might be bitter, and others I might be positive. There will be days that I triumph in every way, and there will also be days that I sit in the bottom of the shower and bawl. But that’s okay. I count it all as gain. I am so thankful that the Lord gave me someone that was this hard to lose. This kind of love doesn’t always happen, and I cant imagine a life where this didn’t hurt as much as it does! Because that would have been a life without your love. So after a year, here is what I need to say.
Thank you. For being the most caring, compassionate, wonderful sister a girl could ever have.
 I’m sorry. For all the times I made it difficult to be my sister.
And here’s what I ask of you in the future. When I grab my necklace know that I am directly connecting with you. It’s my way of holding your hand. When I sing, know I am at my happiest, and you need not to worry. When I speak, know that I feel wildly accomplished and your always in the crowd in my head. When I give, know that I usually picture you as the recipient. When I write, know that I feel closest to God. It’s the one time I am able to strip down my walls and truly be a vessel. I feel the Holy Spirit move through my fingers and I would have never known about this channel without you. When I scratch the back of my neck, know that I am stressed and I could use some peace if possible. When I run, know that I am trying to clear my head, and help me keep it empty. When I cry, know I need to feel you there. I don’t care how, I just do. And when I smile, know that a large part of any happiness is due to you. And whenever either of those precious boys needs me, KNOW I will be there no matter what.
There is no graceful way to end a letter to Heaven. I really do not know if you “read” these or how any of that works, but I believe that in some way, you receive whatever message I am trying to send. I hope that after this year you are able to look down on me with some sort of pride. It was hard, but I did it all for you. I miss you, and I promise I will never ever stop trying. Every day I will wake in the morning and actively pursue the Lord and I will do whatever it takes to make it to you one day. And to bring everyone that I can with me. I love you sweet sister. Thank you for everything.

Your loving big sister,
Elise

Year One.

If you are ever a part of a funeral, you will find the phrase you hear more than any other is, “Time heals.” I’ve heard this before, and even applied it in certain times in my life. And in all other situations this is normally applicable. In middle school when rumors spread and you are the center of ridicule, you feel as if it is the absolute end of the world, but you soon learn that if you wait it out, two weeks later the ever so intelligent minds of middle schoolers will find someone else to talk about. In high school when you and the “love of your life” have broken up you feel certain that you will die right then and there from utter sorrow and separation anxiety. But after a month or so you find yourself back out with your friends, sometimes slowly mending, but eventually returning to your original state. But death is not that way. Because there is nothing to return to. Time doesn’t HEAL. Because healing would imply that it could be fixed. You refer to healing when you are speaking of a broken bone or a scrape. And you use the term “heal” because doctors or experts of some sort believe that the bone will grow back together and be just as good as it was before. And be normal. And when a cut heals it mends and tiny skin particles lace intricately to make it seem as though you were never hurt at all. And that’s healing. But there is no healing after death. It’s like becoming paralyzed. With assistance, you might be able to do most of the things you used to do. And you might even be happy again. But you will never go back to the way you were before. You will still look down every day and realize that you are paralyzed and remember how you got to be that way. You have to make almost every decision you made before, differently. Bailey is the first thought I have in the morning and the last thought in the evening. She determines the radio station, the candle scent, the color schemes, the movie selection, and my dessert; because all of those things can completely change my mood. I can’t listen to For Good or I Will Stand By You because she named them our “sister songs”.  I can’t have anything lime green because that was her color. I can’t have evergreen candles because of our little joke surrounding forest smells. I can’t watch My Sisters Keeper because we saw it together in theaters and cried throughout the whole thing on one another’s shoulders. I can’t have red velvet cake because it was her favorite and my mother loved to make it for her. And maybe I will be able to do these things again. I will reteach myself how to bare these memories. But either way, that loss controls those thoughts.

Time has never been a comforting thing for me. It terrifies me to live in a world without Bailey and time only inches me farther and farther away from her existence. Which further solidifies the frustrating fact that I have no control over time. So maybe that’s my real anger towards it. This month, has been impossible. Every memory I have of this time last year, is fresh and bright.. and she is there. And then I fast forward to that night. And whatever memory I was attempting to enjoy becomes screeching tires and a fatal car crash. Every happy memory feels disgustingly fake and forced. Because I know what happens next. I know that doesn’t last. The year marker brings new fears and puts others to rest. I have told myself all year, if you make it through the first year, you’ve won. And that triumph will still be in place. I will take joy in the spite I will throw at the devil. He challenged me with everything he had, and he lost. But I am also acutely aware of how things will change after this year is up. People are understanding of loss, to an extent. But many believe that a year is plenty of time to be “okay”. And honestly, I believed that as well at first. I was under the assumption that once I covered the “firsts” it would be easier, and I would miss her less. But what I have had to come to accept is that I am in for a lifetime of missing her. There is no finish line for grief. Missing her will never stop. So like someone paralyzed, there is no healing, there is only coping. There is learning how to live without your original mobility, even learning how to make the best of it. But there is no way to be completely whole again. With that being said, there are plenty of ways to fill your life to its absolute fullest through Christ Jesus. And the Lord has blessed me in so many ways this year through this tragic and awful thing. My Lord has grown from my distant God to my comforting Father and knowing God in that intimate way has truly been the most rewarding part of this year.  So what I have learned about time is this, it does not heal, but it does teach. It gives you a chance to distance yourself from a situation and truly understand and appreciate the blessings that came from it. The friendships that were formed or strengthened. The family bonds you have a new found appreciation for. The church family you might have taken advantage of before, or the community you were convinced you wanted to leave.  I am not ready for it to be a year, but I can say I am so grateful to have made it this far. The support system I have is overwhelming and I can’t thank half of you enough for the encouragement you have given me this year. I hope I am able to give back to you all in some way in the future. For now, I will write. And in that regard, thank you for listening. The positive feedback I continue to receive has allowed writing to become my safe haven of expression, the one place I am completely honest and shamelessly naked. I hope God will continue to use it in His way. Here’s to the upcoming year of learning, may it be as rewarding as the last. God bless you all.

National Sibling Day.

I woke up today in a terrible mood. Which is very odd for me, but true nonetheless. God continued to give me opportunities to turn this around and make today a good day, and like the stubborn child I am I shot them to the ground and allowed myself to remain grumpy.  I wasted an entire day pouting. And I justified all of this simply because it is apparently National Sibling Day. Instead of scrolling down my Newsfeed or Instagram and smiling at the happy faces of brothers and sisters of my friends, I let bitterness creep into my heart and I frowned feeling sorry for myself. But by this evening I had finally had enough of my pity party and I decided to sit down and pray. And in this prayer I decided to tell God all of the reasons I was thankful He made me a big sister, and how grateful I am for each sibling He gave me. And here’s summary of what I told my Father.

Thank you for making me Bailey’s big sister. She taught me more in her short life span than anyone has. I’m sorry that I get caught up making excuses for myself, because I miss her. I know that she would not be proud of that. God, I’m thankful that you allowed me to be her best friend. There are many people in this world more deserving of that role, but I’m glad you let it be me. Thank you for sharing her laugh with me, and her smile. Thank you for letting me be her shoulder, when she’d had a rough day at school. Thank you for letting me be her cheer leader and letting me remind her that no boy will ever be good enough for her. Thank you for giving me absolutely no ability with musical instruments, so I could always be in awe of her when she played. Thank you for giving her long legs, so I can wear her sweat pants when I miss her. Thank you for sending your Son to die for us, so that she has the opportunity to live with you now. And thank you for giving ME the hope of Heaven so I may someday see her again. Help me to have a positive outlook on a future without her, and help me have the knowledge to understand that she is always with me as long as I walk with You.
Thank you for making me Drew’s big sister. His tender disposition and sweet heart remind me of Bailey every day. But thank you for the things that make Drew unique also. Thank you for making him much smarter than me, so that I may learn from him. Thank you for making him so thoughtful, because he is often the most understanding person I know. Thank you for making him strong, so that we can relate. Thank you for making us so different, so that we always find each other amusing. Thank you for letting me drive him places safely, because our car talks are always the best. Thank you for keeping him healthy, so I could always enjoy him. And thank you for giving him Bailey, he definitely deserved a big sister like her. Please continue to keep him safe, and continue to give me guidance and show me the ways I can be the best sister to him.
And thank you for making me Carter’s big sister. His goofy grin and energetic humor makes me smile constantly. Thank you for making him so much like me, because it is so fun to watch him grow. Thank you for making him funny, so he is always able to cheer us up. Thank you for making him resilient, so that he may live a life free of sorrow. Thank you for letting me watch him as a teenager, it made our bond even stronger. Thank you for giving me a voice, because we love to have loud sing alongs in the car. Thank you for letting me know You, I love telling Him all about You and Your promises. And thank you for also giving Him Bailey. I don’t know a child more deserving of her love. Help me to carry on that love and please continue to keep him healthy, happy, and safe.

I know there is nothing I could have done to deserve the honor of being the eldest Robinson. I try to remind myself and thank God every day for that blessing. Sometimes in the midst of a busy world, I get caught up with what I feel like is missing and instead of recognizing what I have, I cant seem to see past the giant void I feel. But today, on National Sibling Day I am going to be thankful. Thankful for the time I got with my sweet sister, and thankful for the time I get to continue having with my precious brothers. It is the greatest gift I have ever received.  

IMPACT- Day Two.

I woke up on day two nervous, anxious, and nauseous, but ready to meet those children. We woke up each morning around six to load a bus by seven for the hour and a half commute from Galveston to Houston. When we arrived, I couldn’t get off that bus quick enough. I charged into the building towards the class room to have absolutely everything perfectly prepared for those sweet kids when they came in. And once set up was finished, the most agonizing portion began, waiting. I could not shake the pit in the bottom of my stomach. I was about to meet Gilberto. The child my sister had claimed changed her life. This child that I had imagined finding since she had passed. He was about to be here, in this room, and I had no idea how to approach him. I had played out every possible scenario in my head and I knew I had to lower my expectations. What if he didn’t like me?? That was possible. He didn’t know nor understand how important meeting him was to me. He held no obligation for my feelings. He was a regular kid coming for VBS, completely unaware of how special he was to me. The interns informed us it was tradition for them to create a spirit line up the hall that they would enter when they exited the buses. I stood there scanning the children, faking screams as they entered, zoned into finding Gilberto. And then he came in. It was no big moment to him. Or anyone else really. But there he was. His big honest brown eyes widened at the amount of people, his sheepish grin spread out across his face, and he hung his head in embarrassment as he walked through the line. I had found him. And I followed him. He grabbed his name tag from the leaders and walked into the next hall. He was clearly reserved. Many of his friends had begun to cut up and he remained in line, smiling after them. The interns would say something to him and he would just respond with a grin. He had very little to say, he was just thankful to be there. He turned the next corner towards the main meeting area and I walked right up to him. “Gilberto isn’t it?? I’m Elise!! I’m one of your teachers this week. I’m in green group with you!” I beamed at the child, excitement seeping from my pores and Gilberto stared. There was not even a smile. In fact, he looked frightened and instead of grabbing my hand and joining me as I had hoped, he purposefully walked around me and walked into the large room alone. I could have cried. I had imagined that moment so differently. Here I was hoping to have a huge reunion with this child, and he thought I was a freak. I stood up and collected myself, and determined I walked into the meeting room, found him, and planted myself beside him, refusing to move even when he looked up at me with slight disgust. He had no interest in me whatsoever. And as fun sing ensued and I tried even harder, grabbing his hands and dancing and smiling, but he only became even more annoyed and continued to pull his hands away and turn his face. I was crushed. Didn’t he understand that I had come here for him?? I needed him to like me, I needed him to care for me as he had my sister. And as Fun Sing came to a close he walked swiftly away from me into his reading room only looking back to make sure there was a good distance in between us. Feeling hopeless, I leaned up against the wall and prayed. I prayed that God show me what this child needed from me. I prayed that God give me some insight to what I was supposed to do. I had done everything I could think of!! I had smiled, been inviting, danced, sang, been energetic… And as I am going through all the things I had done it became more and more clear to me what I had done wrong. I had watched Gilberto in the hall, and he was a Bailey. He was quiet and gentle and sweet. And I had come at him intense and aggressive and he was not conditioned for that. For this kid to respond to me as he did Bailey, I had to be LIKE Bailey. And that blew my mind. I had never been intimidated by mission work because I do well with people. I love people. And I love to make them feel warm and welcome. I love to laugh and dance and make children feel excited to be there. But the problem with all of those things is that it began with what I, ELISE, loved. And this wasn’t about ME. Ultimately, it was about HIM. And I needed to change myself to fit Gilberto’s needs. He didn’t need energy, he needed gentle. He didn’t need excitement, he needed understanding. So in that moment I raced through memories of Bay and tried to document her mannerisms so that I could be as much like her as possible for this child. “Please God, let this work. Show me how it’s done Bay.” I clutched my necklace, and walked boldly towards the door, spotted him through the window, and stepped in quietly, sitting down next to him without saying a word. He looked at me carefully, shifting his only his eyes, but I looked ahead, pretending not to notice him and listening intently to the reading coaches instructions. She passed out books and I volunteered to read the books aloud to the class. I love reading to children. I read loudly with animation, changing my voices for each of the characters. But I glanced at Gilberto only twice, and spent most of the time focused on the book and the rest of the class. After I had finished reading, we were told to allow our little buddies to read to us, and to help them along if they had any issues. And everyone turned to their kids to start working. I looked down and Gilberto and asked, “Can you read?” I adjusted my voice to be quieter and soft, the way I remember Bay’s being. He looked up, and said nothing, but did respond with a slight grin. I handed him the book, and crossed my arms, waiting to see how he would react. And as I expected he opened the book and began to read. And he was brilliant. He sped through the book with ease, without a stutter or pause, and finished his work sheets the same. And we slowly began to click. Bailey had a way of making you feel comfortable in any setting. You didn’t have to be talking to spend time with Bailey. You could just sit and enjoy each other’s presence without having to force chatter. And that’s what we did. He rested his arm on my leg as he did his work sheets, and he was content. He didn’t need me to continue talking, he was happy I was there, and he had work to do. After he had finished his work we leaned up against the wall and I asked him a few questions. He would respond, but with quick and concise answers. At one point he asked me why I talked so much so I sealed my lips and responded with a grin. He went back to his book, flipping through the pages silently, but I watched him smiling and I knew I was doing better. After reading time we went into the main assembly for the Bible story and prayer before lunch. I sat down and Gilberto plopped in my lap and I couldn’t help but beam. We had all been anticipating asking Gilberto about Bailey. Whether he remembered her and what if anything he could tell us about her. Mollie looked at me and mouthed, “Have you asked him yet?” I shook my head and she nodded. I wanted to wait for the right moment to ask him. I had seen how overwhelmed he could get and I wanted him to be focused and comfortable when I asked him a question I had been holding for six months. We sat and listened to the Bible story and then went into our classroom for lunch and for more Bible time. At this time I was able to meet more of the children in my group and spend more time with Gilberto. We had them do prayer journals and the children blew us away with their selfless responses. Gilberto told me he wanted to pray for his little sister because she was sad. I asked him why she was sad and he said because she didn’t like to be away from him and she was in the kindergarten class. He wrote, “I want to pray for Jamina so she won’t be sad and she will love VBS like me.” I was in love. I also fell in love with an energetic, rough little boy name Ricardo that latched onto me pretty quickly.  He sat in my lap and kissed my face after knowing me for fifteen minutes and pulled at my hair when he wanted my attention. And by the end of class, I was wishing it could go on forever. At the end of the day they go back to assembly for what they call “Ticket Time” in which they celebrate good behavior during the day by presenting prizes to those that had received tickets throughout the day. Because of Gilberto’s timidity towards the yelling and dancing, I allowed him to shrink back and spent my time jumping around with Ricardo yelling back to Gilberto only twice and watching him smile in return. As they announced his bus route he ran over without a word and hugged my waist, and ran for the bus. I stood outside and waved until the bus was out of sight. Then I loaded my own bus, fell into a seat in exhaustion, and road the whole way back smiling with contentment, confident that Bailey was proud of the work I had done.

IMPACT- Day One.

My sister had a heart for mission work. Her giving spirit and willingness to work, along with her purity and compassion made her impossible to dislike. Children felt they could trust her, teens could relate to her, and adults understood her. She had a gentleness and humbleness that is recognized universally and in turn, made her influential in any setting. I remember her coming home from Impact Houston in the summer of 2012 and seeing a maturity in my sister I had never recognized before. She came back energized and confident, as though she had found a place that she could really thrive. I remember her speaking so highly of the program, the trip, and all the many wonderful people she had met while in Houston.  I remember being disappointed I had not gone as well, but there was no real urgency for me to make the trip myself. I decided that could be Bailey’s thing, even when she encouraged me to join her the next year. She insisted it was an indescribable experience and I would just have to go and see for myself. I remember how sincere she was. How she truly longed that I could understand the journey she had been on. And all these things came to mind even more clearly when she was gone. In December, I made it my mission to make it to Houston. To fulfill this “dream” she had for me. It became an obsession. I researched people she had come in contact with and children she had become especially close to. I wanted to interact with kids she had touched and meet people that had known her in one of her most life changing experiences. I had to put these pieces of who she was together. Because I knew Bailey at home. I knew Bailey as my little sister. But I wanted to know Bailey as just, Bailey. The Bailey that others had met. The strong, confident, independent Bailey that I rarely got to see. I wanted to go somewhere that no one knew me. They had no preconceived notions of who I was. They could give me a completely unflawed vision of who my sweet sister was to them.  So I informed Scott that I was chaperoning, and on the day of July 7^th, I packed my bags and entered a bus headed for Houston, Texas. I can’t describe the overwhelming feeling that greeted me in boarding that bus. For the first time ever in any sort of mission work, I was honestly terrified. I knew the week was going to be completely emotionally consuming and I didn’t know if I was up for the challenge. Was I asking for it by coming on this trip?? Was I just setting myself up to be depressed?? But I was determined to do this. For me, for her, for her friends, for Scott, and for my Lord. So I sat down in a bus seat, wrapped her blanket around me, grabbed my necklace, and I prayed. I prayed hard. I prayed that God would give me the strength to make it through the week, the knowledge to see the things I was meant to see, and the patience to understand how to act on them. And as we began our thirteen hour journey to Houston I felt myself cry. Embarrassed, I buried my head in the blanket and curled in a ball until I felt someone over me. I looked up and Scott smiled down. As usual, sweet Scott came with comfort and understanding. So he sat down beside me with my blanket wrapped legs in his lap, and we prepared ourselves for the emotional ride ahead.

We drove through the night on Saturday and arrived at a Cracker Barrel in Texas on Sunday morning. We got out to eat breakfast and change from our bus riding clothes, to church attire. We then rode into Houston and onto the road where the little Impact church sat. I wouldn’t have known if the kids from last year hadn’t jumped up in excitement. There are three buildings that make up the Impact church. The main building, where they host church and VBS II, the middle school building, and the education building where they have their Sunday school classes and VBS I. Because of the amazing work the Impact church does, they have too many kids to hold in one building. They have been forced to separate the large quantity of children into 2 VBS groups, and Beltline was placed with VBS I. Sunday morning we began with their Sunday school classes. Daniel Lane, a senior from our Beltline group, and I were put in a room with the 4^th graders to observe and help when needed. Now Impact Houston has what they call “interns” that the church brings in each year. People apply for these positions and the staff hand picks them for the summer. The interns are in charge of discipline while the youth groups are there and crowd control, but on a larger scale they teach Sunday school classes and help lead the groups throughout the week. They do an amazing job and it was an honor to get to work with them throughout the week. We met our first group of kids and a sassy group of girls that I hit it off with right away. I sat with them during class and they filled me in on their lives of boys, nail polish, hot Cheetohs, and their cousins that didn’t get along. Now three of the girls were three peas in a pod. They truly believed they were too cool for school and they were proud of it. They were skinny and had their hair braided similarly, and were dressed in cute little outfits. There was a fourth girl in the group that seemed to be the odd man out and she clung to me right away. She was a larger girl and she clearly didn’t have the same amount of attention at home as the other three. You could tell her hair hadn’t been done recently and two of the girls commented on her dress being the same one she had worn the Sunday before. But she had the sweetest heart and I enjoyed listening to her talk about God. At one point we were talking about things that annoyed us, and what we could do to change that, whether that meant being more patient or more understanding or removing ourselves from a situation. Most of the girls misunderstood the assignment and instead, wrote down the ways the people that annoyed them could change themselves so they weren’t as annoying. I will admit, Daniel and I had a hard time not laughing at some of their responses, but Shay’s answer was the one that truly pricked my heart. When asked what annoyed her she wrote, “When the other girls make fun of my weight.” And when asked what she could do to change that she wrote, “Realize that God loves me the way that I am and not let it hurt my feelings.”  How powerful. For a fourth grader to understand that her Father doesn’t look at the outward appearances as the world does, but He understands her heart. And that the people of this world will always tease you, but it is up to you whether or not you let it bother you. I don’t do that at 19, much less at 10. I allow anything and everything to hold me back. I allow my weight, my hair, my eyes, my cheeks, my toes, and everything else to dictate my mood. I will let one comment about my size, change my complete outlook on the day. I will stop myself from doing something, if I feel like someone will judge the way I look doing it. And Shontay was able to realize in the fourth grade that none of that matters?? Despite my fears for the week, and my anxiety towards meeting the children the next day, at that moment I felt hope. I felt fulfilled. And I smiled at her knowing that if I met one child like that in my day one, then I was bound to meet at least one more, and I was looking forward to the next moment I got to see my Savior smile back at me from inside a child.

Daddy's girl

I have always been a daddy’s girl. From the beginning, the relationship between my father and I has been special. For starters, we are basically the same person. We don’t stress about the little things. We have to be taken from any crowd, if you allow us to stand there and socialize we will be there for hours. We love to laugh. We love a good story, especially something inspirational. We love politics and history. We love family. We love God. But more than that some of our strongest convictions have come from what we have learned from each other. My father has learned to be more open minded and I have learned that a compassionate heart is never weary. I have learned that your home is a blessing from God and you are to use it to glorify Him, and he has learned words can be more powerful than he ever imagined. And above all of this, we understand that at the end of the day, we are there for each other, and our relationship can withstand any trials because it is founded on our love for the Lord, our original Father, who makes these earthly dads possible. The Father that allows us to connect and have these human interactions and imbedded love into our souls.  My definition of Father has changed many times throughout my life. As a child, my father was a man who protected me. A man who taught me right from wrong. A man who held my fingers as I started to walk on wobbly legs. A man who determined when I would eat or sleep. And as a child I depended on him completely. But as I have grown my father has taken on a different role. He no longer protects me, but stands beside me when times are tough and watches me take things on myself, whether it pains him or not. He allows me to be an adult and understands that he can no longer shelter me, so he stands in the wings and watches with pride. He no longer teaches me right from wrong, he has taught me everything I need to know. He is always willing to talk or give advice, but he is also wise enough to understand that he does not have all the answers and he often points me to the word of God so that I can seek my own understanding. He no longer holds my fingers or schedules my sleeping. I have grown from dependent to independent, which is the goal of a Godly father.  My father is an amazing man. In this year alone he lost his daughter and his best friend and yet he somehow manages to get up every morning, put a smile on his face, and lead what’s left of our family towards Heaven. When Mr. Chet passed, my dad was selected to be a Paul Bearer. Wanting to go in as a team, I asked if there was anything I could do to help and was told I could usher. We arrived that morning dressed in black. The same black dress I had fashioned for all of Beltline’s funerals, including my sister’s. For anyone that has lost a loved one, funerals are tough. It’s not a selfish thing, your body just naturally reacts. It’s like remembering a meal you ate before you had a stomach flu. No one means to make another’s funeral about themselves, but they create instant flashbacks, and Mr. Chet’s funeral was the first we had attended since our sweet Bailey’s. I walked in nervous and found my dad. I wanted to take care of him so badly. I wanted to take away his hurt and squeeze him to death. But I had to allow him to do this his way. So I watched him. All day. I walked up to the doors of the auditorium and peeked in the small glass window. I saw the coffin and my airway closed. I completely lost the ability to breathe. I walked swiftly to the bathroom and stared into the mirror. And I made a promise. I made a promise to make it through that day for the Humphries. To make it through that day for my dad. And to prove to everyone in that congregation that I was strong enough to handle this. That God hadn’t messed up giving me a challenge, he had chosen the right girl. I said a quick prayer, put on my game face, and I walked out of the bathroom ready to serve. I was instructed to stand about fifteen feet away from the family and weave the line of guests towards them. Talk to the people, greet them, and put them at as much ease as possible. My father stood at the back of the auditorium for a majority of the time. We would catch each other watching one another. But I was far too focused to be emotional. I thought very little of our own experience as I spoke to numerous people. I would flick my eyes towards the Humphries and then realize that was a poor decision. I focused on the crowd. The many many people that had been touched by that amazing man. And as the time for the funeral approached Mrs. Donna came to tell me it was time to lead the family back. We cut off the line and I stood to make a path for them, trying to stay out of the way. I assumed my work was done until I looked and saw Cara Paige veering away from the family. She came up to me, wrapped her arms around my hips, and laid her head on my chest. I felt my heart crumble and I laid my head on top of hers and held her close. I had wanted so badly to be helpful and for the first time that day I felt as though I was doing something right. And every emotion I could have possibly had at that moment whizzed through my head. I was taken back to Bailey’s funeral. I remembered walking up that aisle to leave and wanting to hold her so badly. To wrap arms around her one more time and feel her breathe against me. And with my eyes closed and Cara’s petite warm body near, she became my Bailey. She fulfilled what I had longed for since December 2^nd. And two people that were hurting, two people that were broken, were able to hold one another and fill that empty space with a little love. I put my arm around her waist and walked her up the aisle and to the foyer where I kissed her forehead. And I watched her walk down that hall that we had walked down. The hall that sealed the passageway and forever kept us from seeing our Bailey again. And after an entire day of swallowing tears and playing strong, I collapsed into weeping. I walked towards the wall and buried my faced and allowed by body to give into my break down. And as I cry I feel someone under me. I feel arms embrace me and I grab onto a man’s jacket that is against me. I don’t know who this person is, but I was too exhausted to care. And when I summoned the courage to look up, I saw my dad. And at the moment, I wouldn’t had wanted anyone else. And we cried. I am so thankful to have a father that isn’t afraid of emotion. One that understands that this life hurts and we need each other to lean on, and to cry into. My dad has taught me how to be strong. And being strong doesn’t mean you don’t weep. You take care of your responsibilities, and you don’t allow your emotions to get in the way when you are needed, but you take time to give yourself a break and understand that you can’t be strong around the clock. And you find people that understand this journey is a rugged road. I am glad to have my dad this Father’s day. I am glad we are given a day just to show him how important he is in our lives. I am glad that Bailey got to experience a dad as great as ours and I know that he and my mother are responsible for the beginnings of her faith and for her pathway to Heaven. I hope that as I age, I never grow weary in searching for my husband, and that I don’t allow myself to stop until I find someone as wonderful as my own father. Thank you for all that you do, all that you will do, and all that you didn’t have to do. I love you daddy.

Six blessings, for six months.

Six months sounds like a long time when you say it out loud. Six months is when a fetus develops their optic nerve. Six months is how long it takes for a fig tree to sprout. Six months is a full semester of school. Six months is half of an entire year. Time is an odd thing. During trauma it seems to slow down. You feel as if your life is a movie and everything is going on around you. But the scary part is when you sense your life change from slow motion to fast paced, and you realize the terrible, awful, no good thing about life is… It goes on. Whether you are prepared for it or not. And everyday the clock ticks. The seconds, minutes, and hours pass. Nights turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, and we slip farther and farther away from the time of Bailey on this earth. Memories become muddled. Sounds are hard to recall and her smell is impossible to find. I make an active decision to think about Bailey when I decide because otherwise, I am terrified to waste my memories of her. Scared that if I over use them, details will change or the memory itself will pass away forever. I carefully select which thoughts I wish to use. However, there is no measure of what I have lost, to how much I have gained. So here are a few things I have learned in this half of a year without Bay.

1. My God is my Father. He loves me immensely and He would never do anything to hurt me. He allows things to happen that benefit my faith. That cause me growth or cause others to grow through me. He hurts when I hurt, but He allows pain when it is what’s best for me. He gave me this trial because He knew I was strong enough to handle it, and my entire life up until now He has been training me to prepare me for this task. And much like a Father, I feel His pride when I surrender to His will.
2. Your church family, IS your family. Christ came to this earth to establish a church, to make a home for His followers in this imperfect world. Our Lord understands that this life makes us weary. He sees our burdens and pains. So He blesses us with relationships that carry us through the hard times. He gives us a place to rest, a safe haven from the reality of life. A place free of judgment and malice. And He fills this place with individuals from all walks of life that essentially have nothing in common besides the fact that they are all bound together by the blood of Christ. And because of His sacrifice He has created a way for them to become our family. In times of sorrow, they lend a shoulder. In times of heartache, they surround you with love. In times of happiness, they rejoice alongside you. In times of anger, they find ways to calm you. And in times of loss, they remind you who your family is.
3. Satan is a tricky fella. He uses tactics that we are blind to. He exerts his own powers to tempt us in every possible way. He causes confusion to create chaos. He slithers into your thoughts to muddle your knowledge in Christ. He prompts you to ask the wrong questions and he entices you with his fruit of lies. Do not be deceived by the world around you. Do not allow Satan to infect your heart.
4. You are not a freak. This grieving thing, everyone does it differently. There is no right or wrong way. As long as the way you choose to grieve does not hinder another Christian’s healing, you’re good. If you are not a crier, don’t cry. If you are emotional, weep when you see fit. If you feel the need to comfort others, do it. If you need to be alone, find a quiet place. Your process will be completely different from the person’s next to you. Pray on it, and God will show you what is best for you. Do not hesitate to do what your body is telling you, even if you feel it is unconventional. It might be just what someone needs to see or it could be a huge step on your highway to healing.
5. You can use it, or abuse it. I can allow Bailey’s death to change me for the better or the worse. It is solely my decision. I could turn to drugs and alcohol to drown out the world and destroy my life while blaming it on the death of my sister, or I can allow it to transform me into the person I am meant to be. Events such as these are not coincidences. They are not meant to be thrown away as a small stepping stone in your life. It is a monumental boulder that if you are strong enough to push aside, carry it on your back to make you stronger.
6. My sister wouldn’t change it. There are days that if given the choice, I would run to Heaven, grab her, and bring her home. But I had a dream once that changed my perspective. I was running through a long black hall and I saw the light of Heaven in front. I stopped at The Gates panting and looked up into the face of Peter. He looked at me, confused, and asked me what I was doing at the Gates of Heaven. I stood up boldly and announced, “I’m here to get my sister!” He smiled at me sympathetically, opened the Gates and said, “If she will go, you may have her.” I paid little attention to this remark as I was already sprinting through the streets of Heaven searching the faces for my baby sister. And I found her. I raced to her and embraced her, tears flowing down as I kissed her cheeks. We held each other for minutes but finally she pulled back and looked at me with a frown, “What are you doing here Elise?” she asked with a worried expression. “I’m here to get you Bailey!! I’m here to rescue you! Come home with me!!” I tugged at her hand anxiously and beamed at her with such pride. She gripped my hand, stared into my eyes and said, “But Elise, HE rescued me. And THIS is my home.” She walked towards me and kissed my forehead and after a bright flash, I woke up in bed. And I sobbed. As much as I breaks my heart to live here without my sister, I know that she is where she worked her entire life to be.

There are many other things God has taught me over the course of this time. But here are six things for six months that have been particular blessings. I hope they benefit you as well.

How beautiful Heaven must be.

As life continues to change and I proceed to grow, my idea of Heaven has evolved. My concept of Heaven as a child is laughable to me now. When I was younger, Heaven was where my childhood dog Princess was. It was a place lined with gold as taught to me in class, packed with old people from the Bible I had no personal connection to, and a God that I had trouble understanding. I had heard there was no sadness, but as a kid I had experienced very little sorrow, so I felt no need to escape from this world. The amount of sorrow I and the Beltline family have felt within the past year has been beyond outrageous. At this point it all seems unreal, like we will all wake up tomorrow and it will have been a terrible nightmare. For so many families, including my own, I wish this were the case. Throughout this year alone my idea of Heaven has tumbled from a distant place to a home. An embrace I look forward to whenever it is my own time. I have lost my fear for death. When Mike passed, I saw Heaven as lovely as I had seen it as a child, just with him there. I imagined him walking with Jesus, barefoot in the grass beside babbling brooks, discussing Mike’s many questions. Heaven became an idea of reunion. When Bailey left us, Heaven became a pure destination. A place I had to get to so I could hold her again. And the scenery of Heaven changed. When I dreamed of Heaven, it was my house. Mike opened the door, and Bailey was there, in the foyer. Arms open waiting to embrace me. And after I ran to her and cried on her shoulder, Mike came up behind us and wrapped us both in a bear hug and smiled. When Jim died, Heaven became Beltline. Mike, always the doorman, would push open the entrance beaming and I would run to Bailey. And as I hugged her I would look up and Jim would be standing behind us smiling. Mike would walk over and shake his hand and they would wait watching Bailey and I together, blessing it with their nods of encouragement. And then Baby Jack slipped away, and Heaven stayed at Beltline. But this time when Mike welcomed me in Bailey stood there with Jack in her arms, smiling at me and tilting her elbows down to allow me to see his sleeping face. I take Jack from her and she kisses my cheek and steps back to hug Mike and stand beside Jim. And now we have lost Chet. And Heaven becomes new yet again. I dreamed last night that I stood in front of Beltline. I knew that my loved ones were waiting inside and I boldly swung open the doors myself. And there they were. Mike sat across from Chet with his hand on Chet’s knee. Jim sat beside him, his arm around Chet’s shoulders. And Bailey sat on the floor below him with Baby Jack laying in her lap and her arms draped across Chet’s knee. And above them all is our Savior. He stands there watching them, His hands gripping Chet’s shoulders and as I stand there observing, Mike hears me. He turns to me and smiles, and then they all in unison raise their heads. They grin from ear to ear, happy for me to join their family. I think of this picture often. I imagine Bailey handing Jack off to Mike and running over to play soccer with Madison Dunlap and Noah. I see Jim Hedges and Peter fishing in the Tennessee River. I watch Mike and Paul study the Bible together on Beltline’s front pews. I see Bailey messing with Chet about the reflection of Angels wings off of Chet’s bald head. I hate that these souls are missing from our earthly Beltline family. I hate that their families are in pain. But personally, I believe Beltline will have the best welcoming committee possible in that City on a Hill. And frankly, I am quite ready to get there and see them all.

The Never Ending Sacrifice

There are many words you could use to describe mothers; hard working, compassionate, loving, and supportive, just to name a few. But I think the most accurate adjective to sum up motherhood would be sacrifice. They sacrifice nine months of their lives to be our incubator. They release their own bodies to form ours. They endure hours of physical pain and mental stress to bring us into the world. They lose days of sleep to tend to our every need. They trade a social life for our mute companionship. And all these things and more only pertain to year one. They are still responsible for at least 17 more years of life. Years of carpooling, laundry, cooking, cleaning, disciplining, and teaching. Some mothers have help, some do it alone. Some find is easy, some learn from mistakes. Some work, while others stay at home. There is no manual for motherhood, no magic method that guarantees perfect children. No mother is flawless, but as far moms go, my mother was pretty darn close. My mom went to school to be a teacher, and could have been a great one, but she made the decision to stay home with us instead. She was there every morning to help us get ready, every afternoon to assist with homework, and every evening to tuck us into bed. She was at every ball game, chorus concert, play, and awards day. She spent hours teaching us how to do household chores that we would carry into adulthood. But I don’t think I truly understood what an outstanding woman and mother my mom is until we lost our sweet Bailey. It is impossible to describe a mother’s love, but you can see it. I saw it in every mannerism the week of the funeral. There was a true sense of loneliness to her, as though a piece of her was missing. She seemed to be wandering, looking for something she had lost. She went through the motions but her mind was elsewhere. She longed for Bailey’s touch, for her warmth. She wanted her buddy back. But the true character and strength of my mother was carried out when she had every reason to fall apart, and she didn’t. When she could have been grieving the loss of one child, but recognized she had three others. No one would have blamed her for taking her own time, for separating herself for her personal healing. But being a mother never stops, and although she had lost one, she understood three others needed her love and comfort. She knew that Drew, Carter, and I are three very diverse and unique individuals and would need very different methods of care. She spent hours with each of us, catering to our personal needs, even if it wasn’t what she needed. When we needed to talk, she was there to listen. If we needed to cry, she provided a shoulder. If we needed to be angry, she let us rant. If we needed to be happy, she encouraged us to feel no guilt. And to this day she makes sure that we understand how special each of us is to her. She invests in each of us just as fervently as the other. I’ll be the first to admit that my mom and I have not always seen eye to eye. We are very different people in multiple aspects. But as our relationship has grown we have learned to respect one another for our unique talents. I will never understand my mom’s will power. She runs 6-8 miles BEFORE the sun rises and somehow manages to still function throughout the day. She keeps a house of 6 very involved people, fully functioning. We are never hungry, dirty, or off schedule. I guarantee you, this is not how I will be at 42. But at times I see my mom’s pride in little things I do and I understand that she appreciates the original gifts I contribute to our family as well. I had the privilege of watching an amazing mother-daughter relationship with Bailey and mom and I hate for her that Bay is not able to be around. But I hope through watching their bond and enjoying our own, I am able to carry the lessons my mother taught me and use them with my own children if God decides to make me a mother someday. Having Debra Robinson as a mother has truly been one of the greatest blessings of my life. Happy Mother’s Day mom. I love you.

"See you at Home."

There is no manual for how to handle death. There is no right or wrong way to approach it. At eighteen, I had never experienced death before and it left me not knowing what I could or couldn’t ask for. What was or wasn’t allowed and was or wasn’t appropriate. On the day of the funeral we were brought in a couple of hours early to be fed by the church as a family and we were then given the opportunity to say goodbye before the coffin was shut. It had bothered me that I hadn’t had any alone time with my sister thus far and on the day of the funeral I was itching to spend some time with her. I wanted my own good bye. But I didn’t know if you could do that. I didn’t want to be high maintenance, but I knew I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t try. This was my last opportunity and I knew I had to take it. Halfway through lunch I got up and went into the sanctuary of our church. I can’t explain my nerves, I suppose I was afraid they would tell me no, but I walked up to my youth minister and asked, “Could I maybe have fifteen minutes alone with her?” He went into action without any hesitation and deployed some of the ushers at each of the doors. He cleared the room completely as I stood waiting at the back of the auditorium. “I have people at the doors, no one will bother you. Take all the time you need.” He gave me a hug and walked out the back door, leaving me alone. My stomach turned. I had spent all morning planning how I was going to ask and what I was going to say, but now that I had gotten the time I had wanted, I was unsure of what to do. I wanted to hold her, to touch her. But what would I say? What was good enough for this moment? The slide show ran over her and I stood there watching our childhood in picture form. And I started walking. I drug legs of lead up to the stage and placed my feet on each stair until I found myself standing over her, looking down on my sleeping sister. And for the first time, I wept. I had cried in short spurts a few times over the past few days, but I had not let myself go. Until then I had responsibilities and eyes always watching. But now I was alone. Just she and I and the sounds of my ragged breathing. I watching my tears create water stains on her blouse and I absently brushed them away. I watched her intently, as if something was going to change. She looked lovely. Too much make up for Bay’s taste, but lovely. I began to panic. I was taking too much time. What if I had been in her for hours? What if I had held up the funeral? I couldn’t ruin everything, everyone had worked too hard. But I looked at the clock and two minutes had passed. I had spent two minutes in that room and I had assumed it was hours. I looked back at her and decided to take a mental note of everything I desperately wanted to remember. I buried my fingers in her hair begging my mind to remember how cool and soft it felt. I held her hand, forming mine to hers hoping to remember the shape of her long fingers. I brushed her cheeks lightly committing the texture to my mind. The conversation she had will stay between the two of us. My monologue rather, but I like to believe she was right there listening. I spent minutes trying to catch my breath and tell her things I needed her to know. I would pause between bitter tears, clear my throat and begin again. But for the first time, I was not embarrassed by my sobbing. It was just she and I, and I could cry in front of her. She understood how much I was hurting. I stood beside her, my body draped over the side of her casket. I held her hand with one of mine and pet her hair with the other. I rested my head on the pillow beside her and allowed my make up less tears to slide down her satin pillow. I held her and cried. I cried for my mother. My precious mother who had carried her for nine months and given her to us. The mother that had given up the chance at a career to devote her life completely to raising us in the Lord. The woman that woke us up in the morning, brought us home in the afternoon, and tucked us in at night. My mother that nursed us when we were sick, helped us when we were confused, and taught us when we need to learn. The mother that had become our friend. I cried for my dad. My father that spends hours overworking to provide for us. That spends all week working but was then up at the crack of dawn on Saturday to play with us in the yard. The dad that would miss any golf, football, or baseball game if it meant spending time with us. The dad that taught us how a man should treat us, and how our relationship with God should look, and had become our most trusted confident. I cried for Drew. Sweet Drew that is so much like Bailey. I look at him every day and see a piece of her.  He had become so much more confident with her encouragement and I ached for his upcoming pain. I cried for Carter. Our funny Carter that I’d never seen cry. Carter that would tell you daily how much he loved you, even if it was brief. But also, I cried for myself. I cried that I was burying my best friend. I cried that fifteen years was over. I cried that my baby sister was no more. I cried that I would have to live without her. I cried that she wasn’t there to dry my tears. I glanced at the clock and picked myself up, without letting go of her hand. And a thought came into my head. When she was younger I would go out, and she would be at home when I left and asleep when I came in. But as she had gotten older I had begun to see her out when I was. I had expressed just weeks earlier how odd it was for me to see my little sister out at events. I would always go up and attempt to embarrass her and we would laugh and go our separate ways. But every time we would see each other out we would say, “Love you. See you at home.” I smiled and looked down upon my sister for the final time. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, and stood up to gaze at her once again. I squeezed her hand and whispered through tears, “Love you sister. See you at Home.”

He's done it again..

I don’t there could have been a more inconvenient time for my sister to have left this earth. It seems as though anytime we get to a good place, there is some sort of holiday or tradition that shows up to remind us of the tragic turns our lives have taken.  We were forced to recognize Christmas three weeks after she was gone, having to stare at empty stockings and vacant spaces under the tree. New Year’s followed closely which brought the aching reality that Bailey would not be a part of 2012 or any year to follow. Valentine’s Day flickered past without the person I love the most and the opportunity to tell her so. Saint Patrick’s Day, which doubles as sweet Bailey’s birthday, turned a day of celebration into a reminder of her inability to age. And finally Easter with an empty egg basket and a missing person in our family pictures. However, the end of the semester is near and I cannot express what a relief that is for me. I left Decatur a month after the accident nervous and lonely and am leaving with the ability to live on my own with confidence and a few lifelong friends. I will not miss Troy. I discovered quickly it is not the place for me. I always viewed it as a transition, and I am ready to put this part of my life behind me. This semester was about healing, and though I am not as strong as I could be, I see myself growing a little bit stronger daily. It’s funny how I started a blog two years ago as a quest to strength and here I am now, doing the same thing. God never stops giving you opportunities to improve yourself. At times, I am thankful for the challenge he put before me. Don’t get me wrong, I would bring my sister back today if it were an option, but God has showed me a lot about myself and my faith through this loss. I was not the person I am now two years ago. I was lost and looking for myself in all the wrong places and all the wrong people. I defined myself by the actions I felt I couldn’t escape.  When I finally got the help I needed and turned my life over to my Maker, I spent quite a bit of time avoiding any encounters with any kind of temptation. Whereas that was certainly what I needed at the time, I sometimes found myself wondering if my faith was solid because there were no obstacles in my path. If I was loving God in the good days, because I had seen the bad. But what would I become if my life wasn’t perfect? Would I return to that person? Is that who I was? Is this a façade I was putting up for those around me? I spent honest time questioning the validity of my love for God. Did I love the material things He had blessed me with and the ease of my life and in that way defined God? Or was my love for Him true? Was my faith Facebook statuses and quotes, or was I a true representative of my Savior? And I would wrestle with that for hours. I prayed for God to challenge me, to give me an opportunity to show Him my faith was real. To prove to the church that had held me up and invested such time and effort into me, that I was an honest soldier of God. That I was someone who could lead their children and someone they could feel comfortable supporting. Someone others could look up to and not see me, but see the grace of God and how far He will go to rescue His lost lamb. And see a success story because of Jesus Christ and not only Him, but what He can do through His people. So others could see God through my parents that through their determination and undying love for me, used every resource at their disposal to help me see the true child of God I was and that I was raised to be. Through my siblings that regardless of the things they heard from their friends, believed in me and the person they knew I was. Through my best friend Jo, who became another sibling with her dedication to me and her patience with my behavior. Through my church, that found a way to forgive a sinner that had brought shame to the name of such a place as Beltline and spent hours in prayer for a solution. I needed to show to all these and more, that what they had invested in me, was not a waste. And sometimes, you get more than you feel like you asked for. I asked God for a challenge, and He gave me one. A big one. He allowed my sister to come home to Him early, and allowed it to be less than a month before I would leave the city I was raised in for the first time. But I am sitting here now with less than three weeks to go on the worst five months of my life, and I can’t help but feel confident that I accepted my challenge and have done my very best. I have not done everything perfect, and I will continue to not do so. I am human, and God understands that. But yet again I find myself overwhelmed with His love for me. With His grace, I will be able to put this semester behind me and move on with my life, stronger than before. He has surrounded me with His love and His people just as He has done always. I look forward to a summer at home with my family, friends, and church. I have far more healing to do, and I am happy I will be home with that people that love me most to hold me up and help me through. For all the prayers and cards and words of encouragement throughout the semester, I am truly thankful. It was things such as these that helped me make it. Never doubt that your words are wasted. I smile every time any little words of encouragement come my way. Continue to be the amazing people you are. There is always someone that could use it. 22 days to go, I will see you all very soon.

Rain.

I saw a funeral procession today. It was the first one I have seen since Bay’s funeral and for some reason it upset me incredibly. My car sat still at the green light and I found myself staring at the people in the car next to me. They were frustrated at the length of the cars and they tapped at their brakes with annoyed expressions. It took every ounce of my inner strength not to get out of my car. Don’t they know that family is exhausted?? Don’t they know those cars are full of people just trying to be supportive?? Don’t they know that those people would rather be ANYWHERE else than in that car line?? Sorry they put a five minute bump in your day, that death changed their life.  But as I drove after what was a rather short stop I thought, you know, they probably have no idea. I certainly didn’t. I had no idea how any of that worked until I had to know. I remember sitting in our van after the funeral. Our car sat at the entrance to the church building and also the main exit. As we sat in the car people began pouring out and for the first time in days, many left us alone. I remember feeling like I was in a submarine, watching a school of fish capsize my “ship”. They scurried about heading to their own cars, to follow or return to their lives. I watched people’s faces. Some were tear stained, some were stressed, some even looked confused. Jo sat beside me and the boys rode in the back seat. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity just waiting. I think seeing other funerals and processionals put into perspective just how special my sister was. I have never in my life seen that magnitude of people. And as I sat there watching the endless faces, I couldn’t help but feel like I was flipping through a story book of my own life. I saw countless old teachers that Bailey and I had shared, many I hadn’t seen in years. I saw many older couples from sister churches, and multiple people from the church we had gone to until we moved to Beltline my second grade year. Pictures of my past danced before me as I remembered my specific relationship with each of them, and more importantly their relationship with Bailey. I saw our very first preacher Mike King and his sweet wife Mrs. Sheila who came to the car to squeeze my father’s hand. I hadn’t expected to see them until I was old enough to ask him to do my wedding. I remember seeing Dr. Weinbaum, the principle at the middle school Bay and I had attended. I chuckled when I saw her and thought of the very different relationship she had experienced between me and Bailey.  I remember seeing a group of girls from Rome, Georgia that stayed with us every summer for a work camp our church hosts. I remember also how sweet the girls were to my mother and how they ran to hug her. They had always appreciated how my mom had so graciously cooked and cleaned and housed them for that week and they all say they remember feeling like a part of our family the week they stay. I saw people from my father’s work that I had been introduced to in passing multiple times. I’m sure they saw more of us from the pictures my dad displays than in person, but it made me very proud to know they respected my dad enough as a boss and co-worker to come to the funeral of someone they had never really met. It’s an odd array of people that are at a funeral. Some come for the family, some come for the deceased. There were multiple children that walked through the visitation line I had never seen before. They were just school friends of Bailey’s that had come to pay their respects to her. But I was also amazed at the countless people that came and admitted they had never known Bailey, they had just come there to hold us up. As the mass of people finally separated, we began to ease our van out of the parking. It was raining. Rain is what I felt like it should have been doing. I would have been bitter if the sun had been out I believe. It was not a time to celebrate. We had celebrated her life in the funeral, now she was headed to be buried, and there is nothing glorious about that. You would think after all this time of people dying, we would have found a more humane way to honor bodies. But no, we put them in a far too expensive box that is then covered in dirt and never seen again. Placed under a suffocating amount of earth to stay amongst worms and vermin. It bothered me. She is much too pretty to be sealed away. I struggled with the burial more than any aspect of her death. I was able to handle her being gone. I was able to handle hours of a visitation. I was able to handle a funeral with what I think was poise and respect. But I could touch her then. I could feel her face and hold her hand. But when they put her in the ground, when they took her away from me that final time, that was it. I couldn’t change my mind and run back to see her. I couldn’t ask for extra time. It was done. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I could visit her grave, which I do often, but it is very unsatisfying. It is a mound of dirt that is a constant reminder that the last thing we did to her, was throw mud on top her. That hurt me. And the closer and closer we got to the gardens where she was laid to rest, the harder and harder it became for me to breathe. I closed my eyes and sucked in air to clear my throat of the knot that was forming. I spent the entire twenty minute ride there convincing myself that this wasn’t cruel. Chanting in my head, “This is what they do to everyone. You’re not a bad sister for letting them do this.” But it’s a hard thing to convince yourself of. It’s hard to let go of a lifetime of protecting someone you love and accepting that four men you don’t know are going to take her from you, and then she is gone. Her tiny coffin for a tiny person is going to carry her away. And of course I knew she had been gone since Friday. Friday, December 2^nd at roughly 6:16. But I wanted her to stay. I wanted that tiny piece of sister I still had. The part of could hold. The part I could touch. The part I could FEEL. Because of the rain they had set up green tents for us to sit under as some final words were spoken and prayer was led before she was lowered into her grave. I had been given a rose to carry throughout the day just before the funeral, and I dug my fingers into the stem and clung to my necklace as I sat in front of her. I had made it that long without crying and I wasn’t going start then. I rocked myself back and forth as Scott spoke, blocking out the words and thinking of a happy memory to tide me over. And the rocking brought me to it. I closed my eyes and I was at the lake. My grandparents own a lake cabin on Lake Martin that we would practically live at during the summers when we were little. And there was a hammock that I loved. A hammock that sat at the top of the yard and was stretched between two trees that overlooked the lake. And after a long day of swimming I would sit in that hammock and swing for hours until I would finally lull myself to sleep.  But as I was sitting there at the burial of my sister I remembered a very specific time just a few years ago. It was after lunch and I had gone out to the hammock with a pillow to take my nap. And for some reason, Bailey followed me. I would lay with my head at one end and she would lay with her head at the other so we were both cacooned by the hammock strings. I remember us sitting in that hammock and cutting up for hours. I couldn’t tell you what we talked about but I remember looking at her at one point and feeling so grateful to have her.  She had patterns on her tan legs that were created by the sun shining through the maze of leaves above us. She was smiling at me with her happy grin. And she had her toes tangled in the prongs behind my head, twisting and popping them as she told me a story. And we rocked back and forth. And so I rocked. I rocked as Scott said final words. I rocked as the prayer was said. And I only interrupted myself to rise and place my rose on the top of her coffin as my farewell. And as I walked back towards our car, a raindrop hit my hand. And my bliss was broken. I was no longer in the hammock at the lake with my baby sister that had grown into my best friend. I was at a burial, being led back to a car under an umbrella to prevent the rain from drenching me. Rain that personifies sadness. Rain that prompts gloom. I used the memory of sun to get me through the finale, but I am satisfied with rain on the day I lost my sister forever.

The Healing Project

I apologize it has been so long since i have posted. College life has proven to be much busier than i had expected, but i promise to be back to you soon. I thought i would however drop in and let you know about a project i am working on that i am particularly excited about. My sister always encouraged me to write and record music, and i always came up with excuses not to. I act as though i am fearless, but i am honestly a coward. I never compete in anything i feel i cannot win. I have a terrible fear of embarassing myself and because of this fear i have missed out on many oppurtunities throughout my life. I would always rather have the excuse that i didn't try, than have to explain why i wasn't the best. So i skipped out on countless events that i could have performed because i was terrified of someone being better than me. But my sister taught me that there is nothing wrong with not being the best. The only thing God expects is for each of us to be our best individuals selves. He gives us talents for a reason and it is selfish and even SINFUL not to use them for Him and His kingdom. So a few nights ago i decided that i wanted to write a song. It seems like a very small goal, but it is something i have always wanted to be able to do. To reflect my feelings in something that i have such a passion for. So i called a friend and we sat down the next day for four hours and came up with , The Healing Project. The idea is to essentially write a song for every stage of grief, and more specifically each stage of my own story. The C.D as a whole is a journey through my healing, but a journey of healing must start from where you were broken. I hope that when this is finished, God willing, it can be a relief for many others besides just myself, but right now it has been amazing therapy for me to put all my efforts into something i have always wished i could do. I wrote my very first song the other day, and no it may not be amazing but it was a start. I was able to channel my feelings and express it in SONG and that my friends, is so powerful for me. I have decided to share the lyrics to the first song i've written below. They are not fantastic, but they are a life goal fulfilled. I will post lyrics and recordings as this project continues and any prayers towards the project would be fantastic. I love knowing i am working on something that is bigger than me. I feel like God is working through this project and i feel honored to be His servant. God bless.

*This song is about the last time i saw my sister. The last image i have of her and the final words we said to one another. Enjoy.

Rushing to be somewhere, as people often do
Walking out the door, I pause while passing through
Hands stretched over keys, across ivory and black
A mirror of our mother, when staring at her back

Memories of normal, there never was a sign
No risk of losing or spending borrowed time
Life is often beautiful and rarely ever cruel
Fading image of my sister on her piano stool

There are no words to say
There really is no way
Oh, If I only knew
But how to say “good-bye”
To 15 years of life
I’m guessing “I love you” …Will do

If i had been aware, I wouldn't have let go
I would have held on tighter, i would have let her know
You are my best friend, and my other half too
I can't imagine, any life without you

There are no words to say
There really is no way
Oh, If I only knew
But how to say “good-bye”
To 15 years of life
I’m guessing “I love you” …Will do

Two VERY different peas in a pod.

My sister and I are very different beings. My sister is quiet and understanding. I am loud and stubborn. My sister is sweet and forgiving. I am harsh and occasionally vindictive. My sister has a sweet and gentle spirit. I have a spirit of passion and perseverance.  My sister likes to play by the rules. I like to break them and make new ones. My sister learns from listening. I have to learn from experience. My sister is reserved and content. I am outgoing and unsettled. And what’s funny about the two of us is that we were both very jealous of one another. Not in a way that caused problems, but in a way of respect. Of course I had too much pride to ever admit that to her, but I never understood the contentment my sister seemed to have in all aspects of her life. Part of my constant ventures were fueled by fear that if I didn’t continue people would stop inviting me. I would cease to exist if I didn’t keep my presence known and obvious. But my sister was fully confident in her relationships and she felt completely comfortable to do what it was SHE wanted to do, and those that loved and cared for her would either join her, or still invite her the next time. I never understood that mindset. I am constantly working on my relationships. If not mending them I’m working to make them better. But my sister could sit back and allow things to work themselves out, and that drove me insane. As I have thought on this I must conclude that it was her flawless faith in God and His ways that allowed her to function in this manner. That was another thing that I envied- her faith. My sister and I are very different servants of God. I am always looking for the next thing, but I have a very narrow view. I look in my talent areas, and assume that because God gave me those gifts He would only ask me to work in those areas. Consequently, if I looked for an opportunity to speak, and none arose, I concluded that God didn’t need me, instead of searching in other areas. My sister waited patiently for God to put something in front of her, and then she responded regardless. It didn’t have to be something she was good at, she would do her best. I have never been able to do that. If I wasn’t going to be the best at something, I didn’t do it. I would rather have the excuse of not participating, than have to explain to someone that I wasn’t good enough. My sister didn’t need that crutch. She didn’t have to be THE best, she just had to do HER best, and I still struggle with that mindset. My sister taught me more in her fifteen years of life than anyone I have ever known. I hate that it took her passing for me to LISTEN to what she was telling me. But as I look back on very conversation and every tiny bit of encouragement, I see deeper and more meaningful lessons unfold. There was an underlying message that came with every one of her utterances. I know when she told me to break a leg she meant, “Do this unto the Lord, for He has given you this gift.” When she told me that she missed me she meant, “I miss the effect God allows you to have on my life.” When she said that she wishes we spent more time together she meant, “I wish you had more confidence in yourself, and could allow yourself to pull away from outside people.” When she told me I was a goofball she meant, “I am thankful God allows you to bring joy to my life.” When she told me to leave her room she meant, “Stay as long as you want.” And when she told me she loved me she meant, “I love you with the love of the Lord. God allowed us to be sisters and I will forever be grateful to Him.” When I look back on the simple things she said to me, they bloom into far greater memories. My sister had the Lord in her heart and I am confident everything she said to anyone held a deeper message than they understood. Though the price was great, I am glad God gave me the opportunity to truly listen to my sister. Her words hold far more meaning now than they may ever have in life. God is always working. Glory to Him forever.

Robinson Family- Party of five.

Walking into church that Sunday morning was probably one of the most intimidating moments we had in those few days. I love Beltline and all of the wonderful people that attend there. I consider it my home.  But we all knew how absolutely heart crushing that experience would be.  To make matters worse, our precious preacher Mike Nix, who would have inevitably had the right things to say and do, had passed only six months earlier and his absence alone was painful and obvious. In Beltline there are no assigned seats, but each family grows accustomed to sitting in a certain area and this pew naturally comes to be known as the place where whichever family resides. Our little pew however, was very much so assigned that morning, with white sheets that read “ROBINSON FAMILY” in bold black type. My mother’s parents were with us that morning but the rest of our extended family was not due in Decatur until that afternoon, the afternoon of the visitation. So we sat in our little pew with what little space we needed. The rest of the row was empty and it felt lonely, like we had some disease. I thought to myself, “You can’t catch death people, you can come sit with us.” But the pew remained soul-less. It was just our little family of five, huddled together, with my grandparents tagged to the end. I was frustrated having to sit so close. I was determined to keep it together. There were too many people watching to lose it, and they didn’t mind you knowing. Everywhere I glanced there was another pair of eyes shifting their gaze in between the five of us, begging for any kind of information. I was not upset with them, I had expected such, and I am sure if I was honest with myself if the situation had been swapped and it was another family, I would have been watching too. But either way the amount of people waiting for me to break down, was even more of a challenge for me not to, and I sat through that entire service clearing my throat and swallowing tears and pinching my legs. The boys sat quietly, staring at the floor. They would glance up at my parents occasionally, sheepishly looking at their picture of strength that was now weeping openly. I placed my arm around Drew and bore my eyes into the speaker. I refused to look anywhere but the pulpit. The one person a daddy’s girl can’t watch cry, is her daddy, and I was completely unwilling to look any further to my left than was required. I don’t remember the message or the songs that were sung. I remember how long it felt. I remember how ready I was to leave that place. That place that had raised me and brought me such joy in coming was now against me. It wanted me to cry, and I wasn’t giving it the satisfaction. After what seemed an eternity, the invitation song began and we were told to leave. We stood up and walked up the isle and out the door. Looking back, it felt very much like the funeral processional we would be a part of in just a few days, with everyone standing, fixated as we marched in single file. In the hall I was happy to break free and I walked quickly to get in the front of the pack as my dad put his arm around my mother and pulled her into him. I was absolutely sick to my stomach and if I watched my parents anymore I would lose it. My parents explained to us in the car how the visitation would work. They told us that Jordan and I would drive up to the church just thirty minutes before the visitation because they would be meeting the funeral home and the body their early. I was immediately offended. Why didn’t I get to spend more time with the body? I know I had certainly not birthed her, but I had helped raise her too. I was there just as long as anyone else was. In fact, there was very much of our lives that was just the two of us, Bailey and me. I couldn’t count the times that she and I would spend as kids entertaining one another and then even as we grew older, we continued to pair off. It was always the girls, and the boys. The older ones, and the little ones. And I had lost my pair. My mom had my dad and Drew had Carter, but my second half was the one in the box. The tiny box for a tiny person that they would place underground, and then it would just be me- With no person. Why didn’t that mean anything to anyone? I felt shoved to the side as my parents continued to get personal time with her. Why didn’t I get alone time? Why wasn’t our relationship important enough for that? I often struggled with my anger towards all of this. I understood my parents were too emotionally exhausted to even think straight and certainly would have allowed me any extra time or attention I had needed, but I was angry with the funeral directors. Why wasn’t my relationship with her just as important as anyone else’s? Why weren’t the siblings, or at least an older sibling, given any kind of specific treatment? Of course in a rational mindset I know that there is only so much they can do. I know that the funeral directors and personnel did everything they could think of to accommodate us. But I believe this was the first indication to me that our relationship was so unique. Most people do not regard their siblings the way I had looked at mine. When you ask sisters about the other one, they usually respond with how much they argue or how difficult it is to share a bathroom or how annoying the other one is. Bailey and I were never like that. I cannot remember a time that we fought. I am sure there were small disagreements here and there, but as a whole, we were each other’s best friend. We didn’t see the point in fussing with one another, because at the end of the day I knew I had Bailey in my corner. Friends come and go, and are rarely a lifetime constant, but my sister had always been around. She had been at every game on the sidelines cheering me on. She had been at every play and choral concert in the audience with a standing ovation. She had been by my side in the hospital when I was little and had busted my lip. She had been in the car with me when I learned to drive. She had come to family counseling with me and my parents when I had been struggling and pleaded with me to get my life back on track. She had sat with me in countless devotionals at church when I didn’t want to sit alone. She had been my car ride buddy on any family vacation. She had been my gossip buddy when I switched schools and needed someone to talk to. She had been my running buddy when I just didn’t want to go alone. She had been there in the pews when I graduated from high school. She had been there the day I received my acceptance letters for college. She had been there helping me pack just days before the accident. And I had certainly planned on her being around for many more events. I knew she would be my maid of honor, and I would get to see her out of the corner of my eye, beaming as I pledged my life to a deserving Christian man. She would have been on the other line squealing when I called her to tell her I was expecting for the first time. She would have been at the hospital reassuring me of my child’s cuteness whenever it was born. She would have helped me decorate my first house when mom and I couldn’t agree. She would have helped me move out of my office if I ever lost my job. She would have been by my side whenever we lost our parents. She would have helped tirelessly if I had ever lost my health. But most importantly, she would have been in the front row at MY funeral, because I would have gone first.

                We arrived home to a family from our church in our kitchen warming up plates for lunch. My parent’s ate quickly and walked right back out the door after giving me brief instructions. I was left again to man the fort. Family started arriving soon after. Cousins, aunt, uncles, and grandparents, some from Decatur and other’s coming from Georgia, Tennessee, and Virginia. It is such an awkward and bittersweet thing. Part of you wants to be happy to see them, and the other part reminds you why they are there. My hostess mindset kicked in and I started to get up and introduce family, but Jordan demanded i sit down and eat before we would have to leave. As we are sitting there eating, one of my aunts was sitting at our kitchen table, and suddenly a chair broke under her. She apologized profusely and I knew she was embarrassed so I scooped the chair up quickly assuring her it was no big deal, and took it to the garage. Jordan trailed with the other piece of the broken chair and as I walked into the garage the most awful, matter of fact thought came to me, “Well I guess we don’t need that chair anymore.” It broke my heart. The Robinson family was now a family of five. When they asked us at restaurants how many, it would no longer be six. That seemed unnatural. And for the first time since the accident, I dropped the chair and sobbed. I help my waist and buried my face in my hand until Jordan walked around and embraced me, placing my head on her shoulder. Bailey’s chair was broken, because Bailey was gone. It was as if losing the chair, confirmed her absence. And like the chair she would slowly start to disappear out of each facet of our lives. We would continue living and times would come when we would have to list our family, and leave her out. And I couldn’t imagine that life. So I wept. I gave myself no more than a minute and angrily brushed at the tears. I didn’t have time for that and there were things that needed to be done that day. Jo encouraged me to take the time that I needed but I convinced her that it was fine and we went back into the house. I walked in and told the boys it was time to go. Carter grabbed a stuffed animal, and Drew his Gameboy. I loaded Carter’s car seat and buckled him in. Jo grabbed the keys and I slid into the passenger seat. And we drove to Beltline Church of Christ for the visitation of my fifteen year old sister.

Bailey Ellen Robinson 3/17/96-12/2/11

I only remember bits and pieces of December 2nd. The parts i do remember are acute and haunting, and the parts i have to put together and vague and difficult to understand. But i remember how ridiculously normal the day felt before my life was completely altered. How disgustingly fake the day feels looking back. I was scheduled to work a double at the restaurant. I had worked that morning and left not feeling well, so i had decided to lay down and take a nap before i took on the evening shift. I was due back to work at 6:00 so i set my alarm for 5:35. At 5:53 i woke up in a frenzy, realizing i had overslept, and i changed quickly rushing out of my room to the bathroom for a brush. My dad stopped me and explained that they were taking the boys to dinner and that Nick was coming to pick up Bailey for their date that evening. He asked me to make sure they were gone when i left, because the Robinson household has a strict "no boys in the house without a parent present" rule. I, of course, accepted the job willingly because i loved giving any of my sister's boyfriends a hard time. I let him know i was running late and in a hurry, but i would make sure they were gone before i was. I went back to getting ready and heard the garage door close as my parents left. I looked at the clock, 6:00. I finally had myself together and ran out with keys in hand to see Bailey and Nick sitting at my mother's piano in our living room. I walked over to Nick and said, "Hey, you know y'all can't be here alone. I'm leaving, y'all gotta go." He turned with a smile and replied, "Nice to see you too Elise. Hold on one second, she really wanted to show me this song. Once this song is over we will leave, i promise." I gave him what i had hoped was an intimidating gaze and responded, "Fine. But that song only. And it better be a short one Bay." Bailey who had not so much as looked up yet, turned and smiled. "I got it Elise. Have a good night at work. Love you." Reminding of work i turned around and hurried for my car yelling over my shoulder, "Thanks!! Love you too Bay. Y'all be safe." And closed the door behind me. There was no indication to me whatsoever that that moment was significant. There was no gut wrenching feeling that i should turn back and reiterate that she meant the world to me. No unsettling notion to alert me of something amiss. Nothing. I had no idea that those would be the last words i spoke to my sister. The last words spoken to her at all really, other than Nick's. But i have decided I am content with that good bye. I know that i would never be able to live with myself if i had said anything ugly. And i feel like knowing i needed to say good bye would have made me nervous and put all sorts of pressure on me to come up with a farewell that would never have been sufficient  in my mind. As far as last words go, i am content that our last words showed our love and concern for one another's happiness and wellbeing, regardless of whether we knew they were significant or not. I jumped in my car and glanced at the clock. 6:08 as i was driving off my street, 6:18 when my precious sister left this earth.

                 I left work around 8:30 and called a friend to accompany me to Wal Mart to kill some time. We were walking through the aisles, piddling, when I looked down at my phone and saw three missed calls. Assuming they were my mother, I checked them, but was surprised to find they were from three extremely random friends that I would rarely talk to on the phone. People close enough to text, but not to have long meaningful conversations with. Then I began receiving text messages from everyone in the city of Decatur it seemed. I went from zero to seventeen text messages in less than two minutes. Frazzled and unable to check them all, I glanced over the names and read the latest message. The first one I saw said, “There’s been an accident, you need to call your parents.” For some reason, my mind immediately flashed to my grandparents. They are older and an ‘accident’ wouldn’t be unthinkable. And furthermore they were well known in Decatur, and we are close enough that people would inform me and want to send their condolences. I decided the best information would lie with my sister because she would be at home. I assumed my father was just too upset to get in touch with me yet. So I called her, and it sent me to voicemail. Thinking quickly, I grabbed Ricky’s phone and logged onto Facebook, hoping my sister might have put some information up about where I could go to meet them, what hospital or if I should just go home. I typed in her named and scrolled down her page to find two simple posts that would  permanently alter my life, “RIP Bailey and Nick, you will be missed.” And “We love you Bailey. Praying for your family.” I stopped to process. Surely someone wouldn’t JOKE about that on Facebook. And if there had been an accident, and there were those posts… And then my best friend called. My other half really, that had gone to Texas for college. I answered hesitant, and her bawling over the phone confirmed my fears. A wave of nausea washed over me and I felt the color drain from my face. “What happened Jo?” I demanded. But she just cried. “I can’t be the one to tell you Elise, I just can’t. You need to call your parents.” She replied between sobs. But I had called them, they wouldn’t answer. I hung up the phone and tried again. But again, voicemail. The blur begins here. At some point I received information that told me to meet my youth minister at work. And I rushed there, glad to have some instruction. Many people have told me they called me that evening, and I remember getting many calls, but who they were and what was said is completely lost from me. I was completely numb. I wasn’t mad or sad, I was just an empty shell. I felt absolutely lifeless. I think I was still confused when I reached the restaurant, but Scott’s tears confirmed it all. I fell into him and let out whatever sound had been contained in my chest. What that was I will never know, an awful combination of a sob and scream. Just a sound of desperation.  But that was all. No tears, no weeping, that was it. Scott led me to the truck and drove me home. He pulled up to my house and I see roughly fifteen people standing in my driveway and yard waiting for my arrival. And I just sat there in the truck. And I felt something. I felt anger. I was angry that these people had known and I didn’t. That they were here with my family and I wasn’t. I was mad that I hadn’t been the first person on their minds other than my parents. I have learned since then that of course I was the first priority, the communication had just been poor, that is simply the only recorded emotion I can remember having that night. I sat in the truck and waited. I could have stayed in that truck for the rest of my life, because getting out would be facing reality. The harsh reality that was lurking inside that house for me. The reality that would be the rest of my life. So I just sat. But Scott came around the truck and crushed the only minute of peace I would have for weeks. He opened the door, and half drug me out of the car onto the grass where I would begin that long walk up my yard and through my front door. It had never felt like this before. My house had always been an inviting and peaceful sight for me. And now it looked huge. Like it was going to swallow me whole. I hugged a few of the people in the line that led to my house, but quickly became annoyed and began to push past them searching the faces for my parents. I remember it feeling like a movie.  All the faces of these normally happy people drawn and tear stained. I kept repeating over and over again in my head, “This is not my life. This is not my life. This is not my life.” I walked through the kitchen doorway and finally spotted my mother. I had thought this would help, but it was certainly a bittersweet emotion. I was glad to have found her, but bitter that I had to see my mother that way. I felt another wave of nausea and walked back to my bathroom. The bathroom Bay and I shared. Scott stayed right on my tail, watching my every move. As did many people that evening. I kept wanting to tell people that I was not suicidal, but I decided to let them do what made them feel helpful, I knew this was all they were trying to do.  The fog sets in again here. I remember Scott sitting on my bed and me asking a lot of questions. I remember the questions making other people uncomfortable. But I am a “rip the band aid off” kind of person. And I wanted all of the facts, because I was only going to imagine worse. I remember pacing. I remember people coming in crying and looking at me with looks of desperation. I remember people staring into my eyes waiting for tears. But I wasn’t sad. I had a boost of adrenaline, stemmed from frustration. I wanted to figure it all out before I let myself cry. I needed to look at the situation objectively and sort it in my head before I let emotions in. Or that’s what my brain told me. And I needed people to stop hugging me. I didn’t want to be touched. I wanted to run. I wanted to get out and move. So I turned to Libby. I remember walking into my dad and asking for permission to leave. He didn’t seem fond of it, but he didn’t tell me no, and frankly right then I was fine with that. I remember going to the church and seeing kids with relation to Bailey or Nick there. Kids of all ages and all walks of life. The strangest combination of kids, all brought together in tragedy. Many of them had no similarities other than the similar pain they were feeling at that moment. So they sat together and wept. I remember people coming to me and I remember feeling embarrassed. That was not my intention of coming. I had not come for people to comfort me or pay attention to me, I had just wanted to see what Bailey and Nick had set in motion. I don’t know why. I spent very little time there and had no real purpose. I felt like I was walking through a graveyard. I wandered around the room of fallen children and hurt for them. I pet on a few, but knew there was little I could do. It was too soon for comfort, and that’s all I knew.  So I left. I remember Libby taking me home and my dear cousin John still sitting in my room waiting. My parents came in to tell me they were going to bed, which I was simply too afraid to do. I knew shutting my eyes would open a dream world of far harsher things than even the reality I was living in. I have always had very vivid and memorable dreams and I feared the worst of nightmares would envelope me if I were to sleep. So I turned to John and asked for a ride. I didn’t tell him where I wanted to go, and he didn’t ask. But we got to the edge of my neighborhood and I instructed him to go left. “Left…?” he asked. “Yes” I answered. I was short with no emotion, and he knew where I wanted to go. He watched me carefully as we approached. This annoyed me at first, but I became very used to being watched over the next few days. I stared out the passenger window, saying nothing, watching the houses turn into pastures as we approached the end of Modaus Road. We came to a four way stop and I looked up. In front of me sat the wreck site, ominous and looming. I had expected tape or even police cars to still be there, but there was nothing. It had been hours after the accident and there job was done. They went home to families and their lives continued. While mine was destroyed. The only thing left to signify that anything had even taken place, was some powder that had been dusted over the road in order to soak up the leaking oil and anti-freeze from the crushed vehicles. I didn’t understand. The wreck didn’t make sense. How had it been so fatal?? What about it made this accident different?? But all the questions to all the right people wouldn’t have given me the answers I wanted. Trust me, I tried. In days following I asked anyone and everyone, everything there was to ask. I practically interrogated fire fighters that had been on the scene, only for them to regretfully say there was little they could tell me. It was just an “accident”. That’s why they call them that. Nothing could have been done, it just happened.  And it didn’t take me long to just accept that. I could spend my entire life asking questions, but what an exhausting existence that would be. I don’t have time to question God, I believe in the things He promises, so I leave it at that. And when people ask me why, or what happened, or who caused the wreck, I reply with that thought process. I don’t know who caused the wreck. I know what was reported, but I don’t know the truth. I wasn’t there. What I do know, is that God has a plan. A very intricate and divine plan. And for some reason, it was Bailey’s time. He knew that from the time He formed her. From the time God saw that my parents were deserving of that angel, He knew that He would take her prematurely. He knew that was to be her life destiny. And if He hadn’t allowed the wreck that night, at that time, He would have seen to His plan regardless. And somehow, some other way, she would have joined Him. I rejoice in the painlessness of my sister’s death. I praise God for not allowing her to fear. I would have never imagined a time in which my thinking would be that morbid, but I am thankful that God spared my sister from suffering. I am thankful He allowed her to live the fullness of her life rather than her receiving an illness and not having the ability to enjoy living as she did. We drove back and forth over the dust, each time I would scan the grass and road for anything. Clues, belongings, but there was nothing. Some glass, which was unsettling, but nothing of value. It did not strike me that day, but since then the wreck site has become a bit of a morbid comfort for me. Most people would avoid such a thing and wouldn’t understand the place of an accident that took someone away being anything but ghastly. And in a way I suppose I understand that. But that place, is where my sister entered Heaven. That was the place where she quietly passed from this earth into a far better existence. That grass ditch on Modaus, that I had passed many times before and it has meant nothing, was my sister’s portal to eternity.  I visit it occasionally, and I made a point for it to be the last place I went before moving to Troy for college. There are two tiny wooden crosses there with their names written in teenage hand writing and white flowers sitting in between. White, a color of purity and youth, and therefore could not be more appropriate to sit amongst the wooden crosses representing the souls of Nick and Bailey. We left the site and travelled on. I don’t remember exactly where we went, or what was talked about. I remember we drove, for a very long time. There was music in the background, country, but it meant nothing to me. I watched cars. I watched them slide along the roads untouched. I watched people in their cars, unaffected. Their lives were completely the same as they had been thirty minutes ago. They were completely unaware of the devastation that had taken place in the community. Or they were far enough removed that it was just news. I was not angry, but I envied these people. I was jealous of their worries and concerns. Jealous that the things on their minds were so insignificant. Things I was worried about just hours ago. Grocery lists, bills, homework, relationship issues, all of these things that run through a mind daily, I longed for their pettiness. John picked me up some food, but it was tasteless. I ate to appease, but left most to be thrown away. And finally, I told him I was ready to go back. I didn’t want to call it home. It didn’t quite feel like a home. But I wanted to sit still, and I wanted my bed, so my house would do. He brought me home and walked me inside. I sat down on my bed and he stood waiting for instruction. I reassured him I would be fine and walked him to the door. He promised to see me the next day, and I locked the front door and turned off the lights. I wandered back to my room and decisively shut her bed room door. I didn’t want to look inside. Today it does not bother me, but that night it seemed so “lived in.” Like it was just waiting for her to come back to it. There were a couple of items of clothes astray on the floor and her back pack and saxophone sitting on her bed from school that day. Just a normal teenage room, unaware that my mother would have to straighten it up since Bailey was not returning. Scared of sleep, I spent hours on Facebook and my cell phone answering concerned texts and regrets through all sorts of media. It was purely amazing the response of this community, and those that had simply heard through the grapevine in other reaches of the United States, but wanted to let us know they felt for us and were sending up prayers. Prayer, is without a doubt the thing that got us through those days. My parents has told me previously they wanted me awake when they told the boys. They had been asleep when the coroner had arrived with Scott and no one had the heart to wake them. Again, I was jealous. They got one more night of peace, before their world was destroyed. At 6:00 A.M I decided to try and sleep. I turned all my lamps on and settled in a bed that suddenly felt too big for me. I wrapped my covers around me in a make shift embrace and stared at the wall waiting for emotion. But it didn’t come, and the next time I opened my eyes, it was morning.

                Saturday, December 3^rd, was easily the worst day of my life. For starters there is that dreadful feeling the morning after something terrible. That feeling of bliss when you first awaken because you have not yet remembered the events of the day before and then that awful gut wrenching ache, when your contentment is mercilessly ripped away from you and you discover you wish you had stayed asleep. My mind woke before my eyes, and the night set in. I was waiting for it. I had woken up and reminded myself not to get my hopes up. I started to process, and then came the most vivid memory I have of those days. I was laying there, eyes still closed, and I heard a sobbing in the main foyer. And it was an awful noise. A mixture of desperation and sorrow. And to this day I don’t know who it was. At first I thought it was my father but I found him in another room when I came in. The person from whom the sound came will always be a mystery to me. But I will never forget the cold chill that it sent. It was miserable. Laying there listening to that sound and knowing that even if I ran to that person right then and grabbed them in my arms, it would do no good. Because I could not fix it for them. And I would have to listen to these sobs for days to come. I would have to watch people weep, and there was absolutely nothing I could do for them. Because I was not her. It was also a jarring reality of, “this is my new life.” This sadness that lurked in my home, was real. This was what I had to wake up to. So with no other resolve, I woke up.  I walked into the kitchen and saw the boys in the study, and upon that went to my parents to question why I was not woken up and they said they thought I needed the sleep. Which would have been true I suppose if I had gotten any.  Saturday is another bit of a blur day. My parents had arranged for the boys to go to a family friends house to play while they worked with the funeral home to make arrangements. It was certainly necessary and had to be done, but that left me alone to take care of the house. And that was the most exhausting task of my life. People were wonderful with their overflow of affection and gifts, but I was tired. And emotionally drained. And people continued to crowd and ask me questions that I didn’t know the answers to. If it wasn’t about a serving spoon it was about funeral arrangements that had not even been made. I had absolutely no information, yet I was the only one with answers. They assumed my parents were busy and too delicate and the boys were obviously no help, so Elise was the death liaison. But I had never done this before! This was as new to me as it was anyone else. So I held it together. I made a ridiculously long list of people that had come by and what they had brought and their numbers that had been left. I put gifts away so that my parents would not come home to a mess. I showed masses of people where our dishes stayed and where our hot pads were stashed. I directed people to family and introduced when needed. And after six hours of this I had reached my limit, and it was visible. A family friend and my grandmother encouraged me to get away, and take a break from the chaos, so once again with John at my disposal, I grabbed his arm and we headed for his truck. Now in all of this I am leaving out a very important part of my life and a person that was behind the scenes texting and calling constantly this entire time as she rushed to my side.  My best friend and absolute other half, Jordan Corlew.  Our relationship is simply indescribable and it would take me this book and five more to try and explain what we do for one another. She decided to attend a school in Texas and because of this was very far away when she discovered the news of my sister. But my best friend being the amazing person she is, jumped on a plane to come home to me skipping an entire week of school to be by my side. That is love. She did everything from handing tissues, to dipping food, to holding my hand. And she was due to arrive around 4:00. Needless to say my life was going to get a little bit better once my other half was back beside me. So after wasting time with my cousin I came home to wait on the arrival of Jo. I stood on the porch, and saw her father’s truck as it turned onto my street. I watched patiently as it rolled to a stop in my driveway. My best friend that I had not seen in months stepped down from the vehicle and walked towards me. It wasn’t a big moment, because coming back together was what we were used to. She fell into place beside me, and it was the most natural feeling in the world. With a quick hug, we turned and walked together into the house. And so began our week of constant companionship.

               The next few days were fairly broadcasted to the public. Many saw the emotions firsthand at the funeral or visitation or any memorial service after. I mainly wrote this excerpt to portray the feelings beforehand. The raw emotions before we were exposed to the masses. The feelings that crept along in the privacy of our home. I am pleased to say that this is certainly only a small portion of my writings. I have big plans for the further pages that are already written and all the pages yet to be touched remaining. I hope to one day compile them into a book, a book on the loss of a sibling. How to move past losing your other half, and how to make yourself feel whole again. I wish there was a step by step process. I wish there was a manual on how to grieve. But there is no such thing. And that is probably the hardest thing for me. The uncertainty of grief. And though I cannot provide that I would love to provide a story. The story that God gave me, which is currently my life. Regardless of how well or how much I write, I will never be able to convey to you the love I had for my sister. The protectiveness I felt for her. The ache our separation leaves me with. But honestly, that is not something I feel I need to prove. My sister, who is now all knowing, completely understands that love. And I am grateful God gave me the opportunity to love her at all. If you are reading this and you did anything in any little way for my family, I want to thank you. Every prayer, card, flower, and meal meant the world to us. Please continue to pray as we have a long way to go. And please watch for more. I will continue to post as the book progresses. Love you all and God bless.