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