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.

Crossroads.

I believe that everyone has multiple sides to their personalities. Those that are naturally timid can still find themselves to be fearless at times and those that are rash can still have times of critical analyzing. It really more depends on the area of the situation. I have always been at an odd cross road with my reactions to problems. I can either be logical and emotionless, or extremely impulsive and scatter brained. Sometimes i act out of love and sometime i act out of fear. I am a control freak, but i get a thrill off of risky behavior. There are times i want everything planned to a tee, and there are times i want to react out of passion and see where it leads me. And usually my body and mind pull me in a certan direction according to the circumstances and i react. And then there is now. When i am standing here looking at my life and i have two options and have no CLUE which one feels safer. I can plan and analyze and stress, or i can wildly jump into the Universe and hope i succeed. And because i can't decide, i am just sitting. In a safe zone. Waiting for some sign from God i suppose. But i am fearful that sign is not going to come. Maybe this is the time in my life when God is sitting back and making me take the reigns. But i honestly don't know HOW. I want to be the old me. The passionate me. That trusted, and lept, and somehow fell on my feet because i willed myself to do so and pushed until i got there. But the new me wants safety and reassurance. The new me wants to know what lies ahead. And i truly can't figure out whether this new me is permanant, or just a defense mechanism built from my life experiences. When does it become natural to go from passion to logic?? Is that a normal transition?? Or is it our personal responsibility to dig within and find ourselves, regardless of the hurt we may have experienced?? Is that part of human perserverance?? Or are we supposed to actually learn from our mistakes and start approaching life differently?? Was our original selves wrong, or is that who we were made to be?? Were we hurt to teach us to play life safe, or were we hurt to make us stronger when we fall again?? How do we know when God put us through a trial to make us stronger, or to teach us a life lesson...?

Cyber Courage.

I am not one of those pessimistic people that looks at the world and thinks of how our generation is failing. Adults may say that we are, but odds are the adults of that generation said the same exact thing and yet somehow America has progressed. I am amazed by our generation. By the oppurtunities we have been given and i can't wait to see how we will take advantage of the resources provided. There are endless possibilites to what we can do. But in some ways i think we have fallen ridiculously off base. The interent, is purely brilliant. I can't imagine how one could even IMAGINE such a thing before it was in exsitence and now i believe that many people can't imagine a world without. It has provided such a tool to access information in a quick an effective manner. It has made a way for people to express their opinions and capture their individuality. It has provided an easier way for business to be held with countries overseas. And through Facebook people have been able to reconnect and rebuild relationships that otherwise might be lost without the convinient communications. And i will not be so bold as to claim i do not enjoy Facebook for it's social purposes. It's sad really, i am fairly addicted. But i do believe that sites like Facebook and Twitter, and let's not forget that good ole MySpace, create unrealistic lifestyles and expectations. Studies show that many girls get off Facebook feeling more depressed then they did when they signed on. We pose for pictures with our girlfriends, and take at least thirty, mainly so we can be sure to delete all the ones we feel are unflattering. So in most cases girls end up with.. Two. And then after we have posted our own pictures and an edited one to put as a new profile picture, we get tagged in all of the exact same pictures that were taken by five different cameras, and go through a untag all of the ones we don't like. Or comment on them and put OURSELVES down just to beat others to the punch. So it looks like you already know you 'look gross', so no one has to say anything. And then we sit there for HOURS going through other girls pictures and suddenly forget what a process that was, and believe that all of these girls are naturally that pretty and take great pictures and are so happy and so skinny when in reality, 90% of girls just went through that exact same gruelling process. And i am certainly a guilty party. Actually, i choose NOT to put up pictures, because i am too lazy to go through the process. We spend so much time trying to make the world believe we have this happy, perfect, blemish free life, but then fool ourselve into believing that others actually DO, and if we were more like them our lives would be beautiful too. And the sad part is, this isn't even the worst part of the internet. Somehow we brainwash ourselves into believing that the computer, is not a real world, and whatever is said and done on Twitter or Facebook is no big deal. We get cyber courage. And we say things that we would never have the guts to say to someone's face. Because those people "aren't really there"... We become these passive agressive, judgemental beings, absolutely hell-bent on making someone else miserable because now we are depressed from being on their page. So we get on Facebook with friends and spend HOURS on the NewsFeed just waiting for someone to post something we can make fun of or talk about. Girls LIVE for pictures of the underage pregnancies, and the ridiculous marriages albums, and the latest relationship status. And Twitter is overflowing with nicknames girls fashion for other girls so that their group of friends can hashtag the nickname and talk about the girl in front of them without them being able to say anything. And before we know it we get addicted to this feeling of power. You say one thing about a profile that makes a friend laugh, and you feel obligated to come up with something else, to continue holding attention. Or create one nickname that people find clever, and you feel like a leader, no matter what it is you are leading. Oblivious to the fact that while you are soaking up the glory, there is someone somewhere embarassed and angry. I had a nickname once. I wasn't popular enough to get on Twitter, but i was a HIT on Facebook. Muffin. A group of girls came up with that name due to my real cute muffin top i rocked in my heavier life. Clever huh..? And statuses were full of comments on this "Muffin" and all the things she did and how fat she was and what a whore she was. Meanwhile, i am watching but can't say a word. Because i wasn't suppose to know it was me. And if i said anything they would just attack me with how 'consceded' i was and remind me that not everything is about me. It's a very trapping feeling really. You feel obligated to stand up for yourself, but then feel that will only lead to more bullying. Provide more amo. It would be easier just to stay quiet, and hope someone else does something worthy of talking about. How sad. Being a teenager is hard enough without the confusion of yet another way to be put down. Facebook was a brilliant invention, and Twitter is fabulous, but the cyber bullying has become outrageous. Studies show that it is now the third leading cause of teen suicide. Topped only by drugs and family turmoil. This week, combat this. Post something encouraging on someone's wall, and then, LOG OFF. Read a book. Spend some time with your family. Go on a jog. Live a life, outside of the cyber world. You might find you missed playing ball with your dad. Or pealing peas with your mom. Or listening to your sister complain about her homework. Or wrestling with little brothers. Because that's living. You can have 5,000 friends on Facebook, but at the end of the day, only 30 of those would come to your funeral. Now don't get me wrong, i will continue to use my Facebook. But use it as something constructive, and brief. Close the computer, and open your eyes. There's probably a whole lot your missing.

Mike Nix- The most beautiful man i have ever met.

I have this terrible habit of believing that i have to be "strong" twenty four hours of the day, and seven days a week. I have in my mind that all these people depend on me to have the game face on all the time, when in reality i'm pretty sure no one is actually thinking that. I always use the phrase, "I'm fine." and my master plan for dealing with all life's difficulties is to push them aside and act like they didn't happen, and that they don't bother me. Brilliant. This method has worked in a lot of instances. To a certain extent i do believe that you choose your mood so i have always just decided to be happy and then slowy my mood naturally falls into happiness. Don't get me wrong, i am a happy person. And i do believe that God has used circumstances to mold me into a very strong person. But strength doesn't come from hiding your weaknesses. It comes from admitting them, and accepting them, and dealing with them. God made us to FEEL. He made us to hurt. I have been struggling a lot lately with the death of the most wonderful man i have ever known, Mike Nix. Mind you he passed away about a month and a half ago, but because of my inability to cope with life, i am just now starting to come to terms with this. And it is hitting me hard. I cried the day we found out. And at the funeral. And the first Sunday back from his death. But then, like all things, i pushed it aside. Brushed it under the rug. I conveniently found ways out of going to church and didn't go back for a solid three weeks after the funeral. Because i can't make myself confront things. And i knew that in that building, it was real. Until these past few days i have worn my brilliant poker face. Told everyone that i was doing fine. And when caught by a few with tear filled eyes, i brush them away quickly and contend that it was just an accident, i'm doing okay. I simply programmed my mind to believe that he was away on business. Probably another trip to Russia. I snapped at my siblings whenever they wanted to talk about him, and anyone else that wanted to bring him up i found an easy way to escape the conversation. But this Sunday was the first time that it really hit me. He wasn't mentioned really, no one forced this realization upon me. But a guest preacher walked up to the pulpit. And in my ignorant bliss i looked up and questioned where Mike was. The sad part is, it was an honest question. For that moment i had completely forgotten he was actually gone, and was confused as to why this stranger was stepping into his pulpit. These past few days have been filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Confusion being the strongest i believe. And as long as i live i don't know that i will ever really UNDERSTAND why this happened. So many people depended on Mike. To be their strength an encouragement. I know i did. He was at every single event. Plays, recitals, graduation. And he would always walk up just beaming, and congratulate me on my performance. Whether i was Townsperson #2 or the lead role. He had this amazing ability of making you feel like at that moment, you were the most important person in the world to him. I can't remember a time when he was talking to me, that i felt like he had anything more important to do. He never rushed you through because he had something better to do, or told you he didn't have time. He had this enormous heart, and somehow he managed to love everyone with the same amount of love. There were no best friends, or closest people to Mike. Somehow he made everyone his best friend. And i don't think anyone can fully understand that unless they had the privillege of knowing him. Anger is another emotin. I am angry at any guest preacher that comes and tramples on HIS pulpit. Which is awful and un-Christ like, but an honest emotion i am dealing with. I am angry that God allowed that man to be taken from his family. That family that deserves nothing but good things. I am angry and frustrated with myself. That i am not able to keep it together. That i'm not moving on. And i get angry when i fall apart in public. i feel like i don't have the right to be upset. There are many others i'm sure that had a much more intimate relationship with him. Pure sorrow is another one. My father says that i must get to a place where i stop mourning and start looking back fondly. And i have yet to get to that point. I still cry at the mention of his name, much less a picture. I don't think anyone can fully understand the GOODNESS he embodied. The purity of soul i have never seen in another human being. In his death, it felt like all good things were sucked from the world. He was that powerful. His presence alone, was THAT inspiring. And it makes it that much harder to move forward without him. I know that he is looking down on us. And i know that he is ready for us to move on. Knowing Mike, he would be down right embarassed of how much he is being talked about. But through all these negative emotions, i will say, through Mike's death i have found an even easier way to connect with God. God is difficult for me to picture, and think about. I have a difficult time even identifying what He is. And it's hard to have true and honest feelings for a being you don't fully feel you connect with. But i knew Mike, and i loved him very dearly. And i know that if he is up there watching me, there are some things i don't want him to see. So as i work on my relationship with God, and getting to a place where i connect solely with him, i am using Mike as my sounding board. As my angel on my shoulder. And any time i make a decision i take the time to have the counscious thought, "Is this something i would be proud of Mike seeing?" That thought process alone has truly changed the way i live my every day life. I'm not sure what all of this rambling was for. It did not impart any wisdom (not that i have any) or give any need to know imformation. I believe this post was strictly for me. My therapy, and my first time to really talk about losing the most precious man i have ever known. So thank you for allowing me to do so. If you are a praying person, please continue to do so for the Beltline congregation and the Nix family. I'm sure there are many that are continuing to heal.
I love you Mike. And i miss you terribly. Enjoy your well deserved rest.