Remembering David

One year later, here we are. I've had some pretty vivid flashbacks to this time a year ago. It seemed surreal then and seems surreal now.

David has three amazing daughters who are all grown and living other places than Austin. After the news of his accident, it was important, and of course, necessary that we contact his girls and get them to Austin right away. That plan worked well for two of them, but David's middle daughter was in Europe finishing a study abroad program. We found it difficult to contact her, and difficult to find a flight out as soon as possible. Once she did get on a plane, there were delays and missed flights; not knowing where she was; stress. She did finally make it to Austin around midnight of the 18th. All that to say, there were a few of us that were holding the space in the hospitial waiting room those four days. We just sat with the other two daughters for support and love. We shared stories. Saw old friends; even laughed. We pretty much took over the waiting room. I walked in on Wednesday morning (after we had just been there for one day), and it was clear that we had made this place our own. Oragami creations were hanging from the walls, games were all over the floor, and ads from the newspaper were also displayed on the walls. (Perhaps these ads had somewhat questionable content, but it fit our little group). We helped where we could. Most of this help was devoted to protecting the daughters from the masses of people who wanted to visit. It would have been overwhelming for the them to receive visits from the literally hundereds of people who would have come. The nurses were already asking our pastor to pass the word to our congregation for people to stop calling the nurses station. At one point, there were so many calls coming in that they felt like they couldn't do their job. To say that David was well-loved is an enormous understatement. Everyone who knew him would undoubtedly say he was one of their very best friends. And that they were very special to him. And we were. I'm not sure how one creates such a sense of love and incluson to everyone, but he did. For me, this was his greatest gift. I saw it for years in his youth ministry. I saw it with people who had special needs, or didn't seem to have many friends. I saw it with people who were homeless. His welcoming to everyone; his genuine care seemed so effortless. (Although, I did hear stories about people that made him shake his head!)

The 18th was a long day. I had a sense first thing that morning (early and with very little sleep) that our long week of waiting would soon be coming to an end. Later that night, his daughters acted bravely and powerfully and let him go. Even now, I feel in my body the moment when our pastor announced to us that "David was in heaven now." Although we knew this moment was coming, it just doesn't prepare you for the jolt to your soul.

This day falls in the middle of Advent. The season of waiting; expectation.; the revealing of God with us. A couple of weeks ago I helped a group of people lead worship at church. Our theme was the "Unexpected God." We shared our stories of how we experiencec God in the unexpected moments. Then, somehow, the mystery; the miracle that this unexpected encounter transforms our life. My relationship and experiences with David over many years changed my life. For me, there is great irony in the timing of his death and Advent. His death was certainly unexpected. And I don't yet see God in this. I don't see or feel the transforming miracle. I've felt fairly cynical over this last year. Not to mention angry. Feeling like this is an act of gross injustice, especially to his daughters. So, I'm just going to voice those feelings and let them be. I have no desire to tidy them up or put a nice "churchy" bow on them. And yet, I can't escape feeling immensley grateful. I'm grateful for the time in my life that I did share with him. I'm a better person for having him in my life. I wouldn't trade a single moment, even to avoid this pain.

A beautiful candle is burning in my home today. I'm wearing a Baylor shirt and my Baylor cap. I'll be making gumbo to prepare for a gathering tomorrow with dear friends. We'll remember him together with a Cajun potluck. Nothing could be more perfect.

The phone call

The kind of phone call you get in the middle of the night when you know the news on the other end can't be good. Except this call came at high noon. I'm told that one of my dearest friends of the last 16 years had an accident. A bad accident. A random, freak accident. He's in ICU. He's not going to recover. Even now, one year to the day, those words seem incomprehensible. My body was paralyzed; my mind struggled for anything to say.

David was a life-long pastor who focused most of his career in youth ministry. I think in hearing this news, there was something inside of me; an expectation that somehow this really wasn't going to end badly. Maybe because he was a pastor; devoted his life to serving God and loving others; because everyone thought he was their best friend; because hundreds of young people would testify that he saved their life; because something this terrible couldn't possibly happen to him; because he has 3 daughters; because, because , because. But bad things really do happen to good people. This time to one of the best people on this earth. Four days later, my friend died.

It's been a hard year living with the void that his passing has left in my life. And yet, I feel like that only now I'm really beginning to let myself feel the depth of my sadness. I miss his presence...

every Sunday mornng

most Monday mornings when I would drop by his office to visit

almost daily phone calls

every youth event

talking Baylor sports- especially with the incredible basketball and football seasons this year!

braggin about TJ

any and every time I need to talk about something in my life that I was struggling with

when I wanted to tell someone about something cool that happened

I miss his smile. I miss how happy he always looked to see me. I miss hearing him tell stories. I miss seeing him cry (which he did easily and often).

I've taken some opportunities to acknowledge my sadness and move through the grief. Even still, I've been very conscious of not letting myself feel too sad. Or at least for very long. The pain has felt too deep and too big. This barrier of defense around my heart has been slowly crumbling over the last few weeks. I feel as sad today, and maybe more, than I did 12 months ago. Ultimately, I know this is a good thing. And I think it would be a grave dishonor to his memory to run from this. I feel more willing than I have, up to this point, to be present and conscious in this process. Writing of my dear friend, working through this grief is the main reason I've returned to writing. Funny, it's the main reason I stopped writing several months ago. Though writing about all this here, as opposed to my private journal, feels woefully vunerable. My thoughts are not very coherent; I find it hard to articulate what I want to say; my feellings are raw and all over the map. It's not neat and tidy for public consumption. I need to do this anyway. I'm trusting that God and my heart have led me here and it shall be a sacred place.

A poem...or just rambling thoughts

Rumblings.
Ceaseless reminders of passing moons
Possibilty
Endings
Hope
Despondence
Swirling thoughts; tangled feelings
Tired
Wanting
Undeterred.

Christmas Tree

Occassionally I have good ideas. Even more infrequently I'm very insightful. Mostly, I'm just pretty average. As a first- born hero child, I have quite an attachement to perfection. I'm also the child of an alcoholic; so I really want you to like me. Part of the challenge about having this blog is that I've put alot of pressure on myself to "have something worth saying, " or just be quiet. As I re-enter the world of writing, I'm going to try really hard 1) not to write for you, and 2) not care too much what you think. (Not caring at all is unrealistic; I'm not even going there.) At least for now, for so many reasons, writing needs to be for me. Today, I'm writing with no great spiritual insight or talk through some cool experience I had...I just want to write about my Christmas tree!

I've always adored Christmas. As an adult with my own place, I've taken great pride and greater joy decorating for the season. I especially love putting up the tree (though not so much love in taking it down). It goes up every year just before we travel for Thanksgiving. After I lug a dozen boxes down from the attic, I crank up the volume on Christmas music. and get busy Sometimes, I forego the tunes and watch a beloved Christmas cartoon. My favorite is the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. And I bake sugar cookies. It's the smell I love and just seems necessary. Sadly, though, no cookies were baked this year. My husband is not so much into this whole production, so I end up doing it by myself. Kind of a drag, but I guess I've accepted it. We have lots of ornaments and I use 8 strands of lights, so it takes some time to get everything done. I'm always so happy when I'm finished (tired too!). It's so beautiful. This year I starting thinking about all the memories that this tree holds. The tree itself and many of the glass balls are from my first marraige. Wes's family gave all the kids an ornanement for Christmas every year. So, we have quite a few from his childhood. As a former teacher, I have many ornaments that were given to me by students. Some of those are sweet reminders of friends I've long since lost touch with. Then there are ornanements that Wes, TJ and I paint every year. I started this tradition when we got married. It's was just something fun to do together since the boys go on a "trimming the tree" strike every year. They usually complain about the painting, but comply. It's fun and we now have quite a collection of interestingly painted wooden ornaments. All in all, I have a thing of beauty that brings me to pause, remember days gone by, loved ones and precious memories.

8 months later...

I'm back. Or at least I hope so. It's been a long year and I've really missed writing. I just haven't had the inspiration or energy. It's been a year of sadness, depression, beautiful surprises, irony and new paths.

Writing for me has always been the means by which I hear my soul. She speaks her voice through my pen. Surprisingly, writing has been the very thing I've resisted for the past several months. As I sat in church last Sunday, I felt it was time to resume writing. I hoped I would make this entry on Sunday, the first Day of Advent. Alas, it's Wednesday. I didn't grow up in a religious tradition that recognized Advent. I've only been learning and participating in this time during the last several years. And now, I love Advent. Advent affirms the parts of life that seldom get attention: waiting, expecting, listening...being still. I feel drawn to let Advent lead me back here. And so, Advent begs the questions, "What am I expecting?" "What am I waiting for?" Maybe it's not the expectation of any certain thing to come to pass, or a wish to come true. Perhaps it's an openness to the Divine...the unexpected...the miracles.

You are welcome to join me this Advent season. I would love to hear your stories of expectation, and encountering the Divine.

Namaste.