Life is too short...

Life is too short to not have a room to call your own.

Introducing my newly-cleaned, organized, and decorated room.

After sleeping in Emily's room since the accident, and really only using my room as a place to journal/think/cry, I'm ready to move back in. I've been sleeping by myself for a month now, which is monumental in itself, but moving back in here feels monstrous.

It's weird to think that the last time I slept in here I was woken up by my dad and told that Micah was in an accident. My mind drifts there sometimes, and then I feel a little panicky and nauseous and scared. But generally I am comforted by the fact that of course Micah would me to be back in the room where we often hung out---and just like when I first cleaned it, the good memories far outweigh the bad ones. After all, this is where I spent every night sleeping when Micah was alive and we were together--in that sense, as simple as it is, doesn't that bring me a little closer to him? It's comforting to be near the normal life that once was.

Tomorrow I'm presenting the children's story at my church. For the first Sunday of Lent, the theme is "holding on and letting go." I thought about that today as I cleaned my room. I'm moving back into my room, holding tightly to the memories in here, yet also cleaning away the dust, throwing away the unwanted's. Maybe allowing myself to let go, piece by piece, also allows me in the end to hold on tighter to the things I cherish.

Life is too short....

Life is too short to...not go stargazing in your room.

Wahoo weekend! Babysitting tonight and tomorrow, cleaning this weekend, and then my sisters and friends come home for Spring Break to stay at my house for a crazy and fun week. It's going to be great to see them again. I'm excited for some adventures.

Life is too short...

Life is too short for you and your dog not to wear cool socks.

Life is too short...

Life is too short to...
forget your colors.

I started attending a young adult grief group. Today during the first session we made beads out of clay that hardens when you put it in the oven. The directions were to pick three colors:

1) One color for yourself.
2) One color for your loved one.
3) One color for a memory or feeling you had with your loved one.

I ended up picking orange for me (just because I like orange) a deep blue for Micah (because it reminded me of a shirt he wore) and yellow for happiness (which I always felt around him!) Next I twisted the colors together and pinched and rolled off pieces until they became marble-like beads.

I like my bracelet because the simplicity seems to speak louder than any grief book I've read--and hey, I've read a lot. Although you can see each color in the bead, it would be almost impossible to separate one from another--because at that point they are so intertwined and meshed together that they become one whole entity.
In other words, when you love someone, and more so when you lose a person you love, your experiences and memories of that person become so entangled with you that they actually become a part of you. It would be impossible to just plain extract the parts of Micah out of my life, because they've become so ingrained into who I am now. Slightly cheesy, yes, but whatever, I still love it.

Later this evening after cooking the beads, I added my own touch: I sewed on a ribbon that I wore in my hair to Masquerade when Micah and I went as a German couple. I don't know if I'll actually wear my bracelet, but I'm into simple yet meaningful crafts like this these days.

Life is too short...

Life is too short to not be this happy about getting your nails painted by your babysitter.

(Remind me again how I got so lucky to hang out with cute kids and get paid for it?)

Life is too short...

Life is too short to not give a proper "testing" to your new mattress as you "clean your room."

Valentine's Day.

I tried really, really hard to be grateful today, instead of falling into a depressive slump of loneliness, self-pity, and chocolate-eating. The second option would have been so much easier, considering that the whole world practically seemed to be screaming, "If you don't have a significant other today, you're an insignificant loser..."

However, I somehow made it through the day quite well. I spent the morning teaching my Sunday school class, and the earnest faces of the kids brightened my mood almost instantly. Later in the afternoon I invited my younger cousins over for a Valentine's Day tea party. I slipped on my Banquet dress and decorated the kitchen with colorful paper hearts; and when everyone arrived we ate little treats together and pretended to be "proper."

In the evening I spoiled myself with a chocolate-chip pancake supper, then went upstairs and paged through letters and cards that Micah has given me over the years. It's always comforting to see his handwriting on paper again and reread his thoughtful, loving words. I even found the dozen roses he gave me junior year, which I dried and kept. He was such a romantic boyfriend...always something up his sleeve to bring me happiness. Last year he got me a hamster--what in the world would he have done this year, I wonder?!

I really don't like to feel lonely because I know Micah would hate me for doing so, but sometimes it still seeps out. Because Micah was basically a best friend, more than anything I miss having someone that understands me completley; someone that is solely mine. And that's where the loneliness comes in. I miss him, but I also miss what we were together, and the support system we created for each other. To not have Micah there, and so suddenly, was like having a safe, warm carpet ripped out from under my feet.

People have asked before what I consider my "relationship status" to be. Single? In a relationship? What exactly do you call it? The only way I can describe it is a weird state between widow and girlfriend--widowed girlfriend? Micah and I weren't serious enough for marriage at the time, obviously, but we sure were quite serious at the time, for where and who we were, which twists my mind because what if we had had several more years, beyond college? We had talked already about trying to stick it through college, after all, so what would have happened? There's no way to ever know, though after experiencing his death now, of course I would have been so happy to spend years and years and years with him! This question just adds one more giant unknown into the mix, bringing more "what-if's" that spin my head in circles.

I guess the only thing that matters is that Micah died being my boyfriend, and I his girlfriend, and something about that will always bring me a sense of happiness. I like to know that at that point in time, the core of "us" was at it's peak of love and excitement, strong as ever--and even death can't argue with that. I also have no doubt I will always carry that role of girlfriend with me. It never has and never will be a burden. I say it with a smile, to have been known and loved by Micah.

On that note, Happy Valentine's Day, boyfriend.

Blizzard.

Wow! I'm in awe of this beautiful snow. It hasn't blizzard-ed since I was about 6, but I feel just as enthralled by the magic now as a 19-year-old.
After a tough day yesterday that contained several hours of pure tears, a midnight walk was just what I needed to clear my mind and welcome a sense of peace. Thanks, life.

An entry from my journal yesterday:

2/5/10
Ah, nothing like the quiet walls of Goshen's public library to provide a nice little journaling haven. I'm visiting Goshen this week with Grandma and Grandpa. So far it's been good. Somewhat boring at times, but otherwise great to giggle with friends again and have an exciting social life surrounded by wonderful, caring people.

Yet college is still college. There's sill the absurd lifestyle of busy busy busy, go go go. There's still all homework and no sleep.

Somehow being here has secured my decision of staying home. Yes, Goshen is wonderful, but I'm at a place still where I need me-time. I want to live, now--not spend time studying how to live when I'm out of college. I need to feel in control of my life again; I need time to rediscover Becca to some extent; and I need to find hope within this first year that life is, and still can be, beautiful.

February has arrived. I feel like yelling at the months to slow down, to stop flying by me so fast that I can't even keep track of the day.
After February, March. And after March, April--
April, when the ground begins to thaw and buds start to show on bare trees and flowers peek out from muddy soil and the earth prepares for a fresh start; and Easter, where new life was welcomed and people gathered to meet the loved one they thought was gone...

Instead April holds that D word. Dying. Died. Death. A late night phone call that wakes me from my dreams and brings me into a reality I wish could only be a dream. Exhausting days spent in a hospital with disbelief and fleeting hope. Voices gathered around a bed with hands held, grasping for the words that will somehow say goodbye...how do you release someone into the hands of God when you never wanted them to leave in the first place?...
"Micah, you are known and loved by God..."

As I look ahead to April I wonder how I will greet the one year anniversary. There will be so much pain reliving those days--but there's also so much beauty in being able to celebrate Micah's life. There's also something significant about being able to say a year has passed; and to look back on the year and see the blessings and people that helped every day of that one year somehow survivable.
So maybe it will be a mixture of gratitude, relief, pain, sorrow? I'm both dreading/curious to see how it will balance out. This mixture of feelings seems to be quite a common occurrence in grieving...there never can just be one feeling, can there? That would be too easy.

I once heard grief described as a dance. I like the image of that. Lately I'd like to think I've been able to be more of a graceful ballerina, but of course there's still many moments of pure-chaotic-awkward-fumbling-angry-stomping dancing, like a giraffe on ice skates, or something.

Better get back to the college. I think these people are beginning to wonder who the crazy girl in the back of the library is, sitting at her journal laughing and crying at the same time...whoops.

On a final note, often I just think of Micah and smile. Oh, that boy. Lately I could so go for a good Micah-Becca-uncontrollable-laughter moment, one where we would both be frozen with laughter together, and he'd slump over me because his body would practically go limp from all the laughing, then our eyes would tear up and our bellies ache and the cycle would just repeat again. Happiness.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
(Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die.)

-Song sung at Micah's tree planting