I did something monumental today--I cleaned my room.
You must understand that this indeed is very, very monumental; as my family will agree. Keeping my room clean is something I have never done, ever. I am a pack rat, and disorganized, and a little lazy to top it all off...so basically my room has a history of never seeing the floor. When Micah died, this became even worse. I hated moving anything in my room because that meant changing how Micah last saw it, and changing how the "old" Becca last lived. It was like a sacred archaeological site I didn't dare touch. This also became very convenient because since April I have slept in one room with my sisters, and I didn't need to keep clean/change my room, because I wasn't living in it. And thus it became a sacred place where I could go and cry and be alone, even though I was basically sitting on top of 3 months worth of dirty laundry and clutter.
But...for some reason I spent this afternoon completely cleaning it. I guess I realized that I had to do it sometime, especially with college approaching. Also, an image of Micah popped into my head...him looking me straight in the eye and saying, "Seriously Becca. Just cause I died doesn't mean you can live like a filthy pig." So maybe it was Micah that kicked some common sense into me.
I found many things on my cleaning adventure.
(One of them was the floor--that was really nice to be able to walk again.)
I picked up clothes...pajama pants I wore in the hospital. The sweatshirt I wore the first night; that I don't dare to wash. The shirt I wore to the funeral.
I picked up flower petals, long wilted, that had fallen onto the carpet--that first week my mom had put a vase on my desk, to bring desperate happiness.
I picked up used tissues that were scattered everywhere, all over. I put them in one pile, and together they formed a giant stack that was probably half a foot high.
I found reminders of his absences, that brought pain rushing back--my banquet dress box...a letter from EMU...the funeral program that I shoved away because it was too hard to look at.
Though luckily I also found some happy things, and those kept me going.
Like how every piece of clothing in my closet, I could basically associate a memory of Micah with. (I wore this shirt on my first date...and this sweater in Munich...and this was the shirt we bought together in Lititz...Micah wore this shirt once and it took him forever to return...Micah said I looked pretty in this...)
I found several notes Micah had once written to me, that I had forgotten about. Those were fun to discover and read. It was like a little personal surprise from him. They made me smile a lot.
I found the scavenger hunt notebook Micah had mapped out for me, when he asked me to banquet last year.
I found some notes from a class in school we had together; and half the page consists of our boredom doodles and tic-tac-toe.
I found a pair of socks Micah claimed were "his," which I argued strongly against because I was sure they were mine--and every time I wore them I would taunt them in his face because I still had possession of them.
I found one of my school pictures, clearly not one of my best ones, that Micah found once and laughed at for 5 minutes because he thought I looked hilarious.
...and the memories go on. It's sad to know my room has changed; but like I said before, I don't see why Micah would have wanted it to stay like that. The memories far outweigh the sadness of cleaning.
Tomorrow I'm volunteering at Camp Ladybug, a camp for adults and children with physical/mental disabilities. I am excited. This is something I've been wanting to do for myself, but also for Micah. I can remember how excited he was to work with some special-needs campers at Camp Hebron; and how he connected so deeply with them. I think he would smile knowing I am doing this, and I also think he would want to see me smile as well.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
3 months.
I woke up this morning to the phrase "3 months" running through my head over and over again. I put my blanket over my head and squeezed my eyes together and laid there in bed for a good 10 minutes. (As if that would somehow make the morning come slower and ultimately delay the day.) But I soon found out that was impossible, because the sun slowly rose and birds began to chirp, and I realized that the rest of the world was continuing, so I might as well try.
Today marks 3 months.
These past days have been especially difficult, because this month they land perfectly on each of the "original" days. Meaning that the day of the accident (the 6th[though technically it was past midnight]), the "in-between life and death day" (the 7th), and the day of his death (the 8th) have all lined up on Monday-Wednesday. This has made me relive everything in detail, and my mind wanders back to where and what I was doing exactly--even down to what I was wearing. It feels so fresh and so new, even 91 days later. I can even still feel that terrible feeling of utter helplessness; my heart beating (practically hyperventilating) and my hands shaking, trying to hold onto something in my spinning world but finding nothing; so scared and so tiny and so paralyzed. Those feelings come back instantly, as do smells of the hospital and memories of doctors' faces.
Monday was especially hard. I sat in my room and just thought how 3 months ago that day, I was innocently sitting at school; in some classes even sitting next to Micah. I just can't believe how I casually said goodbye to Micah, came home, did homework, and innocently went to bed. I can't believe how I had no idea that I would soon be woken up by my dad and everything would change so quickly.
I wish I could have warned that naive Becca about what was to come. I try not to spend much time thinking how the accident could have been prevented--(I just don't let myself go there because I know it turns into a cycle)--but I do sometimes wish I could somehow let myself know what was to come. Maybe if my current Becca could have sent just one teensy warning flag to the Becca-of-the-past that night...would that have made things easier? Would it have made this 3 month anniversary and other anniversaries to come a little more bearable, just because we would have known?
Oh, but maybe not. Maybe knowing all along what was to come would have been worse. Maybe its just going to be terrible no matter what; and I'm thinking in circles and forgetting that either way Micah is not here, and THAT right there is what's wrong and will always be wrong.
Micah Micah Micah. I miss you so much. I think of all the things we could have done in these 3 months, but instead I am listing things we haven't done. Musical, banquet, the last day of school, graduation, convention...spending all summer together. Doing the random things that brought us so much joy; though in the end it was just the fact that we were doing them together. Stargazing and going to the beach and watching 4th of July fireworks and talking on the phone and holding hands and hanging out with your family and going shopping and catching fireflies and laughing and loving. You are supposed to be here soaking in the quietness of this summer night. You are supposed to be sleeping in your bed right now with the night air blowing around your attic room and the crickets chirping outside. We are supposed to be doing all these summer things together.
But you are not here. I know you are here somewhere; maybe you are around me; or maybe you are now within beauty and love and happiness, and you cannot ever truly leave unless they do--but that is not as fulfilling sometimes as just plain "here." I think you know that I have been taking what you've taught me, and using it in my own life to somehow continue to "live"...but I also think that you'd understand that on days like today, on anniversaries, its extra ok to cry and be sad that you are not here.
Today marks 3 months.
These past days have been especially difficult, because this month they land perfectly on each of the "original" days. Meaning that the day of the accident (the 6th[though technically it was past midnight]), the "in-between life and death day" (the 7th), and the day of his death (the 8th) have all lined up on Monday-Wednesday. This has made me relive everything in detail, and my mind wanders back to where and what I was doing exactly--even down to what I was wearing. It feels so fresh and so new, even 91 days later. I can even still feel that terrible feeling of utter helplessness; my heart beating (practically hyperventilating) and my hands shaking, trying to hold onto something in my spinning world but finding nothing; so scared and so tiny and so paralyzed. Those feelings come back instantly, as do smells of the hospital and memories of doctors' faces.
Monday was especially hard. I sat in my room and just thought how 3 months ago that day, I was innocently sitting at school; in some classes even sitting next to Micah. I just can't believe how I casually said goodbye to Micah, came home, did homework, and innocently went to bed. I can't believe how I had no idea that I would soon be woken up by my dad and everything would change so quickly.
I wish I could have warned that naive Becca about what was to come. I try not to spend much time thinking how the accident could have been prevented--(I just don't let myself go there because I know it turns into a cycle)--but I do sometimes wish I could somehow let myself know what was to come. Maybe if my current Becca could have sent just one teensy warning flag to the Becca-of-the-past that night...would that have made things easier? Would it have made this 3 month anniversary and other anniversaries to come a little more bearable, just because we would have known?
Oh, but maybe not. Maybe knowing all along what was to come would have been worse. Maybe its just going to be terrible no matter what; and I'm thinking in circles and forgetting that either way Micah is not here, and THAT right there is what's wrong and will always be wrong.
Micah Micah Micah. I miss you so much. I think of all the things we could have done in these 3 months, but instead I am listing things we haven't done. Musical, banquet, the last day of school, graduation, convention...spending all summer together. Doing the random things that brought us so much joy; though in the end it was just the fact that we were doing them together. Stargazing and going to the beach and watching 4th of July fireworks and talking on the phone and holding hands and hanging out with your family and going shopping and catching fireflies and laughing and loving. You are supposed to be here soaking in the quietness of this summer night. You are supposed to be sleeping in your bed right now with the night air blowing around your attic room and the crickets chirping outside. We are supposed to be doing all these summer things together.
But you are not here. I know you are here somewhere; maybe you are around me; or maybe you are now within beauty and love and happiness, and you cannot ever truly leave unless they do--but that is not as fulfilling sometimes as just plain "here." I think you know that I have been taking what you've taught me, and using it in my own life to somehow continue to "live"...but I also think that you'd understand that on days like today, on anniversaries, its extra ok to cry and be sad that you are not here.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sympathy cards.
Sympathy cards don't know anything.
They don't know
That he could wiggle his ears.
That he had a mole on the back of his neck.
That his voice was slightly husky, and for some reason he didn't like the sound of it recorded on tape.
That his toes were scrunched together from years of running around in soccer cleats.
That he had a tiny scar on his upper lip, and a mole near his chin.
That he bit his nails so they were always short.
That when he yawned he would literally say the word "yawn" as he stretched.
That he would sing to himself on the phone and not realize it.
That when he held my hand he couldn't be still, so his fingers would wiggle around excessively.
That he hated loose change, so he would always give me his extra coins to keep.
That when he didn't shave his face, he would tickle me with his stubble like "his dad used to do."
That when he got mad, really mad, he would become very quiet.
That he was trying to teach himself piano and guitar.
That when he touched his pimples I would yell at him because it would "make it worse," and he'd tell me I reminded him of his mother.
That he loved thunderstorms at night.
That he told me he couldn't sleep with socks on.
That he liked to make beats and rhythms on anything available: desks, his legs--my stomach.
That he was ticklish on the back of his leg, but that was really about it.
That every morning he'd greet me with a hug, but if he forgot, he'd promise he'd make it up with an extra big one the next day.
...No, I know they have good intent, but sympathy cards don't know anything.
They don't know
That he could wiggle his ears.
That he had a mole on the back of his neck.
That his voice was slightly husky, and for some reason he didn't like the sound of it recorded on tape.
That his toes were scrunched together from years of running around in soccer cleats.
That he had a tiny scar on his upper lip, and a mole near his chin.
That he bit his nails so they were always short.
That when he yawned he would literally say the word "yawn" as he stretched.
That he would sing to himself on the phone and not realize it.
That when he held my hand he couldn't be still, so his fingers would wiggle around excessively.
That he hated loose change, so he would always give me his extra coins to keep.
That when he didn't shave his face, he would tickle me with his stubble like "his dad used to do."
That when he got mad, really mad, he would become very quiet.
That he was trying to teach himself piano and guitar.
That when he touched his pimples I would yell at him because it would "make it worse," and he'd tell me I reminded him of his mother.
That he loved thunderstorms at night.
That he told me he couldn't sleep with socks on.
That he liked to make beats and rhythms on anything available: desks, his legs--my stomach.
That he was ticklish on the back of his leg, but that was really about it.
That every morning he'd greet me with a hug, but if he forgot, he'd promise he'd make it up with an extra big one the next day.
...No, I know they have good intent, but sympathy cards don't know anything.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Senior week.
GRRRRR! Right now its 3:03 in the morning, and I'm in an angry mood. I'm so angry that Micah is dead. I'm so angry my life is like this. I'm so angry that this is still happening---can't it be over already? Can't he just come back now? It's been long enough without him and I don't have patience right now to "wait for everything to get better." I want Micah back and I'm just ANGRY. Grrr.
I think I'm losing my tolerance for watching other couples. Up until this point I've told myself I'm okay about it, but I think I'm just plain lying to myself. Especially here at the beach for senior week, young couples seem to pop out at me like never before. Strolling on the beach, holding hands, sitting in cute restaurants and laughing, staring romantically into eachother's eyes...smiles on their faces like they've never experienced any difficulties before. I find myself getting so angry that they have it so good. And not even that, but they don't know they have it so good. Can't you see that one of you could be dead? Can't you see that you're taking for granted the simplest, most everyday things that I yearn for so much now? If you knew it'd be the last time he held your hand, would you hold it a little tighter? If you knew his last "goodnight" would last for the rest of your lifetime, would you cherish it more, appreciate every second?
Why is the worst most possible thing that could happen to a couple happening to me? Why us, of all people? We were so innocent and still so young--but we had so much of a future. We were so in love, even though that cheesy statement doesn't seem to cover it. If it was so unbelievably good, so perfect for both of us, why did it have to change so quickly into such a nightmare?
How could both of our futures be so drastically changed in a matter of several seconds? That is the question I ask that makes me want to scream and bang my fists against the floor like a little girl tantrum, because it's not fair.
It is 3:55. I need to sleep. I'm still angry, but maybe sleep will bring a new perspective, at least for now.
I think I'm losing my tolerance for watching other couples. Up until this point I've told myself I'm okay about it, but I think I'm just plain lying to myself. Especially here at the beach for senior week, young couples seem to pop out at me like never before. Strolling on the beach, holding hands, sitting in cute restaurants and laughing, staring romantically into eachother's eyes...smiles on their faces like they've never experienced any difficulties before. I find myself getting so angry that they have it so good. And not even that, but they don't know they have it so good. Can't you see that one of you could be dead? Can't you see that you're taking for granted the simplest, most everyday things that I yearn for so much now? If you knew it'd be the last time he held your hand, would you hold it a little tighter? If you knew his last "goodnight" would last for the rest of your lifetime, would you cherish it more, appreciate every second?
Why is the worst most possible thing that could happen to a couple happening to me? Why us, of all people? We were so innocent and still so young--but we had so much of a future. We were so in love, even though that cheesy statement doesn't seem to cover it. If it was so unbelievably good, so perfect for both of us, why did it have to change so quickly into such a nightmare?
How could both of our futures be so drastically changed in a matter of several seconds? That is the question I ask that makes me want to scream and bang my fists against the floor like a little girl tantrum, because it's not fair.
It is 3:55. I need to sleep. I'm still angry, but maybe sleep will bring a new perspective, at least for now.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Home again.
Phew. Home from Chicago. It was fun, but it was exhausting. It made me realize that driving 10+ hours to Illinois and surrounding myself with complete strangers does not make the grief go away. Its like I'm carrying my own U-Haul of grief behind me, wherever I go...I can't escape it--even if I wanted to! Also, it was weird to realize that somehow the world is still moving on---and mostly everyone does not even know who Micah is, let alone that he died. Sometimes I find myself getting angry at strangers for not knowing, but I guess that's not fair to them. Think of how many people die daily, and I don't stop my life for them. But still...in my opinion, the whole WORLD should be stopped and EVERYONE should be crying.
The one thing about the long drive was that I got to think--a lot. I taped Micah's senior picture to my window, so I just sat there and looked at him. It made a lot of memories resurface, which is always good. Here's some things I remembered. I made a list.
10 Random Facts About Micah.
1. Micah's favorite color was brown, he once told me. (But maybe he was just saying that because I have brown eyes and he was trying to win me over...)
2. Micah's ideal outfit to wear was a t-shirt (preferably gray), loose jeans, and sandals. Always the sandals. Yes, even in the middle of winter. This is why I am not in the least bit surprised that Micah was wearing sandals during the accident.
3. Micah's ideal outfit for a girl to wear was, ironically, the ideal outfit for him to wear: jeans, a t-shirt, and sandals. One time we told each other our "ideal outfits for the opposite sex," and the next day we both wore them to school, for each other. I forget what mine was, except that I told him to spike his hair. Sure enough, the next day Micah walked into school with gelled hair. What a cutie.
4. Micah liked to over-analyze. We always said that I was the indecisive one, while he was the over-analyzer. I guess he just liked to think through things in his head. Lucky for me, he was very decisive. Still, I think it was a stretch for him to date me, because I really didn't care what we did on dates, whereas Micah liked to know things ahead of time. He would always say, "BECCA! BE DECISIVE!"Haha, he always had patience for me.
5. Micah loved to eat. I mean, who doesn't, but Micah really truly loved to eat. He would always complain that he was going to get fat the second his metabolism slowed down. The great thing was that he wasn't a picky eater--he'd eat anything. Also, he was very adventurous. Whenever we went out to eat, he would simply ask the server what they thought was good, and get what they told him! I was always so baffled...I was just content with my guaranteed hamburger and fries. Just one example of how he lived up life, always up for a risk.
6. Micah loved his clothes. He loved to be fashionable. It was never an overly in-your-face-fashion; it was just his own "cool" style. He loved anything that was laid back, or anything that was original. He liked bright colors. And he loved hoodies. And shoes. And sunglasses. And jeans with holes. We always had a blast going Goodwill-ing together. I'm going to miss looking for clothes for him, as I usually did when I was out anywhere. Even giving him a cheap shirt made him so happy, so I always looked for clothes that screamed "Micah."
7. Micah hated being bored. He loved adventure. He was spontaneous, and that's why it was so fun to be his girlfriend. He would just call me and we'd go do something random, like wearing ridiculous hats to McDonald's, or hanging out at Prince Street. We both were so grateful that we only lived 10 minutes away from each other (8 mintues Micah boasted, if he sped.) Our relationship would have been so different if we wouldn't have been able to the tiny, but fun things like that. I miss my best friend.
8. Micah loved to surprise me. There were cards left on my front door...fish in the tub...a hamster in my room...12 roses on Valentine's day...notes under my pillow...a scavenger hunt for banquet. He would always surprise me after work by showing up at my house. Usually he'd call me and make it sound like he was home; but then he'd randomly go, "Look outside!" And then I'd run to the window, and he'd be outside leaning against his car, with his phone in his hand, and I'd laugh and run out to meet him.
9. Micah loved life. Sometimes when I'd ask him how his day was, he'd say, "I love life!"
10. Micah was a real person. I know that's such a stupid and obvious statement, but sometimes its nice to remember that, and I say it to myself. He woke up in the morning like anyone else, he brushed his teeth; he had his ups and downs; he had his bad moods. He had thoughts running through his head; he had dreams at night, he had preferences of people he'd rather not hang out with, he wondered what the future would be like.
When it comes down to it, I miss this Micah, the real person of him, the part that was human. As his girlfriend, it was my job to understand him and be there for him...we talked everyday, we were there for eachother, and we knew eachother like the backs of our own hands. That's why its hard sometimes to hear other peoples interpretations of him, people that didn't know him as well and don't know what to say. Its hard to hear distant people talk about him, when I knew Micah at the deepest level of knowing someone. He wasn't just a senior that died and had "no regrets" as his motto--he was just Micah; how do I describe that to others?
Sigh...it's just hard. Life is hard. Nothing else I can say except those words.
Well, there's some ramblings from my head today.
The one thing about the long drive was that I got to think--a lot. I taped Micah's senior picture to my window, so I just sat there and looked at him. It made a lot of memories resurface, which is always good. Here's some things I remembered. I made a list.
10 Random Facts About Micah.
1. Micah's favorite color was brown, he once told me. (But maybe he was just saying that because I have brown eyes and he was trying to win me over...)
2. Micah's ideal outfit to wear was a t-shirt (preferably gray), loose jeans, and sandals. Always the sandals. Yes, even in the middle of winter. This is why I am not in the least bit surprised that Micah was wearing sandals during the accident.
3. Micah's ideal outfit for a girl to wear was, ironically, the ideal outfit for him to wear: jeans, a t-shirt, and sandals. One time we told each other our "ideal outfits for the opposite sex," and the next day we both wore them to school, for each other. I forget what mine was, except that I told him to spike his hair. Sure enough, the next day Micah walked into school with gelled hair. What a cutie.
4. Micah liked to over-analyze. We always said that I was the indecisive one, while he was the over-analyzer. I guess he just liked to think through things in his head. Lucky for me, he was very decisive. Still, I think it was a stretch for him to date me, because I really didn't care what we did on dates, whereas Micah liked to know things ahead of time. He would always say, "BECCA! BE DECISIVE!"Haha, he always had patience for me.
5. Micah loved to eat. I mean, who doesn't, but Micah really truly loved to eat. He would always complain that he was going to get fat the second his metabolism slowed down. The great thing was that he wasn't a picky eater--he'd eat anything. Also, he was very adventurous. Whenever we went out to eat, he would simply ask the server what they thought was good, and get what they told him! I was always so baffled...I was just content with my guaranteed hamburger and fries. Just one example of how he lived up life, always up for a risk.
6. Micah loved his clothes. He loved to be fashionable. It was never an overly in-your-face-fashion; it was just his own "cool" style. He loved anything that was laid back, or anything that was original. He liked bright colors. And he loved hoodies. And shoes. And sunglasses. And jeans with holes. We always had a blast going Goodwill-ing together. I'm going to miss looking for clothes for him, as I usually did when I was out anywhere. Even giving him a cheap shirt made him so happy, so I always looked for clothes that screamed "Micah."
7. Micah hated being bored. He loved adventure. He was spontaneous, and that's why it was so fun to be his girlfriend. He would just call me and we'd go do something random, like wearing ridiculous hats to McDonald's, or hanging out at Prince Street. We both were so grateful that we only lived 10 minutes away from each other (8 mintues Micah boasted, if he sped.) Our relationship would have been so different if we wouldn't have been able to the tiny, but fun things like that. I miss my best friend.
8. Micah loved to surprise me. There were cards left on my front door...fish in the tub...a hamster in my room...12 roses on Valentine's day...notes under my pillow...a scavenger hunt for banquet. He would always surprise me after work by showing up at my house. Usually he'd call me and make it sound like he was home; but then he'd randomly go, "Look outside!" And then I'd run to the window, and he'd be outside leaning against his car, with his phone in his hand, and I'd laugh and run out to meet him.
9. Micah loved life. Sometimes when I'd ask him how his day was, he'd say, "I love life!"
10. Micah was a real person. I know that's such a stupid and obvious statement, but sometimes its nice to remember that, and I say it to myself. He woke up in the morning like anyone else, he brushed his teeth; he had his ups and downs; he had his bad moods. He had thoughts running through his head; he had dreams at night, he had preferences of people he'd rather not hang out with, he wondered what the future would be like.
When it comes down to it, I miss this Micah, the real person of him, the part that was human. As his girlfriend, it was my job to understand him and be there for him...we talked everyday, we were there for eachother, and we knew eachother like the backs of our own hands. That's why its hard sometimes to hear other peoples interpretations of him, people that didn't know him as well and don't know what to say. Its hard to hear distant people talk about him, when I knew Micah at the deepest level of knowing someone. He wasn't just a senior that died and had "no regrets" as his motto--he was just Micah; how do I describe that to others?
Sigh...it's just hard. Life is hard. Nothing else I can say except those words.
Well, there's some ramblings from my head today.
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