Two years ago tonight, my dad answered the phone and woke me up with the news. I remember sitting up and immediately clutching his arms. It was surreal and awful, but reflecting on it now I'm more able to see the beauty of that moment. Those first several minutes spent hugging while the rest of the house peacefully slept are something only my dad and I will ever know, but I find peace that we shared it together.

I am trying to not think too much about the details of what happened tonight two years ago, as they are painful to comprehend, even though I don't exactly know what happened during the accident. Yet still, memories of a hospital seep into my consciousness and will continue to tomorrow.

Several weeks after the accident my dad wrote this poem. I share it because it is beatifully written and speaks memories that are now on my mind.


I don’t want to tell you

I don’t need to tell you

Oh young daughter of mine,

Of the thrill of new found love,

Of the maturation of well grounded friendship,

And the pleasure of balanced partnership.

I don’t want to wake you,

Oh beautiful daughter of mine,

From the sleep of recently whispered love,

From the slumber of contented relationship,

And the dreams of life milestones yet to come.

I don’t want to tell you,

Oh innocent daughter of mine,

Of collisions and twisted metal,

Of broken flesh and shattered bones,

Of collapsed lungs and cerebral oxygen levels.

I want to protect you

Oh beloved daughter of mine,

From endless unknowing emergency room hours,

From clutching hugs and somber conversations,

And hesitant visits to critical care rooms.

I don’t want you to have to see,

Oh sweet daughter of mine,

The quiet form of your beloved,

Artificially maintained by IVs and tubes,

Gently marking time with rhythmic mechanical breaths.

How I long to spare you,

Oh wonderful daughter of mine,

From the premature grief of lost love

From the instant insertion into the adult world,

And the incapacitating emptiness of absent companionship.

My whole parental being cries out,

Oh dear daughter of mine,

Against your precocious introduction to death,

Against this gut wrenching soul depleting loss,

And the life long fallout of this moment.

But, at one o’clock AM on a Tuesday morning

Oh sleeping daughter of mine,

I can do none of these.

My parental bag of tricks is empty,

And I can only approach your bedside as a fellow mortal.

Becca, can you wake up?

-6/17/09

This week.

Next week marks 2 years since Micah's accident, with Wednesday being the night of the crash and Friday the evening Micah died.

Gratefully my mom has room and time in her schedule to drive to Goshen to be with me. It will be great to have her present and hopefully will alleviate some of the weirdness of not being home. Last year was so nice in that I was able to be in my own space and have my feelings link to the literal places they stem from. This year, however, I'm away from home and only have my memories to connect me to two years ago, not the places. All in all, it'll be very different, but hopefully still meaningful.

I don't know what to be more shocked at---that this year flew by so quickly, or that it's been an entire two years since the accident. Both feel unbelievable. I can so clearly remember sitting alone in my room several days after the accident, thinking to myself, "I can't do this. I can't possibly live a month or a year or a lifetime with Micah and with all of this."

Fast-forward two years, and somehow I've made it through...with meaning and learning along the way. For this there is celebration, my therapist reminded me this week. And so I anticipate leaving room for not just grief this year, but celebration...celebration where I've found growth in my own life these two years.

Yet still, I dread hate kick scream punch detest this week. My entire being mourns and misses and cries. Feelings already begin to swell, and I know all I can do is step into their stream, let them take me, and float.

Day of Love, year Two.

Valentine's Day, year two,
And I am not as lonely as the first.

I fill my day with women friends,
Homemade paper cards,
Pink striped socks.
And when other boyfriends give
their girlfriends cards and kisses,
I smile from afar and think of you.

What you've taught me is this:
Love is all around,
It should be shared,
It should be grand,
And it does not stop with death.

New Year

-At the end of senior year, a tree was planted for Micah at the high school. This plaque sits at the base.
This break my family decorated the tree with pine cones ornaments for the birds.-

2010, you started with a breakdown of tears because I didn't want a new year to begin without Micah. All I could think about was how a year earlier we welcomed in the year together in Germany.

But you ended up being unique and beautiful. You were precious in that you were the out-of-this-world year after Micah died, horrific and terrific all jumbled together. I knew you couldn't go to waste, so I held every second of you, even if it meant dropping everything else to be fully "in" it. I'm so glad I did and I will always cherish you.

2011, you are bittersweet, as always. A fresh slate is ahead, but I still remember sadness and tragedy and loved ones so far away, in my life and in others...
Still, I'm excited for you. Bring me some adventure, security, energy, change, love, guidance. I want to approach you with as much deliberateness of life as the last.

"Heavy"
by Mary Oliver

That time

I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying

I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had His hand in this,

as well as friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel
(brave even among lions),
"It's not the weight you carry

but how you carry it --
books, bricks, grief --
it's all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot, and would not,
put it down."
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?

Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?

How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe
also troubled --

roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?