This is one of those un-artsy moments where I simply want to write something. To reflect. More journal-ist-ic. (Yes, I always choose to do this on the nights when I already planned on needing an allnighter for school-work purposes)...
This past week or so has been one of: "Holy crap. Andy's dead." It starts to fade after a while. Nathan is doing well - has friends, has music, and has the Lord (which is the sole reason one can even make it this far). As we get back into our lives and routines, you forget a lot. You forget how life would be if the accident hadn't happened. You forget the way things were supposed to be. Then there are days, moments, that stop you dead in your tracks. "Andy's not here. He's somewhere...but I can't see him." It's such a surreal feeling - I can't describe it.
I was looking at the moon last night while stopped at the light waiting to get on to the highway from Huff street. So beautiful. So bright. Everytime moments like that happen, I just smile and realize...it's OK. We live, we die. Some just pass quicker than others. I don't think he's really 'gone,' either. We can't see him...but that's because we're still veiled. He knows. Soon.
Over Thanksgiving I went to my aunt's house and got to spend the day with the extended family, but mostly with Natie. We have an annual tradition of breaking out her dusty four-wheeler for a strole through the fields. For the first year in my entire life, I was not afraid. It was so weird! I've done nothing different this year. Usually I bury my head into Nathan's coat and say, "Go slow! Slow down, Natie! Please don't go so fast!" I want to spend those special moments with him, but I'm t.e.r.r.i.f.i.e.d. and can only handle it for a few loops. I have to bite my lip and hold my breath so that I don't make it entirely miserable for him. (But he still wants to take me for a ride every year...so apparently I don't irritate him too bad) ;) This year, it was different. Maybe it's that I've accepted death. The worst that could happen? I'm in pain for a while or cut life on Earth short. That's really not that bad. So I held on tight, only screamed for the first few jumps, and then just let it go. Let go of fear. Let go of control.
(((IT WAS SO FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ...and we ran over a small, newly planted evergreen tree...whoops))).
Control. That's mostly it. I need to control everything. My future. My life. My time. My grades. My self. My faith. Everything.
Last year in my Education sequence, I was told by my cooperating teacher that kids often learn best through chaos. Out of control.
That's true for our faith as well. If everything is neat and tidy, predictable, routine, what do we have? Nothing. Nothing real. I need to be out of control. I need to let go.
I need to not fear anymore.
Lord, take control.
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I remember the time period where I had lost my Grandpa. Doing everything that I had done normally became something completely different. Driving home for four hours felt like 3 days had passed by.
He died November 15th, I missed it this year. But I remember how I felt like I was no longer a teenager when he died. I had finally become 20.
To relate more to what you are saying, during the funeral it was like a compilation of all the memories people had about my Grandpa, and that those memories would recreate him, and he'd just walk out of the crowd and shake my hand.
My grandpa is in heaven now, like you said, he knows.
Your insight into trust in awesome Kate. A lot of us, including myself, need to realize this aspect.
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