The Ladder

Life is short,
But the days are long.
When I look behind,
I see how far we've come.
When I look ahead,
I see we must go on.
The journey so far
Pales in comparison
To the journey ahead.
Or does it?
So many more rungs
We have to climb.
But do we really know
How far we must go?
Life is short,
But the days are long.

Memory Eternal!

Most everyone in the Orthodox communities of North America has heard by now that our beloved Metropolitan Philip has passed away. I saw news of his death on FaceBook last night and today. I keep seeing kind messages from all my Orthodox friends and family. Many of them brought me to tears. However, one message, which has been repeated by nearly everyone posting about the Metropolitan, has given me joy. Memory Eternal. We say it so often in regards to the ones who have departed, yet rarely have I stopped to think about the words themselves. How simple they are, but yet powerful and beautiful.
Memory. We have little, if anything, so valuable as our memories. When someone we love passes away, it is our memories that let us hold onto them. What a beautiful thing, and even more beautiful is that the Church recognizes the strength of our memories of a loved one. We can be comforted by our memories of our loved ones. We carry them with us in spirit through remembrance.
Now, take that beautiful memory and add eternity. May their memory be eternal! What a beautiful statement that is. Not only should we keep them in our memory, but we should do it forever. Forever. Seems impossible, but not to the Church in the name of the Trinity. We can remember our departed for eternity, and that is the most beautifully comforting thing I have ever heard. It is the best way to carry someone with you, eternally.
Two words have never had such a large effect on me so easily. I do not cry easily, nor often, but say those two words and it's like a waterfall. Memory Eternal. Individually those words are powerful. Together they are invincible. So, during this time of the passing of His Eminence Metropolitan Philip- to whom I am forever grateful and owe my life as an Orthodox Christian (as do countless others)- let us all be comforted and say, May thy  memory be eternal!

My Worst Day

Today, the 11th of October marks two months since the worst day. Two months since Lydia's passing. A few unexpected changes have occurred within those two months. Most of which were not easy, but they are nothing compared to the anguish I have felt over losing her. I am still in mourning, sometimes my emotions even get the better of me. I want nothing more in this world than to hold her again. I had her in my life for fourteen years. More than half my life. While I am forever grateful for so many years with her, I will never get over losing her. She was the sweetest, most gentle creature I have ever known. I am so blessed to have lived more than half my life as her person. On her last day, my mom told me she didn't wag her tail at all. Except for one moment. When I walked through my parents' front door to see her. For a few seconds she was happy. On her worst day when her body was failing her, and she was suffering, she was happy to see me. That is more precious to me than anything in the world. That moment makes me rejoice for the bond we shared. But it also made that night, and every night since then much more difficult. Having that bond and that moment with her is worth every tear and every second of pain. 

As I write this, I am wondering why. Usually, I don't express my feelings. I never express my feelings well, not in person. The only way I know how to express myself is through writing. I usually don't feel compelled to express myself, particularly not to many people, but I know I would never tell anyone how badly I hurt. So writing is my only sanctuary, my only tool to sort through my pain and remember.

I had thought frequently about how I would react if and when my mom told me my baby was in decline. I thought about what would happen if I was at work when I got the news and what I would do. Would I leave work early? Would I break down and cry? That Saturday night, August 10th, I was scheduled to close the bar. I didn't carry my phone on me at work. I usually left it in the office or on the shelves in the bar closet. It was about three hours after Mom messaged me that I saw it. It read, "Hey sweetheart, Lydia seems to be having a bad day. You may want to come by tomorrow, see what you think. Love you." I knew when I read it that I would be there immediately after work. Even if she was better when I arrived, I would sleep next to her all night. I would make sure she was okay. I called my mom immediately. She asked me to come over after work. I had already planned on it, but I knew when she asked me it was really serious. I had a feeling then that Lydia wouldn't make it through the night. I tried to go back to the bar and continue working, but I ended up alone sobbing in the bathroom. After a while, I told my best friend, who was the manager then, what was going on. My co-workers graciously helped me finish serving my last few tables, even though they didn't know what was going on. I didn't want to say it out loud. I didn't want to have to tell people that my baby was dying. I closed up the bar, dreading the next few hours, or rather the rest of my life.

I raced over to my parents house. As I walked through the door, Lydia wagged her tail. It was the first time that day. She wagged her tail almost nonstop her whole life. That was how Mom knew something was really wrong early in the day. That's how I know how much she loved me. She wagged her tail for me. She was laying near the door, so I got down next to her. After a few seconds of being with her, I knew we had to take her to the animal emergency clinic. My mom asked what I thought we should do. I said we couldn't let her continue to suffer. She was clearly in duress. So Mom went upstairs to get her shoes, and I laid next to Lydia, sobbing. I had just made the decision that would end her life. 

Oh, how that decision has haunted me. I hate saying it was the "right" thing to do. I believe in the sanctity of life, so I don't wholly agree that it was right. I do know it was necessary. She depended on me. I couldn't let her continue to suffer or to die in pain. However, I will be haunted by that decision forever. I set in motion the events that led to her death. And I will never forgive myself. That is the price I pay for having the best dog ever. She is worth every moment of hating myself. Every moment that I am angry with myself for that night, for telling the vet I was ready when I really wasn't, for sitting there while she injected my baby, and knowing that I'll never forgive myself is worth being Lydia's person. 

I carried her to the car. She couldn't walk on her own. So I carried her, laid her in the back seat. My mom drove us to the emergency clinic while I called them to say we were coming. She hadn't gone outside to pee all day. I think she was scared in the car or maybe she just couldn't hold it any longer because that's where she peed for the last time. I didn't mind. I just sat next to her, trying to comfort her. I carried her inside, until a technician took her from me. We filled out some forms while they whisked her away to see what was wrong. Sitting there talking to the nurse about our options and waiting to see her again felt like the worst eternity. Finally we were led to a room where they brought her to us to say good-bye. Mom and I sobbed the entire time we were there. We laid down on the floor on each side of her. Mom sang to her. I petted her head and wept. The doctor told us she was in heart failure. Her lungs were filling up with fluid. I could even see the fluid dripping from her nose. She looked so miserable. My heart broke to see her like that, especially since I couldn't make it better. I could only end it. The doctor told us she would wait until we were ready. Mom looked at me and asked if I was. I said "I'm ready." I knew I wasn't, but it would have been selfish to wait any longer. And it certainly wouldn't make this any easier. Mom continued to sing to her. I barely remember what I was doing, besides crying. I'm sure i was petting her. I don't remember if I sang along or not. I know that I was staring at her face. Lydia was looking from Mom to me and back again. As the doctor injected her, it was like she went to sleep. After a few moments the doctor whispered that she was gone. Then she told us Lydia must have known how much we loved her. I hope she did. I hope somehow she knew that I would have given everything I own if it would have made her well. 

After we asked to take the body home with us, Mom went to pay, and I stayed in the room with her. A nurse came in and carried her away. That was the last time I saw her. They made paw prints for us, one of which hangs on my wall next to my Icons above my bed. I see it every time I say morning prayers. They wrapped her in a cloth and taped it closed. They wrote her name on it, and drew a cross next to her name. I'm glad for that. That meant so much to me. They brought her out to me while Mom was still paying. I pulled the car up, and helped put her in the back seat again. The staff must have felt badly for us, they charged us less than their standard examination fee when it should've been more. Mom drove us home while I sat next to Lydia in the back seat. I carried her body to our back porch where she stayed until we could bury her. 

Shortly after coming home, her sister Beauty woke up. She had been asleep when we left, so she didn't know her sister was gone. I petted Beauty for awhile, and then laid down on the couch. I've never been so tired in my life. It was about three in the morning now. Mom slept on a futon on the floor of the living room and I slept on the couch. When I awoke in the morning, my dad had already dug a hole in the backyard for her grave. Mom and I stayed home from church. I went out to the back porch and sat near her body while I called my best friend to tell her what happened. I called out of work as well. (The perks of your best friend being the manager.) My dad and brother came home, and my sister-in-law brought some lunch over as well as sunflowers. We all went in the back yard and buried her. We prayed over her, I think. We each poured some dirt on top of her as is the Orthodox tradition. And there it was. She was gone. She was really gone. It was the worst day. I am grateful to my family for comforting me, helping me, crying with me. It was my worst day. I am grateful to all my friends who comforted me, to my 3 best friends in particular, Courtney, Raven, and Sophie for being so loving and gracious.

One of the most difficult parts was seeing Beauty wander around the house that morning looking for her sister. They were literally sisters and lifelong companions. They were best friends. I think Monday night when i was at my parents house again was when Beauty realized her sister was truly gone. She was lying in the living room looking at the stairs as if she was waiting to see Lydia appear and come down. Then Beauty began to whimper and cry. That broke my heart again, if that's even possible. I sat with her and petted her while she mourned. And she comforted me, too. She licked my hand, and laid her head on my lap, and we cried together.  

I think of Lydia many times every day. Sometimes I still cry for her. I whisper to myself that I want my baby. She will always be my baby. I called her that and she would always respond. She knew she was mine and I was hers. I remember how she would lay at my feet when I sat on the couch. When you pet her, she nudges closer to you until she can't get any closer. Then she would slip to the floor and wait for a belly rub. She would wag her tail so hard against the wall or the ground when she was excited that it sounded like a hammer. She slept on any soft furniture she could get her paws on. She had her particular chair that she loved more than any other piece of furniture. It was Lydia's chair. It is Lydia's chair. Every time I look at that chair, I picture her laying in it. It's been harder to go to my parent's house since that day. Knowing she won't be there when I open the door is still a horrible feeling. Every time there's a part of me that hopes I'll open door and she'll be there to greet me. Every time it hurts that she isn't. 

I think as time passes my grief will become more manageable. Maybe one day I'll be able to get another dog. But for now, I am just heartbroken. It's a fact. I'm heartbroken without her.

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time

Merry Christmas to all! This year I have had such a lovely, wonderful Christmas.  I received a new cross that is smaller than my other cross and I can wear it daily.  I'm very excited about it.  I think one of my favorite gifts is my Beatles blanket that my fantastic mom surprised me with.

It's been such a great day. First going to Christmas Liturgy and hearing my brothers chant the service.  Then we all had a feast together while opening presents.  The tree was overflowing with presents.

I even got to see friends and family last Wednesday, and God willing, I will be able to see even more this week! And I took a good picture of Mimi and Granddaddy in their new scarves. They loved them.  Granddaddy was especially happy that his scarf would match his nice jacket. 

I hope everyone had as blessed a Christmas as I did!

Christ is born! Glorify Him!

That's Why I Say Thanks Every Day

So today I have been listening to a song from Veggie Tales. It's from the Madame Blueberry episode and it's called the Thankfulness Song. It's probably my favorite Veggie Tales song.  It made me think about how so many of us live today without being truly thankful.  I know I do.  It's a struggle for me to remember that when I can't find the right shoes or I want more clothes that I have plenty of clothes and clean clothes, too.  Just a few blocks away from my house is our community center and homeless shelter, and what a strong reminder that is to be thankful! But it's also much easier to be thankful for the good things like having clean clothes and food and a comfortable home to live in.  It's really hard to be thankful for the difficult things that happen.  Like in the song, the kids are thankful despite their families being poor because they can spend time with their families, which is more important to them than material goods.  I think we should all look to the kids singing this song and be a little more thankful for all that we have.  Because, as we all know from this song, a thankful heart is a happy heart.  I always feel more peaceful and content with the world when I'm thankful for everything I have.
A big family, my mom and dad, a comfortable home, nice clothes, plenty of shoes, a well-paying job, the opportunity to go to school, my dogs, my friends, a nice church, books to read, movies to watch with my brother, plenty of food, being able to save up for a new car, for a God who really cares, for His love for us.
That's why I say thanks every day.

Evie, Part One

She had been running for what felt like ages. Her entire body ached, her heart pounded, and her head throbbed from exhaustion.  But she couldn't stop. She wouldn't stop.  Suddenly, a tiny light appeared ahead of her.  It seemed a great distance between her and the light, and for a few minutes it did not get any closer.  She felt her feet begin to stumble. Slowing her pace she corrected her steps and sped up again.  The light began getting closer and bigger.  She had never wanted anything more in her life than to stand in the light. She was running harder than ever.  Faster and faster, until finally she was immersed in a blinding light.  All her exhaustion and hurt melted away, and she was never happier than in that moment.  But then the moment passed and the fatigue and pain came storming back to her.  She collapsed into a pile on the ground.  She couldn't move, even breathing hurt.  She tried to lie still to ease the pain, but that hurt, too.  All she felt was pain.  All she wanted was to be in a warm bed, and to sleep for days.  However, all her effort, all that running, was in vain.  In her fragile state, she had forgotten, even only for a few moments, of what she was running from.  Suddenly she remembered, and picking herself up was the hardest thing she ever had to do.  But she did it, and kept on going.  Soon she found a shelter hewn out of the rock and decided to stay there for a while.  She didn't dare light a fire, but she was safe enough to get some sleep. She laid down beside a large rock in order to sufficiently hide herself from onlookers.  For many minutes she laid awake, trying to keep herself alert despite her exhaustion.  Eventually her eye lids became too heavy and an unrestful sleep overcame her.

On a bright and sunny day, a small child played with her big sister in a field near their home.  A home that they shared with their father and older brother.  Her mother left about a year before, and they never really knew what had become of her.  It was certainly an uncommon thing to happen in those parts, but it happened nonetheless.  At first they thought she may have been kidnapped or killed, that is until the letter came.  They had received a letter from her just a few weeks after she disappeared.  It said that she wanted to travel the world and be more than just a farmer's wife.  She wanted adventure and excitement.  Father wouldn't even finish reading the letter. He stopped after she said she wanted to travel, and then he worked outside for the rest of the day. He talked about her seldom, and never very lovingly.  It made Evie wonder if her mother hadn't left for good reason.  Her father was not a mean man, but he was not a kind man either.  He was cold and stiff, but virtuous and always provided for his family.  Evie loved her father, but he was not someone that she wanted to stay with forever.   

Evie was laying in the field looking up at the sky while her sister Rose played with the dandelions.  Rose was a particularly peculiar child.  She was immensely smart and had a wild imagination.  Evie, who was quite smart herself, but maybe not as smart as Rose, had a sensible perspective on life.  She did not have the vivid imagination that belonged to her sister.  She was more practical and realistic.  Their older brother, Roger, was stern and stoic.  He always followed the rules no matter what, and he never played silly games.  He was a kind-natured boy, but never really had any fun.  His mother left to have fun, so what use could it be?  

Evie and Rose spent most of their time together.  They had become quite close over the last year, helping each other cope with their loss.  Rose had always hoped they could venture out and find her someday.  Evie was less enthusiastic about this idea.  They never even mentioned it to Roger or their father.  But often in their field they would talk about what it would be like to see her again, and where she might be or what she might be doing.  Today they were doing just that.  "I wonder if she's famous somewhere," Rose said while picking the dandelions.  "I bet these would look nice in a big house where she lives."

"I doubt she has a big house.  And she's not famous.  We certainly would have heard something about her if she was," Evie explained.  "Besides, she has nothing to live on."

"I'm sure she has something.  She can't just be sleeping anywhere with nowhere to live."

"Well, maybe she is.  We'll probably never know."

"Oh, we'll find her one day.  And then we'll know."

"All right, sure." 

Evie struggled to not make her sister sad, but also to not get her hopes up.  She wanted to have hope, too, but she couldn't imagine that she'd ever see her mother again.  Or that she even wanted to see her again.

Before she realized it, two figures were walking towards the sisters through the field.  They moved smoothly and swiftly, almost gliding, and were odd-looking.  One was quite tall and lanky, and the other was short and stout.  They wore dark shabby clothes and each carried in one hand a strange hat.  Evie had never seen hats like these, and she couldn't figure out where these men had come from.  She was frightened, but did not want to scare Rose, so she remained calm.  

"Excuse me," said the short man with a high-pitched voice.  "Where might we find a place to stay around here?"

"Oh, um..." Evie hesitated.  "I'm...I'm not exactly sure.  I think there's a place about 10 miles south. Or southeast.  I'm not entirely sure of it's location."

"Nothing closer than that?" the short man asked.

"No, I don't think so," Evie replied.

"Is your father at home?" the taller man asked in a grumbly voice.

"Um...uh, yes, I...yes, he is."

"May we speak with him then? Maybe he can give us better direction," the taller man said.  There was something about these men that made Evie uneasy.  She couldn't quite tell what it was. Maybe their strange appearance, or maybe their greasy manners, or maybe even the fact that they had no problem approaching two young girls in the middle of nowhere.  

"Certainly," Evie glanced at Rose uneasily.  "You can follow me. C'mon, Rose."

The two men followed Evie back to her house, which was a good 7 or 8 minute walk from the field.  No one said a word on the way, although Evie wanted to say something to break the awkwardness, but she didn't. She was too afraid.  Finally they reached the house.  She called out to her father and sent Rose inside to her room.  Her father came outside and greeted the men with obvious unease.  He gave them directions to an inn, but they continued to talk for several minutes.  Evie wished she could hear what was being said.  She barely noticed her brother walk out onto the porch.  She even jumped when he asked what was going on.  

"You startled me," she exclaimed.  "I guess these two men are lost or on a journey or something.  They need a place to stay."

"Certainly don't like the looks of them. Where do they come from?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't like them either."

"Can't be too careful these days."

"Yeah. Maybe they're..."

"Let's not speculate.  Let's just send them on their way and forget about it."

But their father was not sending them on their way.  In fact it seemed more like he was inviting them to stay.  "Children, these men are going to stay with us tonight.  Go and get dinner ready.  Evie, you and Rose will have to give up your room.  You can sleep in Roger's room on the floor.  Mr. Coakley," he gestured to the tall man, "and Mr. Brant are welcome to stay with us as long as they need to."

It was very unlike their father to invite guests over, especially strangers, but Evie did not argue.  She quietly went inside to fix dinner, feeling nervous as ever.  

May Their Memories Be Eternal

It seems ages ago that the two towers fell on 9/11, but then again, it seems hardly any time has passed at all.  It sounds weird to say it was 10 years ago.  What a long time, and yet what a short time. That's not even half of my life.
I had just turned twelve in 2001, just a few days before 9/11.  I remember being in school already sitting in choir when people started talking about it, starting say that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. As a twelve year old, I didn't know what that was or where it was, but it sounded important. I remember thinking to myself what a weird thing to happen. So far it sounded like an accident from what people around school were saying, but it didn't seem like such a thing could happen on accident. Then we left choir and I headed to French class. We did not study French that day. The TV was on and immediately I saw what was going on.  "ATTACK ON AMERICA" was the headline in enormous letters across the bottom of the screen.  I was horrified.  We watched the news all throughout class and witnessed the second plane hitting the second tower, we watched the anchors tell us about the plane that hit the Pentagon, and the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania due to the bravery of its passengers.
Now of course only being in middle school, when my classmates and I saw "ATTACK ON AMERICA" we assumed it could be an attack everywhere.  We were scared it would hit other parts of the country, and maybe even our region or city.  My french teacher, who was a wonderful lady, Mme. Milstead, assured us that we not get hit. "Nashville would only be a target if the people who did this really hated country music." I gasped, and she laughed.  Then I realized it was only a joke to make a point, that we were fine.
But the people in the planes, in the towers, on the streets of New York, in the Pentagon, the police officers and firefighters were not fine.  I can't imagine what it was like being there dealing with the dust and debris and bodies that littered the streets, trying to save everyone possible.
My cousin, Stepha, in her blog Life of Fiction, wrote about 9/11 too. She mentioned that she feels like God was with those people that day.  And that she doesn't know how, but it comforts her to think that.  I watched a show the other day about two port authority employees who saved about 70 people as they descended the North Tower, but were killed when the tower collapsed.  That shows me that God was with them that day.  On ESPN they were talking about a young man who worked in the towers (but who wanted instead to become a firefighter) and how he saved 12 people before dying himself.  They were able to find his body because he always carried a red bandana and the people he saved remembered his red bandana. His family knew what he did because of that bandana.  God was with him that day.
As you can imagine watching those shows, I wept until I could barely see.  Watching the towers fall is an image that I will never forget.  Who knew I could still cry for complete strangers ten years later.
Shortly after the attacks on 9/11, a family friend who lives in New York sent us an email telling her story of 9/11.  She worked near the WTC and was out on the street when one of the towers fell.  She was thrust into a cloud of dust and debris, no way to see anything.  But she guided herself along a building until she found a door and she burst through, coughing up debris and dust as she sucked in clean air.  All I could think while reading her email was how frightening it must have been.  After a few hours she made it to a friends to clean up and eventually made it back home to her boyfriend.  Obviously, she was one of the lucky ones.
So on this the 10th anniversary of the attacks on 9/11 I remember and pray for those who died, those who survived, those who were lucky, those who weren't, and especially those who fought to save others- the first responders and the employees who helped their coworkers at the cost of their own life.  I remember the passengers on Flight 93 who so bravely fought the hijackers and gave their lives for it, and for those who died in the Pentagon attack as well.  May their memories be eternal and I pray that they are now with God where they will suffer no more.