every lament is a love song
by Stace on October 31st, 2011
filed under pretty things
i woke from a dream last night
i dreamed that you were by my side
reminding me i still had life in me…
i’ll carry on… – Switchfoot, “Yesterdays”
A decade ago, I was a completely different person than I am today. I was homeless in San Diego, far from home and scared, and a master at pushing people away. Suffice it to say that I wasn’t surrounded by a close circle of friends. Sure, I had a few, thank God. One of the girls I’d grown up with, Allison, had recently been diagnosed with brain cancer, just before turning 23. I remember the day I called the hospital trying to reach her mom or husband: Ally picked up. Though we’d both grown up and moved away, we’d always stayed in touch. And while we’d spent many a childhood hour in church, we’d bonded over rejected principles as teenagers, and again over shared discovery of who God actually was. Not knowing if I’d ever have the chance again, I savored every moment of that phone conversation. Ally was happy. She wanted more than anything to have a baby, but ultimately was in love with her husband and at peace with God, her illness, and whatever was to come of it all. We prayed together, said our “I love you”s and essentially our I-hope-this-isn’t-goodbyes, and left nothing unsaid. We had been there for each other for a great many things over our fifteen year friendship. It turned out to be the last time I ever heard her voice.
Ten years ago today, Ally died. Somehow, though I always knew it could happen, I must’ve been expecting a miracle. That someone I loved so much and had known for so long could just be gone completely blindsided me. Living in San Diego in a community of other believers helped, but it took the better part of the first year just to stop reaching for the phone to call her. Even at her memorial service, Ally’s mom & I lamented that the strangest part was that she’d want to go home and call her to tell her how much it meant that her friends had come from all over. I guess if you’ve not lost someone you love, this may sound strange. I knew exactly what she meant. I’ve long since stopped trying to reach out, but I’ll never forget that odd feeling.
I’m always cautious about my actions and my surroundings on this anniversary. I take the day off from work, school, everything. Sometimes people don’t understand this, and they want to give me that whole “look on the bright side!” rubbish. The truth is, I do. I do look on the bright side – three hundred and sixty-four days a year. In fact, on Ally’s birthday, every year without fail, I call all of my friends and make a special effort to tell them I love them. I never want to take the chance of losing anyone without them knowing how I feel. I also make a point to treat her birthday as a celebration of life. Because that’s true, I feel it’s appropriate, respectful, and completely warranted that I give myself the anniversary of her death to be sad. Truth be told, getting in touch with emotions like those isn’t easy for me. While I don’t think there’s anything wrong with tears, they don’t normally come easily to me, so this is the one day of the year I purposely seek them out. I give myself one whole day to miss my friend, and then I move on and enjoy Halloween, knowing it’s exactly what Ally would want.
Months after Ally’s passing, when my roommate and I had finally found a place to live, (and jobs!) we went to the movies. Admittedly, that pretty boy Shane West was in A Walk to Remember was reason enough for me. I knew nothing about the premise of the film, and wasn’t a big fan of romantic movies in general, but went anyway. Something someone said as we were headed for the theater tipped me off that it might involve a death, but I didn’t give it much of a second thought. When it turned out to be a story about a teenager with leukemia (who eventually dies), it was all I could do just to keep from sobbing out loud in the theater. As people were filing out when it was over, I just waited as the credits rolled, praying I’d be able to somehow pull myself together and just get home. I own the DVD now and if ever I watch it, it’s only on October 30th, because I know it will only ever remind me of my sweet friend and that very specific time in my life.
Over the years, I’ve come across my share of songs that make me remember Ally. Today I planned to share my very favorite of these songs (the one from which this post gets its title and lyrics) as a video on my Facebook page, but discovered to my dismay that all that existed were cheesy photo slideshows made by fans and live performances with less-than-stellar audio. Rather than giving up, I decided to make one of my own. I didn’t know how, but it didn’t take long to figure it out. I’ll end my post with my creation, and hope that someone will enjoy it as I do. And now on with another year: Happy Halloween!
i remember you like yesterday, yesterday
i still can’t believe you’re gone
i remember you like yesterday, yesterday
and until i’m with you, i’ll carry on…
nobody seemed to know me, everybody passed me by
by Stace on September 3rd, 2010
filed under ch-ch-ch-changes
i’m standing at the crossroads, believe i’m sinking down… – Cream, “Crossroads”
This time two weeks ago, I was just getting home from Portland with a friend. I had finally committed to moving, had gotten a good feel for the city (maybe even had begun to know my way around a little), had looked for houses, and was in the process of looking for work as well as getting licensed to wait tables – not because I want to, but because it’s a nice safety net while I’m looking for something else. I went ahead and got the license for the $10 (I can’t remember which is which), but decided to wait on the more expensive one, because not only did I not need to spend the money yet, but it also has a more complicated application process.
And then…Jen called a few days after we got home. She said she’d been doing some thinking and processing and had decided she really needs to live alone. Which, honestly, isn’t a huge shock to me. What it was, however, was a disappointment. Because while I expected her to say that when I asked her about the possibility of us living together there in the first place, when she didn’t…we started making plans to move together pretty quickly. While we’re in our thirties and neither of us would like much to live with roommates, I think we would have gotten along “famously,” as they say. And I was really starting to warm up to the idea of the whole thing, and especially Portland. I’d even started to poke around on the dating sites for interesting boys from the PDX area. (And yes, I found one…this particular site cites what they believe to be your match percentage, friend percentage, and enemy percentage. This guy and I are said to be 1% enemy, so I emailed him. We were excited to meet up when I got there, but I’ve since emailed him the update. On the brightside, I can always use another friend in Portland that’s interesting and that I have a scientifically proven 1% likelihood to be enemies with. I’m kidding, but hey – a new friend is a new friend, right?)
So…what now? That’s the question of the hour! I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and while the whole thing has the potential to send me into a bit of a tailspin, I’m not going to let it. I’m the kind of person who thrives on having things to look forward to, but the fact is that this isn’t the only thing on my horizon to which I was looking forward. I’m going to be okay. I’ve also talked to Layla about all this at length and we both feel like maybe it was a “sign,” at the risk of sounding utterly cliche and cheesy. Perhaps this is life’s way of telling me not to move anywhere just yet. Though Jen said she’d hoped I’d still consider moving to Portland solo, I think the thing for me to do for the time being is keep my eyes, ears, and heart open to all possibilities, keep looking for work locally, and focus on my writing. Wherever it is (geographically and otherwise) that I’m supposed to be, I’m going to make it. I also don’t think that I could necessarily afford life solo in Portland and still work just a part-time gig (which, I think I’ve established once or twice, is something I feel is necessary in order to get my career off the ground). And, the added convenience of a friend who knows her way around and can help with all the moving arrangements, that’s all gone now as well.
I must admit, my heart calls me back to San Diego. But I need to be smart, and not just move back to a city I love if perhaps life has something else in store for me. I’m not going anywhere until I have a reason to go, and missing a city that feels like home for my soul isn’t really a reason. (Well, it might be, eventually. But not just yet.) The fact is, I don’t enjoy standing at the crossroads. I never have. I hate looking down every possible direction my life could lead me and seeing nothing but unanswered questions. It makes me nervous. I know some people are excited by limitless possibilities, and I understand that, but…I’m not excited until I have a nudge toward one direction over the other. So I’ve decided to just ride it out and see what happens. I’m pretty sure something amazing is coming just around the corner for me, and had I ended up in Portland, I’d have missed it (and never known)!
It was only a little more than four years ago that I was packing up my stuff in San Diego to come home to embark on this crazy journey. I knew that going back to school was something I felt I had to do, I just never expected that I’d be sitting here with three degrees, not to mention Cal. This came in the mail today:
After working so hard for so long, I gotta tell you how good it feels. I may not know where I’m going, but I’m proud of where I’ve been.
i went down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride…
i am damaged at best like you've already figured out
by Stace on August 8th, 2010
filed under ch-ch-ch-changes
i’m fallin’ apart… i’m barely breathing… with a broken heart that’s still beating… in the pain there is healing… -Lifehouse, “Broken”
I haven’t blogged in a month. Every day that I neglect writing, I feel a little more guilt. But if I told you all the things that have occurred in my life in the course of said month, I bet you’d forgive me.
A month ago, I was splitting my time between home and Delores and Brian’s place for my new job. I could give you the play by play of what’s taken place since then, but that’s not what drew me back (finally!) to my page. Aside from the guilt that nags at me regularly when I fail to meet my personal goal of blogging near-daily, I’ve been trying to find a way to tighten up my seams lately. For me, the best way to do that is usually over coffee and conversation with a close friend and/or introspection via my laptop.
What it comes down to is this: this month I’ve moved (geographically speaking, only across town, but still an ordeal). I’ve been confronted by the ghosts of my past (several of which I thought I might never have to deal with again). I’ve come to see someone I thought I respected and admired very much for what he really was – a disappointing illusion of smoke and mirrors that has me constantly trying to decide to whom he bears a greater resemblance: the Wizard of Oz, or the Cowardly Lion. I’ve celebrated my ninth annual “Celebration of Life” day in honor of my friend Allison’s would-be birthday (she’d be 32 this year; she was 23 when she died). I have bickered with friends, and I have come face to face with the real me. Like it or not, I must accept that I am still a profoundly hurt, angry, bitter and supremely broken little girl. I want so much to project a strong, smart, sweet, confident, together woman that either has it all or is at least on her way there, but… on a good day I’m just happy not to go to pieces, if only on the inside.
I believe there is beauty in this realization, and in my pain. Though it makes me die a little to realize that I thought I’d come so far and instead have just so far yet to go, I’m always happy to move into a place of honesty and reality. I have no choice but to look to the future; I know what’s in the past and there is nothing for me there. Lately, I’ve felt so damaged that it feels futile to even keep trying to heal and find happiness. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing that the opposite of hope isn’t even just hopelessness: it’s sheer and utter nothingness, and nothing in the whole world is worse. I have a choice: I can choose to hope, and accept myself in all my ugliness and beauty, as a whole, or I can drown in my sorrow. (Well, I could do as so many around me do and just pretend, but without overdramatizing, I’d literally rather die.) I’ve never been one to intentionally wallow, so hope it is.
This week I found hope in a tragic love story I thought was nothing but a cheesy romantic flick I’d be embarrassed to admit watching, much less liking: Remember Me. I won’t give it away because, assuming you’re like me and much underestimated it, you should watch it and be surprised and touched by this gorgeous story. I literally bought it as the credits were rolling so I can own it and watch it many, many times in the future.
Tonight I found hope in the beautifully written pain of another sexual abuse survivor. Her name is Maia Morgan, and she won Glamour’s personal essay contest last year with her piece, “I Chose to Live.” As I edit my own piece for this year’s contest (a slightly modified version of my memoir, “Life on the Block”), I decided to read the last year’s pick to get a feel for the voice of a previous winner. It only took me a few minutes to plow through her story, tears streaming down my face, nodding along. Though our experiences were different, the similarities are abundant. I never struggled with thoughts of suicide, but I too realized that only hope could pull me from the abyss. I too realized that it was up to me to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to find hope in the little things. I too discovered that “I wanted to mourn my losses, bury my dead and then move on. But here’s the thing: I don’t think you move on, really, from the past. You do, but you don’t. You carry it with you. You make it as light as you can.”
Feeling raw, exposed, and more emotional than I know what to do with, I found Maia’s website and sent an email to someone – I don’t know if she’ll ever read it. I don’t know that it matters. I just know I’m grateful for those moments of humanity that remind me I’m really not in this alone – even strangers understand my pain. They may never know, and maybe I even prefer it that way, but it matters not. I have to get up every day and find hope in something. I have to do the best I can, give myself a break, and learn to love me, bruised, broken, and all.
the broken lights on the freeway left me here alone… i may have lost my way now, haven’t forgotten my way home…
